BREAKING BOUNDS
Never before did a distinguished party of strangers come to the ancient
town of Guildford more jubilant. Heads were craned over the side of the
car which the ruffian Higgins had provided, staring eyes looked in all
directions, but mainly skyward.
"Perhaps we'll see 'em flying," suggested Clive breathlessly, for his
mechanical mind was stirred to the highest pitch by the thought of
seeing men launched into the air.
"Hold hard!" shouted Masters, whose quick eye had lighted on something
decidedly alluring, and who was ever alert to make the very utmost of
the smallest opportunity. "Hold hard!" he almost shouted as the car
crawled jerkily along the high street and past a pastry-cook's window,
in which were displayed a tempting mass of tarts and cakes. It was like
this greedy fellow. When food was about, when it happened to be anywhere
within sight or scent, he had not a soul above eating. What mattered it
if there were an aeroplane meeting? What did he care if men were to
fly? Food was food, and Masters had always a healthy hunger.
"You chaps," he began, "here's our chance. If we miss it, ten to one
we'll be hanging about without so much as a crumb, and I'm jolly empty."
"But--but, Susanne's friend is going to stand a feed," Hugh reminded
them. "Don't forget that."
Masters pooh-poohed the suggestion, though on the previous day he had
waxed indignant at the thought that such a treat could not be in store.
He had called Susanne a sneak. Now, with those alluring cakes within his
ken, he chose to forget what had happened. Also there was such a thing
as remembering the saying, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush." Masters had coins in his pocket, thanks again to Susanne, and, as
we have said, he had a perennial appetite.
"Blow Susanne's feed!" he declared. "If it comes off, all the better. I
for one'll be ready. But I'm famishing now. So stop her."
The band descended straightway, and without much need for further
persuasion. When they mounted the car again sundry well-filled bags
accompanied them. Then on to the field. Crowds were making their way
thither on foot, others in motors and traps. Outside the gates there
was a seething mass of people, through whom Higgins drove the car at
reckless speed. And then the gates opened. They were passed in after a
nod and a few words between Higgins and the gatekeeper.
"Look out! Duck!" whispered Bert, suddenly, in hoarse tones of alarm.
"Bothered if that isn't Old B. Duck, I tell you."
With one accord the car load bent their heads till it appeared as if one
and all were engaged with their boot laces. Clive glanced askance into
the crowd, and there beheld the tall, bulky form of Mr. Branson, his
dormitory master. The sight of that tall, genial giant set him quaking.
Not that Mr. Branson was at all of the fierce order. Rather, he was an
easy-going fellow, who had as perfect an understanding of boys as ever
master had. But he could be roused to anger--anger which as a rule
resulted in the bestowal of a cuff, for Mr. Branson took the law into
his own hands as a rule, and did not favour sending boys to the
Headmaster with one of those short, explanatory notes which resulted in
a caning. No, Old B. was a good, slow, well-meaning giant whom all
adored, and none more so than Clive. But he feared him also.
"Old B.," he murmured. "Old B. right enough, and looking this way."
"Seen us?" asked Bert desperately.
"Never!" declared Masters. "He's too sleepy for that."
"Then he's spotted the car," suggested Susanne. "He'd know it, as he and
others of the masters use it at times. What's he doing?"
"Gone off into the crowd. Looked awfully hard at this car," said Clive,
suppressing a shiver. "Smiled, that tired sort of smile of his, and then
cut off in the opposite direction."
The statement brought all heads to their normal elevation again, while
questioning glances were cast first at the crowd, now left behind, and
then at one another.
"What did Old B. mean by that, then?" asked Bert, after a painful pause.
"Stared awfully hard, and then sloped off."
"As if to avoid us. As if he guessed there were Ranleigh boys in the car
and didn't want to spot 'em," suggested Clive.
"Good Old B.! Just like him," cried Masters, regaining his composure,
for the sudden information that Mr. Branson was in the neighbourhood and
eyeing them had thrown him into a flutter.
"More impots," he had groaned inwardly. "More drills, and a whacking as
a matter of course. Ranleigh's an awful place for a fellow to be sent
to. Tyrants, the whole lot of 'em!"
"In any case, he's here, and means to watch the flying. A beastly
nuisance," reflected Susanne. "Of course, we shall have to keep our eyes
open. But I know a dodge to beat him. I'll look out for Levallois, and
if he's here, why, he'll invite us to his hangar. Old B.'ll never dare
to enter."
