DIGBY'S TRIALS AND TRIUMPH--THE BULLY AND THE SPONGE--A DINNER AT
GRANGEWOOD--DIGBY'S FIGHT WITH BULLY SCARBOROUGH--A FRIEND IN NEED.
Digby had gained a great triumph--more important, probably, than he was
aware of. That first night of his arrival at Grangewood had been the
turning-point of his school life. Had he yielded in the first instance,
been terrified by threats, lost his temper, shown the white feather in
any way, he would, insensibly, have become like one of the rest--
leavened with their leaven, addicted to their bad habits, a thoughtless,
idle little tyrant; too likely, on entering the world, to become a
useless profligate. As it was, in consequence of his conduct, he had
inspired some of his new companions with admiration, and others with
respect; while even those of baser nature felt that he was likely to
prove a person with whom it would be disagreeable and inconvenient to
contend; and so it became impressed on their minds, that it would be
better to let him alone. Of course, these feelings were only shared
among the boys of his room. He had still to make his way in the school.
Like a knight-errant of old, there were many giants for him to
overcome; many castles, surrounded by enchantments, to enter, before he
could hope to establish himself on a proper footing in the school. Of
course he did not think all this; he only felt that he had altogether
acted in a perfectly satisfactory way, and was contented, and pretty
happy. He slept soundly, but was the first to awake in the room. He
jumped up, put on some of his clothes, said his prayers, and then went
to the wash-hand basin, and began sousing his face away in the cold
water, as was his custom.
Slowly the cold, grey light of a February morning drew on. A bell now
sounded loudly through the house, to rouse the inmates from their
slumbers. The other boys awoke, and lifted up their heads to see how
the new boy looked by daylight. They saw him standing in his trousers
and shirt, with his sleeves tucked up, his face glowing with the cold
water, his hair brushed back, and scrubbing away at his hands in a basin
full of lather, with an energy which showed that cold water had no
terrors for him. His well-knit frame, broad chest, and muscular little
arms, appeared to considerable advantage. Some of the boys, who were
unable to appreciate higher qualifications, could not fail to feel
respect for these; though Digby had not thought about them, nor was he
aware of the strength which he possessed, which, for his size, was
considerable. He brushed his hair with the same sort of energy with
which he had washed his hands, and then went to the drawer which had
been awarded to him, to put away his things. He was rather disgusted
than amused at seeing the dawdling way in which the boys put on their
clothes, and the mode in which they dabbed their faces over with the
cold water, and hurriedly dipped their hands in, though some only half
dried them, after all. Paul and Farnham were an exception to the rule.
"Well, Heathcote, I hope that you have slept soundly in this, to you,
strange place," said Paul, in his usual brisk tone.
"As sound as a top. It is all the same to me, when I have my head on a
comfortable pillow. It takes a good deal to keep me awake," answered
Digby, in the same tone. "I sleep fast, and get it over the sooner. I
hate to be long about what can be well done quickly."
"So do I," answered Newland. "Slow coaches are apt to break down as
often as fast ones."
Another bell now rang loudly, and the boys all hurried away downstairs
to the schoolroom. Digby accompanied Paul. He felt several fellows
push against his back, to throw him downstairs, but he was on his guard;
and one of them, to the fellow's surprise, he lifted up on his
shoulders, and, without difficulty, carried him down to the next
landing-place, where he bumped him pretty hard against the wall.
Another, not seeing what had occurred, tried the same trick. Digby,
putting his hands suddenly behind his back, seized him, and had carried
him down, holding the boy's arms tight, and was beginning to bump him,
when he felt his own ears pulled, and a voice exclaiming--
"Vat you do dat for? Is dat de way you new boy is going to behave
here?"
Digby guessed that it was Monsieur Guillaume, the French master, who was
thus addressing him.
"He tried to push me downstairs, sir; and I wish to show him that two
can play at most games of that sort," answered Digby, quietly.
