Whereupon Master Ashby, the new boy, entered on a detailed confession,
which D'Arcy, evidently an expert at mental arithmetic, "totted up" as
he went along.
"How many times pudding did you say?" he asked towards the end, "Twice
and a bit."
"Three and ten; I dare say he won't be stiff about the bit, three and
ten; and that roll and butter--"
"I've not eaten them."
"No, but you've touched them. You'll be charged, unless you can get a
fellow to take them off your hands."
"Will _you_ have them?" asked Ashby.
Whereupon there was a laugh at _D'Arcy's_ expense, which annoyed that
young gentleman.
"I don't want your second-hand grub. You'd better take it round and see
what you can get for it."
Ashby looked at the bread, and then glanced round the table.
"No," said he, "I'll have it and pay for it, if it comes to that."
"That'll be four bob."
Ashby gave a gulp of despair.
"I've not got so much."
"Then you'll get in a jolly row."
"Could you lend me one and six, I say?" asked the new boy.
Again D'Arcy got the worst of the laugh.
"Didn't you hear me say I'd only just got enough to pay for my own? But
I tell you what; you can hide under the table. You're not known."
Ashby looked round, and felt about with his foot under the table to
ascertain what room there might be there. Then he flushed up. "No, I
shan't," said he; "I'd get into the row instead."
As his eye travelled round and marked the curious smile on every face it
suddenly dawned upon him that he had been "done." His first sensation
was one of immense relief. He should not have to pay for his dinner
after all! His second was a cunning device for getting out of the
dilemma.
"I thought you'd begin to laugh soon," said he to D'Arcy. "I knew you
couldn't keep it up."
D'Arcy turned very red in the face and glared at this audacious
youngster in deserved wrath.
"What do you mean, you young ass? You know you've swallowed it all."
"He swallowed all the grub anyhow," said another.
"No, I've not," said Master Ashby. "I'd have another go-in now. I knew
he'd have to laugh in the end."
It was hopeless to deal seriously with a rebel of this sort. D'Arcy
tried to ride off on the high horse; but it was not a very grand
spectacle, and Ashby, munching up the remains of his roll, was generally
held to have scored. The relief with which he hailed the discovery of
his mistake was so genuine, and the good spirits and appetite the
incident put into him were so imperturbable, as to disarm further
experiment at his expense, and he was left comparatively free to enjoy
the noise and imbibe his first impression of Fellsgarth in his own way.
The other new boy, meanwhile, was not altogether without his
difficulties.
Fisher minor, to which name this ingenuous young gentleman answered,
would probably have been the first to pour contempt on the verdure of
his companion. He had come up to Fellsgarth determined that, in
whatever respect he failed, no one should lightly convict him of being
green. He had wormed out of his brother in the Sixth a few hints of
what was considered the proper thing at Fellsgarth, and these, with the
aid of his own brilliant intellect and reminiscences of what he had read
in the books, served, as he hoped, both to forewarn and forearm him
against all the uncomfortable predicaments into which the ordinary new
boy is apt to fall.
It must be confessed that as he sat and listened to the noise, and
marked how little Fellsgarth appeared to recognise his existence, he
felt a trifle uneasy and nervous. He wasn't sure now that he knew
everything. All these fellows seemed to be so thoroughly at home, and
to know so exactly what to do; he wished he could do the same.
He wished, for instance, he could spin a fork round with his first
finger and thumb while he talked, as Yorke, the captain, was doing. He
did once privately try, while he was not talking, but it was a dismal
failure. The fork fell with a great clatter to the floor and attracted
general attraction his way. He picked the weapon up with as easy an air
as he could assume, whistling _sotto voce_ to himself as he did it, so
as to appear unconcerned.
"Look out, I say; you mustn't whistle at meal-times, it's bad manners,"
said a voice at his side.
He turned round and perceived a pleasant-looking youth of the species
junior, in a red tie and wrist studs to match.
This youth evidently knew what was what at Fellsgarth; and a further
glance at him convinced Fisher minor that he had met him in a good hour.
