It must not be supposed that in the midst of the excitement of School
politics the intellectual side of the Fellsgarth juniors, life was being
quite neglected.
On the contrary, they complained that so far from being neglected it was
rather overdone.
The Classic juniors, for instance, suffered many things at the hands of
the cheerful Mr Stratton, who really worked hard to instil into their
opening minds some rudiments of those studies from which their side took
its name. He took pains to explain not only when a thing was wrong, but
why; and, unlike some of his calling, he devoted his chief attention to
his most backward boys. This was his great offence in the eyes of
D'Arcy and Wally and some of their fraternity, because under the
arrangement they came in for the special attention alluded to.
"That kid," said Wally, one day, _sotto voce_, as class was proceeding,
"has no more idea of teaching than my hat. We don't get a chance to
_do_ things ourselves, with him always messing about and looking over.
It's rude to look over. I mean to mark my exercise _private_ in
future."
"The thing is," said D'Arcy, "if he'd anything original to say it
wouldn't matter so. But he's always talking the same old rot about
roots. What's the use of a root, I should like to know, if you can't
bury it? Eh, kid?"
Fisher minor, to whom the question was addressed, did not know, and
remarked that they didn't teach Latin here the same way as when he
learned from a governess at home.
He regretted this admission almost as soon as he had made it. For Wally
and D'Arcy immediately got paper and began to draw fancy portraits of
Fisher minor learning Latin under the old _regime_. The point of these
illustrations was not so much in the figures as in the conversation.
The figures were more or less unlike the originals; at least, Fisher
minor declared that the three isosceles triangles piled by Wally one on
the top of the other were not a bit like his governess; while the plum-
pudding on two sticks, with a little pudding above for a head which
emitted four huge tears, the size of an orange, from either eye, he
regarded as a simple libel on himself. In one sense the likenesses were
speaking--that is, a gibbous balloon proceeded from the mouth of each
figure, wherein the following dialogue was indicated.
"_Governess_.--`Naughty little Tommy-wommy, didn't know his Latin.
Tommy must have a smack when he goes bye-bye.' _Tommy_.--`Booh, hoo,
how bow, yow, wow, oh my! I'll tell my ma!'"
"Bring up that paper, Wheatfield," said Mr Stratton.
Wally made a wild grab at Ashby's exercise, and was proceeding to take
it up when the master stopped him.
"Not that; the other, Wheatfield. Bring it immediately."
Whereupon Wally with shame had to rejoice Ashby's heart by restoring his
_exercise_, and take up in its place the fancy portrait.
Mr Stratton gazed attentively and critically at this work of art.
"Not at all well done, Wheatfield," said he. "Sit down at my table here
and draw me thirty copies of it before you leave this room. Next boy,
go on."
Wally confessed, in later life, that of all the impositions he had had
in the course of his chequered career, none had been more abominable and
wearisome than this. Oh, how he got to detest that governess and her
ward, and how sickening their talk became before the task was half over!
He sat in that room nearly three hours by the clock, groaning over this
task, and when at last he went in search of Mr Stratton with the
original and thirty copies in his hand, he felt as limp and flabby,
bodily and mentally, as he had ever done in his life.
Mr Stratton, who was having tea in his own room, examined each picture
in turn, and rejected two as not fair copies of the original.
"Do these two again--here," said he.
Wally meekly obeyed. He had not a kick left in him.
"That's better," said the young master when they were done. "Now sit
down and have some tea."
It was a solemn meal. Mr Stratton went quietly on with his meal,
looking up now and then to see that his guest was supplied with bread
and butter and cake and biscuits. Wally was equally silent. He felt
sore against the master, but he liked his cake--and the tea was "tip-
top."
The ceremony came to an end about the same time as the cake, and then
Mr Stratton said, pointing to the papers--
"You can put them in the fire now, Wheatfield."
Wally obeyed with grim satisfaction.
"Thanks. You can go now. You must come another day and bring your
friends. Good-bye," and he shook hands.