"Ah, I do not tink you say de truth, you," exclaimed the French master,
angrily. "He is a good boy; my _protege_; speak French well. Put him
down, I say. Tommy Bray, come here; you not hurt, my poor boy?"
Digby put Tommy Bray on his feet, who accompanied Monsieur Guillaume
into the schoolroom, where Paul and Digby followed.
"The Frenchman has given you a fair specimen of himself. He is the most
uncertain, fickle little fellow I ever met. He bullies all the little
fellows except his favourites, or _proteges_, as he calls them, and
makes up to the older ones, who are big enough to thrash him, if they
like. He spites those who don't learn French, because he is not paid
for them. He is always trying, therefore, to get new pupils. However,
I do not believe that he is really bad tempered when he has his own way.
He has been soured by loss of property; and having to live out of la
belle France. And do you know, Heathcote, I really do believe that an
usher at a school like this, when no one is exactly master, and the big
boys have it much their own way, has a good deal to put up with."
"I should think so," observed Digby, as they entered the schoolroom.
They went to their desks. Mr Yates read prayers, and though everybody
was cold and hungry, lessons began.
Mr Tugman had not yet had time to examine Digby, so he sat at his desk
reading the Swiss Family of Robinson, which he confessedly preferred to
lessons. Each master had a class up before him; there were some crying;
a good deal of caning on the fingers--a particularly disagreeable
punishment, in cold weather especially--and a considerable amount of
blundering and hesitation. A few quick runs round the playground would
have saved a great deal of suffering and discontent; but Mr Sanford
never went out in the morning, and it never occurred to him that the
blood in his pupils' veins would circulate more freely with a little
brisk exercise, and give vivacity to their intellects.
Breakfast was at last announced by the constant sounding bell. It
varied little from tea, except that those who liked bread-and-milk might
have it. It was served out in large basins.
Digby, however, preferred the tea. He kept his eye sharply on his mug,
to see that it was not tampered with. He observed Tommy Bray take a
pinch of salt, and then ask for a cup of tea, though he had a basin of
bread-and-milk before him.
"Tommy Bray," cried Digby, in an undertone, "you had better not. Susan,
bring me that mug of tea, please. He does not want it."
Susan, remembering John Pratt's half sovereign, brought Digby the tea
intact; and Tommy was disappointed of his trick.
Several other boys, however, commenced their jokes on the new comer as
soon as their spirits had revived a little, by their appetites being
satisfied; but none of those in his room attempted anything of the sort;
and it soon became whispered about that the new boy was a plucky little
cock, and that his arm had a great lump of muscle in it, as big almost
as Scarborough's, which he was so fond of exhibiting.
After breakfast, the boys went into the playground. It was cold enough
to make everybody wish to run about as much as they could. Hoops were
the order of the day; and Farnham came up and asked Digby if he had got
a hoop.
"No; I never trundled one in my life, but I will try," he answered. "I
did not know that gentlemen used them. I have only seen the boys in the
streets at Osberton play with them."
Farnham thought that he was supercilious in his remark. "Oh, then, I
suppose you would not condescend to trundle a hoop?" he exclaimed,
turning away.
"But I would though, gladly," cried Digby; "if you can lend me one, and
just show me the knack of the thing, I shall like it very much."
Farnham was satisfied, and brought him a good strong hoop which he had
wished to offer him. His first attempts were not very successful; but
he saw how Farnham pressed the stick against the hoop rather than beat
it, and kept his eye on it and not on his stick, watching every
deviation from the direct line, so he was soon able to drive it along at
a fair rate, with tolerable satisfaction to himself.
Soon after returning into school, Mr Tugman called him up to undergo
the threatened examination. It was not very severe, and he managed to
get through it pretty well. He had a vague suspicion, indeed, that the
usher himself was not an over-ripe scholar. He found afterwards that
his suspicions were correct, and that poor Mr Tugman had to get up
every night the lessons he had to hear his head class the following day.
