The history of the great events of Railsford's sports were so faithfully
chronicled at the time by Arthur Herapath in a long letter to his sister
Daisy, that it would be presumption on my part, with that valuable
document lying before me, to attempt to narrate in my own words what has
been so much more vivaciously described by my young friend. Arthur was
great at letter-writing, especially to his sister. And there is small
doubt that, with the aid of a slang dictionary and a little imagination
on her own part, that sympathetic young person was usually able to catch
the drift of her young brother's rollicking lucubrations.
"Dear Da. Thanks awfully for the bob."
A good many of Arthur's letters began with this curious observation.
Whether this particular "bob" had reference to Railsford's testimonial
or not, the writer cannot speak positively.
"We had a ripping time at our sports, and licked all the records but
three. No end of a crow for us. The School's tearing its hair all over
the place, and our fellows have been yelling for two days without
stopping. It's a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it
did, as our chaps would never have pulled themselves together as they
did without it. Nobody wants to find the chap out now; so your
particular is all serene up to now, and I don't mean to drip and spoil
his game." (We wonder what Daisy made of this curious sentence when she
read it!) "Dig and I were awfully riled we hadn't got you down for the
sports, and I wanted Marky to wire up for you and put them off till you
came. As it was, it didn't matter a bit, for Miss Violet showed up like
a trump as she is, and backed us up; so it's just as well you hadn't
come. Violet nodded to me! She's the most beautiful girl in the world.
Smedley turned up too; brickish, wasn't it? Bickers of course came,
and tried to spoil our sports, but Marky gave him a flea in his ear, and
Dig and I howled; so he didn't stay long.
"Bateson and Jukes pulled off the kids' hundred yards; and jolly cocky
they were, I can tell you. Bateson's the sneak I told you of.
"Tilbury won the Shell quarter-mile. Dig and I were in for it, but we
wanted to save ourselves for the long jump and hurdles, so we ran easy,
and Tilbury did it hands down.
"Ah, Da, really you should have been there to see the high jump!
Smedley and Clipstone tied 5 4½ last week for the School. No end of a
jump to beat; and Dig and I were in a blue funk about our men.
Barnworth and Wake were the only two entered;--dark horses both; at
least _I_ didn't know what either of them could do. I heard Ainger tell
Violet he thought we'd pull it off, so I perked up. They started at 4
foot 10. Wake muffed his first jump, and we gave ourselves up for gone
'coons. However, he hopped over second try. They went up by inches to
five feet. My word! you should have seen the way Violet clapped!
They'd have been cads if they hadn't gone over, with her backing them up
like that. Wake's got the rummiest jump you ever saw. He runs sideways
at the bar, and sort of lies down on his back on it as he goes over.
You'd think he'd muff it every time, but just as he looks like done for,
he kicks up his foot and clears. Barnworth takes it straight--skips up
to the bar and goes over like a daisy, without seeming to try.
"At 5 foot 1, Wake mulled twice, and we thought he was out of it. But
the third time he got over finely with a good inch to spare. It got
precious ticklish after this; and no one said a word till each Jump was
done: and then we let out. Violet stood up and looked as if she'd got a
ten-pound note on the event. At 5 foot 3 Barnworth came a cropper; and
I fancy he must have screwed his foot. Anyhow, he had to sit a minute
before he tried again. Then he went over like a shot--and you may guess
we yelled. Five foot 3½. Both of them mulled the first--but Barnworth
cleared easily second shot. We fancied Wake would too, but he missed
both his other chances, and so got out of it. Awfully good jump this
for a Fifth-form chap.
"Barnworth pulled himself together after that, and cleared the 5 foot 3½
and 5 foot 4 first go. Then came the tug. The bar went up to 5 4½,
Smedley's jump, and you might have heard a fly cough. We were pretty
nervous, I can tell you, and it would have done you good to see Violet
standing up and holding her breath. Barnworth was the only chap that
didn't seem flurried. Smedley and Marky both looked blue, and poor
Froggy looked as if he was going to blubber.
"My wig! Daisy, if you'd heard the yell when the beggar cleared the bar
first shot! Dig and I went mad; and somebody had to clout us on the
head before we could take it in that the fun wasn't over. Of course it
was not. _Pas un morceau de il_--we'd tied them; but we'd still to lick
them.
"`Bravo, Barnworth,' yells Violet. `Go it, old kangaroo,' howls Dig.
