Felgate, as we have said, had almost forgotten the existence of the
sweep or the fact that he had given his name to the venture. When
therefore Railsford unexpectedly walked into his study, he did not in
any way connect the visit with that trivial incident. He conjured up in
his mind any possible motive the master could have for this interview.
He could only think of one, and perceiving a paper in Railsford's hands,
concluded that he had discovered the authorship of a certain anonymous
letter addressed to Mr Bickers, and had looked in for a little
explanation.
Felgate was quite prepared to gratify him, and promised himself a
cheerful quarter of an hour over so congenial an occupation. He was, in
consequence, considerably mortified when the real object of the visit
unfolded itself.
"Felgate," said Railsford, "I have come to you on very unpleasant
business. This is not the first time I have had to caution you that
your example in the house is neither worthy of a prefect nor a senior
boy."
"Thank you, sir," said Felgate, with ostentatious indifference. He had
better have remained silent, for Railsford dismissed whatever of
mildness he had come armed with, and stood on his dignity.
"Don't be impertinent, Felgate; it will do you no good. I want to know
how it comes that your name appears here at the head of a list of
entries for a sweepstake on a horse race, when you as a prefect know
that gambling in any shape or form is strictly prohibited here?"
Felgate, taken back by this unexpected indictment, looked at the paper
and laughed.
"I really don't know how my name comes there. I can't be supposed to
know why anybody who likes should write my name down on a piece of
paper."
"You mean to say that you never entered your name?" asked Railsford,
beginning to feel a sense of relief.
"Certainly not."
"You were asked to do so? What did you reply?"
"I haven't a notion. I probably said, don't bother me--or do anything
you like, or something of that sort."
"Did you point out that it was against the rules?"
"No. Is it against the rules? There doesn't seem any harm in it, if
fellows choose to do it. Besides, it wasn't for money."
"Did you give six stamps?"
"Stamps? I fancy someone came to borrow some stamps of me a week or so
ago. I forget who it was."
"Felgate," said the master with a tone of scorn which made the prefect
wince, "it is hardly worth your while to tell lies when you can satisfy
me of your guilt quite as easily by telling the truth. I won't ask you
more questions, for I have no wish to give you more opportunities of
falsehood. Here are your six stamps. Go to Doctor Ponsford to-morrow
at 8 p.m."
Felgate looked blank at this announcement.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Go to the doctor? Are you going to tell him
about a trifle like this?"
"It is no trifle for a prefect deliberately to break the school rules
and encourage others to do so. I have said the same thing to you
before."
"Look here, Mr Railsford," said Felgate, with a curious mixture of
cringing and menace. "It's not fair to send me to the doctor about a
thing like this. I know you have a spite against me; but you can take
it out of me without bringing him into it. I fancy if you knew all I
know, you'd think twice before you did it."
Railsford looked at him curiously.
"You surely forget, Felgate, that you are not speaking to a boy in the
Shell."
"No, I don't. I know you're a master, and head of a house, and a man
who ought to be everything that's right and good--"
"Come, come," interrupted Railsford, "we have had enough of this. You
are excited and forget yourself to talk in this foolish way."
And he quitted the study.
What, he wondered, could be the meaning of all this wild outbreak on the
part of the detected prefect? What did he mean by that "If you knew all
I know"? It sounded like one of those vague menaces with which Arthur
had been wont to garnish his utterances last term. What did Felgate
know, beyond the secret of his own wrong-doings, which could possibly
affect the Master of the Shell?
It flashed across Railsford suddenly--suggested perhaps by the
connection of two ideas--that Arthur himself might be in some peril or
difficulty. It was long since the master had attempted to control the
secret of his prospective relationship with the vivacious young Shell-
fish. Everybody knew about it as soon as ever he set foot in
Grandcourt, and Daisy's name was common property all over the house.
Arthur had contrived to reap no small advantage from the connection.
