In one corner of the school play-ground stood a small boy in deep
dejection, with his hands in his pockets, his lower lip trembling
slightly, whilst he strove to kick a hole in the ground with his right
toe. It was Jimmy--Jimmy in his hour of trial.
He wasn't going to blub, he wasn't going to do anything.
Suddenly he stopped kicking at the ground, as he remembered that his
mother had told him he must be careful of his boots now that the War was
on.
He took out of his pocket a match-box, the temporary home of a large
beetle--a buzzer, Jimmy called it--which had hitherto refused to eat
either grass or bran or Indian corn. His gaze then wandered to a hole in
his stockings, which he had mended by applying ink to the exposed part
of his skin.
From the opposite side of the playground came the tumultuous noise of
the calm deliberations of Form II.
Jimmy knew perfectly well that they were discussing him, and that in
time one of their number would be sent to inform him of the verdict and
sentence.
He expected that he would have to fight them all, one by one, and he
wondered how many blows he would be able to stand without returning
them, for to hit back was out of the question under the unfortunate
circumstances.
Jimmy wished they would get it over, for he was quite willing to undergo
any form of punishment they might decide upon, if only they would let
him know quickly. He hoped they wouldn't make the Biffer fight him, not
that he was afraid of the Biffer, but because it would be so hard to
keep himself from hitting back, and that he had decided not to do. You
see the Biffer was a new boy, and, for another thing, he wore a leather
strap round his wrist. On his very first day at school the Biffer had
volunteered the information that he once gave a boy such a biff on the
nose that he had sprained his wrist, and that ever since he had worn a
wrist strap, lest it should happen again. It was Jimmy who had
nick-named him the Biffer, and from that time the Biffer had sought
Jimmy's blood.
But Jimmy was not easy to quarrel with.
He was the acknowledged champion of Form II., and you had to commit
three offences before Jimmy would seriously consider you. At the first
offence you got a note with the one word "Beware!" written upon it; at
the second, another note with the word "Blood" written underneath a
skull and crossbones; and at the third you received a note with the word
"Deth," and underneath was the drawing of a coffin.
The Biffer had so far arrived at the second note.
Jimmy did hope they wouldn't choose the Biffer, for he could hear even
now the Biffer's yell when he had made that awful mistake which had
brought about the present deplorable situation.
Jimmy couldn't think how he had come to say what he did say; he could
have bitten off his tongue when he realised it; but it was too late--he
had said it.
He tried to think how it had all occurred, and the scene flashed again
before his mind. There was the master with his pointer resting upon the
Dogger Bank on the map of Europe.
"Who can tell me the name of this sea?" he had said, and Jimmy had
snapped his fingers and waved his arm about in his anxiety to catch the
master's eye. You see, it was so seldom, so very seldom, that Jimmy felt
he knew the right answer to any question, and the new experience was
intoxicating. The master too seemed to find it unusual, and he at once
turned to Jimmy and said, "Well, what is this sea called, then?" Jimmy,
full of the pride of knowledge, burst out with "The North Sea, Sir." Oh!
if he had only stopped at that; but in his desire to show how much he
knew he added without thinking the fatal words, "or German Ocean!"
In the shout of derision which had followed, Jimmy realised what he had
said, and felt himself falling, falling, falling....
Jimmy became aware that the noise on the opposite side of the playground
was ceasing, and soon, from the corner of his eye, he saw Jones minimus
detach himself from the crowd. "Half a mo'," he heard Jones minimus say;
"I want to get a knotted handkerchief," and he saw him hurry into the
school. As he emerged he flourished the knotted handkerchief, but when
delivering the verdict to Jimmy that he would have to run the gauntlet
three times to the tune of the knotted handkerchiefs of Form II., he
tried to smuggle into Jimmy's hands an exercise-book which he said Jimmy
could stuff up his back; it would stick there if Jimmy buttoned his
jacket, he said, and it would take the sting off a bit. Jimmy had to
bite his lip as he refused the exercise-book, and then with head erect
and lips no longer trembling he went forth to face the ordeal.
Form II. had arranged themselves in two ranks, facing one another, and
the knots in the handkerchiefs were firm and hard. "You have got to bunk
through and back again and then down again," said Jones minimus in a
hoarse whisper.
The Biffer was at the head of one rank, and had got his handkerchief
slung over his shoulder in happy readiness for the first blow.
"Are you ready? Go!" shouted Form II. in one voice.
At the word "Go!" Jimmy pulled his hands out of his pockets--he was glad
his mother wasn't there to see him--and with head still up and eyes to
the front he walked slowly up the double lines and as slowly down them.
The Biffer got in a good one, he got in two before Jimmy was out of
reach, and he then changed the handkerchief to his left hand in
readiness for the return journey. Arrived at the end of the lines, Jimmy
turned on his heel and began to walk even more slowly than at first.
But there was no sting in the blows this time; all the zest seemed to
have gone out of the affair; and, but for the whack the Biffer gave,
Jimmy never felt anything. The third time down was a farce, for, after
Jimmy had deliberately stopped opposite the Biffer in order to let him
have as many as his injured soul required, no one touched him. In fact
they were all shaking hands with Jimmy, who was now his smiling self
once more and ready to play with the best of them, when suddenly the
Biffer took it into his head to make a joke.
"Perhaps he _is_ a German," said the Biffer, and waited for the general
laugh to follow his sally.
But the laugh didn't come; instead there was a dead silence.
Who was the Biffer--a new boy at that--to call anyone a German?
Instinctively a ring was formed and the Biffer found himself in the
middle of it.
Jimmy took off his coat and gave it to Jones minimus, who danced for
sheer delight.
Jimmy had only one regret: the butcher-boy was not there to see him--the
butcher-boy who had expended so much time over him, had taught him the
upper cut, the under cut, every cut that the heart of a butcher-boy
delights in. The Biffer was very busy biffing the air with a rapid
circular motion of the arms, for Jimmy's fixed scowl and set of jaw
troubled him.
Oh, why wasn't the butcher-boy there to see that tremendous smack on the
nose the Biffer got? He would have felt amply rewarded.
No one had ever seen Jimmy fight like this, and Jones minimus shouted in
his joy, for the Biffer was outbiffed in every direction.
In vain did he cry "_Pax_," for Jimmy had not half relieved his
feelings, and there was no end to the dodges the butcher-boy had taught
him, each of which, he had said, meant sudden death.
"He's had enough, Jimmy," whispered Jones minimus. "I'm satisfied," he
added as the Biffer, who was lying on the ground, refused to get up and
have any more.
As the boys entered the class-room the next day there was the map of
Europe still hanging up in front of the class, and the very first
question that was asked by the master was, "Well, Jimmy, what is this
sea?"
"The North Sea or British Ocean, Sir!" said Jimmy, a reply that was
greeted with a rousing cheer by the whole of Form II.
* * * * *