Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "LET ME GIVE YOU ONE HINT, MY LAD" (p. 48)]
HAPPY-GO-LUCKY
BY
IAN HAY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
C. E. BROCK
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY IAN HAY BEITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published August, 1913_
TO
T. S. A. B.
CONTENTS
_BOOK ONE_
YOUTHFUL EXCURSIONS
I. A Brief Introduction
II. The First Freak
III. Io Saturnalia!
_BOOK TWO_
A BLIND ALLEY
IV. Travels with a First Reserve
V. Very Odious
VI. Forbidden Fruit--A Digression
VII. Unearned Increment
VIII. A Relapse
IX. The Only Way Out
X. Still at Large
XI. The First Turning to the Right
_BOOK THREE_
THE RIGHT ROAD
XII. Mice and Men
XIII. Lucidity Itself
XIV. Another Cosy Chat, with an Interruption
XV. A Day of Calm Reflection
XVI. An Impossible Family
XVII. The Word "Swank"
XVIII. De L'Audace, et encore de l'Audace, et toujours de l'Audace!
XIX. Sidelights on a Public Character
XX. Rehearsed Effects
XXI. Unrehearsed
XXII. The Real Tilly
XXIII. The Real Mr. Welwyn
XXIV. A Garden Plot in Russell Square
XXV. Purely Commercial
XXVI. The Final Freak
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Let me give you one Hint, my Lad" (p. 48) . . . _Frontispiece_
"Chorus once more, please, Gentlemen!"
"How do you do, Miss Weller?" said Lady Adela, mystified but well-bred
"Reflect!" urged the Broker's Man, gently resisting Percy's Efforts to
eject him
"This is very naughty," he announced reproachfully
HAPPY-GO-LUCKY
BOOK ONE
YOUTHFUL EXCURSIONS
HAPPY-GO-LUCKY
CHAPTER I
A BRIEF INTRODUCTION
They--that is, the London-and-the-south-thereof contingent of the Hivite
House at Grandwich--always celebrated the first morning of the holidays
by breakfasting together at the Imperial Hotel at Oakleigh, as a
preliminary to catching the nine-fifty-two.
A certain stateliness--not to say pomp--distinguished the function.
Negotiations for the provision of the feast were opened at an early
date--usually about half-term--the first step taking the form of a
dignified but ungrammatical communication, cast in that most intricate
and treacherous of moulds, the third person, to the proprietor of the
hotel, intimating, after compliments, that _Mr. Rumbold_ (_major_),
_Hivite House, Grandwich School, would be much obliged if our party
could be supplied with breakfast, and you usually do it for half-a-crown
as there are a lot of us, and if you don't we shall probably go to the
George, and as the party wishes to catch the train Mr. Rumbold would be
obliged if you can give it to me punctually_.
To this mine host would reply with a most gratifying typewritten
document addressed to--_Rumbold, Esq._,--a form of address which never
fails to please so long as your parents and other adult correspondents
persist in designating you "Master,"--expressing the utmost willingness
to provide breakfast for Mr. Rumbold's party at two-and-sixpence per
head (which, by the way, was the normal charge), and concluding with a
tactfully-worded request for information (inadvertently omitted from Mr.
Rumbold's original communication) upon the following points:--
(1) The date of the feast.
(2) The number of young gentlemen likely to be present.
(3) The hour of the train which they propose to catch.
During the second half-term Mr. Rumbold's leisure would be pleasantly
occupied in recruiting the breakfast-party and communicating its numbers
and requirements, intermittently and piecemeal, together with searching
enquiries re kidneys and ultimatums on the subject of scrambled eggs, to
the rapidly ageing proprietor of the Imperial Hotel.
On the joyous morning of departure a dozen emancipated Helots, all
glorious in bowler hats and coloured ties which atoned at a bound for
thirteen weeks of statutory headgear and _subfusc._ haberdashery,
descended upon the Imperial Hotel and sat down with intense but
businesslike cheerfulness to the half-crown breakfast. On these
occasions distinctions of caste were disregarded. Fag and prefect sat
side by side. Brothers who had religiously cut one another throughout
the term were reunited, even indulging in Christian names. Gentlemen
who had fought to a finish behind the fives-court every alternate
Wednesday afternoon since term began, took sweet counsel together upon
the respective merits of Egyptian and Turkish cigarettes.