The prefects had pretty much left him alone, and, as a relative of the
master, he had been tacitly winked at in many of his escapades, with a
leniency which another boy could not have hoped for.
What if now Arthur should lie under the shadow of some peril which, if
it fell, must envelop him and his brother-in-law both? If, for
instance, he had committed some capital offence, which if brought to
light should throw on him (Railsford) the terrible duty of nipping in
the bud the school career of Daisy's own brother? It seemed the only
solution to Felgate's mysterious threat, and it made him profoundly
uncomfortable.
He felt he had not done all the might for the boy. He had been so
scrupulously careful not to give any pretext for a charge of
favouritism, that he had even neglected him at times. Now and then he
had had a chat; but Arthur had such a painful way of getting into
awkward topics that such conferences were usually short and formal. He
had occasionally given an oversight to the boy's work; but Arthur so
greatly preferred to "mug," as he called it, in his own study, that
opportunities for serious private coaching had been quite rare.
Recently, too, a difference had sprung up between Arthur and Marky about
the Smileys; and Railsford felt that he had not done all he might to
smooth over that bitter memory and recover the loyalty and affection of
the bereaved dog-fancier. It may have been some or all of these notions
which prompted the master to invite his young kinsman to accompany him
on the following day--being the mid-term holiday--on an expedition into
the country.
The occasion had been chosen by the Grandcourt Naturalists' Field Club
for their yearly picnic. This club was a very select, and, by repute,
dry institution, consisting partly of scientific boys and partly of
masters. Its supposed object was to explore the surrounding country for
geological, botanical, and historical specimens, which were, when found,
deposited in a museum which nobody in the school on any pretext ever
visited.
Every member had the privilege of introducing a friend, but no one took
advantage of the invitation, except once a year, on the occasion of the
annual picnic, when there was always a great rush, and a severe
competition to be numbered among the happy participants of the club's
hospitality.
It was long since Arthur had given up all idea of joining these happy
parties. Great therefore was his astonishment and delight when on the
evening before the term holiday Railsford put his head into the study
and said--
"Arthur, would you like to come to-morrow to the Field Club picnic at
Wellham Abbey?"
"Rather," said Arthur.
"Very well; be ready at ten. I've ordered a tandem tricycle."
Arthur was in ecstasy. If there was one kind of spree he liked it was a
picnic at an abbey; and if there was one sort of conveyance he doated on
it was a tricycle. He wiped off every score on his mental slate against
Marky, and voted him the greatest brick going, and worthy to be backed
up to the very end--especially if they had oysters at the picnic!
"Wish _you_ could come, old man," said he to Dig, who was groaning over
his 100 lines of Livy.
"I wouldn't go with him if he asked me, the cad!" growled Dig.
"No, he's not a cad. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have seen
one of your stamps back; and you might have been expelled straight away
into the bargain. Tell you what, Dig, you've been scouting for Stafford
all the last week; he ought to do something for you. Why don't you ask
him to take you? He'll do it, like a shot. He's always civil to us."
Dig thought it over.
"If he says Yes, will you help me polish off my lines?"
"All right. I say, go soon, or somebody else may have asked him."
Dig went, and to his satisfaction was informed that Stafford would take
him, if he promised to be steady. Which of course he did promise. So
between them the two chums polished off the Livy--never was the great
historian made such mincemeat of before or after--and then gave
themselves over to delightful anticipations of the Field Club picnic.
One misgiving disturbed Arthur's peace of mind. Railsford might make a
base use of his opportunity as partner on the tricycle to corner him
about his misdeeds and generally to "jaw" him. Besides, as Dig was
going too, it would be ever so much jollier if Dig and he could go to
Wellham together and let the masters go by themselves.
"We must work it somehow, Dig," said Arthur. "If we go we must have a
high old time--and not be let in for a lot of rot about old bones and
fossils and that sort of thing."
"Rather not," said Dig, "though I wouldn't mind if we could get hold of
a skull. It would look prime on the mantelpiece."