No wonder that his temper was not over-sweet, and that he was awfully
afraid of the big boys, lest they should find out how much more they
knew than he did. He was placed in Paul Newland's class, but as it was
Saturday he did not go up with it; so that, with Paul's assistance, he
was able to prepare his lessons for Monday. He determined to do his
best, and set to work to get them up thoroughly.
Boys in a private school have an advantage over those at a public one.
If they wish to study during school hours they can do so, under the eye
of the masters, without any fear of interruption. In a public one,
excellent as the system of most of the great ones is, the boys, working
in their own studies with one or two companions only, are liable to the
practical jokes and tricks of various sorts of the idly disposed, who
may have resolved to prevent them altogether from getting up their
lessons, and, of course, then it is very difficult work to do so.
School was over at half-past twelve, and then for a short time they all
rushed into the playground.
Spiller was on the watch for Digby at the door. "I am glad to find you,
Heathcote," he said, in a soft, quiet voice. "You remember what I told
you about your play-box last night. If you come with me I will show you
where to put it, and what to do with the things you have got."
"Shall I call him spongy to his face, and so show him that I know his
character?" thought Digby. "No; I don't like to do that, it's scarcely
right.--Thank you, Spiller," he said aloud, "I am not certain that I
shall unpack my things to-day. I have nothing that won't keep, I
believe; and I want to become better acquainted with fellows before I
cut up my cake."
This was a poser for Spiller, who had never before received such an
answer. He looked very hard at Digby, to try and find out whether he
knew anything about his character; but Digby had said simply what he had
intended to do, and Spiller was completely puzzled. Still he was
determined to try again. "Most fellows like to open their boxes at
once, to give away some of the good things they have got, to prove their
generosity," he observed. "A fellow can't expect to have friends unless
he does something to win them, you know. I only tell you this as a
hint, just that you may know how to act."
"I don't fancy buying friends in that way," answered Digby, laughing; "I
should not trust much to a fellow who said he was my friend for a piece
of cake or a spoonful of jam. If anybody else offered him a bigger
piece, or more jam, he would very quickly leave me. I like fellows not
for what they have got, but for what they are; and I want to be liked
for the same reason myself."
"Oh, I see that you are a radical," said Spiller, sneeringly; "those are
regular chartists' sentiments; but they won't go down with me, let me
tell you."
Digby burst out into a regular fit of laughter.
"Well, I never should have supposed that it could be considered radical
to like a fellow with a number of good qualities who was poor, in
preference to a bad fellow who happened to be rich. I must repeat it,
that I hope to find friends among the boys here, whom I shall like for
their good qualities."
"As you please," remarked Spiller; "of course I can't force you to do as
I recommend; but if, on thinking the matter over, you change your mind,
come to me and I will help you. Those are my principles; I'm not
ashamed of them, let me tell you."
What Spiller meant by his principles, Digby could not tell. Perhaps he
might have explained more clearly, but he saw Paul Newland approaching,
and he knew that he must abandon his designs for the present on Digby's
strong box.
Digby told Paul how he had managed Spiller.
"Capital," exclaimed Paul. "I wish that we could get rid of all the
disagreeable fellows in the school as easily as you have, for the
present, of Spiller; but I want to tell you to be on your guard against
that big bully, Scarborough. The fellows were talking about you just
now, and mentioning the plucky way in which you behaved last night;
instead of saying, as I am sure he ought, that you acted very rightly,
he sneered and vowed that he would very soon take the pride out of you."
"Let him try, if he wishes," answered Digby, not particularly alarmed,
for he never had been imbued with any especial dread of big fellows; his
fearlessness, however, in reality, arose from his want of experience of
the evil they had the power of inflicting; "if he knocks my nose off, he
certainly will prevent me from feeling proud of my face, but otherwise,
I don't see how he can very well alter my character."
