Dunstable and Linton had disappeared, Albert and his friend were on the
water. Moist outside, Albert burned with a desire for Revenge. He meant
to follow his men till he found them. It almost seemed as if there
would be a repetition of the naval battle which had caused the town to
be put out of bounds. Albert was a quick-tempered youth, and he had
swallowed fully a pint of Severn water.
* * * * *
Dunstable and Linton sat for some time in the oak parlour of the "Blue
Boar". It was late when they went out. As they reached the water's edge
Linton uttered a cry of consternation.
"What's up?" asked Dunstable. "I wish you wouldn't do that so suddenly.
It gives me a start. Do you feel bad?"
"Great Scott! it's gone."
"The pain?"
"Our boat. I tied it up to this post."
"You can't have done. What's that boat over there! That looks like
ours."
"No, it isn't. That was there when we came. I noticed it. I tied ours
up here, to this post."
"This is a shade awkward," said Dunstable thoughtfully. "You must have
tied it up jolly rottenly. It must have slipped away and gone
down-stream. This is where we find ourselves in the cart. Right among
the ribstons, by Jove. I feel like that Frenchman in the story, who
lost his glasses just as he got to the top of the mountain, and missed
the view. Altogezzer I do not vish I 'ad kom."
"I'm certain I tied it up all right. And--why, look! here's the rope
still on the pole, just as I left it."
For the first time Dunstable seemed interested.
"This is getting mysterious. Did we hire a rowing-boat or a submarine?
There's something on the end of this rope. Give it a tug, and see.
There, didn't you feel it?"
"I do believe," said Linton in an awed voice, "the thing's sunk."
They pulled at the rope together. The waters heaved and broke, and up
came the nose of the boat, to sink back with a splash as they loosened
their hold.
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth--" said Dunstable, wiping
his hands. "If you ask me, I should say an enemy hath done this. A boat
doesn't sink of its own accord."
"Albert!" said Linton. "The blackguard must have followed us up and
done it while we were at tea."
"That's about it," said Dunstable. "And now--how about getting home?"
"I suppose we'd better walk. We shall be hours late for lock-up."
"You," said Dunstable, "may walk if you are fond of exercise and aren't
in a hurry. Personally, I'm going back by river."
"But--"
"That looks a good enough boat over there. Anyhow, we must make it do.
One mustn't be particular for once."
"But it belongs--what will the other fellow do?"
"I can't help _his_ troubles," said Dunstable mildly, "having
enough of my own. Coming?"
* * * * *
It was about ten minutes later that Sheen, approaching the waterside in
quest of his boat, found no boat there. The time was a quarter to six,
and lock-up was at six-thirty.
XIII
DEUS EX MACHINA
It did not occur to Sheen immediately that his boat had actually gone.
The full beauty of the situation was some moments in coming home to
him. At first he merely thought that somebody had moved it to another
part of the bank, as the authorities at the inn had done once or twice
in the past, to make room for the boats of fresh visitors. Walking
along the lawn in search of it, he came upon the stake to which
Dunstable's submerged craft was attached. He gave the rope a tentative
pull, and was surprised to find that there was a heavy drag on the end
of it.
Then suddenly the truth flashed across him. "Heavens!" he cried, "it's
sunk."
Joe Bevan and other allies lent their aid to the pulling. The lost boat
came out of the river like some huge fish, and finally rested on the
bank, oozing water and drenching the grass in all directions.
Joe Bevan stooped down, and examined it in the dim light.
"What's happened here, sir," he said, "is that there's a plank gone
from the bottom. Smashed clean out, it is. Not started it isn't.
Smashed clean out. That's what it is. Some one must have been here and
done it."
Sheen looked at the boat, and saw that he was right. A plank in the
middle had been splintered. It looked as if somebody had driven some
heavy instrument into it. As a matter of fact, Albert had effected the
job with the butt-end of an oar.
The damage was not ruinous. A carpenter could put the thing right at no
great expense. But it would take time. And meanwhile the minutes were
flying, and lock-up was now little more than half an hour away.
"What'll you do, sir?" asked Bevan.
That was just what Sheen was asking himself. What could he do? The road
to the school twisted and turned to such an extent that, though the
distance from the "Blue Boar" to Seymour's was only a couple of miles
as the crow flies, he would have to cover double that distance unless
he took a short cut across the fields. And if he took a short cut in
the dark he was certain to lose himself. It was a choice of evils. The
"Blue Boar" possessed but one horse and trap, and he had seen that
driven away to the station in charge of a fisherman's luggage half an
hour before.
