used to be a pretty good boxer in his time, but there! boxing's a
thing, like everything else, that moves with the times. We used to go
about in iron trucks. Now we go in motor-cars. Just the same with
boxing. What you're learning now is the sort of boxing that wins
championship fights nowadays. Old George, well, he teaches you how to
put your left out, but, my Golly, he doesn't know any tricks. He hasn't
studied it same as I have. It's the ring-craft that wins battles. Now
sir, if you're ready."
They put on the gloves again. When the round was over, Mr Bevan had
further comments to make.
"You don't hit hard enough, sir," he said. "Don't flap. Let it come
straight out with some weight behind it. You want to be earnest in the
ring. The other man's going to do his best to hurt you, and you've got
to stop him. One good punch is worth twenty taps. You hit him. And when
you've hit him, don't you go back; you hit him again. They'll only give
you three rounds in any competition you go in for, so you want to do
the work you can while you're at it."
As the days went by, Sheen began to imbibe some of Joe Bevan's rugged
philosophy of life. He began to understand that the world is a place
where every man has to look after himself, and that it is the stronger
hand that wins. That sentence from _Hamlet_ which Joe Bevan was so
fond of quoting practically summed up the whole duty of man--and boy
too. One should not seek quarrels, but, "being in," one should do one's
best to ensure that one's opponent thought twice in future before
seeking them. These afternoons at the "Blue Boar" were gradually giving
Sheen what he had never before possessed--self-confidence. He was
beginning to find that he was capable of something after all, that in
an emergency he would be able to keep his end up. The feeling added a
zest to all that he did. His work in school improved. He looked at the
Gotford no longer as a prize which he would have to struggle to win. He
felt that his rivals would have to struggle to win it from him.
After his twelfth lesson, when he had learned the ground-work of the
art, and had begun to develop a style of his own, like some nervous
batsman at cricket who does not show his true form till he has been at
the wickets for several overs, the dog-loving Francis gave him a trial.
This was a very different affair from his spars with Joe Bevan. Frank
Hunt was one of the cleverest boxers at his weight in England, but he
had not Joe Bevan's gift of hitting gently. He probably imagined that
he was merely tapping, and certainly his blows were not to be compared
with those he delivered in the exercise of his professional duties;
but, nevertheless, Sheen had never felt anything so painful before, not
even in his passage of arms with Albert. He came out of the encounter
with a swollen lip and a feeling that one of his ribs was broken, and
he had not had the pleasure of landing a single blow upon his slippery
antagonist, who flowed about the room like quicksilver. But he had not
flinched, and the statement of Francis, as they shook hands, that he
had "done varry well," was as balm. Boxing is one of the few sports
where the loser can feel the same thrill of triumph as the winner.
There is no satisfaction equal to that which comes when one has forced
oneself to go through an ordeal from which one would have liked to have
escaped.
"Capital, sir, capital," said Joe Bevan. "I wanted to see whether you
would lay down or not when you began to get a few punches. You did
capitally, Mr Sheen."
"I didn't hit him much," said Sheen with a laugh.
"Never mind, sir, you got hit, which was just as good. Some of the
gentlemen I've taught wouldn't have taken half that. They're all right
when they're on top and winning, and to see them shape you'd say to
yourself, By George, here's a champion. But let 'em get a punch or two,
and hullo! says you, what's this? They don't like it. They lay down.
But you kept on. There's one thing, though, you want to keep that guard
up when you duck. You slip him that way once. Very well. Next time he's
waiting for you. He doesn't hit straight. He hooks you, and you don't
want many of those."
Sheen enjoyed his surreptitious visits to the "Blue Boar." Twice he
escaped being caught in the most sensational way; and once Mr Spence,
who looked after the Wrykyn cricket and gymnasium, and played
everything equally well, nearly caused complications by inviting Sheen
to play fives with him after school. Fortunately the Gotford afforded
an excellent excuse. As the time for the examination drew near, those
who had entered for it were accustomed to become hermits to a great
extent, and to retire after school to work in their studies.
"You mustn't overdo it, Sheen," said Mr Spence. "You ought to get some
exercise."
"Oh, I do, sir," said Sheen. "I still play fives, but I play before
breakfast now."
