Tommy Brown had been moved up into Form II., lest he should take root in
Form I. He had been recommended personally by the master of Form I.
to Mr. Smith, the guardian deity of Form II., as "the absolute
limit." After a year of Tommy, Mr. Smith had begun to mention him
in his prayers, not so much for Tommy's good as for his own
deliverance--mentally including him in the category of plague,
pestilence, famine and sudden death.
Though the pervading note of Mr. Smith's report upon Tommy was gloom,
deep gloom, he must have had some dim hopes of him, for, at the end of
the Summer Term, he had placed his hand upon Tommy's head and said,
"Never mind, my boy, we shall make a man of you some day."
A new term had begun; Tommy Brown had mobilised two days late, but he
was in time for Mr. Smith's lecture on "The War, boys."
The orator spoke for an hour and a quarter, and at the end he wiped his
brows with the blackboard duster under the impression that it was his
handkerchief. Meanwhile Tommy had eaten three apples, caught four flies,
written "Kiser" in chalk on the back of the boy in front of him,
exchanged a catapult with Jones minor for a knife, cut his finger, and
made faces at each of the four new boys. Mr. Smith caught him in one of
these contortions, but he was speaking of Louvain at the moment and took
it as a compliment.
Suddenly Tommy found himself confronted with a number of sheets of clean
paper. "The essay is to be written on one side of the paper only," said
Mr. Smith.
Tommy asked the boy next to him what they had to write about, and the
reply, "The War, you fool," set him thinking.
A deathlike stillness fell upon the room; Tommy Brown looked round,
frowned heavily, dipped his pen in the ink and then in his mouth, and
thought hard.
Then, after much frowning, he delivered himself of the following, the
ink being shared equally between himself and the paper:--
"The wor was becose the beljums wouldent let the jermens go over there
fields so they put minds in the sea and bunbarded people dead with
airplans. It was shokkin. The rushens have got a steme roler. We have
got a garden roler at home and I pull it sometimes. I dont like jermens.
Kitchener said halt your country needs you and weve got a lot of
drednorts. The airplans drop boms on anyone if your not looking it isnt
fare yours truly T. Brown."
The essay completed to his satisfaction, Tommy Brown conveyed to his
mouth a sweet the size and strength of which fully justified the name
"Britain's Bulwarks" attached to it by the shopkeeper.
He then leaned back with the air of one who had done his duty in the
sphere in which he found himself and proceeded to survey the room.
The other boys were still writing, and for fully half a minute Tommy
looked at them in pained surprise.
He then read his own essay again and, finding no flaw in it, frowned
once more on his fellow pupils and wrote: "My father won the Victoria
Cross Meddle." Having written this he looked round again somewhat
defiantly. His eye caught one of the new boys beginning another sheet.
Tommy's essay just filled two-thirds of a page. He would fight that new
boy. Just then the words of a war poster came into his head and he wrote
in large letters: "Your King and country want _you_."
Tommy studied this for a minute, and then, as the appeal seemed directed
to himself, he wrote: "I'm not old enuf or I'd go my brothers gone I'm
not a funk I let Jones miner push a needle into my finger to show him."
It seemed to Tommy Brown that the other boys possessed some secret fund
of information, even the new boys. He'd show those new boys after
school. Having made up his mind on this point he printed at the bottom
of his essay, "Kitchener wants men." As an after-thought he added, "My
father was a man."
He let his gaze wander round the room until it fell upon the face of his
master, and then, under some impulse, he wrote the fateful words, "Mr.
Smith is a man."
"Finish off now!" rang out the command from Mr. Smith.
Tommy saw the other boys putting sheet after sheet together, and he had
hardly filled one. He racked his brains for something to add to his
essay, and there came to his mind the words written under his father's
portrait. He had only time to put down "England expecs----" when his
paper was collected.
No one ever read Tommy Brown's essay excepting Mr. Smith, and he burnt
it.
* * * * *
A lady teaches Form II. now, and Tommy Brown is eagerly looking forward
to the day when Mr. Smith will return to occupy once more the post that
is being kept open for him, for Mr. Smith has promised to bring Tommy
home a German helmet.
* * * * *
"A number of shells burst together and almost at the same moment he
saw a large cigar-shaped cigar fall to the earth."
_Bolton Evening News._
The unusual shape of it struck him at once.
* * * * *
Illustration: THE GREATER GAME.
MR. PUNCH (_to Professional Association Player_). "NO DOUBT YOU CAN MAKE
MONEY IN THIS FIELD, MY FRIEND, BUT THERE'S ONLY ONE FIELD TO-DAY WHERE
YOU CAN GET HONOUR."
[The Council of the Football Association apparently proposes to carry
out the full programme of the Cup Competition, just as if the country
did not need the services of all its athletes for the serious business
of War.]
* * * * *