It was not to be expected that in the present state of party feeling at
Fellsgarth the incident recorded in the last chapter would be confined
to a personal quarrel between Dangle and Rollitt.
If it be true that it takes two to make a quarrel, there was not much to
be feared in the latter respect. For Rollitt was apparently unaware
that he had done anything calling for general remark, and went his ways
with his customary indifference.
When Dangle, egged on by the indignation of his friends, had gone across
to find him and demand satisfaction, Rollitt had told him to call again
to-morrow, as he was busy.
Dangle therefore called again.
"I've come to ask if you mean to apologise for what you did the other
day? If you don't--"
"Get out!" said Rollitt, going on with his work.
"--If you don't," continued Dangle, "you'll have to take the
consequences."
"Get out!"
"If you funk it, Rollitt, you'd better say so."
"Get out," said Rollitt, rising slowly to his feet.
Dangle reported, when he got back to his house, that argument had been
hopeless. Yet he meant to take it out of his adversary some other way.
But if the principals in the quarrel were inactive, their adherents on
either side took care to keep up the feud.
The Modern juniors especially, who felt very sore at the indignity put
upon their house, took up the cudgels very fiercely. Secretly they
admitted that Dangle had cut rather a poor figure, and that they could
have made a much better job over the impounded football than he had by
his interference. But that had nothing to do with the conduct of the
enemy, whom they took every opportunity of defying and deriding.
"There go the sneaks," shouted Lickford, as the four Classic juniors
paraded arm in arm across the Green. "Who got licked by our chap and
had to squeal for a prefect to come and help them? Oh my--waterspouts!"
"Ya--_how now_--_oh no, not me_!" Percy shouted for the special benefit
of Fisher minor.
"Look at them! They daren't come our side. Cowards!--daren't come on
to our side of the path," chimed in Cash.
"Look at their short legs," called Ramshaw; "only useful for cutting
away when they see a Modern."
"Who got licked on the hands for cheating at Elections, and blubbed like
anything!" put in Cottle.
The four heroes walked on, hearing every word and trying to appear as if
they did not. They spoke to one another with forced voices and
mechanical smiles, and did their best not to be self-conscious in the
matter of their legs.
But as the defiance grew bolder in proportion as they walked further,
Wally said--
"I say, this is a drop too much. We can't stand this, eh?"
"No; the cads!" chimed in the other three.
"Tell you what," said Wally, "it wouldn't be a bad joke to have a punt-
about with their football right under their noses, would it?"
"How if they bag it?"
"Bother!--we must chance that."
"I say," said Ashby, "if we could bag their boots first!"
"Can't do that; but we might wait till they're in their class after
breakfast in the morning. They go in half an hour before us. I know,
they all sit near the window, and are squinting out at everybody that
passes. Won't they squirm?"
Next morning therefore at early school, as Percy and Company sat huddled
at their desks in the Modern class-room, biting their pens, groaning
over their sums, and gazing dismally from the window all at the same
time, they had the unspeakable anguish of beholding Wally, D'Arcy,
Ashby, and Fisher minor, with _their_ ball, having a ding-dong game of
punt-about on the sacred Modern grass, under their very eyes.
How these four enjoyed themselves and kicked about the ball, nodding and
kissing their hands all the while at the mortified enemy, who sat like
caged beasts glaring at them through their bars, and gnawing their
fingers in impotent fury!
Sometimes, to add a little relish to the sport, they invited a passing
prefect of their own house to give the ball a punt, and once a neat
drop-kick from D'Arcy left a muddy splotch on the face of the sundial
above border's door.
This was too much; and when, a few minutes later, they caught sight of
the marauders waving to them and calling attention by pantomimic gesture
to the fact that they were carrying off the ball once more to their own
quarters, Percy could contain himself no longer.
"Beasts!" he ejaculated.
"Wheatfield," said Mr Forder, who was in charge of the class, "write me
out fifty lines of the _Paradise Lost_ and a letter of apology in Latin
for using bad language in class."
Percy was conducted home by his friends that morning in a critical
state. He felt it necessary to kick somebody, and therefore kicked
them; and they, entirely misunderstanding his motives, kicked back.
Consequently, a good deal of time was occupied in arranging matters all
round on a comfortable footing; by the end of which time the fraternity,
though marred in visage, felt generally easier in its mind.