He had had one or two games with Harrington of the School House, who
did not care particularly whom he played with so long as his opponent
was a useful man. Sheen being one of the few players in the school who
were up to his form, Harrington ignored the cloud under which Sheen
rested. When they met in the world outside the fives-courts Harrington
was polite, but made no overtures of friendship. That, it may be
mentioned, was the attitude of every one who did not actually cut
Sheen. The exception was Jack Bruce, who had constituted himself
audience to Sheen, when the latter was practising the piano, on two
further occasions. But then Bruce was so silent by nature that for all
practical purposes he might just as well have cut Sheen like the
others.
"We might have a game before breakfast some time, then," said Mr
Spence.
He had noticed, being a master who did notice things, that Sheen
appeared to have few friends, and had made up his mind that he would
try and bring him out a little. Of the real facts of the case, he knew
of course, nothing.
"I should like to, sir," said Sheen.
"Next Wednesday?"
"All right, sir."
"I'll be there at seven. If you're before me, you might get the second
court, will you?"
The second court from the end nearest the boarding-house was the best
of the half-dozen fives-courts at Wrykyn. After school sometimes you
would see fags racing across the gravel to appropriate it for their
masters. The rule was that whoever first pinned to the door a piece of
paper with his name on it was the legal owner of the court--and it was a
stirring sight to see a dozen fags fighting to get at the door. But
before breakfast the court might be had with less trouble.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Sheen paid his daily visits to the "Blue Boar," losing flesh
and gaining toughness with every lesson. The more he saw of Joe Bevan
the more he liked him, and appreciated his strong, simple outlook on
life. Shakespeare was a great bond between them. Sheen had always been
a student of the Bard, and he and Joe would sit on the little verandah
of the inn, looking over the river, until it was time for him to row
back to the town, quoting passages at one another. Joe Bevan's
knowledge, of the plays, especially the tragedies, was wide, and at
first inexplicable to Sheen. It was strange to hear him declaiming long
speeches from _Macbeth_ or _Hamlet_, and to think that he was
by profession a pugilist. One evening he explained his curious
erudition. In his youth, before he took to the ring in earnest, he had
travelled with a Shakespearean repertory company. "I never played a
star part," he confessed, "but I used to come on in the Battle of
Bosworth and in Macbeth's castle and what not. I've been First Citizen
sometimes. I was the carpenter in _Julius Caesar_. That was my
biggest part. 'Truly sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as
you would say, a cobbler.' But somehow the stage--well..._you_
know what it is, sir. Leeds one week, Manchester the next, Brighton the
week after, and travelling all Sunday. It wasn't quiet enough for me."
The idea of becoming a professional pugilist for the sake of peace and
quiet tickled Sheen. "But I've always read Shakespeare ever since
then," continued Mr Bevan, "and I always shall read him."
It was on the next day that Mr Bevan made a suggestion which drew
confidences from Sheen, in his turn.
"What you want now, sir," he said, "is to practise on someone of about
your own form, as the saying is. Isn't there some gentleman friend of
yours at the college who would come here with you?"
They were sitting on the verandah when he asked this question. It was
growing dusk, and the evening seemed to invite confidences. Sheen,
looking out across the river and avoiding his friend's glance,
explained just what it was that made it so difficult for him to produce
a gentleman friend at that particular time. He could feel Mr Bevan's
eye upon him, but he went through with it till the thing was
told--boldly, and with no attempt to smooth over any of the unpleasant
points.
"Never you mind, sir," said Mr Bevan consolingly, as he finished. "We
all lose our heads sometimes. I've seen the way you stand up to
Francis, and I'll eat--I'll eat the medicine-ball if you're not as
plucky as anyone. It's simply a question of keeping your head. You
wouldn't do a thing like that again, not you. Don't you worry yourself,
sir. We're all alike when we get bustled. We don't know what we're
doing, and by the time we've put our hands up and got into shape, why,
it's all over, and there you are. Don't you worry yourself, sir."
"You're an awfully good sort, Joe," said Sheen gratefully.
XI
A SMALL INCIDENT
Failing a gentleman friend, Mr Bevan was obliged to do what he could by
means of local talent. On Sheen's next visit he was introduced to a
burly youth of his own age, very taciturn, and apparently ferocious.
He, it seemed, was the knife and boot boy at the "Blue Boar", "did a
bit" with the gloves, and was willing to spar with Sheen provided Mr
Bevan made it all right with the guv'nor; saw, that is so say, that he
did not get into trouble for passing in unprofessional frivolity
moments which should have been sacred to knives and boots. These terms
having been agreed to, he put on the gloves.