For all dinner-time he had been exercised as to whether it was the
thing to wear the jacket opened or buttoned. Yorke wore his buttoned,
so did a good many of the Sixth; and Fisher minor had consequently
buttoned up too. But his new friend, who was pronounced in all his ways
and evidently an authority on etiquette, wore his open. Fisher minor
therefore furtively slipped his fingers down and opened his coat.
"You're a new kid, I suppose," said he of the red necktie.
"Yes, I'm Fisher minor."
"What, son of Fisher the boat-builder? I didn't know he had one so
old."
"No, oh no. That's my brother up there, talking to the Dux."
"The who? I don't see any ducks."
"I mean Yorke, you know, the captain."
"Why ever do you call him ducks? You'd better let him catch you calling
him names like that. Oh, you're a brother of old Fisher? You look it."
Fisher minor was alarmed at the tone in which this observation was made.
It seemed to imply that Fisher major was not quite all that could be
desired, and yet the younger brother did not exactly know what it was in
the elder which called for repudiation. However, he was spared the pain
of deciding by a new voice on his other side.
"What's that, Wally? Does this kid say he belongs to Fisher? Oh, my
stars, what form we're coming to!"
Fisher minor glanced round, and experienced a shock as he did so.
For the new speaker was so like the last that he was tempted to suppose
the latter had suddenly changed seats and contrived to substitute a blue
necktie for a red, and button his jacket during the feat. But when he
looked back, the owner of the red tie was still in his place. After
considerable wagging of his head, he was forced to admit that he was
seated between two different persons.
"Why, he can't help that," said the gentleman addressed as Wally.
Fisher minor laughed feebly, and really wished his brother would pay a
little more attention to the "form."
"Of course," said Wally, talking across to his twin brother, "fellows
can't tell what asses they look until they're told. Don't you remember
the chap last term who always wore his trousers turned up, till the
prefects made him turn them down or go on the Modern side."
"Catch us taking any of your cast-off louts on our side," retorted the
other brother, who evidently belonged to the slighted side; "yes--
shocking bad form it was--and when he turned them down at last, they
found seventy-four nibs, fifty matches, and nobody knows how many
candle-ends."
All this time Fisher minor, with panic at his heart, was furiously
trying to turn down his trouser-ends with his feet. What a lucky escape
for him to get this warning in time! During the walk round the grounds
he had turned his ends up, and had quite forgotten to put them down
again when he came in. Now, no coaxing would get them down without
manual assistance. He sat clawing with one foot after another,
lacerating his shins and his garments in vain. At length in despair he
dropped his fork again, and under cover of this diversion attempted to
stoop and adjust the intractable folds.
In his flurry he naturally forgot the fork; so that when, after a minute
and a half, he emerged without it into the upper world, his two
companions were not a little perplexed.
"What have you been up to down there? Do you generally eat your grub
under the table?" asked Wally. "All I can say is, it's the best place
for him if he wears his hair like that," said the other in tones of
alarm. "Young kid, I never noticed that before! Whatever induces you
to part it on the right? Did you ever hear of a Fellsgarth fellow-- Oh,
I say, what a wigging you'll get! Look at me and Wally and Yorke and
all of 'em. Whew! it makes one ill to see it! Just look round for
yourself."
As more than half of those present appeared to have no parting at all,
and most of the rest parted on the left, Fisher minor realised with
horror that he had been guilty of a terrible solecism.
The alarm depicted in the faces of both the twins was proof enough that
the matter was a critical one. It was no time for shuffling. He had
had enough of that over his trouser-ends. He must throw himself on the
mercy of his critics.
"I quite forgot--of course," said he hurriedly; "I--I--"
"Look here," said Wally, hurriedly shoving a pocket-comb into his hands;
"you'd better go downstairs again and change it sharp, or you'll be
spotted. Cut along."
So Fisher minor began with shame to look once more for his fork, and in
doing so crawled well under the table, and sitting down proceeded
nervously and painfully to open up a parting on the left side of his
head. It was an arduous task, and not made easier by the unjustifiable
conduct of the twins, who having got their man safe under hatches began
to kick out in an unceremonious fashion and basely betray his retreat to
their friends and neighbours.
"Pass him on!"
"Hack it through!"