`Take your time and tuck in that shoe-lace,' says Marky. `A million to
one on our man,' says I; and then up goes the bar to 5 foot 5; and then
you could have heard a caterpillar wink. Old Barnworth looked a little
green himself this time; and didn't seem in a hurry to begin. He muffed
his first jump, and we all thought the game was up. But no! The beggar
hopped over second time as easily as I could hop 3 feet. My word, it
was a hop! Dig stood on his head and I could have done so too, only
Violet was looking. She was no end glad. _Elle est une brique et une
demie_! So's Smedley; for though it was his jump was beaten, he cheered
as loud as anybody. I forgive him the licking he gave me last term.
Marky made a regular ass of himself, he was so pleased. Every one
wanted Barnworth to go on, but he wouldn't, as he had a race to come on.
"Then came the Shell hurdles, 120 yards, ten flights. Dig and I were
in, and had to beat 19½ seconds. I felt jolly miserable, I can tell
you, at the start, and that ass Dig made it all the worse by fooling
about just to show off, and making believe to spar at me, when he was
shaking in his shoes all the time; Marky wasn't much better, for he came
and said, `You'll have to run your very best to win it.' As if we
didn't know that! He don't deserve a testimonial for doing a thing like
that. Next that ass Smedley went and made up to Violet just when she
wanted to back us up, and I don't believe she saw a bit of the race till
the finish. It was enough to make any chap blue. Then monsieur started
us, and kept us waiting a whole minute (it seemed like an hour) while
the second hand of his wretched watch was getting round. And then he
started us in such a rotten way that it wasn't till I saw Dig running
that I took in we were off, and coming up to the first hurdle. But soon
the fellows began to yell, and I felt better.
"Dig had the pull of me at the start, but I got up to him at the third
hurdle. He missed a step in landing, and that put him out, and we went
over the fourth and fifth neck and neck. Then I saw Violet stand up,
out of the corner of my left eye; and Smedley began to look at us too.
After that it was all right. At the sixth hurdle we both rose together,
and then I heard a crack and a grunt behind me, and knew poor old Dig
had come a cropper. Of course I had no time to grin, as I had my time
to beat. But it was very lonely doing those next three hurdles. I
didn't know how I was going, only I could swear I'd been twenty seconds
long before I got to the eighth. I nearly mulled the ninth, and lost a
step after the jump. That made me positive I'd not beaten my time; and
I had half a mind to pull up, I was so jolly miserable. However, the
fellows were still yelling, so I pulled myself together and went at the
last hurdle viciously and got clean over, and then put it on all I could
to the winning-post. I guessed I'd done it in thirty seconds, and
wished there was a pit I could tumble into at the end.
"Then Marky came and patted me on the back. `Splendid, old fellow,'
said he. `How do you mean?' said I; `ain't I licked into a cocked hat?'
`You've done it in nineteen seconds,' said he. `Go on!' said I. And
then the other fellows came up and cheered, and then Violet called out,
`Bravo, Herapath,' and Ainger said, `Run indeed, young 'un.' So I had
to believe it; and I can tell you I was a bit pleased. _J'etais un
morceau plaise_.
"I was sorry for old Dig, but he won the Shell wide jump directly
afterwards. I made a mess of the half-mile. I ought to have got it
from Smythe, of the School-house; but all I could do was to dead heat
his time. I suppose I was fagged after the hurdles. Tilbury had it all
his own way with the Shell cricket-ball, and Stafford got the senior
throw. Felgate was in against him--rather a decent chap, one of our
prefects; had me to tea in his room the other day. He and Marky don't
hit it. He was lazy, and didn't bother himself. Fellows said he could
easily have licked the School record if he'd tried; but he didn't; and
Stafford missed it by a few inches. So that event we lost. Jolly sell,
_joli vendre_.
"Never mind, we got the mile, and that was the crackest thing of all.
We had to beat Smedley and Branscombe, both--only Branscombe--he's
Bickers's prefect--didn't run it out last week. Smedley's time was
4.50. Ainger and Stafford ran for us; and Ranger was put on the track
with 200 yards start to force the pace.
"Stafford was out of it easily; but Ranger stuck to it like a Trojan.
The first lap he was still a hundred yards to the good, and going like
steam. Ainger ran finely, and overhauled him gradually. Still he had
about twenty yards to the good at the beginning of the last lap. Then
it was fine to see Ainger tuck in his elbows and let himself out. A
quarter of a mile from home Ranger was clean out of it, regularly
doubled up; but Ainger kept on steadily for a couple of hundred yards.