"I wonder if the chap's all there," said Wally to himself as he limped
over to his quarters. "He forgot to jaw me. Wonder if I ought to have
reminded him? Wonder who he gets his cake from? I wouldn't care for
many more impots like that. It was pretty civil of him asking me to
tea, when you come to think of it. Not sure I sha'n't back him up a bit
this half, and make the chaps do so too. Wonder if he meant all four of
us to come to tea? One cake wouldn't go round. Besides, there's no
saying how that young cad Fisher minor would behave."
This little episode was not without its effect on all the occupants of
Wally's study. For that young gentleman had not the slightest intention
of turning over a new leaf by himself. No, bother it; if he was going
to "back up" Stratton, the other fellows would have to back up too.
His one grief was that the stock of impositions stored up by the
industry of the two new boys would not be likely to be wanted now, which
would be wicked waste. D'Arcy had already occasionally drawn on them,
and one day nearly spoiled the whole arrangement by taking up to Mr
Wakefield fifty lines of Virgil precisely five minutes after they had
been awarded. Fortunately, however, his hands were exceedingly grimy at
the time, so that Mr Wakefield sent him back for ablutions before he
would communicate with him. And in the interval he fortunately
discovered his error, and instead of taking up the imposition with his
clean hands, he delighted the master with a knotty inquiry as to one of
the active tenses of the Latin verb "To be."
However, there was no saying when the impositions might not come in
useful, and meanwhile Ashby and Fisher minor were taken off the job and
ordered to sit up hard with their work for Stratton.
"You know," said Wally, propounding his scheme of moral reform in a
little preliminary speech, "you kids are not sent up here to waste your
time. No more's D'Arcy."
"How do you know what I was sent up here for?" said D'Arcy. "It wasn't
to hear your jaw."
"Shut up. I've just been having tea with Stratton, and we were talking
about you chaps, him and I--I mean he and _me_."
"You didn't get on to English grammar, did you, while you were about
it?" asked Ashby.
"No. Look here, you chaps, no larks. It would be rather a spree if we
put our back into it this term, wouldn't it?--beastly sell, you know,
for the others; and rather civil to Stratton too, for asking us to tea."
This last argument was more impressive than the first; and the company
said they supposed they might.
"All right--of course we may have to shut off a lark or two, but unless
we stick-- Hullo, I say, look at those Modern chaps down there punting a
football on our side of the path! Cheek! Why, it's Cash and my young
brother. I say, let's go and drive them off, you fellows."
So the four descended, and a brisk scrimmage ensued, which resulted in
the complete rout of the invaders and the capture of their football.
With which tremendous prize the victorious army returned to quarters and
continued their discussion on moral reform.
"Yes, as I was saying, we shall have to stick to it a bit. But young
Stratton'll make it worth our while, I fancy."
This hidden allusion to the tea and cake completed the speaker's
argument, and the party forthwith sat down with one ink-pot among them
for preparation.
As it happened, the preparation for the day was an English Essay on
"Your favourite Animal," with special attention to the spelling and the
stops.
It was always a sore point with the Classic juniors to be set an English
lesson. They could understand being taught Latin, but they considered
they ought to be exempt from writing and spelling their own language.
It wasn't Classics, and they didn't like it, and they oughtn't to be let
in for it. However, it was no use growling; and as the subject (apart
from the spelling and points) was a congenial one, it seemed a fair
opening for the commencement of their reformed career.
"Look here," said Wally, "don't let's all have the same beast. I'm
going to have a dog."
"Oh, I wanted a dog," said Fisher minor.
"Can't; he's bagged. Have a cat?"
"No, I don't like cats--can't I write about a dog too?"
"That would be rot. Haven't you got the whole of Noah's Ark to pick
from--lions, tigers, ants, hippopotamuses, cobra de capellos?"
"How much?" asked D'Arcy. "Are they good to eat?"
"Uncommon good. Will you take cobra de capellos?"
"Ah right," said D'Arcy; "I don't mind."
"I shall take pigs," said Ashby.
"There you are," said Wally; "there's lots left. You have cows, kid--"
"No--if you won't let me have the dog--"
"Dog in the Wheatfield. Joke!--laugh, you chaps," interjected D'Arcy.