"Ware cats!" was the cry, in the midst of which the luckless Fisher
minor, finding a return to his old place effectually barred, and
wearying of the ceremony of running a gauntlet of all the legs along the
table before it was half over, made a hasty selection of what seemed to
him the mildest pair within reach, and clutching at them convulsively,
hung on for dear life.
The owner of the limbs in question was Ranger, a prefect of his house
and more or less of a grandee at Fellsgarth. As he was unaware of the
cause of the excitement around him, this sudden assault from below took
him aback, and he started up from his chair in something as near a panic
as a Fellsgarth prefect could be capable of. Naturally his parasite
followed him.
To Ranger's credit, he took in the situation rapidly, and did not abuse
his opportunities.
"What's this?" he demanded, lifting up Fisher minor, with his hair all
on end and the pocket-comb still in his hand, by the coat-collar. "Who
does this belong to?"
No one in particular owned the object in question.
"What are you?" asked the prefect.
"I'm Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow."
"So I should suppose. Afraid of the draughts, I suppose."
"It was Wally and his brother put me there. I didn't mean--"
"Oh--Wally, was it? Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn't leave your
property about like this. It's against rules. Here, hook on, and don't
go chucking it about any more."
"All serene," said the twin. "Come along, kid. Done with my comb? You
look ever so much better form now; doesn't he, you chaps? How came you
to lose your way downstairs?"
Fisher minor owned himself utterly unable to account for the
misadventure, and discreetly remained silent until the signal was given
to return thanks and separate every boy to his own house.
As he was wandering across the court, very dismal and apprehensive of
what more was in store for him, a lean youth with a pale face and very
showily attired accosted him.
"Hullo, kid, are you a new chap?"
"Yes," replied Fisher minor, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.
"What side are you on?"
Fisher stared interrogatively.
"Well, then, are you Modern or Classic?"
"I don't know, really," said Fisher minor, wishing he knew which he
ought to proclaim himself. Then making a bold venture, he said, "I
believe Modern."
"Good job for you," said the youth; "saves me the trouble of kicking
you. Can you lend me a bob? I'll give it you back to-morrow as soon as
I've unpacked."
It did strike Fisher minor as queer that any one should pack shillings
up in a trunk, but he was too pleased to oblige this important and
fashionable-looking personage to raise any question.
"Yes. Can you give me change out of a half-crown? Or you can pay me
the lot back to-morrow, I shan't be wanting it till then," said he.
"All serene, kid; I'm glad you are our side. I shall be able to give
you a leg-up with the fellows. Whose house are you in?"
"Wakefield's, the same as my brother."
"What--then you must be a Classic! They're all Classics at Wakefield's.
Why can't you tell the truth when you're asked, instead of a howling
pack of lies?"
"I didn't know, really, I thought--"
"Come, that's a good one. Any idiot knows what side he's on at
Fellsgarth."
Fisher minor was greatly confused to stand convicted thus of greenness.
"You see," said he, putting on a little "side" to cover his shame, "I
was bound to be stuck on the same side as my brother, you know."
"Nice for you. Not a gentleman among them. All paupers and prigs,"
said this young Modern, waxing eloquent. "You'll suit them down to the
ground." Considering that Fisher minor had just lent the speaker half a
crown, these taunts struck him as not exactly grateful. At the same
time he writhed under the reproach, and felt convinced that Classics
were not at all the "form" at Fellsgarth.
"Why," pursued the other, pocketing his coin in order to release his
hands for a little elocution, "we could boy 'em up twice over. The
workhouse isn't in it with Wakefield's. There's not a day but they come
cadging to us, wanting to borrow our tin, or our grub, or something.
There, look at that chap going across there! He's one of 'em. Regular
casual-ward form about him. He's the meanest, stingiest lout in all
Fellsgarth."
"Why," exclaimed Fisher minor, looking in alarm towards this prodigy of
baseness, "why, that's--that's Fisher, my brother!"
The Modern youth's jaw fell with a snap, and his cheeks lost what little
colour they had.
"What? Why didn't you tell me! Look here, you needn't tell him what I
said. It was quite between ourselves, you know. I must be cutting, I
say. See you again some day."
And he vanished, leaving Fisher minor considerably more bewildered, and
poorer by a cool half-crown, than he had been five minutes ago.