But Gideon thought it wouldn't do.
"In his excitement he might actually stab the skin," he said; "and that
would lessen the value of it a great deal. The Doctor would be
frightfully annoyed."
"Not that that matters," said Steggles.
"No," admitted Gideon, "not to us; but a treasure is a treasure, and
just for the sake of swizzling a kid it seems a pity to spoil a valuable
tiger-skin worth three or four pounds at least, and perhaps more."
However, we didn't look at it in that light. Steggles and Freckles were
a great deal taken with the idea, and Fowle, who was something of an
artist, or thought he was, promised to make the tiger-skin look alive if
somebody else got it. Of course he wouldn't have run the risk of taking
it--such an utter footling coward as him. No more would Steggles.
I and Freckles both wanted to have the honour of getting it, and I
argued that as the idea was mine I ought to be allowed to do this; but
Freckles said that as a much more experienced hand at adventures and
dangers than me, he must do it.
He said, "If it was machinery, Mac., I should say nothing; but for
breaking rules and doing daring things after dark you are not in it with
me."
Which was true. So he got the rug, and was late for prayers in
consequence; but when Briggs reads prayers instead of the Doctor, many
are late, because Briggs is short-sighted. Besides, the other masters
generally don't come at all when Briggs reads them, though they never
dare to stop away when the Doctor does.
Anyhow, Freckles got the rug, and Fowle, with some cricket-pads and
Thompson's bicycle, faked up a most extraordinary and hideous monster
looking out of the rhododendrons. It glared through its glass eyes and
seemed ready to spring, and its tail was stretched into the path, with
the point, as it were, wagging like a cat wags her tail when she's in a
bate. Even before dusk it looked terrible, but much more so when it
began to get dark.
Then the time came, and we hid behind the edge of the pavilion, and
Freckles practised a growl or two, and got into the rhodo. bed, and
Steggles found young Smythe and told him the time for the test had come.
Steggles said, "The playground is quite empty now, and I see the
rhododendrons bending in the middle, so the beast is evidently there.
You'd better be quick, and go and get it over--twice round, mind."
Smythe was pale, but firm.
"One thing," he said, "the chap called Fowle has been trying to funk me
all the afternoon, and he says the beast has killed two boys in its
time, and that they were both red-haired boys. Of course, if that's
true, it is rather serious, me being red-haired."
"You needn't mind what Fowle says," answered Steggles; "he never passed
the test at all. I remember when he came as a kid--the nastiest kid
that ever did come, for that matter. He is a coward to the backbone,
and would rather have paid away his pocket-money for the whole of the
term than go through the test."
"So I was told," said Smythe; "and I told him he was a coward, and that
I didn't care for him trying to funk me. All the same, if it really and
truly killed two boys with red hair----"
"It didn't," replied Steggles. "On my word of honour, it didn't. It
feeds on poultry, I believe, and nobody can really prove that it ever
killed a boy. You just show what you're made of, and you'll soon find
you've got good friends up in the fifth form, including me myself. As
for Fowle, since Travers licked him with one hand tied behind him, and
since Johnson found the name of 'Maude' written thirty-two times in
various letterings on his blotting-paper, nobody has cared to be seen
with him. He can draw angels with wings fairly well, though nobody
wants them when they are drawn; and that's all he can do but sneak, and
tell lies, and be a cur in general."
So Smythe was comforted, and took out the bowie-knife lent him by
Freckles, and went off, as he supposed, into the empty playground. But
there were at least twenty chaps hidden there to see what he would make
of the beast that Fowle and Freckles and I had set up.
*II*
Well, young Smythe came boldly on, and only stopped when Freckles gave
his first growl. Then the kid stood still, and then he pulled out the
bowie-knife and opened it. He evidently felt that it would be better to
do the deed pretty quick, before he had time to think about it; so,
despite the sounds and howls of Freckles, he dashed round at his best
pace, and was actually past the beast before he had grasped the horror
of it. But he saw it all right, and he told me afterwards that the
moment he saw it he began to stream with perspiration strangely enough,
though the night was jolly cold. He also said that there came a very
strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't be sure
whether he felt frightfully hungry, or merely that he was going to be
sick. He waited a moment before making the second dash round, and we
could see him dimly panting, and his breath going into the air like
steam. At the same moment the bell also rang, but nobody went
immediately, because we wanted to see if Smythe would face the beast
again. Freckles now began to imitate wolves in a state of hunger, and
Steggles bet me sixpence that Smythe wouldn't go round again. But, of
course, nobody but new boys, who don't know him, ever bets with
Steggles, as he has never been known to pay when he loses. So I took no
notice.
Then Smythe dashed round again, and we were just going to come out and
rot him about it, and cheer him for passing the test, when he did a
thing of the most astonishing character. He seemed now to have got a
little accustomed to the horror of the beast, and he suddenly crept
towards it with the bowie-knife of Freckles ready to strike. He
regularly stalked it, like a hunter stalks his prey, and Freckles, who
was hidden just behind the beast, growled and roared all he could; but I
think he roared rather nervously, for the kid looked frightfully keen,
and evidently meant to have a dash at the beast, whatever happened. We
were just going to rush out and stop him, but he didn't give us time.
He suddenly screamed very loudly, partly to keep up his own courage, and
partly to distract the beast, and then he dashed forward, and stooped
down and cut the creature's tail off at a blow! He then leapt aside
very cunningly--to avoid its spring, as he told me afterwards; but of
course it didn't spring, but only glared. A moment later Smythe was
flying for his life--with the tail!