Thus relieved for the time being of their fears the party tumbled out of
the car, and having agreed with Higgins to meet him precisely two and a
half hours later, struck across the huge field in which the meeting was
taking place toward the half-dozen hangars in which the flying machines
were housed.
"That's Levallois'," said Susanne, pointing to one over which the flag
of France flew. "I'll cross direct."
"But--but you can't," Bert told him, for Bert was one of those youths
who somewhat lack assurance. He had a huge respect for authority and
order. He often envied Masters his cheek, and Clive and Hugh the dash
and persistence which carried them through difficulties. "You can't,
Susanne. The place is roped off, and there are scores of police."
"Can't! You wait," laughed the Frenchman. "See that bobby. Looks a good
chap, eh? See me get round him."
They allowed the voluble Frenchman to go ahead of them a few paces, as
if he were not attached to the party, and watched with breathless
interest as he nonchalantly ducked under the ropes which kept the crowd
back. Susanne, his monocle in position, strolled away across the
enclosure.
"Hi! You stand back there!" came the summons from the nearest constable.
"Get out of the enclosure, please."
Susanne might have been deaf. It was not until the officer of the law
actually had his hand upon his shoulder that the young fellow showed the
smallest attention to his order. And then, in the inimitable style of
Feofé, a style somewhat spoiled by the jeers and laughter of his
schoolfellows, but nevertheless a style which was part and parcel of the
young fellow, Susanne raised his hat and swept it from his head. In
wonder and amazement his comrades heard him addressing the constable in
French, speaking volubly, waving his arms, pointing to the hangars
opposite. And then he dived into a waistcoat pocket and produced a card.
"What's this?" demanded the constable, a young man, evidently puzzled.
"Can't read it. You're French, eh?"
Susanne nodded energetically. He beckoned to Masters, and at the signal
that young fellow dived beneath the rope and ran to join him. At once
Susanne fired off a string of words, totally unintelligible to the
constable, and mostly so to Masters, who was no great French scholar.
But he knew what Susanne wanted, and knew also what he and his friends
required. Also Masters was just the youth to carry a matter like this
through in splendid style. He had cheek enough for a dozen.
"It's like this, don't you see, constable," he said, smiling sweetly at
the officer. "Monsieur Feofé--that's French, you know--Monsieur Feofé
comes from France, where all the flying's done, and Monsieur Levallois's
one of the flyers. That's his shed over there, with the French flag over
it. Well, of course, Monsieur Levallois expects Monsieur Feofé and his
friends. We've come here to see him. He wants us over at his place, you
see. I'm sorry you can't understand Monsieur Feofé. But that's the worst
of these fellows who can't speak English."
An older constable might even have been taken in, though to be sure he
might have noticed the half-suppressed grins on the faces of the party
of young fellows stationed by the ropes. Also he would certainly have
been surprised at the youth of these visitors. But he was a young man,
on duty almost for the first time, and somewhat confused.
"I've got my orders, strict," he began.
"Of course, of course!" interjected Masters hurriedly. "Of course,
constable, orders to keep the crowd back. Quite right for you to obey
'em. But we're not the crowd. You see, Monsieur Feofé's a swell sort of
fellow. It'd be rude to refuse to pass him and his friends through. He
wouldn't understand it. Monsieur Levallois would be furious, and I dare
say the inspector in charge of the police'd get a wiggin'. So it'll be
all right, see?"
That young constable wasn't by any means too sure. But Susanne's
apparent ignorance of English, his obvious impatience at this delay, his
embarrassing politeness, for he continued to sweep his hat from his head
on occasion, while firing off a long string of unintelligible words at
Masters, all had their effect. The man wavered.
"My orders is to pass no one----" he began again.
"Come on, you chaps," sang out Masters, whose cheek was tremendous. "The
constable understands. We'd best hurry, for Monsieur Levallois is
waiting. Thanks, constable. If there's any trouble refer the inspector
to me. Sorry to have bothered you."
The arm of the law passed them through, reluctantly and doubtfully. It
was as much as Hugh and Clive could do to suppress their mirth till out
of hearing of the policeman, and Susanne's behaviour made the task even
more difficult. For that young fellow heartily enjoyed every item in
this manoeuvre. He bowed low to the constable, covering that unhappy
and uncomfortable young fellow with blushes. He swept his hat from his
head for perhaps the twentieth time, and rattled off his thanks in
French. And then, following sedately across the field, he looked about
him with inimitable coolness, and turned to survey the gathering crowds
through his monocle, which was still screwed into his eye.