"Then, my word, he spurted right away to the finish! You never saw such
a rush up as it was! The fellows _yelled_, I can let you know. Every
one knew that it was our event the second the spurt began, and when he
got up to the tape and `4.42' was shouted out, it was a sight to see the
state we were in. It's the best mile we ever did at Grandcourt, and
even Smedley, though he was a bit riled, I fancy, at his licking, said
he couldn't have done it in the time if he'd tried.
"I send you Dig's programme, with the times all marked. You'll see we
won them all except the senior cricket-ball, half-mile, and senior
hundred. It's a rattling good score for us, I can tell you; and we
cheered Marky like one o'clock. It was an awful sell Violet couldn't
give away our prizes; but she shied at it. I suppose old Pony would
have gruffed at her. She is the most beautiful girl in the world.
"You needn't go telling the _mater_, but I was off my feed a whole day
after the sports. How soon do fellows get money enough to marry? If I
get the Swift Scholarship I shall have £20 a-year for three years--
something to start with. I wish you'd come down and give me a leg-up.
I'm afraid that cad Smedley's got his eye on her. His father's only a
doctor. We're better off than that, besides being chummy with a
baronet. Hullo! there's the bell for cubicles. Ta, ta. _Je suis tres
miserable_. Your aff. A.H."
Little dreaming of the sad blight which had come over his future young
kinsman's life, Railsford was sitting in his room that Sunday evening,
feeling rather more than usually comfortable. He had some cause to be
pleased. His house had done better than anyone expected. They had
beaten all the records but three, and, without being specially
conceited, Railsford took to himself the credit of having done a good
deal to bring about this satisfactory result.
"Curious," said he to himself, "that in all probability, if that affair
of Bickers's had not happened, we might never have risen as a house;
indeed, it's almost a mercy the culprit has never been discovered, for
we should have then been plunged back into the current, and the work of
pulling ourselves together might never have been done. It's odd that,
as time goes on, there is not even a hint or a suspicion who did it.
There's only one boy in the house I'm not sure of, and he is too great a
coward to be a ruffian. Well, well, we have the cricket season and the
exams, coming on. If only we do as well in them as we've done in the
sports, it will not be altogether against us if the mystery remains a
mystery a little longer."
Whereupon the door opened and Mr Bickers stepped in. Railsford had
completely forgotten the episode in the fields the previous day; he
scarcely recollected that Mr Bickers had been present at the sports,
and was delightfully oblivious to the fact that he, Railsford, had
either slighted or offended his colleague. He wondered what was the
occasion of the present visit, and secretly resolved to keep both his
temper and his head if he could.
"Good-evening," said he, with a friendly smile. "I'm just going to have
my coffee; won't you have a cup too, Bickers?"
Mr Bickers took no notice of this hospitable invitation, but closed the
door behind him and said, "I want a few words with you, Mr Railsford."
"Certainly? I've nothing to do-- Won't you take a seat?"
Mr Bickers took a seat, a little disconcerted by Railsford's determined
good-humour. He had not counted upon that.
"The last time I saw you you were hardly so polite," said he, with a
sneer.
"When was that? I'm very sorry if I was rude; I had no intention, I
assure you."
Railsford began to feel a little like the lamb in the fable. This wolf
had evidently come bent on a quarrel, and Railsford, lamb and all as he
was, would have liked to oblige him. But he was quick enough to see--
with the memory of more than one failure to warn him--that his only
chance with Mr Bickers was, at all costs, not to quarrel.
"You are fortunate in your short memory; it is a most convenient gift."
"It's one, at any rate, I would like to cultivate with regard to any
unpleasantness there may have been between you and me, Bickers," said
Railsford.
This was not a happy speech, and Mr Bickers accepted it with a laugh.
"Quite so; I can understand that. It happens, however, that I have come
to assist in prolonging your memory with regard to that unpleasantness.
I'm sorry to interfere with your good intentions, but it cannot be
helped this time."
"Really," said Railsford, feeling his patience considerably taxed, "all
this is very perplexing. Would you mind coming to the point at once,
Bickers?"
"Not at all. When I saw you yesterday I asked you to look at a letter I
had with me."
"Oh, yes; I remember now. I was greatly taken up with the sports, and
had no time then. I felt sure you would understand."
"I understood perfectly. I have brought the letter for you now," and he
held it out.