For the first time since he had begun his lessons, Sheen experienced an
attack of his old shyness and dislike of hurting other people's
feelings. He could not resist the thought that he had no grudge against
the warden of the knives and boots. He hardly liked to hit him.
The other, however, did not share this prejudice. He rushed at Sheen
with such determination, that almost the first warning the latter had
that the contest had begun was the collision of the back of his head
with the wall. Out in the middle of the room he did better, and was
beginning to hold his own, in spite of a rousing thump on his left eye,
when Joe Bevan called "Time!" A second round went off in much the same
way. His guard was more often in the right place, and his leads less
wild. At the conclusion of the round, pressure of business forced his
opponent to depart, and Sheen wound up his lesson with a couple of
minutes at the punching-ball. On the whole, he was pleased with his
first spar with someone who was really doing his best and trying to
hurt him. With Joe Bevan and Francis there was always the feeling that
they were playing down to him. Joe Bevan's gentle taps, in particular,
were a little humiliating. But with his late opponent all had been
serious. It had been a real test, and he had come through it very
fairly. On the whole, he had taken more than he had given--his eye
would look curious tomorrow--but already he had thought out a way of
foiling the burly youth's rushes. Next time he would really show his
true form.
The morrow, on which Sheen expected his eye to look curious, was the
day he had promised to play fives with Mr Spence. He hoped that at the
early hour at which they had arranged to play it would not have reached
its worst stage; but when he looked in the glass at a quarter to seven,
he beheld a small ridge of purple beneath it. It was not large, nor did
it interfere with his sight, but it was very visible. Mr Spence,
however, was a sportsman, and had boxed himself in his time, so there
was a chance that nothing would be said.
It was a raw, drizzly morning. There would probably be few
fives-players before breakfast, and the capture of the second court
should be easy. So it turned out. Nobody was about when Sheen arrived.
He pinned his slip of paper to the door, and, after waiting for a short
while for Mr Spence and finding the process chilly, went for a trot
round the gymnasium to pass the time.
Mr Spence had not arrived during his absence, but somebody else had. At
the door of the second court, gleaming in first-fifteen blazer,
sweater, stockings, and honour-cap, stood Attell.
Sheen looked at Attell, and Attell looked through Sheen.
It was curious, thought Sheen, that Attell should be standing in the
very doorway of court two. It seemed to suggest that he claimed some
sort of ownership. On the other hand, there was his, Sheen's, paper on
the.... His eye happened to light on the cement flooring in front of the
court. There was a crumpled ball of paper there.
When he had started for his run, there had been no such ball of paper.
Sheen picked it up and straightened it out. On it was written "R. D.
Sheen".
He looked up quickly. In addition to the far-away look, Attell's face
now wore a faint smile, as if he had seen something rather funny on the
horizon. But he spake no word.
A curiously calm and contented feeling came upon Sheen. Here was
something definite at last. He could do nothing, however much he might
resent it, when fellows passed him by as if he did not exist; but when
it came to removing his landmark....
"Would you mind shifting a bit?" he said very politely. "I want to pin
my paper on the door again. It seems to have fallen down."
Attell's gaze shifted slowly from the horizon and gradually embraced
Sheen.
"I've got this court," he said.
"I think not," said Sheen silkily. "I was here at ten to seven, and
there was no paper on the door then. So I put mine up. If you move a
little, I'll put it up again."
"Go and find another court, if you want to play," said Attell, "and if
you've got anybody to play with," he added with a sneer. "This is
mine."
"I think not," said Sheen.
Attell resumed his inspection of the horizon.
"Attell," said Sheen.
Attell did not answer.
Sheen pushed him gently out of the way, and tore down the paper from
the door.
Their eyes met. Attell, after a moment's pause, came forward,
half-menacing, half irresolute; and as he came Sheen hit him under the
chin in the manner recommended by Mr Bevan.
"When you upper-cut," Mr Bevan was wont to say, "don't make it a swing.
Just a half-arm jolt's all you want."
It was certainly all Attell wanted. He was more than surprised. He was
petrified. The sudden shock of the blow, coming as it did from so
unexpected a quarter, deprived him of speech: which was, perhaps,
fortunate for him, for what he would have said would hardly have
commended itself to Mr Spence, who came up at this moment.