"I shall have to walk," he said.
"It's a long way. You'll be late, won't you?" said Mr Bevan.
"It can't be helped. I suppose I shall. I wonder who smashed that
boat," he added after a pause.
Passing through the inn on his way to the road, he made inquiries. It
appeared that two young gentlemen from the school had been there to
tea. They had arrived in a boat and gone away in a boat. Nobody else
had come into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested upon them.
"Do you remember anything about them?" asked Sheen.
Further details came out. One of the pair had worn a cap like Sheen's.
The other's headgear, minutely described, showed him that its owner was
a member of the school second eleven.
Sheen pursued the inquiry. He would be so late in any case that a
minute or so more or less would make no material difference; and he was
very anxious to find out, if possible, who it was that had placed him
in this difficulty. He knew that he was unpopular in the school, but he
had not looked for this sort of thing.
Then somebody suddenly remembered having heard one of the pair address
the other by name.
"What name?" asked Sheen.
His informant was not sure. Would it be Lindon?
"Linton," said Sheen.
That was it.
Sheen thanked him and departed, still puzzled. Linton, as he knew him,
was not the sort of fellow to do a thing like that. And the other, the
second eleven man, must be Dunstable. They were always about together.
He did not know much about Dunstable, but he could hardly believe that
this sort of thing was his form either. Well, he would have to think of
that later. He must concentrate himself now on covering the distance to
the school in the minimum of time. He looked at his watch. Twenty
minutes more. If he hurried, he might not be so very late. He wished
that somebody would come by in a cart, and give him a lift.
He stopped and listened. No sound of horse's hoof broke the silence. He
walked on again.
Then, faint at first, but growing stronger every instant, there came
from some point in the road far behind him a steady droning sound. He
almost shouted with joy. A motor! Even now he might do it.
But could he stop it? Would the motorist pay any attention to him, or
would he flash past and leave him in the dust? From the rate at which
the drone increased the car seemed to be travelling at a rare speed.
He moved to one side of the road, and waited. He could see the lights
now, flying towards him.
Then, as the car hummed past, he recognised its driver, and put all he
knew into a shout.
"Bruce!" he cried.
For a moment it seemed as if he had not been heard. The driver paid not
the smallest attention, as far as he could see. He looked neither to
the left nor to right. Then the car slowed down, and, backing, came
slowly to where he stood.
"Hullo," said the driver, "who's that?"
Jack Bruce was alone in the car, muffled to the eyes in an overcoat.
It was more by his general appearance than his face that Sheen had
recognised him.
"It's me, Sheen. I say, Bruce, I wish you'd give me a lift to
Seymour's, will you?"
There was never any waste of words about Jack Bruce. Of all the six
hundred and thirty-four boys at Wrykyn he was probably the only one
whose next remark in such circumstances would not have been a question.
Bruce seldom asked questions--never, if they wasted time.
"Hop in," he said.
Sheen consulted his watch again.
"Lock-up's in a quarter of an hour," he said, "but they give us ten
minutes' grace. That allows us plenty of time, doesn't it?"
"Do it in seven minutes, if you like."
"Don't hurry," said Sheen. "I've never been in a motor before, and I
don't want to cut the experience short. It's awfully good of you to
give me a lift."
"That's all right," said Bruce.
"Were you going anywhere? Am I taking you out of your way?"
"No. I was just trying the car. It's a new one. The pater's just got
it."
"Do you do much of this?" said Sheen.
"Good bit. I'm going in for the motor business when I leave school."
"So all this is training?"
"That's it."
There was a pause.
"You seemed to be going at a good pace just now," said Sheen.
"About thirty miles an hour. She can move all right."
"That's faster than you're allowed to go, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"You've never been caught, have you?"
"Not yet. I want to see how much pace I can get out of her, because
she'll be useful when the election really comes on. Bringing voters to
the poll, you know. That's why the pater bought this new car. It's a
beauty. His other's only a little runabout."
"Doesn't your father mind your motoring?"
"Likes it," said Jack Bruce.
It seemed to Sheen that it was about time that he volunteered some
information about himself, instead of plying his companion with
questions. It was pleasant talking to a Wrykinian again; and Jack Bruce
had apparently either not heard of the Albert incident, or else he was
not influenced by it in any way.