Paul thought Digby a perfect hero, and wished for the time when he would
be big enough to be cock of the school. While they were speaking,
Scarborough lounged by with his hand on the shoulder of another fellow,
very much of his own character. There is a great similarity in the look
of all bullies, not so much in figure as in expression of countenance;
some are big, burly fellows, like Scarborough, others are tall and thin.
Of course, they all have more or less physical strength; some are dark
and some are fair, but they one and all have an inexpressible
resemblance to each other. Scarborough passed close to Digby, and as he
did so he put out his foot, and tried to trip him up; but Digby observed
the action, and, guessing the intention, jumped off the ground, and
escaped even being touched. He felt inclined to make some remark, but
he restrained his temper, and left the bully without any excuse for
picking a quarrel with him. Scarborough strolled to the end of the
playground, and when he came back, he stopped, and looking hard at
Digby, said--
"I suppose you are the new fellow who is going to do such mighty things
in the school--well, I want you to understand that I shall not allow you
to play any of your tricks with me; remember that."
Digby looked at the bully very steadily; he felt that he ought to answer
him, if he could do so, quietly, so he said--
"I don't know of any tricks which I wish to play; but if you will just
tell me what you don't like of what I have done, or have been said to
have done, I will do my best not to offend you."
"It's very well for you to talk in that way," said the bully, disarmed
for the moment; for even he could not venture to thrash a fellow without
some pretext; "just remember to keep up to it, or you'll find yourself
in the wrong box with me, my lad, that's all."
With this ambiguous threat, the bully moved on.
"Well done again," exclaimed little Paul, who had been trembling with
alarm all the time for the result of the meeting; "he won't let you off
without many another attack; but manage him as you have already done,
and I do not think that he will annoy you much."
The moment the dinner-bell rang, there was another general rush into the
dining-room. This was that the first comers might secure the best
pieces of bread and mugs of beer, arranged up and down the tables.
Digby found only half a mugful of beer and a very small piece of bread
remaining to his share; but he was not at all put out, and made no
remark, resolving another day to be earlier in the field.
Grangewood School had existed for a number of years, and things were
carried on there very much in the old-fashioned style in most respects.
Mr Sanford was a very good scholar and a gentleman, but he had no
talent for the economical arrangements of a school. It is a favourite
saying with some people, that boys are better fed than taught. He had
resolved that, as far as he had the power, they should be well taught;
but it did not occur to him, that it was incumbent on him to see that
they were well fed and well looked after.
Mrs Pike was, fortunately for him, a conscientious person; but her
notions were somewhat antiquated. She wished to attend to his
interests, and she was not aware that they and those of the boys were
identical; that is to say, that if the boys were thoroughly looked
after, well fed as well as well taught, brought up as Christians and
gentlemen, the school would flourish; and that if the boys were badly
and coarsely fed and treated, and neglected, the school would go
down-hill.
Digby was very hungry; the novelty of his position did not spoil his
appetite. He turned his head in the direction of the table at which
Mrs Pike, supported by Mr Yates, usually sat to superintend the
serving out of provender, to see what was coming. Some huge dishes
piled up with large white balls were brought in, and plates, containing
half of one of the balls, were in succession thumped down before each of
the boys. Digby turned over the mass with his fork to discover the
contents, but finding nothing but a mass of dough and a strong smell of
beer, he put it down; and when one of the maid-servants came by, held
out his plate, and quietly said, that he would rather have meat before
pudding. The maid-servant, who was not Susan, or she might have
whispered a bit of good advice, seized his plate, and going up with it
to Mrs Pike, said in a loud voice, so that all might hear:--
"The new boy, Master Digby Heathcote, marm, says that he likes meat
before pudding."
Mrs Pike cast a withering glance at Digby; such a piece of
insubordination had not been met with for a long time to her authority.