"Well, Sheen," said Mr Spence, "here you are. I hope I haven't kept you
waiting. What a morning! You've got the court, I hope?"
"Yes, sir," said Sheen.
He wondered if the master had seen the little episode which had taken
place immediately before his arrival. Then he remembered that it had
happened inside the court. It must have been over by the time Mr Spence
had come upon the scene.
"Are you waiting for somebody, Attell?" asked Mr Spence. "Stanning? He
will be here directly. I passed him on the way."
Attell left the court, and they began their game.
"You've hurt your eye, Sheen," said Mr Spence, at the end of the first
game. "How did that happen?"
"Boxing, sir," said Sheen.
"Oh," replied Mr Spence, and to Sheen's relief he did not pursue his
inquiries.
Attell had wandered out across the gravel to meet Stanning.
"Got that court?" inquired Stanning.
"No."
"You idiot, why on earth didn't you? It's the only court worth playing
in. Who's got it?"
"Sheen."
"Sheen!" Stanning stopped dead. "Do you mean to say you let a fool like
Sheen take it from you! Why didn't you turn him out?"
"I couldn't," said Attell. "I was just going to when Spence came up.
He's playing Sheen this morning. I couldn't very well bag the court
when a master wanted it."
"I suppose not," said Stanning. "What did Sheen say when you told him
you wanted the court?"
This was getting near a phase of the subject which Attell was not eager
to discuss.
"Oh, he didn't say much," he said.
"Did you do anything?" persisted Stanning.
Attell suddenly remembered having noticed that Sheen was wearing a
black eye. This was obviously a thing to be turned to account.
"I hit him in the eye," he said. "I'll bet it's coloured by
school-time."
And sure enough, when school-tune arrived, there was Sheen with his
face in the condition described, and Stanning hastened to spread abroad
this sequel to the story of Sheen's failings in the town battle. By the
end of preparation it had got about the school that Sheen had cheeked
Attell, that Attell had hit Sheen, and that Sheen had been afraid to
hit him back. At the precise moment when Sheen was in the middle of a
warm two-minute round with Francis at the "Blue Boar," an indignation
meeting was being held in the senior day-room at Seymour's to discuss
this latest disgrace to the house.
"This is getting a bit too thick," was the general opinion. Moreover,
it was universally agreed that something ought to be done. The feeling
in the house against Sheen had been stirred to a dangerous pitch by
this last episode. Seymour's thought more of their reputation than any
house in the school. For years past the house had led on the cricket
and football field and off it. Sometimes other houses would actually
win one of the cups, but, when this happened, Seymour's was always
their most dangerous rival. Other houses had their ups and downs, were
very good one year and very bad the next; but Seymour's had always
managed to maintain a steady level of excellence. It always had a man
or two in the School eleven and fifteen, generally supplied one of the
School Racquets pair for Queen's Club in the Easter vac., and when this
did not happen always had one of two of the Gym. Six or Shooting Eight,
or a few men who had won scholarships at the 'Varsities. The pride of a
house is almost keener than the pride of a school. From the first
minute he entered the house a new boy was made to feel that, in coming
to Seymour's, he had accepted a responsibility that his reputation was
not his own, but belonged to the house. If he did well, the glory would
be Seymour's glory. If he did badly, he would be sinning against the
house.
This second story about Sheen, therefore, stirred Seymour's to the
extent of giving the house a resemblance to a hornet's nest into which
a stone had been hurled. After school that day the house literally
hummed. The noise of the two day-rooms talking it over could be heard
in the road outside. The only bar that stood between the outraged
Seymourites and Sheen was Drummond. As had happened before, Drummond
resolutely refused to allow anything in the shape of an active protest,
and no argument would draw him from this unreasonable attitude, though
why it was that he had taken it up he himself could not have said.
Perhaps it was that rooted hatred a boxer instinctively acquires of
anything in the shape of unfair play that influenced him. He revolted
against the idea of a whole house banding together against one of its
members.
So even this fresh provocation did not result in any active
interference with Sheen; but it was decided that he must be cut even
more thoroughly than before.
And about the time when this was resolved, Sheen was receiving the
congratulations of Francis on having positively landed a blow upon him.
It was an event which marked an epoch in his career.
