"I was just sitting biting my pen and drawing on the blotting-paper and
casting my eyes about and wondering what on earth to say, when I saw
right bang in front of me a great picture--a whacker--full of trees and
a lane, and water and hills, and every mortal thing, even to the flowers
dabbed about in front. Well--there you are! I just tried to put down
what I saw. And I did it only too well, if anything. Of course, in a
sort of way, it was cribbing; but then, of course, in another sort of
way, it wasn't. Anyway, you've sworn not to tell--not even Tomkins; so
of course you won't tell."
And of course I didn't.
*THE CASE FOR FOWLE*
*No. VII*
*THE CASE FOR FOWLE*
*I*
It's awful difficult to understand why some boys are liked and some
utterly barred. I'm nearly sixteen now, and I've been at Merivale for
years, but still I can't see it. All I know is that the chaps most boys
like, I don't, and the very few chaps I like, nobody else does. At
first I thought it was hampers and asked my mother to send me extra
large ones, which she did; and such hampers as mine were never seen
before in any school, I should think. But the boys ate my water-melons
and peaches and many such unusual things, just as if they were the
wretched windfalls that Masters gets from his father's orchards, or the
feeble home-made jam and common or garden cakes that come to other
fellows on their birthdays. Then the very chaps that guzzle my rare
things pretend afterwards I've tried to poison them, and so on; and
young Gregson, who once ate half a bruised pineapple of mine that was a
bit off, got ill; and after that only certain chaps would take the
things I offered. And nobody once, all the time I've been here, has
ever offered me as much as a dry biscuit out of their beastly hampers.
I pointed this out to Travers, who, though no friend of mine, always
appeared to have more sense in a general way than most fellows; and he
said--
"You sneer so at chaps. You always make it so jolly clear your hampers
are the best in the world, that naturally they think you wouldn't care
about their things. Besides, Steggles did offer you three ripe pears,
for I saw him do it."
"Yes," I said, "he did--just because he knew they were over-ripe and
thought to score off me. I knew why he had done it, and told him so."
"Then he offered them to me," said Travers, "so I can tell you that you
are quite wrong. I took them and ate them on the spot, and they were
perfectly good, decent pears. For once in a way Steggles was quite
straight and meant no harm at all."
Well, I saw after a bit that it wasn't hampers, or anything of that
sort; and then I thought it was games. But I wasn't going to make a
fool of myself at footling games for anybody, and I always did get out
of them when I could. However, it wasn't altogether games either,
though certainly more games than hampers. Still, there were chaps who
didn't play games any better than me--such as Richards, who always went
to matches and was keen about games, though useless himself, and Ford,
who made peculiar knots in rope, and Jameson, who drew pictures in the
chaps' Latin grammars of the remarkable things mentioned in syntax.
Then another great thing, showing what mean beasts most boys are, is the
fact that if certain masters like certain boys, then other boys also
like them.
Once, and only once, I got jolly friendly with a master who was very
much disliked indeed by everybody else. I mean Browne. I never found
him bad at first, and he used me a good bit in many ways and nearly
always gave me full marks. But he changed frightfully over the business
of the blackboard, and it happened like this. You see, as Browne
thought well of me, he confided in me a bit out for walks; and I
confided in him; and he asked me a lot of questions concerning a lot of
boys; and, as I hated them all, I told him what he wanted to know. He
was frightfully obliged and said I was a power for good in the school;
and also said that such a boy as I am, without silly ideas about
sneaking, may be of the greatest use to masters if he really has the
welfare and interest of the school at heart. He also gave me a knife
and seemed pretty sure I should win several prizes at the end of the
term. In fact, we got very friendly and I certainly did him a very good
turn by helping him to understand why some boys didn't like him, and
telling him what they said about him behind his back. He was greatly
obliged to me, and used the things I told him, and scored pretty badly
off some chaps as a result. It rather surprised them to find how much
he knew; but it didn't make them like him any better. Then they began
to try and score off him, and finally, owing to an unfortunate accident,
I got mixed up in it.
Steggles did an unusual thing to young Frost. Steggles had borrowed the
matron's scissors to cut his toe-nails, which were turning in and
tearing his toes and making them pour with blood. And after he had used
them and shortened his toe-nails by about half-an-inch or so, he kept
them and told the matron that he had lost them. Then came young Frost,
who was a sort of relation of Trelawny, who was at that time easily the
best-liked chap at Merivale.
Well, Steggles got young Frost up into the gym. alone, as he thought,
and told him it was the rule for new boys to have their hair cut close
to their heads, because they often brought infection to Merivale in that
way. So he cut all young Frost's hair off; and I was there, hidden in a
corner reading a grown-up novel that I had found in Browne's room.
Because Browne, as a great favour, used to allow me in his study to see
the remarkable things he has there--chiefly on the mantelpiece,
including photographs of well-known actresses, said to be signed by
themselves. So I saw Steggles cut off Frost's hair, and I did not know
Steggles had seen me, but he had. And he made me swear not to tell,
which I did; but knowing that an oath is not binding when the good of
the school is involved, I told Browne about it, and he took the credit
to himself over it and taxed Steggles with it. Of course Steggles
denied it, and it couldn't be proved, because young Frost had a rotten
idea it would be unsportsmanlike to sneak. So it came about that Browne
couldn't do anything without getting me into a row, and accordingly
nothing was done to Steggles. But Steggles did a lot to me, because of
course he knew I was the only person who could have told Browne the
truth, as young Frost hadn't.
Then a rather clever beast called Macmullen wrote a piece of poetry with
rhymes, and after about twenty copies of this poetry had been sent to me
anonymously written round picture-postcards, Macmullen got Travers to
print it up on the blackboard just before Browne's mathematical lesson
came on.
So when he arrived, there it was staring at him; and it was so
exceedingly well printed that he could not possibly tell who had done
it.
_There is a young sneaker called Fowle_
_Who ought to be made to howl,_
_For the things that Browne knows,_
_Which you would not suppose,_
_All come from that blighter called Fowle._
I wanted to rub it out before Browne came, but of course the chaps
wouldn't let me.
Browne read this carefully and took such a long time looking at it, that
Steggles said he was learning it by heart. Then he picked up the duster
and slowly rubbed it out. He made no remark whatever, and for the time
being the score rather missed fire on Browne. But it didn't miss fire
on me, because the next day, when I was passing his study, Browne called
me in and asked me about it. He said--
"Who wrote that piece of impertinence on the blackboard yesterday?"