"I shall have rabbits," said Fisher minor.
"Good old rabbits! Did you ever keep any? What were their names?" said
Wally.
"Don't you know?" said Ashby, solemnly. "One was called `How' and the
other `Now,' weren't they, Fisher minor?"
Whereupon there was mirth at the expense of Fisher minor.
Silence having been procured, D'Arcy began to write.
"`Cobbrer de Capillars is my favrite--' What is it? Bird, beast, or
fish, Wally?"
"Shut up; bird, of course."
"`Bird,'" continued the essayist. "`It was in Nore's arck and is good
eating'--that's all I know about it. Tell us something more, Wally,
there's a good chap."
"Oh, bother. Don't go disturbing, it spoils everything."
"`The cobberer oart not to be disterbd for it spoyls everything--it
spoyls your close and--' wire in, Wally, what else does it do? You
might tell a chap."
"What I'll do to you, you cad, and that's pull your nose if you don't
shut up!" retorted Wally, who was busy over his own theme.
"`--and puis yore knows if yore a cad, and don't shut up.' There,
bother it, that ought to do--twelve lines. Good enough for him."
"Stuck in the stops?" asked Ashby.
"No; by the way--glad you reminded me--I suppose about every four words,
eh?"
"Something about that," said Ashby.
So D'Arcy sprinkled a few stops judiciously through his copy, and having
done so began to upbraid his partners for their slowness.
Some time was lost in suppressing him, but he was eventually disposed of
under the bath, which was turned upside down to accommodate him and sat
upon by the other three, who were thus able to continue their work in
peace.
Ashby was done first. He had a congenial subject and wrote _con amore_.
"I shall now say something about the pig which is my favourite annimal--
The pig is a quadruped--Sometimes he is male in which case he is called
a hog. Sometimes he is female in which case he is called a sow. Pigs
were rings in their noses and are fond of apple-peal. Their young are
called litter and are very untidy in their habbits. Pig's cheek is nice
to eat and pork in season is a treat." (The writer was very proud of
this little outbreak of poetry.)
"It is preferrablest roast with sage and apple sauce. I hope I have now
described the pig and told you why he is my favourite."
Fisher minor, on the uncongenial topic of the rabbit, found composition
difficult and punctuation impossible.
"I like rabbits next best to dogs which Wally has taken mine were black
and white one was one and the other the other the white one died first
of snuffles he had lobears the other had the same pequliarity and was
swoped for 2 white mice who eskaped the first-night owing to the size of
the bars there is a kind of rabbit called welsh rabbit that my father is
fond of he says it goes best on toast but I give mine oats and bran it
is a mistake for boys to keep rabbits because first they give them too
much and burst them and then they give them too little and starve them
which is not wright and makes the rabbit skinny to eat if a boy feeds
rabbits well he can get his mother to give him half-a-crown a peace to
make pies of them which is very agreeable so I therefore on this account
consider rabbits favourites."
Before this conclusion had been reached, Wally, with a complacent smile,
had laid down his pen, flattering himself he had made a real good thing
of the dog. He scorned commonplace language, and, mindful of the
eloquent periods of certain newspapers of his acquaintance, had "let
out" considerably on his favourite theme, which, if the spelling and
punctuation had been as good as the language, would have been a fine
performance.
"The dog is the sublymest, gift of beficient nature to the zografical
Speeches, He has been the confidenshul playmate of; man since before the
creation, he is compounded of the most plezing trays and Generaly ansers
to the endeering name of carlo? if you put his noes at the extremity of
a rat-Hole he: will continue their ad libbitums till he has his man; In
Barberous lands there is an exorable law ordayning muscles but It can be
invaded by a little despeshun and sang frore, as one side of the streat
is not unfrequentedly Outside the rools so that if you take him that
side the politician cannot Run him in which is the wulgar for lagging
him for not [waring Mussles I have] ockasionaly done bobys this Way
myself so that I am convinzed of my voracity, the lesson we learn from
this is that dogs should be treeted kindly and not Injected to unkind
tretemant there? was Ice a dog with the pattrynamie of dognes who lived
in a tub but; tubs are not helthy kenels because, they Roal when you
dont stick brix under, which teechus to be kind `to our' fello animals
and pleze Our masters--I will. Only include by adding that dogs like
cake? which Shoes how like they are to boys who have kind masters that
they strive to pleas in ewery way in Their incapacity as the righter of
this esay strives ever to endevor."