"Gammer, who went last year, says it was an awful go-to-meeting turn-
out. Top-hats, and service at the abbey, and scarcely a bit of grub;
but I hear the spread's to be rather good this year, down by the river's
edge."
"Hooroo!" said Dig, "I guess you and I will be about when they call over
for that part of the spree."
The morning was dull and cloudy, and Dig and Arthur as they stood on the
hall steps and looked up at the sky, debated with themselves whether the
day would hold up long enough to allow of the picnic at the water's
edge. To their relief, the other excursionists who gradually assembled
took a hopeful view of the weather and predicted that it would be a fine
afternoon, whatever the morning might be.
As they were Naturalist Field Club people, our boys supposed they knew
what they were saying, and dismissed their qualms in consequence.
Wellham Abbey was ten miles off. Most of the party proposed to reach it
on foot. Mr Roe was driving with the doctor and his niece, and one or
two others, like Railsford, preferred to travel on wheels.
Dig was standing somewhat lugubriously beside Arthur, inspecting the
tandem, and wondering how he was to get to Wellham, when Mr Grover came
up and said to Railsford--
"How are you going, Railsford? Not in that concern, are you? Come and
walk with me, I've not had a chat with you for ages."
Arthur felt a violent dig in his ribs from the delighted baronet. There
was a chance for the "high old time" yet.
"Well, the fact is, I'd promised one of my boys to give him the ride,"
said the Master of the Shell.
"Oh, please don't mind me," said Arthur. "Oakshott and I can bring the
machine for you to Wellham, if you'd sooner walk."
"Is Oakshott going?"
"Yes, sir. Stafford's asked him, hasn't he, Dig?"
"Yes, sir. I've scouted for Stafford at cricket this term, so he's
asked me to-day; and I've done my lines, sir."
"Oh, very well," said Railsford, to whom the temptation of a walk with
Grover was even greater than that of a _tete-a-tete_ ride with Arthur
Herapath; "but can you manage it?"
"Manage it?" exclaimed they, in tones as if they could scarcely believe
they heard aright, "rather, sir."
"Well," said the master, tickled with the evident delight of the pair to
be together, "take care how you go. You had better take the Grassen
Road, so as to avoid the hill. Come along, Grover."
So these two artful young "naturalists" had it their own way after all.
"Come on, sharp," said Arthur, "and get out of the ruck."
"Jolly good joke telling us not to go by Maiden Hill," said Digby;
"that'll be the best part of the lark."
Luckily a tandem tricycle of the type provided for them is not a machine
which requires any very specially delicate riding. Had it been, Arthur
and Dig might have been some time getting out of the "ruck," as they
politely termed the group of their pedestrian fellow-naturalists. For
they were neither of them adepts; besides which, the tricycle being
intended for a pair of full-grown men, they had some difficulty in
keeping their saddles and working their treadles at one and the same
time. They had to part company with the latter when they went down, and
catch them flying as they came up; and the result was not always elegant
or swift. However, they managed to pass muster in some sort, as they
started off under the eye of their master, and as speedily as possible
dodged their vehicle up a side lane, where, free from embarrassing
publicity, they were at leisure to adapt their progress to their own
convenience.
It wasn't quite as much fun as they had expected. The machine was a
heavy one, and laboured a good deal in its going. The treadles, as I
have said, were very long; the brake did not always act, and the
steering apparatus was stiff. Even the bell, in whose music they had
promised themselves some solace, was out of tune; and the road was very
like a ploughed field. The gaiety of the boys toned down into sobriety,
and the sobriety into silence, and their silence into the ill-humour
begotten of perspiration, dust, fatigue, and disappointment. Their high
old time was not coming off!
At length, by mutual consent, they got off and began viciously to shove
the machine up the hill.
"They'll all be there already," said Arthur, looking at his watch.
"We've been two hours."
"I wish I'd walked with them," said Dig.
"Pity you didn't," growled Arthur, "you aren't very lively company."