It was no use appealing to the Modern prefects. They had made a mess of
it so far, and weren't to be trusted. Nor did the course of lodging a
complaint with Yorke commend itself to the company. It might be
mistaken for telling tales. How would it do to--
Here entered Robert, the school porter, with a letter addressed
"Wheatfield minor, Mr Forder's," in a scholarly hand.
"Wheatfield minor," snarled Percy; "that's not me, Bob. What do you
take me for! Here, take it over to Wakefield's, and look about for the
dirtiest, ugliest, beastliest kid you can see. That's Wheatfield
minor."
"You'll be sore to know him by his likeness to Percy," added Cash, by
way of encouragement.
"But Wakefield's ain't Forder's," observed the sage Robert. "Look what
the envelope says."
True; it must be meant for Percy after all.
"You go and tell him it's like his howling cheek to call me minor,
whoever it is; and when I catch him I'll welt him. Do you hear?"
"Very good, sir, I'll tell him," said the porter with a grin.
Meanwhile Percy had opened the letter and caught sight of the signature.
He uttered a whistle of amazement.
"Hullo!" he cried, "it's from Stratton! Whatever--Oh, I say, Bob, it
doesn't matter about that message; do you hear!"
"Won't be no trouble, sir," said the porter.
"If I want to give it I'll do it myself," said Percy.
"Whatever's it about?" said his friends.
"Dear Wheatfield minor,"--(cheek!) read Percy, "Mrs Stratton and I will
be glad to see you and three or four of your friends to tea this evening
at six. I will arrange with Mr Forder to give you exeats from
preparation."
"Humph!" grunted Percy--"rather civil--I hear he gives rather good grub.
I vote we go."
"May as well. It gets us off preparation too," said Cash.
"Who said _you_ were in it?" replied Percy. "Catch me taking you unless
you behave. I've a good mind to take Clapperton and Brinkman and Dangle
and Fullerton."
This threat reduced the clan to obedience at once, and Percy sat down
presently, and wrote in his most admired style--
"Wheatfield major," (the "major" was heavily underlined) "is much
obliged to Mr Stratton for his invitation to him to tea in his room,
and he will be glad to bring the following of his friends, if he has no
objection, with him; viz. Lickford, Ramshaw, Cash, and Cottle. With
kind regards from P.W.;" and sent the note over by the hand of the
youngest of the Modern juniors.
This diversion served for a time to heal the mental ravages of the
morning, and to occupy the attention of the company most of the
afternoon.
"Case of Sunday-go-to-meeting, isn't it?" said lickford.
"Rather. Mind you tog up well, you chaps; I'm not going to take four
louts out to tea with me, I promise you."
Whereupon ensued great searchings of hearts and wardrobes, to see what
could be done in the way of appropriate decoration. The invitation came
at an awkward time, for it was Friday afternoon, and Mrs Wisdom rarely
sent home the washing before Saturday. Consequently it was a work of
some difficulty to muster five clean collars among the party, still less
as many shirt-fronts.
Lickford spent at least an hour over his last Sunday's shirt with ink-
eraser, trying to get it to look tidy; while Cottle, more ingenious,
neatly gummed pieces of white paper over the dirty spots on his.
A great discussion took place as to chokers. Percy, who had one,
threatened to leave behind any one not similarly adorned. It was only
by adroit cajolery, and persuading him that he, as personal conductor of
the party, had a right to be sweller than the rest, that he could be
induced to waive the point.
The same argument had to be urged with regard to boots, as none of the
others had patent leathers, which Percy insisted was the first thing any
one looked to see if you had on at a party. It was urged that as most
of the time would be spent with the feet under the table, this, though
sound in law, was not in the present case of such vital importance in
equity. Objection waived once more.
Finally, when all was ready, Percy held a full-dress parade of his
forces, and looked each of them up and down as minutely and critically
as an officer of the Guards inspecting his company. He objected to Cash
wearing white gloves, as he had none himself, and he nearly cashiered
Cottle for having a coloured handkerchief, because he himself had a
brand-new white one. At length, however, all these little details were
arranged, and as the school clock began to chime the hour the order to
march was given, and the company proceeded at the double to Mr
Stratton's house.