"Of all the cheek!" gasped Bert, to whom such an adventure was a
revelation. "Come on, Susanne. Old B.'ll spot you the instant his eyes
fall on you. Do stop fooling and come along!"
"Grand!" declared Clive, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. "That
bobby was finely flustered. But, I say, supposing Levallois won't have
anything to say to us. I've heard that lots of these flying fellows get
pestered with people in their hangars and throw them all out. Supposing
Levallois don't want us."
"Supposing he ain't there," grinned Hugh, bringing up another
difficulty.
The suggestions caused the little band to close in as if for mutual
protection.
"Well?" asked Bert desperately. "Supposing Levallois isn't over there,
or don't want us?"
Susanne's serenity was undisturbed.
"There's some sort of a Frenchman, anyway," he observed. "He'll be glad
to see me in any case. Of course, if he don't want you fellows, it'll
be awkward--for you."
He grinned openly at them till Masters could have struck him. It was
perhaps just as well that a stop was put to the argument at that moment
by the wheeling out of an aeroplane from one of the hangars. That set
the party hurrying till they arrived at the line of sheds. Here there
was much movement. Officials came and went, more than one eyeing the
boys with evident suspicion. An important-looking inspector of police
was posted adjacent to the very hangar over which the French flag flew,
and promptly pounced upon them.
"What's this?" he asked severely. "No one but gentlemen flying, their
mechanics and managers are allowed here. What fool's broken orders by
passing you in?"
But again Susanne and Masters saved the situation, the one by his
embarrassing politeness and his volubility, the other by his specious
explanation.
"Oh, Levallois, that's the French gentleman's name, is it?" asked the
inspector, mollified, but not entirely convinced. "Well, if he says that
he's asked you here, suppose you must stay. But none of the other flying
gents are having friends, least of all youngsters. Still, we don't want
to be rough on a foreigner. He might not understand. Here, sir," he
called, putting his head into the hangar over which the French flag
flew, "here's a parcel of young gents come to see you; and some of
them's out for a lark, I'll bet."
A smile stole across his face. Masters' get-up was perfectly ludicrous.
As to his fellows, not one but wore his obvious youth in awkward manner,
save and excepting Susanne. The composure of that young fellow was
wonderful. He stepped into the hangar, leaving his comrades outside to
listen in trepidation to his conversation with its invisible owner. It
was with a sigh of relief that they saw him appear at the door and
beckon.
"It isn't Levallois, after all," he grinned, "but Dubonnet. But it's all
right and square, Monsieur Dubonnet's a sportsman. Come into the place
and feed. He's going to have a meal now, for the wind's too high as yet
for flying."
Masters' eyes were wide open with amazement. Bert could hardly believe
his ears. As for Hugh and Clive they were bubbling over with excitement.
Nor were they intensely astonished. The latter, at any rate, had seen so
much of Susanne as to convince him that what that young fellow took in
hand he accomplished. For Feofé had that happy knack of winning
friendship, a knack which it behoves all to acquire. Also he was far
more at his ease with his elders than any of the others. It seemed
almost natural, therefore, to Clive that he should have brought about
this introduction. Clive bobbed to the young fellow whom Susanne
presented, and then, forgetting all else, stepped up to the aeroplane
and began with Hugh's help a close and critical examination. Then a call
from the smiling owner sent the two of them to the far corner where a
board table was erected, with a ham and a joint of beef upon it,
together with other items.
"Help yourselves, gentlemen," said Monsieur Dubonnet. "Accident has
given me friends to-day, and I needed them. Now, let's get the meal
started and then tell me how you managed this business. I suppose you're
from Ranleigh?"
"Yes," admitted Masters, his mouth already half filled with ham, his
eyes protruding at the directness of the question.
"Know it?" asked Clive.
"Rather! There myself, you see. Breaking bounds, eh? Well, I don't blame
you. But, by the way, I'm expecting one of the masters. My old dormitory
master, you know--Old B. Know him? Of course you do."
The bombshell produced an impressive and painful silence. Masters looked
desperately across at the door. Even Susanne reddened, and then Monsieur
Dubonnet relieved the tension by laughing uproariously.