"Anyhow, I've done my share of the fag. You and Marky may bring the
beast home."
This altercation might have proceeded to painful lengths, had not a
diversion occurred in their arrival at the crest of the hill.
Any ordinary traveller would have stood and admired the beautiful view--
the finest, it was said, in the county. But Arthur and Dig were in no
humour for artistic raptures. The sight of the abbey towers peeping cut
in the valley among the trees, and of the silver river which curled past
it, suggested to them no thoughts of historic grandeur--no meditations
on the pathetic beauty of ruin. It made them smell oysters and hear the
popping of lemonade corks, and reminded them they had still two long
miles to go before lunch.
"Get on, sharp," said Arthur, climbing into his saddle, "it won't take
us long to go down the hill."
It didn't! They did the distance, a mile and a half, in about three
minutes. The brake came to grief the moment they started, and they had
nothing for it but to hold on and let her fly. As to attempting to
control the speed with their feet, they were thankful enough to get
those members up on the rest out of reach of the treadles, which plunged
up and down like the pistons of a steam-engine. Luckily there was
nothing on the road; luckily, too, the ruts which had broken the ground
on the other side were for the most part absent on this. Once or twice
the machine lurched ominously, and they thought all was up, and once or
twice a stone or obstacle ahead promised to terminate finally their
headlong career. But the gallant tandem cleared them all, and her
passengers clutched on to their handles like grim death; and between
them they did the distance in some seconds under the record, and ran a
clean half-mile on the level at the foot of the hill before they could
bring one of the most famous runs of the season to a standstill. Thanks
to this rapid performance they were only about a quarter of an hour
after the pedestrians at the abbey.
"Well, here you are," said Railsford; "you came by Grassen, I suppose?
Rather rough riding, wasn't it?"
"We came by Maiden Hill after all," said Arthur. "It _was_ rather
rough."
"Did you walk down, then?"
"No, we rode it. We came down in pretty good time. There's something
the matter with the brake, so we had to let her go."
Possibly Railsford had a better notion of the narrow escape of the two
hare-brained young guests of the club than they had themselves. They
forgot all about it the moment they saw a hamper being carried in the
direction of the river and heard Mr Roe announce that they might as
well have lunch now, and explore the abbey afterwards.
"Hear, hear," whispered Dig to his friend. "Eh?"
"Rather," said Arthur.
And they were invaluable in spreading the repast and hastening the
moment when Mr Roe at last announced that they were all ready to begin.
It was rather an imposing company. The doctor was there, and his niece,
and Messrs. Roe, Grover, Railsford, and one or two other masters.
Smedley also was present, very attentive to Miss Violet; and Clipstone
was there, as well as our friends Ainger, Barnworth, and Stafford. And
all the learned luminaries of the Fifth were there, too, and one or two
scientists from the Fourth. Arthur and Dig had rarely been in such good
company, and had certainly never before realised how naturalists can
eat. It was a splendid spread, and the two chums, snugly entrenched
behind a rampart of hampers, drowned their sorrows and laid their dust
in lemonade, and recruited their minds and bodies with oysters and cold
beef, and rolls and jam tarts, till the profession of a naturalist
seemed to them to be one of the most glorious in all this glorious
world.
"Now," said Mr Roe, who was president of the club and host, "let us go
and see the abbey. I have put together a few notes on its history and
architecture, which I thought might be useful. Let us go first to the
Saxon crypt, which is unquestionably the oldest portion of the
structure."
"Oh, lag all that," said Dig to his friend. "Are you going to hear all
that rot?"
"Not if I know it," replied Arthur. "We'd better lie low, and help wash
up the plates, and when they're gone we can go for a spin up the big
window."