As if this wasn't curious enough, still stranger things happened
afterwards. Because the next difficulty was what to do about it. In
fact, after young Smythe had hooked it with the tail of the Doctor's
tiger-skin, the rest of us looked rather fools. Of course, the first
thing to do was to get the skin back into the study, and this Freckles
did; and the next thing to do was to get the tail back from Smythe, and
this Fowle, who was monitor in Smythe's dormitory, promised to do that
night.
But Smythe wouldn't give it up. He had most carefully hidden it, and
absolutely refused to give it to anybody! The next day Freckles, and
Steggles, and I had Smythe before us in the gym., and asked for an
explanation. We told him all about the test, and applauded him for his
bravery, but explained that the tail he had cut off belonged to Dr.
Dunstan's tiger-skin, and that its loss would make an awful row in the
school, and very likely end in his being expelled. Then he said that
Dr. Dunstan couldn't expel him, because he wouldn't know he had had
anything to do with the tail. Which was true; besides, the Doctor being
so blind, it might be a long time before he discovered the tail was
gone. Then Smythe argued jolly well for a kid. He said that, for all
he knew, the beast that we had made was a live, and furious, and
dangerous beast; therefore his bravery in cutting the tail off
single-handed with the bowie-knife was just as great as if it _had_ been
alive. Freckles admitted this. He said that the bravery of Smythe was
undoubtedly immense, and that, so far as that went, he richly deserved
to keep the tail. He even said that if he could have spared it he would
have given Smythe the famous bowie-knife; but of course he could not do
this, for it was his most important arm in all his own adventures when
he practised to become a bushranger. Then Steggles asked Smythe what he
had done with the tail; and Smythe made us promise faithfully not to
tell, and we did so. Then he said that he was wearing it next his
skin--round his stomach, in fact--and always should do so for the rest
of his life, if it worked well.
He said, "It's awfully uncomfortable, and scratches something frightful,
but that's a mere nothing to the advantages. I didn't, of course, kill
the tiger, but in a way I might have; and, anyhow, I thought it was
alive; and I'm going to give it a fair trial."
I asked him what he expected the tiger's tail would do for him, and he
said, "Make me fierce. By rights the fierceness of the tiger ought to go
straight into me, and I ought to fear nothing, in the same way that the
tiger when it was alive feared nothing. But as I didn't actually kill
the tiger, of course it may not work as I hope."
He assured us solemnly that he believed the beast was alive when he
dashed at it and cut its tail off; and he also assured us that he had
never seen the Doctor's tiger's skin, and did not so much as know that
he had a tiger's skin. And we believed him, and let him keep the tail.
Steggles, however, warned young Smythe of one thing. He said, "Be jolly
careful that Fowle doesn't see it when you're getting up or going to
bed, or very likely he'll sneak. He hates you already for scoring off
him, so mind you hide it from him."
Smythe naturally thanked Steggles a good deal for this kind advice, and
said that he would be cautious, and that he already hated Fowle a good
deal, and that if he really did become fierce pretty soon, Fowle would
be the first to know it.
So there the thing was left, and when the Doctor found that his tiger's
tail was gone--which he did do, owing to one of his daughters pointing
it out--nobody knew anything at all about it.
The Doctor made far more fuss than we expected, and was bitterly hurt
over the loss, and seemed to be inclined to expel everybody, because
nobody would confess. But, of course, from the business point of view
he couldn't do that, because, as Gideon said, his occupation would have
been over, and it might have taken many years for him to collect
together one hundred and three boys again. Gideon also said that the
competition was fearful among school-masters, and expelling was quite a
thing of the past, owing to the difficulty of getting new ones.
Then came the tremendous end of the whole business, and such fierceness
as young Smythe had managed to get, after wearing the tiger's tail for
three days, was as nothing to the fierceness of the Doctor when he found
it out.
It burst upon us on a half-holiday, and the half-holiday, as such, was
ruined by it. After saying 'Grace' at dinner, Dr. Dunstan told the
school to be in chapel--every boy--at half-past two. Leave was stopped,
and only the football team, which played a match that afternoon, was
allowed to go. Everybody had theories during dinner, but nobody was
right, or anything like right. We noticed that the Doctor seemed
thundery, and that he looked sometimes very fixedly at the bottom of the
table, where Mr. Mannering, the underest master of the lot, though a
'blue,' presided over the dinner of the lower school.
Then we went into chapel, and those interested in the tiger's tail were
all there, except Freckles, who is in the footer eleven.
"Boys," began the Doctor, "I have received an anonymous letter, and if
any among you should be in doubt of the meaning of that word, I may tell
you that it is derived from the Greek _a_ and _onoma_, signifying
'without a name,' or 'nameless.' The letter is, in fact, unsigned.
"Now, in the ordinary course of events, I should disdain to notice such
a communication. As I remarked during a newspaper controversy in '82 to
an agnostic writer who propounded infamous opinions and hid himself
behind the _nom de plume_ of 'Lucretius,' 'the man who fears to proclaim
himself, and lacks the courage of his own views, _ipso facto_, places
himself beneath the notice of any serious antagonist.' The discussion,
which verged on the acrimonious, and to which two bishops contributed,
was protracted through August and the earlier part of September. Then,
having proved my points to the satisfaction of all religious men, I
withdrew from the debate. That, however, is not what you are here to
know, and, indeed, happened many years before any among you was born.
What will more directly interest you is this: that for once I have
decided to give weight to my nameless correspondent's communication. It
is brief, and printed in capital letters. I shall rehearse it to you."