"Had you all badly," he grinned. "All the same, Old B.'ll be paying me
a visit. But we'll make that right. There's a place screened off at the
back of the hangar and you can get cover there. I'll post one of you
fellows to watch at the door."
And so for the following hour they took it in turn to watch.
The meal finished, Clive and Hugh plied Monsieur Dubonnet with
questions--questions, too, of such an intelligent nature that they
aroused his interest. Indeed, the enthusiasm of these young fellows
gained for them an invitation to try a flight.
"You'll like it awfully," declared Monsieur Dubonnet. "Of course, one
feels scared at first, but that's natural. Accidents do happen at times,
I know, but I don't think you need be fearful."
It was with beating hearts that our two young friends, half an hour
later, smuggled themselves into the cab mounted on the machine. Two
mechanics appeared and wheeled it from the shed, while Susanne and the
others kept carefully in the background.
"See you later," sang out Bert.
"Alive or dead," grinned Masters, who was envying Hugh and Clive
greatly. "Think of me, Darrell, when you're falling."
But no amount of chaff had any effect on our two amateur flyers. The
starting of the engine brought the red to their cheeks. The rush of air
over their heads sent their pulses dancing. The roar of the exhaust
passed almost unnoticed as the machine started forward. And then up they
went, swooping over the heads of the people gathered to watch the
flying. We need not record here their impressions. Suffice it to say
that a very proud and gratified couple at length descended from the
machine and joined their comrades.
"Time to be off," Masters reminded them. "Higgins'll be wondering what's
happened. And besides, if we don't move soon we shall be late for
call-over."
Taking care to view their surroundings before issuing from the hangar,
and having volubly thanked the great Dubonnet for his kindness, the
little party made their way across the enclosure, under the ropes, and
so to the spot where the car was to await them. There was no Higgins
there on their arrival, but a search discovered him in an adjacent booth
where refreshments were provided.
"Looks as if he'd had his full share too," Hugh whispered to Clive.
"Suppose he can drive?"
"Hope so," was the laconic answer, though there was doubt in the tones.
For Higgins had been refreshing himself with a vengeance. He was none
too steady as he issued from the booth and leered at his passengers.
However, there was no doing anything in the matter.
"The beast!" growled Bert in tones of disgust. "I've always disliked
Higgins, and I hate him now. If it hadn't been for the fact that he
could get the use of the car and so make it possible for us to come to
this meeting, I'd never have consented. The brute's drunk."
"No, not quite," corrected Susanne. "But the drive home'll be exciting."
It proved to be filled to repletion with excitement, for Higgins scooped
through the town of Guildford as if police did not exist and pedestrians
had no right to the pavements. His course was followed by howls of rage
from passers-by, to all of which he paid no notice. He sent the car
whizzing out into the country, and dashed along the high-road at giddy
speed, while Clive and his fellows clung to their seats as best they
could.
"Settling down nicely to it," reflected Susanne, after a while, for it
took a great deal to shake the coolness of the French youth. Indeed, he
seemed rather to have enjoyed the recklessness of the driver. "He don't
steer into the footpath quite so often, and he isn't going so fast. In
another twenty minutes we ought to be back near the common."
"And mighty glad I'll be too," admitted Bert. "Of all the brutes, this
Higgins is the biggest. But he does seem to be settling down. No, he
doesn't. He's putting on the pace again."
"Racing," ejaculated Masters, as if the admission pained him. "Look,
there's a car ahead and Higgins means to pass it."
Perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead they could see the back of another
car, one, too, with which the boys of Ranleigh were familiar. For they
knew it to be one of the three which plied for hire in the
neighbourhood.
"Slow as a beetle. We'll beat 'em easy," declared Hugh, stimulated by
the thought of a race.
"Walk past it if Higgins can manage to steer decently," agreed Clive.
"Shove her ahead," cried Susanne, springing to his feet and leaning over
the driver. "Keep her straight, Higgins. Now, let her go. We'll beat
those other fellows into a cocked hat. Hullo, they're looking back."
There were two passengers in the vehicle in front, and at this moment
they looked behind them, and then turned to urge their own driver to
greater speed.
"Whew! Did you recognise 'em?" asked Hugh, staring after the other car.
"Who?" demanded Clive.
"Those fellows?"
"No. Why?"
"Ranleighans," said Hugh with conviction. "Spotted them at once."