"You've got me out of an awful hole, Bruce," he began.
"That's all right. Been out for a walk?"
"I'd been to the 'Blue Boar'."
"Oh!" said Bruce. He did not seem to wish to know why Sheen had been
there.
Sheen proceeded to explain.
"I suppose you've heard all about me," he said uncomfortably. "About
the town, you know. That fight. Not joining in."
"Heard something about it," said Bruce.
"I went down town again after that," said Sheen, "and met the same
fellows who were fighting Linton and the others. They came for me, and
I was getting awfully mauled when Joe Bevan turned up."
"Oh, is Joe back again?"
"Do you know him?" asked Sheen in surprise.
"Oh yes. I used to go to the 'Blue Boar' to learn boxing from him all
last summer holidays."
"Did you really? Why, that's what I'm doing now."
"Good man," said Bruce.
"Isn't he a splendid teacher?"
"Ripping."
"But I didn't know you boxed, Bruce. You never went in for any of the
School competitions."
"I'm rather a rotten weight. Ten six. Too heavy for the Light-Weights
and not heavy enough for the Middles. Besides, the competitions here
are really inter-house. They don't want day-boys going in for them. Are
you going to box for Seymour's?"
"That's what I want to do. You see, it would be rather a score,
wouldn't it? After what's happened, you know."
"I suppose it would."
"I should like to do something. It's not very pleasant," he added, with
a forced laugh, "being considered a disgrace to the house, and cut by
everyone."
"Suppose not."
"The difficulty is Drummond. You see, we are both the same weight, and
he's much better than I am. I'm hoping that he'll go in for the Middles
and let me take the Light-Weights. There's nobody he couldn't beat in
the Middles, though he would be giving away a stone."
"Have you asked him?"
"Not yet. I want to keep it dark that I'm learning to box, just at
present."
"Spring it on them suddenly?"
"Yes. Of course, I can't let it get about that I go to Joe Bevan,
because I have to break bounds every time I do it."
"The upper river's out of bounds now for boarders, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Jack Bruce sat in silence for a while, his gaze concentrated on the
road in front of him.
"Why go by river at all?" he said at last. "If you like, I'll run you
to the 'Blue Boar' in the motor every day."
"Oh, I say, that's awfully decent of you," said Sheen.
"I should like to see old Joe again. I think I'll come and spar, too.
If you're learning, what you want more than anything is somebody your
own size to box with."
"That's just what Joe was saying. Will you really? I should be awfully
glad if you would. Boxing with Joe is all right, but you feel all the
time he's fooling with you. I should like to try how I got on with
somebody else."
"You'd better meet me here, then, as soon after school as you can."
As he spoke, the car stopped.
"Where are we?" asked Sheen.
"Just at the corner of the road behind the houses."
"Oh, I know. Hullo, there goes the lock-up bell. I shall do it
comfortably."
He jumped down.
"I say, Bruce," he said, "I really am most awfully obliged for the
lift. Something went wrong with my boat, and I couldn't get back in it.
I should have been frightfully in the cart if you hadn't come by."
"That's all right," said Jack Bruce. "I say, Sheen!"
"Hullo?"
"Are you going to practise in the music-room after morning school
tomorrow?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I think I'll turn up."
"I wish you would."
"What's that thing that goes like this? I forget most of it."
He whistled a few bars.
"That's a thing of Greig's," said Sheen.
"You might play it tomorrow," said Bruce.
"Rather. Of course I will."
"Thanks," said Jack Bruce. "Good night."
He turned the car, and vanished down the road. From the sound Sheen
judged that he was once more travelling at a higher rate of speed than
the local police would have approved.
XIV
A SKIRMISH
Upon consideration Sheen determined to see Linton about that small
matter of the boat without delay. After prayers that night he went to
his study.
"Can I speak to you for a minute, Linton?" he said.
Linton was surprised. He disapproved of this intrusion. When a fellow
is being cut by the house, he ought, by all the laws of school
etiquette, to behave as such, and not speak till he is spoken to.
"What do you want?" asked Linton.
"I shan't keep you long. Do you think you could put away that book for
a minute, and listen?"
Linton hesitated, then shut the book.
"Hurry up, then," he said.
"I was going to," said Sheen. "I simply came in to tell you that I know
perfectly well who sunk my boat this afternoon."