Mr Stratton was more or less of a favourite with both sides at
Fellsgarth. He had a small house, in which were representatives of both
factions, but most of them of the quieter sort, who, being obliged to
live together under one roof, did not see so much to quarrel about out
of doors. Mr Stratton, too, took the juniors' divisions of each
school, and so kept fairly well in touch with both. Add to this, that
he was a good all round athlete, that he had a serene and cheerful
temper, and, what is of scarcely less importance, a charming young wife,
and you have several very good reasons why he was one of the most
popular masters at Fellsgarth. The juniors, on the whole, appreciated
him. When he was down on them they forgave him on account of his youth,
and when he complained that he could not get them to understand his
precepts, they asked one another whose fault was that. Occasionally he
condoned all his offences by an act of hospitality, and for once in a
way betrayed that he recognised the merits of a select few of his pupils
by asking them to tea.
This was evidently the ease now, and as our five young Moderns trotted
across the Green, they wished their enemies in Wakefield's could only
have looked out and witnessed their triumph.
Little they dreamed that at that moment Wally, Ashby, D'Arcy, and Fisher
minor, resplendent in shirts and collars fresh from the wash, with their
eight hands encased in white kid and their eight feet in patent leather,
were standing about in Mr Stratton's drawing-room, wondering who on
earth it was whose non-arrival was preventing the ringing of the tea-
bell.
When presently Percy and his party were ushered in, and discovered who
were their fellow-guests, it did some credit to their breeding that they
remembered to go up and shake hands with Mr and Mrs Stratton, and did
not immediately fly at the enemy's throat. The enemy, however, were
equally taken aback, and were fully entitled to half the credit for the
self-control with which the discovery was received.
"There's no need to introduce you to one another, I'm sure," said Mr
Stratton. "By the way, Wheatfield--you I mean," pointing to Percy, "I
must apologise for calling you minor. It was very kind of you to put me
right."
Wally glared up at this, and would have liked to put the matter right
there and then, but Mrs Stratton said--
"It isn't fair to number twins at all, is it?"
"Unless," suggested D'Arcy, blushing to find himself talking, "unless
you reckon them half each."
This only mended matters to the extent of raising a laugh at the expense
of the twins, who felt mutually uncomfortable.
The tea-bell, however, relieved the tension, "Come," said the hostess.
"You must take one another in. No, that won't do, all Mr Wakefield's
boys together. Two of you come this side--that's right; and Cottle and
Ramshaw, you go over there. Now, you're beautifully sorted. Edward,
dear, you mustn't talk till you've handed round the tea-cake to our
guests. Lickford, do you take cream and sugar? And you too, twins? Oh
really, dear, you don't call those slices, do you? Do let Ashby cut up
the cake; I'm sure he knows better than you what a slice is; don't you,
Ashby?"
Apparently Ashby did; and the party, thus genially thrown together and
set to work, soon began, to experience the balmy influences of a
convivial high tea.
Very little was spoken at first except by Mr Stratton, who gave a brief
account of a University cricket match in which he had once played--a
narrative which served as a most soothing refrain to the silent exercise
in which his listeners were engaged. Presently a few questions were put
in by the boys, followed by a few observations which gradually, by the
adroit piloting of the host, loyally backed up by his wife, developed
into a discussion on the use and abuse of "third man up" in modern
cricket. After this knotty point was disposed of the talk grew more
general, and Wally became aware that his brother was handing him the
apricot jam.
The act, simple in itself, meant a great deal to Wally. He liked
apricot jam, and had not been able to get at it all the evening. As he
now helped himself he admitted to himself that Percy was not quite such
a lout as he had occasionally thought him.
"Thanks awfully, Percy. Did you like that toffee I gave you the other
day?"
"Rather. It was spiffing," said Percy. "I say, I don't mind writing
home this week if you like."
"Oh, don't you grind; I will."
"Really I don't mind."
"No more do I. I say, can you reach the butter?"
"Rather. Better rinse this dish up here between us. There's another
down there."
Similar scenes of reconciliation were taking place elsewhere. Cottle
was asking Ashby his riddle; D'Arcy was laying down the law in the
admiring hearing of Ramshaw and Lickford as to the cooking of sprats on
the shovel; while Fisher minor was telling the sympathetic Mrs Stratton
all about the people at home. Mr Stratton was wise enough not to
disturb this state of affairs by talk of his own. When, however, the
meal began to flag, and his guests one by one abandoned the attack, he
proposed an adjournment to the drawing-room.
"I want the advice of you youngsters," said he presently, "about
something I dare say you all know something about. I mean the old
School shop."