On the particular occasion with which we are concerned--a crisp morning
in December--the party numbered twelve. It is not necessary to describe
them in detail, for ten of them make their appearance, in this
narrative, at any rate, for the first and last time. Let it suffice to
say that Mr. Rumbold major sat at the head of the table and Mr. Rumbold
minor at the foot, Mr. Rumbold tertius occupying a position about
halfway down. Among others present might have been noticed (as the
little society papers say) Mr. "Balmy" Coke, Mr. "Oaf" Sandiford, Mr.
"Buggy" Reid, Mr. "Slimy" Green, Mr. "Lummy" Law, and Mr. "Adenoid"
Smith. More notable figures were Messrs. "Spangle" Jerningham and "Tiny"
Carmyle--lesser luminaries than Rumbold himself, but shining lights in
the athletic firmament for all that.
One place only was vacant. The company, in accordance with what is
probably the most rigorous social code in existence--schoolboy
etiquette--had divided itself into two groups. The first, consisting of
those whose right to a place at the head of the table was unquestioned,
settled down at once with loud and confident anticipations of enjoyment.
The remainder followed their example with more diffidence, beginning at
the foot of the table and extending coyly upwards, those whose claim to
a place above the salt was beginning to be more than considerable
punctiliously taking the lowest places in order to escape the dread
stigma of "side." Thus, by reason of the forces of mutual repulsion, a
gap occurred in the very middle of the table, between a nervous little
boy in spectacles, one Buggy Reid, and the magnificent Mr. Jerningham,
Secretary of the Fifteen and the best racquets-player in the school.
"One short!" announced Rumbold. "Who is it?"
There was a general counting of heads. Mr. Reid timidly offered
information.
"I think it is The Freak," he said.
There was a general laugh.
"Wonder what he's up to now," mused Mr. Jerningham. "You ought to know,
Rummy. Your fag, is n't he?"
"I gave him the bag two terms ago," replied the great man contentedly.
"Tiny has him now."
He turned to another of the seniors--a long-legged youth with a subdued
manner.
"Still got him, Tiny?"
"Yes," said Mr. Carmyle gloomily, "I have still got him. It's a hard
life, though."
"I know," said Rumbold sympathetically. "Does he cross-question you
about the photographs on your mantelpiece?"
"Yes," said Carmyle. "He spoke very favourably of my youngest sister.
Showed me a photograph of his own, and asked me to come and stay with
them in the holidays. Said he thought I would have much in common with
his father."
There was general merriment at this, for Mr. Carmyle was patriarchal,
both in appearance and habits. But it did nothing to soothe the nerves
of The Freak himself, who happened at the moment to be standing shyly
upon one leg outside the door, endeavouring to summon up sufficient
courage to walk in.
He was a small sandy-haired boy with shrewd blue eyes and a most
disarming smile, and he belonged to a not uncommon and distinctly
unlucky class. There are boys who are shy and who look shy. Such are
usually left to themselves, and gradually attain to confidence. There
are boys who are bumptious and behave bumptiously. Such are usually put
through a brief disciplinary course by their friends, and ultimately
achieve respectability. And there are boys who are shy, but who,
through sheer self-consciousness and a desire to conceal their shyness,
behave bumptiously. The way of such is hard. Public School
disciplinary methods do not discriminate between the sheep and the
goats. Variations from the normal, whether voluntary or involuntary, are
all corrected by the same methods. Unconventionality of every kind is
rebuked by stern moralists who have been through the mill themselves,
and are convinced that it would be ungenerous to deprive the succeeding
generation of the benefits which have produced such brilliant results in
their own case.
The Freak--Master Richard Mainwaring--entered the school-world unfairly
handicapped. He had never been from home before. He was an only son,
and had had few companions but his parents. Consequently he was
addicted to language and phraseology which, though meet and fitting upon
the lips of elderly gentlemen, sounded ineffably pedantic upon those of
an unkempt fag of fourteen. Finally, he was shy and sensitive, yet
quite unable to indicate that characteristic by a retiring demeanour.
Life at school, then, did not begin too easily for him. He was
naturally of a chirpy and confiding disposition, and the more nervous he
felt the more chirpy and confiding he became. He had no instincts,
either, upon the subject of caste. Instead of confining himself to his
own impossible order of pariahs, he attempted to fraternise with any boy
who interested him. He addressed great personages by their pet names; he
invited high potentates to come and partake of refreshment at his
expense. Now, promiscuous bonhomie in new boys is not usually
encouraged in the great schools of England, and all the ponderous and
relentless machinery available for the purpose was set in motion to
impress this truth upon the over-demonstrative Freak. Most of us know
this mighty engine. Under its operations many sensitive little boys
crumple up into furtive and apathetic nonentities. Others grow into
licensed buffoons, battening upon their own shame, cadging for cheap
applause, thinking always of things to say and to do which will make
fellows laugh. The Freak did neither. He remained obstinately and
resolutely a Freak. If chidden for eccentricity he answered back,
sometimes too effectively, and suffered. But he never gave in. At
last, finding that he apparently feared no one,--though really this was
far from being the case: his most audacious flights were as often as not
inspired by sheer nervous excitement,--the world in which he moved
decided to tolerate him, and finally ended by extending towards him a
sort of amused respect.