He felt at once that he had now got Linton's undivided attention.
"Your boat!" said Linton. "You don't mean to say that was yours! What
on earth were you doing at the place?"
"I don't think that's any business of yours, is it, Linton?"
"How did you get back?"
"I don't think that's any business of yours, either. I daresay you're
disappointed, but I did manage to get back. In time for lock-up, too."
"But I don't understand. Do you mean to say that that was your boat we
took?"
"Sunk," corrected Sheen.
"Don't be a fool, Sheen. What the dickens should we want to sink your
boat for? What happened was this. Albert--you remember Albert?--followed
us up to the inn, and smashed our boat while we were having tea. When
we got out and found it sunk, we bagged the only other one we could
see. We hadn't a notion it was yours. We thought it belonged to some
fisherman chap."
"Then you didn't sink my boat?"
"Of course we didn't. What do you take us for?"
"Sorry," said Sheen. "I thought it was a queer thing for you to have
done. I'm glad it wasn't you. Good night."
"But look here," said Linton, "don't go. It must have landed you in a
frightful hole, didn't it?"
"A little. But it doesn't matter. Good night."
"But half a second, Sheen--"
Sheen had disappeared.
Linton sat on till lights were turned off, ruminating. He had a very
tender conscience where other members of the school were concerned,
though it was tougher as regarded masters; and he was full of remorse
at the thought of how nearly he had got Sheen into trouble by borrowing
his boat that afternoon. It seemed to him that it was his duty to make
it up to him in some way.
It was characteristic of Linton that the episode did not, in any way,
alter his attitude towards Sheen. Another boy in a similar position
might have become effusively friendly. Linton looked on the affair in a
calm, judicial spirit. He had done Sheen a bad turn, but that was no
reason why he should fling himself on his neck and swear eternal
friendship. His demeanour on the occasions when they came in contact
with each other remained the same. He did not speak to him, and he did
not seem to see him. But all the while he was remembering that somehow
or other he must do him a good turn of some sort, by way of levelling
things up again. When that good turn had been done, he might dismiss
him from his thoughts altogether.
Sheen, for his part, made no attempt to trade on the matter of the
boat. He seemed as little anxious to be friendly with Linton as Linton
was to be friendly with him. For this Linton was grateful, and
continued to keep his eyes open in the hope of finding some opportunity
of squaring up matters between them.
His chance was not long in coming. The feeling in the house against
Sheen, caused by the story of his encounter with Attell, had not
diminished. Stanning had fostered it in various little ways. It was not
difficult. When a house of the standing in the school which Seymour's
possessed exhibits a weak spot, the rest of the school do not require a
great deal of encouragement to go on prodding that weak spot. In short,
the school rotted Seymour's about Sheen, and Seymour's raged
impotently. Fags of other houses expended much crude satire on
Seymour's fags, and even the seniors of the house came in for their
share of the baiting. Most of the houses at Wrykyn were jealous of
Seymour's, and this struck them as an admirable opportunity of getting
something of their own back.
One afternoon, not long after Sheen's conversation with Linton,
Stanning came into Seymour's senior day-room and sat down on the table.
The senior day-room objected to members of other houses coming and
sitting on their table as if they had bought that rickety piece of
furniture; but Stanning's reputation as a bruiser kept their resentment
within bounds.
"Hullo, you chaps," said Stanning.
The members of the senior day-room made no reply, but continued, as Mr
Kipling has it, to persecute their vocations. Most of them were
brewing. They went on brewing with the earnest concentration of
_chefs_.
"You're a cheery lot," said Stanning. "But I don't wonder you've got
the hump. I should be a bit sick if we'd got a skunk like that in our
house. Heard the latest?"
Some lunatic said, "No. What?" thereby delivering the day-room bound
into the hands of the enemy.
"Sheen's apologised to Attell."
There was a sensation in the senior day-room, as Stanning had expected.
He knew his men. He was perfectly aware that any story which centred
round Sheen's cowardice would be believed by them, so he had not
troubled to invent a lie which it would be difficult to disprove. He
knew that in the present state of feeling in the house Sheen would not
be given a hearing.
"No!" shouted the senior day-room.
This was the last straw. The fellow seemed to go out of his way to
lower the prestige of the house.
"Fact," said Stanning. "I thought you knew."
He continued to sit on the table, swinging his legs, while the full
horror of his story sunk into the senior day-room mind.