The party looked guilty. Didn't they know the tuck-shop?
"It seems to me," said Mr Stratton, "it's rather in a bad way just now;
don't you think so? Robert hasn't time to look after it, and wants to
give it up. He says it doesn't pay; and really some of his things
aren't particularly nice. I went and had a jam tart there this morning.
It was like shoe-leather; and the jam was almost invisible."
Wally laughed. He knew those tarts well.
"I think it would be a pity if it was given up; don't you? We all want
a little grub now and then; besides, it's an old School institution."
"Robert charges three-halfpence a-piece for those tarts," said D'Arcy.
"Yes--think of that. I've no doubt you could get them for half the
price at Penchurch. What I was thinking was, why shouldn't some of us
carry on the shop ourselves?"
The boys opened their eyes. The idea of carrying on a tuck-shop on
their own account opened a vista of such endless possibilities, that
they were quite startled.
"It ought to be easy enough if we manage properly," said Mr Stratton.
"Suppose, now, we who are here were to form a committee and decide to
run the shop, how should we begin?"
"It depends on what Robert left behind," said Percy.
"Oh, we wouldn't take over any of his stuff. No, the first thing would
be to reckon up how much we should want to start with, and either club
together or get some one to advance it. How many tarts do you suppose
are sold a day?"
"Hundreds," said Ashby.
"Well, according to Robert, about eighty. But say one hundred. That at
a penny each would be about 8 shillings for tarts. Then the ginger-
beer. Would twenty bottles do? That would be 3 shillings 4 pence,
supposing they cost 2 pence each. That's 11 shillings 4 pence. What
next? Apples? Suppose we put them down at 2 shillings 6 pence--13
shillings 10 pence. Sweets? Well, say 2 shillings 6 pence more--16
shillings 4 pence. Nuts 1 shilling--17 shillings 4 pence. It mounts
up, you see. We ought at least to have 25 or 30 shillings to start
with. Well, I happen to know somebody who would lend that amount to the
shareholders for a little time if we should want it. Now suppose we've
got our money. We ought to send to some of the best shops and market
people in the town to see what we could get our things for. As it
happens, Mrs Stratton when she was in Penchurch this morning did
inquire, and this is her report. The tarts that we should sell for a
penny we could get for three farthings each, so that on a hundred tarts
we should make a profit of 2 shillings 1 penny. And the confectioner
would send his cart up every day with fresh tarts of different kinds of
jam, and take back yesterday's stale ones at half-price. That would be
a great improvement, wouldn't it?"
"Rather," said everybody.
"Then the ginger-beer. Would you believe it, if we undertake to take
not less than twelve bottles a day daring the half we can get them for a
penny each, and might sell them for three-halfpence. That would make a
great increase in the demand, I fancy, and every bottle we can sell, we
make a dear halfpenny profit. The same with the sweets. You can get
most sorts for 9 or 10 pence a pound, and if we sell at a penny an
ounce, you see we get 7 or 8 pence profit. I should vote for only
getting the best kind of sweets, and making rather less profit than
that. At any rate, you see, if we are careful, we ought pretty soon to
be able to pay back what we owe, and after providing for the expense of
a person to mind the shop and do the selling, put by a little week by
week, which will go to the School clubs or anything else the fellows
decide. What do you think of the plan?"
They all thought it would be magnificent.
"I see no reason why you youngsters should not manage it splendidly by
yourselves at soon as you get once started. You'll have to draw up
strict rules, of course, for managing the shop, and make up the
accounts; and look out sharp that you aren't selling anything at a loss.
Remember, the cheaper you can sell (provided you get a fair profit),
the more customers you'll have. And the better your stuff is, the more
it will be liked. Mrs Stratton says she will act as banker, and take
care of the money at the end of each day and pay out what you want for
stores. Don't say anything about it out of doors at present; talk it
over among yourselves daring the week, and if you think it will work,
tell me, and we'll have a regular business meeting to settle
preliminaries. Now suppose we have a game of crambo?"
When the party broke up, Moderns and Classics strolled affectionately
across the Green arm in arm, deep in confabulation as to the projected
shop.
When they reached the door of Wakefield's, Wally said, "By the way, have
any of you chaps lost a football? There's one kicking about in our
room. Hang outside and I'll chuck it to you out of the window."
Which he did. And the ball proved to be the very one the Moderns had
lost a week ago! How curious!