So, when Mr Roe, having collected his little audience round him, began
to descant with glowing countenance on the preciousness of some
fragments of a reputed Druidical font lately dug up in the crypt, two
naturalists, who should have been hanging on his lips, were busy
polishing up the plates and the remnants of the repast, at the water's
edge, and watching their chance for a "spin" up the ruined arch of the
great window. That window in its day must have been one of the finest
abbey windows in England. It still stood erect, covered with ivy, while
all around it walls, towers, and roof had crumbled into dust. Some of
the slender stone framework still dropped gracefully from the Gothic
arch, and at the apex of all there still adhered a foot or two of the
sturdy masonry of the old belfry.
No boy could look up to that lofty platform, standing out clear against
the grey sky, without feeling his feet tingle. Certainly Arthur and Dig
were not proof against its fascination.
The first part of the climb, up the tumbled walls and along the ivy-
covered buttresses, was easy enough. The few sparrows and swallows
bustling out from the ivy at their approach had often been similarly
disturbed before. But when they reached the point where the great arch,
freeing itself, as it were, of its old supports, sprung in one clear
sweep skyward, their difficulties began. The treacherous stones more
than once crumbled under their feet, and had it not been for the
sustaining ivy, they would have come down with a run too.
"You see," said Mr Roe to his admiring audience below, "the work of
dissolution is still rapidly going on. These stones have fallen from
the great arch since we came here."
"Regular jerry-builders they must have had in those days," growled Dig,
scrambling up the last few yards; "did you ever see such rotten walls?"
Arthur confessed he hadn't; but having gained the top, he forgave the
builders. Rarely had Dig and he been so pleased with themselves and one
another. It was a genuine feat of climbing, of which very few could
boast; and peril and achievement bind friends together as no mortar ever
binds bricks.
"That window," said Mr Roe, looking up from below, "is considered
inaccessible. It is said to be haunted; but the truth is, I believe,
that it is infested by owls."
Here a faint "boo-hoo!" from above bore sudden and striking testimony to
the truth of the master's observations.
"Hullo!" said Arthur, peering over, "they're going. Look sharp down,
Dig, or we'll be left."
Dig obeyed. It was much more difficult getting down than getting up.
Still, by dint of clinging tight hold of the ivy and feeling every step,
he managed to descend the perilous arch and get on to the comparatively
safe footing of the buttress.
"You cut on," shouted Arthur from above, "I'll be down in a second.
Don't wait--I have found an owl's nest up here; and I'm going to collar
a young 'un for each of us. Don't tell them. If Railsford asks where I
am, tell him I'm walking home. You can go with him on the tandem. I'll
be home as soon as you."
At the same moment a shout from below of "Herapath!" "Oakshott!" still
further hastened Dig's descent to _terra firma_.
"Come on," said Railsford, who was already seated on the tricycle, "it's
coming on to rain. Where's Herapath?"
"Oh, he's walking home. He told me to tell you so. We've been
scrambling about. Can I come in the tandem?"
"If he's not coming you can. Has he gone on, then?"
"No--he was just getting a--a specimen," said Dig, hopping up on the
saddle, and resolving that Marky should do all the work. "He says he'd
sooner walk."
"Dear me! here comes the rain," said Railsford, turning up his collar,
"we'd better go on. He'll get wet, whichever way he comes home."
So they departed--as also did Mr Roe and the doctor and all the others.
"There's an owl again," said Mr Roe, looking back at the big window.
He was wrong. The shout he heard was from Arthur; not this time in
sport, but in grim earnest. For, having abandoned the idea of capturing
the owls, he had started to descend the arch. He had safely
accomplished half the distance when a ledge of mortar gave way under him
and left him hanging by his arms to the ivy. He felt in vain with his
feet for some support, but could find none. Dig's previous descent had
knocked away most of the little ledges by which they had come up.
Finally, by a desperate effort, he pulled himself up a few inches by the
ivy and managed to get a footing again. But there he stuck. He could
not go down further; and to go up would bring him no nearer Grandcourt
than he was at present. So it was Arthur shouted; and everyone thought
him an owl, and left him there in the rain to spend a pleasant evening
on the top of the great window of Wellham Abbey.