"I wonder you don't do something about it. Why don't you touch him up?
He's not a prefect."
But they were not prepared to go to that length. The senior day-room
had a great respect both for Drummond's word and his skill with his
hands. He had said he would slay any one who touched Sheen, and they
were of opinion that he would do it.
"He isn't in," said one of the brewers, looking up from his
toasting-fork. "His study door was open when I passed."
"I say, why not rag his study?" suggested another thickly, through a
mouthful of toast.
Stanning smiled.
"Good idea," he said.
It struck him that some small upheaval of Sheen's study furniture,
coupled with the burning of one or two books, might check to some
extent that student's work for the Gotford. And if Sheen could be
stopped working for the Gotford, he, Stanning, would romp home. In the
matter of brilliance there was no comparison between them. It was
Sheen's painful habit of work which made him dangerous.
Linton had been listening to this conversation in silence. He had come
to the senior day-room to borrow a book. He now slipped out, and made
his way to Drummond's study.
Drummond was in. Linton proceeded to business.
"I say, Drummond."
"Hullo?"
"That man Stanning has come in. He's getting the senior day-room to rag
Sheen's study."
"What!"
Linton repeated his statement.
"Does the man think he owns the house?" said Drummond. "Where is he?"
"Coming up now. I hear them. What are you going to do? Stop them?"
"What do you think? Of course I am. I'm not going to have any of
Appleby's crew coming into Seymour's and ragging studies."
"This ought to be worth seeing," said Linton. "Look on me as 'Charles,
his friend'. I'll help if you want me, but it's your scene."
Drummond opened his door just as Stanning and his myrmidons were
passing it.
"Hullo, Stanning," he said.
Stanning turned. The punitive expedition stopped.
"Do you want anything?" inquired Drummond politely.
The members of the senior day-room who were with Stanning rallied round,
silent and interested. This dramatic situation appealed to them. They
had a passion for rows, and this looked distinctly promising.
There was a pause. Stanning looked carefully at Drummond. Drummond
looked carefully at Stanning.
"I was going to see Sheen," said Stanning at length.
"He isn't in."
"Oh!"
Another pause.
"Was it anything special?" inquired Drummond pleasantly.
The expedition edged a little forward.
"No. Oh, no. Nothing special," said Stanning.
The expedition looked disappointed.
"Any message I can give him?" asked Drummond.
"No, thanks," said Stanning.
"Sure?"
"Quite, thanks."
"I don't think it's worth while your waiting. He may not be in for some
time."
"No, perhaps not. Thanks. So long."
"So long."
Stanning turned on his heel, and walked away down the passage. Drummond
went back into his study, and shut the door.
The expedition, deprived of its commander-in-chief, paused irresolutely
outside. Then it followed its leader's example.
There was peace in the passage.
XV
THE ROUT AT RIPTON
On the Saturday following this episode, the first fifteen travelled to
Ripton to play the return match with that school on its own ground. Of
the two Ripton matches, the one played at Wrykyn was always the big
event of the football year; but the other came next in importance, and
the telegram which was despatched to the school shop at the close of
the game was always awaited with anxiety. This year Wrykyn looked
forward to the return match with a certain amount of apathy, due partly
to the fact that the school was in a slack, unpatriotic state, and
partly to the hammering the team had received in the previous term,
when the Ripton centre three-quarters had run through and scored with
monotonous regularity. "We're bound to get sat on," was the general
verdict of the school.
Allardyce, while thoroughly agreeing with this opinion, did his best to
conceal the fact from the rest of the team. He had certainly done his
duty by them. Every day for the past fortnight the forwards and
outsides had turned out to run and pass, and on the Saturdays there had
been matches with Corpus, Oxford, and the Cambridge Old Wrykinians. In
both games the school had been beaten. In fact, it seemed as if they
could only perform really well when they had no opponents. To see the
three-quarters racing down the field (at practice) and scoring
innumerable (imaginary) tries, one was apt to be misled into
considering them a fine quartette. But when there was a match, all the
beautiful dash and precision of the passing faded away, and the last
thing they did was to run straight. Barry was the only one of the four
who played the game properly.
But, as regarded condition, there was nothing wrong with the team. Even
Trevor could not have made them train harder; and Allardyce in his more
sanguine moments had a shadowy hope that the Ripton score might, with
care, be kept in the teens.