"We here give pudding before meat, young gentleman, if it suits us," she
exclaimed, in a dictatorial tone; "if you do not choose to eat such
excellent pudding as this is, you can have no meat. Take it back to
him, Jane."
Again the plate was placed before him.
"You had better eat it," whispered Paul Newland. "It is very good yeast
dumpling, and you will like it when you are accustomed to it."
"With all my heart," answered Digby, laughing. "I did not want to make
such a fuss about the matter. I like duff very well, only I really
thought that they had forgotten to put the meat on my plate."
"Don't touch the stuff, Heathcote, take my advice," exclaimed Spiller,
in a low tone, across the table. "You have got plenty of good things in
your box to feed on, I dare say. All new fellows have; and there is
nothing like holding out against injustice."
"Thank you," said Digby, pretty well guessing Spiller's drift. "I had
rather not lose my dinner. Very good stuff, though; capital duff; a
little sugar and wine would make it perfect."
He ate it all up.
"Here, Jane," he exclaimed, holding out his plate; "say that I find it
very good, and should like some more."
Jane, who was pretty well up to the tricks young gentlemen were capable
of playing, looked suspiciously at his pockets, and then under the
table, to ascertain whether he really had eaten up the dumpling; but
even she was assured by his ingenuous countenance, and so she went up to
the head table, and said that Master Digby Heathcote liked the yeast
dumpling and wanted some more.
Mrs Pike looked, also, very suspiciously at Digby.
"I'll give him some," said Mr Yates, who was assisting in serving out
the provisions.
Mrs Pike, with feminine tact, would have given a small piece, not to
disgust him; but he, whether with malice or from thoughtlessness, put
very nearly a whole one on the plate. Some brown sugar, however, was
added by Susan on its way to Digby; and when he got it, he liked the
taste so much, that although not aware that Mrs Pike's sharp eyes were
on him, he sat manfully to work; and yeast dumpling being of a very
compressible nature, he demolished the whole mass in a very short time.
It did occur to Mrs Pike's economical mind that it was fortunate the
new boy liked pudding, or he would be very expensive to feed.
Digby felt rather thirsty, so he drank up his beer. That was rather
sour; but he was not easily put out, and he felt already very much as if
he had dined. When a huge dish of salt beef, with carrots and turnips,
did come, he could do but little justice to it; but he was grateful to
Mrs Pike's delicate attention, when, in a tone of which he did not
discover the sarcasm, she pressed him to take a second helping.
He begged to have some more beer, though; but was told that one cupful
was the allowance, and so had to quench his thirst with water.
"We have pudding first only twice in the week," observed Paul. "I have
got accustomed to it, and rather like the variety, though I thought it
odd at first. One day we have yeast, and another suet-dumpling. Then
two days we generally have pease-soup, or some fellows do call it
pease-porridge. It is rather thick, to be sure, and on those days we
have porter instead of beer. I seldom after it have an appetite, even
for Irish-stew or toad-in-the-hole. On Wednesdays, Mrs Pike lets a
cake-man come just before dinner with gingerbread and lollipops; and
many fellows would rather spend their money on his grub than in any
other way; and they are not so hungry on that day, and don't care so
much what they have. We call that scrap-and-pudding day, because we
have hashes first and rice-dumplings afterwards. Mrs Pike, on that
day, always talks about the immense sum she spends on currants and other
groceries for the school."
However, enough about eating; Paul and Digby were philosophers in their
way, and had no wish to make grievances out of trifles.
Mr Sanford himself would have been horrified had he known the light in
which the domestic arrangements of his establishment were regarded; and
it told among the elder boys with very injurious effect to his
interests. Some of the best left; and their parents, knowing him to be
a gentleman--cruelly, certainly--did not explain the real cause, and so
he let things go on as before. The worst remained; those whose friends
knew that they were not likely to get on well anywhere, and perhaps
would not believe their statements. They, of course, leavened the rest.