"That ought to fetch him," said the delighted author, as he dotted his
last "i," and released D'Arcy from under the bath. "Now I vote we stow
it, and--"
Here there was a loud knock at the door and a senior's voice calling,
"Open the door, you youngsters."
The intruder was Dangle, at sight of whom the backs of our four heroes
went up.
"What do you youngsters mean by bagging one of our balls!" said the
Modern senior. "Give it me directly."
"It doesn't belong to you," said Wally; "it's my young brother's."
"Do you hear?--give it to me," said Dangle. "He can fetch it if he
wants it. You're not our prefect," retorted Wally.
None of the four were more astounded than Wally himself at the audacity
of this speech. It must have been due to the exhilarating effect of his
tea and essay combined.
Dangle was evidently unprepared for defiance of this sort and became
threatening.
"If you don't give me that ball at once, I'll give the lot of you the
best hiding you ever had in your lives."
"Try it. We're not going to give up the ball. There! If Percy wants
it, let him come for it. Back up, you chaps."
In a tussle between one big boy and four small ones, the odds are
usually in favour of the former, but Dangle on the present occasion did
not find his task quite as easy as he expected. The juniors defended
themselves with great tenacity, and although the senior's blows came
home pretty hard, he could only deal with them one at a time. It got to
be a little humiliating to discover that he would have to fight hard to
gain his end, and his temper evaporated rapidly.
Seizing his opportunity, when Fisher minor, who had been fighting
perhaps the least steadily of the four--yet doggedly enough--was within
reach, he struck out at him wildly, determined to get him disposed of
first. It was a cruel blow even for a fellow in Dangle's plight. The
small boy recoiled half-stunned, and uttered a yell which for an instant
startled the bully.
Before Dangle had time to recover, the three survivors were upon him
tooth and nail; at the same moment the door opened again, and Rollitt,
of all persons, stood in the room.
He took in the situation at a glance--the big boy white with rage, his
three assailants with heads down and lips tight, pounding away, and
Fisher minor leaning against the wall with his handkerchief to his face.
"Stop!" said he in a voice which suspended hostilities at once. Then
turning to Dangle he said--
"Get out."
Dangle glared defiantly, and remained where he was, whereupon Rollitt,
without another word, lifted him in his arms like a child, and slinging
him across his shoulders marched forth.
Wakefield's boys were just trooping up the staircase from the fields,
and at this strange apparition stood still and made a lane for it to
pass. Dangle's struggles were futile. The giant, if he was aware of
them, heeded them no more than the kicking of a kitten, and proceeded
deliberately down the stairs, past everybody, juniors, middle-boys,
prefects and all, and walked with his burden out at the door. There
every one expected the scene would end.
But no. He walked on sedately across the Green. Indifferent as to who
saw him or what they said, until he came to the door of Forder's house,
where he entered. Up the stairs he stumped amid gaping juniors and
menacing middle, boys until he reached his captive's study; where
without ceremony he deposited him, and, not vouchsafing a word, turned
on his heel.
Strangely enough, no one had the presence of mind to challenge him or
demand reparation for the insult to their house. He neither dawdled nor
hurried.
At the door a bodyguard of Classics had assembled to meet him and escort
him back. But he had no need of their services. He made his way
through them as coolly as if he was coming from class; and utterly
indifferent to the rising clamour and shouts behind him--for the Moderns
had by this time recovered breath enough to use their tongues--reached
Wakefield's, where without a word to any one he proceeded to his own
study and shut himself in to continue the scientific experiments which
had only been interrupted a few minutes before by the sudden cry of
distress from the one boy in Fellsgarth to whom he owed the least
obligation.