XII
DUNSTABLE AND LINTON GO UP THE RIVER
There are some proud, spirited natures which resent rules and laws on
principle as attempts to interfere with the rights of the citizen. As
the Duchess in the play said of her son, who had had unpleasantness
with the authorities at Eton because they had been trying to teach him
things, "Silwood is a sweet boy, but he will not stand the
bearing-rein". Dunstable was also a sweet boy, but he, too, objected to
the bearing-rein. And Linton was a sweet boy, and he had similar
prejudices. And this placing of the town out of bounds struck both of
them simultaneously as a distinct attempt on the part of the headmaster
to apply the bearing-rein.
"It's all very well to put it out of bounds for the kids," said
Dunstable, firmly, "but when it comes to Us--why, I never heard of such
a thing."
Linton gave it as his opinion that such conduct was quite in a class of
its own as regarded cool cheek.
"It fairly sneaks," said Linton, with forced calm, "the Garibaldi."
"Kids," proceeded Dunstable, judicially, "are idiots, and can't be
expected to behave themselves down town. Put the show out of bounds to
them if you like. But We--"
"We!" echoed Linton.
"The fact is," said Dunstable, "it's a beastly nuisance, but we shall
have to go down town and up the river just to assert ourselves. We
can't have the thin end of the wedge coming and spoiling our liberties.
We may as well chuck life altogether if we aren't able to go to the
town whenever we like."
"And Albert will be pining away," added Linton.
* * * * *
"Hullo, young gentlemen," said the town boatman, when they presented
themselves to him, "what can I do for you?"
"I know it seems strange," said Dunstable, "but we want a boat. We are
the Down-trodden British Schoolboys' League for Demanding Liberty and
seeing that We Get It. Have you a boat?"
The man said he believed he had a boat. In fact, now that he came to
think of it, he rather fancied he had one or two. He proceeded to get
one ready, and the two martyrs to the cause stepped in.
Dunstable settled himself in the stern, and collected the rudder-lines.
"Hullo," said Linton, "aren't you going to row?"
"It may be only my foolish fancy," replied Dunstable, "but I rather
think you're going to do that. I'll steer."
"Beastly slacker," said Linton. "Anyhow, how far are we going? I'm not
going to pull all night."
"If you row for about half an hour without exerting yourself--and I can
trust you not to do that--and then look to your left, you'll see a
certain hostelry, if it hasn't moved since I was last there. It's
called the 'Blue Boar'. We will have tea there, and then I'll pull
gently back, and that will end the programme."
"Except being caught in the town by half the masters," said Linton.
"Still, I'm not grumbling. This had to be done. Ready?"
"Not just yet," said Dunstable, looking past Linton and up the
landing-stage. "Wait just one second. Here are some friends of ours."
Linton looked over his shoulder.
"Albert!" he cried.
"And the who struck me divers blows in sundry
places. Ah, they've sighted us."
"What are you going to do? We can't have another scrap with them."
"Far from it," said Dunstable gently. "Hullo, Albert. _And_ my
friend in the moth-eaten bowler! This is well met."
"You come out here," said Albert, pausing on the brink.
"Why?" asked Dunstable.
"You see what you'll get."
"But we don't want to see what we'll get. You've got such a narrow
mind, Albert--may I call you Bertie? You seem to think that nobody has
any pleasures except vulgar brawls. We are going to row up river, and
think beautiful thoughts."
Albert was measuring with his eye the distance between the boat and
landing-stage. It was not far. A sudden spring....
"If you want a fight, go up to the school and ask for Mr Drummond. He's
the gentlemen who sent you to hospital last time. Any time you're
passing, I'm sure he'd--"
Albert leaped.
But Linton had had him under observation, and, as he sprung, pushed
vigorously with his oar. The gap between boat and shore widened in an
instant, and Albert, failing to obtain a foothold on the boat, fell
back, with a splash that sent a cascade over his friend and the
boatman, into three feet of muddy water. By the time he had scrambled
out, his enemies were moving pensively up-stream.
The boatman was annoyed.
"Makin' me wet and spoilin' my paint--what yer mean by it?"
"Me and my friend here we want a boat," said Albert, ignoring the main
issue.
"Want a boat! Then you'll not get a boat. Spoil my cushions, too, would
you? What next, I wonder! You go to Smith and ask _him_ for a
boat. Perhaps he ain't so particular about having his cushions--"
"Orl right," said Albert, "_orl_ right."