The younger ones, by degrees, took up their notions and habits; and a
first-rate school had not only diminished in size, but had deteriorated
sadly in quality, by the time Digby went to it.
He, of course, did not find this out. The state in which he found
things he supposed to be inseparable from schools in general, and he was
disposed to make the best of them. However, he had resolved not to give
in to the bad ways of others, when he once saw that they were bad. But
he had yet to learn how insensibly a person may be drawn into the bad
habits, and a bad style of thinking and speaking, and may adopt the
erroneous notions of people among whom he lives. Digby was in a much
more perilous position than he was aware of. He was of a dauntless
disposition; he had always been accustomed to rely a good deal upon
himself, and he was anxious to do his duty. More than that was wanted
to preserve him. He had at home a pious mother and sisters, who never
failed to offer up their prayers for his safety. Surely those prayers
were not uttered in vain. It would have been doing, also, great
injustice to the Squire of Bloxholme to say that he forgot his son,
though those who knew him best might have supposed that his prayers
might have been of a somewhat inarticulate nature. Still, certainly,
there was fervency and sincerity in whatever ejaculations he uttered.
The subject is too serious to be touched on lightly. Only thus much may
be said, that if more parents prayed for their children, and more
children for their parents, the sacred ties of that relationship would
not, as now is too often the case, be loosened or rudely torn asunder;
and there would be more good parents and good children than are to be
found.
Dinner was over; the boys rushed into the playground; neither the yeast
dumplings nor the salt beef stuck in their throats. Most of them were
hallooing, shoving against each other, trying to trip up those nearest
them, slapping each other's backs, and, indeed, playing every
conceivable trick of the sort.
Digby was soon overtaken by Scarborough.
"Well, jackanapes, how are you?" said the latter.
Digby ran on without taking any notice of the address.
"Did you hear me speak to you?" exclaimed the bully, catching Digby by
the collar of his jacket.
"I heard some one speak to somebody, but I could not possibly tell that
you meant to say anything to me. There are big monkeys as well as
little ones. You might have been wishing to say something to a fellow
of your own size."
Digby had shaken himself clear of the bully, whose face was livid with
anger, and stood facing him.
Scarcely were the words out of Digby's mouth, than he received several
tremendous boxes on the ears. He felt a choking sensation in the
throat; he had never before been struck unjustly. All the pugnacity in
his disposition rose at once into his well-rounded knuckles, and
springing forward before the bully had a conception of what he was about
to do, he had planted two such heavy blows in his two eyes, that they
flashed fire in such a way, that he could scarcely see what had become
of his small opponent, while he himself absolutely reeled back with
pain. When he did open his eyes, there stood Digby, his feet firmly
planted on the ground, his fists clenched, his teeth firmly set,
undaunted and ready to do battle, yet well knowing that he must
inevitably get the worst in an encounter with so big an antagonist. He
had not provoked the quarrel; he had justice on his side, and he was
encouraged by the shouts of a number of boys, and cries of "Bravo,
little cock!" "Well done, new boy!" "Give it the bully!" "Stand to
your colours!" Digby felt like a martyr to a great cause. If
Scarborough had been angry when merely spoken to, he now became furious
at being thus unexpectedly bearded by so small an antagonist. If the
new boy escaped without a severe punishment, he might become a most
troublesome opponent in the school. He rushed at him, uttering terrific
threats of vengeance, intending to seize him by the collar and to throw
him down, and to bite his ears and kick him at the same time, _more
tyranni_. Digby leaped nimbly aside, and hit his right arm a blow which
made it tingle from the shoulder to the tips of the fingers. This,
however, only put off the chastisement which was sure to be inflicted,
where his antagonist was so vastly superior in strength.
It is not necessary to repeat the abusive epithets and oaths which flew
from Scarborough's mouth. Hitting Digby a terrific blow with his left
hand, which knocked off his cap, and kicking at his legs, he brought him
to the ground, when seizing him by the hair, he began to knock him about
most unmercifully on the head and shoulders.