"Rawlings and Trendall," declared Susanne. "I knew that it was they all
along. Just fancy catching a prefect breaking bounds! Saw 'em at the
flying meeting. They were in that booth with Higgins, and slipped out
when I went in to fetch him. Anyway, they can't give us away. We're all
in the same boat this time, though if it had been different, and
Rawlings could have caught us out, there'd have been trouble. We've got
him nicely this time."
If it were in fact the two mentioned in the car ahead, then Clive and
his friends need have no fear of the consequences of recognition. For
what a prefect can do, that also can smaller fry. Also, if Rawlings had
broken bounds with Trendall, then his lips were sealed.
"Hooray! He's bound to hold his tongue," cried Masters; "and if he tries
it on with any of us after this, why, we've only to rake this matter up.
Now let's whop his car, and pass 'em. Go ahead, Higgins."
Higgins needed no encouragement, and to speak the truth the cold air
seemed to have steadied him. There were now few of those frightful
swervings to which he had treated his passengers earlier on. He kept the
centre of the road, and accelerated his engine till the car dithered and
vibrated from end to end. As to the driver of the car ahead, he jerked
at sundry levers, opened his throttle and tried to make the best of
what was a hopeless case. Gradually he was being overhauled. He cast a
glance desperately over his shoulder and again jerked at his levers. But
all to no purpose. Higgins' car drew abreast, then level, in which
position the two cars thundered along for a while, the two sets of
passengers glaring at one another.
"Hooray! We win!" shouted Masters, half standing and grimacing at
Trendall.
"Pass them! Pass them!" bellowed Susanne, waving his arms in truly
French style. And then he must needs lift his hat. The action set
Rawlings scowling. He was angry enough already at the thought that he, a
prefect, had been discovered in the act of breaking bounds, discovered
too by a group of boys who held him as an enemy. And now to be passed by
them in a race was more than he could put up with.
"Stop that racing!" he shouted. "There'll be an accident. Order your
fellow to slack down and let us go ahead."
"Order your own," responded Masters, careless of the consequences.
"We've as much right to go fast as you have. Fall behind. You're the
slower car."
Rawlings shook a big fist at them. Susanne acknowledged the threat by
once more ironically lifting his hat. Masters grimaced at his
seniors. And Higgins stirred his car to even greater efforts. They
shot ahead, leaving the occupants of the rival car fuming with rage. All
heads were turned to watch them. Faces were reddened with excitement,
and eyes shone at the thought of such a brilliant victory. A hoarse
cheer was even uttered by Clive and his friends, a reckless cheer, just
to let Rawlings know what they thought of him and how little they
feared. And then all gave vent to a howl of dismay. For, of a sudden,
something went wrong with the following car. It swerved to one side,
recovered a straight line, and then turned into the pathway. A moment
later the rear end had risen into the air, and as Clive and the others
watched, first Rawlings, then Trendall were tossed out into a dense mass
of bushes lining the path. The driver followed them, smashing his way
through the glass wind screen. They heard his body thud to the ground,
while the up-turned car fell on him. Their shouts and shrieks caused
Higgins to cram his brakes on and bring their own vehicle to a
standstill. A minute later they were gathered about the up-turned car.
[Illustration: "FIRST RAWLINGS THEN TRENDALL WERE TOSSED OUT INTO A
DENSE MASS OF BUSHES."]
"Quick! Pull it off him," commanded Susanne, seemingly as cool as a
cucumber. "Now, all together. Ah! He's killed."
"Killed?" It was Rawlings who asked the question, his lips bloodless,
his knees almost knocking. "Killed? Then--then what happens? Do we have
to appear?"
It was like him to think first of himself, and not of the unfortunate
man. But the question he had asked was one which was bound to be asked.
It was one which intimately concerned one and all of the boys of
Ranleigh who had broken bounds. They turned from the body of the man to
one another.
"I'm awfully sorry for that poor chap," said Susanne at last. "As for
us, we're in for it, eh?"
"Absolutely," agreed Masters. "Right in the soup."
"Unless----" began Rawlings.
"Unless what?" asked Clive curtly.
"Unless we can get out of the mess by----"
"Telling lies?" asked Hugh, backing Clive up swiftly.
Rawlings nodded ever so little.
"Thanks, Rawlings," said Susanne coldly. "You and Trendall do as you
like. We'll be getting onward."