Railsford took it with some curiosity, for Mr Bickers's manner, besides
being offensive, was decidedly mysterious.
"Am I to read it?"
"Please."
The letter was a short one, written in an evidently disguised hand:
"Sir,--The name of the person who maltreated you lately is perfectly
well-known in Railsford's house. No one knows his name better than Mr
Railsford himself. But as the house is thriving by what has occurred,
it is to nobody's interest to let out the secret. The writer of this
knows what he is speaking about, and where to find the proofs.--A
Friend."
Railsford read this strange communication once or twice, and then
laughed.
"It's amusing, isn't it?" sneered Mr Bickers.
"It's absurd!" said Railsford.
"I thought you would say so," said Bickers, taking back the letter and
folding it up. "For all that, I should like to know the name of the
person referred to."
"You surely do not mean, Bickers, that you attach any importance to a
ridiculous joke like that?"
"I attach just the importance it deserves, Railsford."
"Then I would put it in the fire, Bickers."
Mr Bickers's face darkened. Long ere now he had calculated on reducing
the citadel of his adversary's good-humour, and now that it still held
out, he felt his own self-possession deserting him.
"Allow me to tell you, Railsford, that I believe what that letter
states!"
"Do you really? I hope when I tell you that every word of it which
relates to myself is a grotesque falsehood, you will alter your
opinion."
"Even that would not convince me," said Bickers.
Railsford stared at him blankly. He had surely misunderstood his words.
"I said," he repeated, and there was a tremor of excitement in his
voice, which afforded his enemy the keenest pleasure--"I said that every
word in that letter which refers to me is false. You surely don't
believe it after that?"
"I said," repeated Mr Bickers, with a fine sneer, "that even that would
not convince me."
Surely the longed-for explosion would come now! He saw Railsford's face
flush and his eyes flash. But before the furious retort escaped from
his lips, a wise whisper from somewhere fell between them and robbed the
wolf of his prey.
"Then," said the Master of the Shell, forcing his lips to a smile,
"there is not much to be gained by prolonging this interview, is there?"
Mr Bickers was deeply mortified. There was nothing for it now but for
him to assume the _role_ of aggressor. He would so much have preferred
to be the aggrieved.
"Yes, Railsford," said he, rising from his chair and standing over his
enemy. "I dare you to say that you neither know nor suspect the person
who assaulted me!"
Railsford felt devoutly thankful he had kept his head. He now dug his
hands into his pockets, stretched himself, and replied,--
"You may very safely do that, Bickers."
It was hard lines for poor Bickers, this. He had worked so hard to get
himself an adversary; and here was all his labour being lost!
"You're paltering," snarled he. "I dare you to say you did not do the
cowardly deed yourself!"
Railsford could not imagine how he had ever been so foolish as to be in
a rage with the fellow. He laughed outright at the last piece of
bluster. Bickers was now fairly beside himself, or he would never have
done what he did. He struck Railsford where he sat a blow on the mouth,
which brought blood to his lips. This surely was the last card, and
Railsford in after years never knew exactly how it came about that he
did not fly there and then at his enemy's throat, and shake him as a big
dog shakes a rat. It may have been he was too much astonished to do
anything of the sort; or it may have been that he, the stronger man of
the two, felt a sort of pity for the poor bully, which kept him back.
At any rate, his good genius befriended him this time, and saved him
both his dignity and his moral vantage. He put his handkerchief to his
lips for a moment, and then said quietly--
"There are two ways of leaving this room, Bickers: the door and the
window. I advise you to choose the door."
Mr Bickers was too cowed by his own act to keep up the contest, and
hating himself at that moment almost as much--but not quite--as he hated
his enemy, he slunk out of the door and departed to his own house.
Railsford sat where he was, and stared at the door by which his visitor
had left, in a state of bewildered astonishment.
The more Railsford thought the matter over, the less he liked it. For
it convinced him that there was someone desirous of doing him an injury
by means of the very master who was already predisposed to believe evil
of him. It was rather a damper after the glorious result of the sports,
and Railsford tried to laugh it off and dismiss the whole matter from
his mind.
"At least," said he to himself, "if the accusation comes in no more
likely a form than I have seen to-night, I can afford to disregard it.
But though Bickers made a fool of himself for once in a way, it does not
at all follow that he will not return to the attack, and that I may
actually have to answer to Grandcourt the charges of that precious
letter. It's too absurd, really!"