"Shame! shame!" cried many of the boys together; "a new fellow, and down
on the ground. Shame, bully! shame!"
"Why don't some of you come and help me?" cried Digby, in the interval
of the blows, and trying to get on his legs.
"I will," cried little Paul Newland, who had only just come into the
playground, and had run up to see what was happening; "who'll follow me?
Farnham, you will, I'm sure."
"That I will," cried Farnham, all the generous emotions in his heart
rising up; "he stood up bravely for us younger fellows. He is a gallant
little cock. To the rescue! to the rescue!"
Farnham was a good-sized fellow, though young. A number of other boys,
inspired by his address, joined him; and, without further concert, they
made a bold dash at Scarborough, who little thought that they would
really attack him. Some clung to his legs, others seized his arms, and
clung round his neck and pulled him backwards, so that Digby had time to
jump to his feet, and to shake himself to ascertain that no bones were
broken.
"Thank you, thank you," he exclaimed: "I am not much the worse for the
way that big coward behaved; but take care, he will be hurting some of
you; I don't mind if he was to set on me again; I dare say I can stand
his knocking about as well as anybody."
The boys who had so gallantly come to Digby's rescue had not thought of
that, and Scarborough, struggling desperately to free himself, had
thrown some of them off, and was in his fury striking, right and left,
blows heavy enough to have maimed any of them for life; but at the same
time he had his eye on Digby, on whom he was evidently longing to wreak
his vengeance.
By this time most of the boys, big and little, were drawn round the
scene of the contest. Scarborough had his friends, who urged him to
annihilate his small opponents, but did not think it necessary
themselves to interfere. Bad as were many of them, Digby's gallantry
had been remarked by one of the elder boys in the first class, who,
though not so big or so old as Scarborough, was a person not to be
trifled with. His figure was light, active, well-knit, and his
countenance had a mild expression, at the same time that it possessed
signs of peculiar firmness and decision.
Scarborough had freed himself from all those who surrounded him, except
from Farnham and Newland, who were in vain trying to prevent him from
once more seizing Digby, when Henry Bouverie, the boy spoken of, stepped
up, and placing himself between Scarborough and Digby, exclaimed:--
"You shall not touch him; while I remain at this place, I will not, if I
can help it, allow so thoroughly un-English and cowardly acts to be
committed. That young fellow only came yesterday, and you must needs
run foul of him and half kill him with your brutality to-day. Whatever
others may think, I know that the sooner you leave the school the better
it will be for all of us."
Scarborough was still advancing. Bouverie lifted up his fists.
"You shall light me and thrash me before you again touch that young
fellow," he exclaimed, in a voice which made the bully draw back.
"Remember, Heathcote, if he strikes you, you are to come and tell me;
and any of you fellows who came to Heathcote's help are to do the same."
The bully stood irresolute. Should he at once fly at Bouverie and
attack him. He was certainly stronger; he might thrash him; and if so,
he should not only keep him in check, but be able to tyrannise over all
the other boys as much as he liked; but then he looked at Bouverie, and
observed the calm, firm attitude he had assumed. The reverse would be
the case if he failed. His prestige, already having suffered a severe
blow from Digby, would be for ever gone.
When Bouverie had first spoken, Farnham and Newland had let him go, and
though he struck at them as they did so, they escaped without much
injury. Some of the bigger boys, who did not like Bouverie, shouted
out:--
"Knock him over; down with the radical!"
But still louder rose a shout of approbation from Farnham, Newland, and
the boys with more generous feelings who had sided with them, in which
Digby heartily joined.
"Bravo, Bouverie, gallant fellow! we'll stick by you."