All this time we have left our friend standing outside the door.
Presently, drawing a deep breath, he entered, jauntily enough.
"Hallo, Freak, where have you been?" enquired Mr. Rumbold.
"I felt constrained," replied The Freak, as one old gentleman to
another, "to return to the House upon an errand of reparation."
A full half of the company present were blankly ignorant as to the
meaning of the word "reparation," so they giggled contentedly and
decided that The Freak was in good form this morning.
"What was the trouble?" asked Jerningham.
"As I was counting my change in the cab," explained The Freak, "I found
that I was a penny short. (I'll have fried sole, and then
bacon-and-eggs, please. And chocolate.)"
"Shylock!" commented the humorous Mr. Jerningham.
The Freak hastened to explain.
"It was the only penny I had," he said: "that was why I missed it. The
rest was silver. I saw what had happened: I had given a penny to
Seagrave by mistake, instead of half-a-crown."
The thought of Mr. Seagrave, the stern and awful butler of the Hivite
House, incredulously contemplating a solitary copper in his palm, what
time the unconscious Freak drove away two-and-fivepence to the good,
tickled the company greatly, and the narrator had made considerable
inroads upon the fried sole before he was called upon to continue.
"What did you do?" asked Rumbold.
"I drove back and apologised, and gave him two-and-fivepence," said The
Freak simply.
"Was he shirty about it?"
"No; he did n't seem at all surprised," was the rather naive reply.
There was another laugh at this, and Jerningham observed:--
"Freak, you are the limit."
"I may be the limit," countered The Freak hotly,--ordinary chaff he
could endure, but Mr. Jerningham had more than once exceeded the bounds
of recognised fag-baiting that term,--"but I am wearing my own shirt,
Jerningham, and not one of Carmyle's!"
There was a roar at this unexpected riposte, for Jerningham, though a
dandy of the most ambitious type, was notoriously addicted to borrowed
plumage, and the cubicle of the easy-going Carmyle was next his own.
"You will be booted for that afterwards, my lad," announced the
discomfited wearer of Mr. Carmyle's shirt.
The Freak surveyed his tormentor thoughtfully. After all, he was safe
from reprisals for nearly five weeks. He therefore replied,
deliberately and pedantically:--
"I do not dispute the probability of the occurrence. But that won't
prevent you," he added, reverting to the vernacular, "from feeling jolly
well scored off, all the same. And"--after a brief interval to allow
this psychological point full play--"mind you send the shirt back to
Carmyle. I have enough trouble looking after his things as it is. Get
it washed, and then carefully dis--"
"Carefully _what_?" enquired Mr. Jerningham, beginning to push back his
chair.
The Freak, who had intended to say "disinfected," decided not to
endanger his clean collar, carefully brushed hair, and other
appurtenances of the homeward-bound.
--"And carefully despatched per Parcels Post," he concluded sweetly.
"Hello, you fellows--finished?"
"Yes: buck up!" commanded Rumbold.
The feast ended in traditional fashion. No bill was ever asked for or
presented upon these occasions. Rumbold major merely took the
sugar-basin and, having emptied it of its contents, placed therein the
sum of two-and-nine-pence--half-a-crown for his breakfast and threepence
for the waiters. The bowl was then sent round the table in the manner
of an offertory plate, and the resulting collection was handed without
ceremony to the fat head-waiter, who received it with a stately bow and
a few well-chosen and long-familiar phrases upon the subject of a good
holiday and a Merry Christmas; after which the members of the party
dispersed to the railway station and went their several ways.
It was characteristic of The Freak that he hung behind at the last
moment, for the purpose of handing a furtive shilling to the
inarticulate Teuton who had assisted in dispensing breakfast, and whose
underfed appearance had roused beneath the comfortably distended
waistcoat of our altruistic friend certain suspicions, not altogether
unfounded, as to the principle upon which head-waiters share tips with
their subordinates.