"Thanks to all those who so express themselves," said Bouverie;
"recollect, however, it is only by being kindly affectioned one to
another, and by supporting each other in everything that is right, that
you can hope to resist tyranny and oppression. Mark me, also,
Scarborough; I have no wish to set the fellows on against you, but I
detest bullying, and if you continue the system you have been pursuing,
I shall do my very utmost to help the younger fellows, and to oppose
you. No more shouting, pray. I'm for a game at Prisoners' Base. Here,
Farnham, you lead one side, I'll take the other. Any fellows who will
oppose bullying may join; no others, remember."
Digby was surprised at the rapid and systematic way in which the
arrangements were made. Farnham was evidently pleased at being chosen
by a big fellow like Bouverie to play against him. Of the mysteries of
the game he himself knew nothing; still he longed to join in it in spite
of his sores and aching bones. Bouverie at last looked towards him and
invited him to join.
"All right; I thought he would," said Paul Newland, who was standing
near.
"But I have never played at it before," said Digby.
"Oh, never mind that! I'll show you what to do; and I am certain you
can run fast, and will play well," urged Paul.
"Yes, he'll play," he added, turning to Bouverie. "You know,
Heathcote," he continued, "you must be up to everything and ready for
everything--in the way of games, I mean. When you know the ways of the
school, the younger fellows will look to you as a leader. They want
one, and I know that you will make a good one."
These remarks naturally could not fail to fire Digby's ambition. He
forgot all about his bruises, and ran eagerly to the spot marked out for
the game. Paul explained it to him. The base was at the bottom of the
playground from one side to the other. This was divided in two. The
prison was at a pump which stood in the middle of the ground--a great
luxury in hot weather, but a terror to the little boys in cold, for they
were sometimes placed under it and unmercifully soused.
"Now, you see," said Paul, "one fellow starts out on one side, then
another on the opposite, who tries to touch him. If he succeeds, the
first goes to prison; but if the first gets in, the second may be
touched by a third, and himself have to go to prison, and so on. The
next aim is to get those on our own side out of prison. This is done by
running to them and touching them, but in so doing, a fellow is liable
to be touched by one of the opposite side, and have to go himself to
prison. If, however, he rescues a prisoner, he may not be touched on
his return to the base. To my mind, it is the best running game there
is."
Digby thought so likewise, and entered with great zest into the game.
He soon understood it as clearly as if he had played it all his life.
Once Bouverie himself was touched, and had to go to prison. Nearly all
their side were out chasing, or being chased. Digby rushed back to the
base, and then, quick as lightning, started out again, and though
pursued by a fast runner, he succeeded in rescuing his leader in gallant
style.
"Well done, new boy! well done, small one! well done, Heathcote!" was
shouted by several on his side, and Digby felt very proud of his
success. Whenever one of his party was taken prisoner, he was the first
to dash out to his rescue; and if he saw one pursued, he was instantly
in chase of the pursuer. From this time he entered warmly into all the
games which were played, and was soon invariably chosen to take an
active part in all those which did not require practice. Some required,
however, both practice and instruction, and for those he always found
ready instructors in Farnham and Paul Newland. He practised away,
however, so zealously, that he very soon played, even in games of skill,
almost as well as those who were teaching him. He not only listened to
what they told him, but he attentively watched them and all the best
players, and saw how they did things, and their various tricks and
devices. He did not forget also to observe, occasionally, the bad
players, that he might see how it was they managed so soon to be put
out. Cricket, of course, had not yet come in; in that capital game,
likewise, he was anxious to become a proficient. He had been initiated
at Mr Nugent's in single wicket, so he could bat and bowl pretty well,
but he knew very little of the game at large.
From the style of his previous education, he found himself also in
lessons somewhat behind many boys younger than himself, though he knew a
great deal more than they did of other things, and of affairs in
general.
However, he had no reason to complain after his measure had been taken
by his schoolfellows of the position he occupied in their estimation.
Whether this was for his ultimate advantage remained to be seen; one
thing was certain, it demanded of him a considerable amount of temper,
judgment, discretion; and not only good resolutions, but strength to
keep them.