school with the most provoking intelligence, and conveyed even to the
dullest, with a vivacity of countenance of which Muirtown was not
capable, that Bulldog was a tiresome old gentleman, that the boys were a
set of sad dogs, capable of any mischief, that some of them were bound
to get a first-class thrashing, and worst of all that he, the Count,
knew who would get it, and that he was about to give evidence in an
instant with the utmost candour and elegance of manner. When his glance
lighted on Speug it was with such a cheerful and unhesitating
recognition that Speug was almost abashed, and knew for certain that for
him at least, there could be no escape; while Howieson, plunging into
arithmetic of his own accord for once, calculated rapidly what would be
his share of the broken glass. Neither of them would have denied what he
did to save himself twenty thrashings; but they shared Bulldog's disgust
that a free-born Scot should be convicted on the evidence of a
foreigner, whom they always associated in his intellectual gifts and
tricks of speech with the monkey, which used to go round seated on the
top of our solitary barrel-organ.
"When it is your pleasure, sir," said Bulldog sternly; and there was a
silence that could be felt, whilst Speug already saw himself pointed out
with the Count's cane.
The shutters went suddenly down on the Count's face; he became grave and
anxious, and changed from a man of the world, who had been exchanging a
jest with a few gay Bohemians, into a witness in the Court of Justice.
"Assuredly, monsieur, I will testify upon what you call my soul and
conscience," and the Count indicated with his hand where both those
faculties were contained. "I will select the boy who had audacity, I
will say profanity, to break the windows of my good friend and hostess,
Madame Jamieson."
The Count gave himself to the work of selection, but there was no longer
a ray of intelligence in his face. He was confused and perplexed, he
looked here and he looked there, he made little impatient gestures, he
said a bad French word, he flung up a hand in despair, he turned to
Bulldog with a frantic gesture, as of a man who thought he could have
done something at once, and found he could not do it at all. Once more
he faced the school, and then Speug, with that instinct of acute
observation which belongs to a savage, began to understand, and gave
Howieson a suggestive kick.
"As a man of honour," said the Count with much solemnity, "I give my
testimony, and I declare that I do not see one of the boys who did
forget themselves yesterday and did offer the insult of an assault to
Madame's domicile."
And it would have been curious if he had seen the boys, for the Count
was looking over their heads, and studying the distant view of the
meadow and the River Tay with evident interest and appreciation.
The mind of Speug was now clear upon the Count, and Bulldog also
understood, and in two seconds, so quick is the flash of sympathy
through a mass of boy life, the youngest laddie in the mathematical
class-room knew that, although the Count might have had the misfortune
to be born in foreign parts, and did allow himself to dress like a
dancing-master, inside that coat, and the stays too, if he had them on,
there was the heart of a man who would not tell tales on any fellow, and
who also liked his bit of fun.
"It's a peety, Count," said Bulldog, with poorly concealed satisfaction,
"that ye're no' in a poseetion to recognise the culprits, for if they're
no' here my conviction is they're no' to be found in Muirtown. We can
ask no more of ye, sir, and we're much obleeged for yir attendance."
"It is a felicitous affair," said the Count, "which has the fortune to
introduce me to this charming company," and the Count bowed first to
Bulldog and then to the school with such a marked indication in one
direction that Speug almost blushed. "My sorrow is to be so stupid a
witness; but, monsieur, you will allow me to pay the penalty of my poor
eyesight. It will be my pleasure," and again the Count bowed in all
directions, "to replace the glass in Madame's house, and the incident,
pouf! it is forgotten."
There was a swift glance from all parts of the class-room, and
permission was read in Bulldog's face. Next instant the mathematical
class-room was rent with applause, such as could only be given when
fifty such lads wanted to express their feelings, and Speug led the
circus.
"Ye will allow me to say, sir," and now Bulldog came as near as possible
to a bow, "that ye have acted this day as a gentleman, and so far as the
boys of Muirtown Seminary are concerned ye're free to come and go among
us as ye please."
The departure of the Count, still bowing, with Bulldog attending him to
the door and offering him overshoes to cover the polished leather boots,
was a sight to behold, and the work done for the rest of the morning was
not worth mentioning.
During the lunch hour the school was harangued in short, pithy terms by
Speug, and in obedience to his invitation Muirtown Seminary proceeded in
a solid mass to the Count's residence, where they gave a volley of
cheers. The Count was more gratified than by anything that had happened
to him since he came to Muirtown; and throwing up one of the newly
repaired windows he made an eloquent speech, in which he referred to Sir
Walter Scott and Queen Mary and the Fair Maid of Perth, among other
romantic trifles; declared that the fight between the "Pennies" and the
Seminary was worthy of the great Napoleon; pronounced Speug to be _un
brave garçon_; expressed his regret that he could not receive the
school in his limited apartments, but invited them to cross with him to
the Seminary tuck-shop, where he entertained the whole set to Mistress
MacWhae's best home-made ginger-beer. He also desired that Mistress
Jamieson should come forward to the window with him and bow to the
school, while he held her hand--which the Count felt would have been a
really interesting tableau. It certainly would have been, but Mistress
Jamieson refused to assist in the most decided terms.
"Me stand wi' the Count at an open window, hand in hand wi' him, and
bowin', if ye please, to thae blackguard laddies? Na, na; I'm a widow o'
good character, and a member o' the Free Kirk, and it would ill set me
to play such tricks. But I'll say this for the Count--he behaved
handsome; and I'm judgin' the'll no' be another pane o' glass broken in
my house so long as the Count is in it." And there never was.
It were not possible to imagine anything more different than a Muirtown
boy and the Count; but boys judge by an instinct which never fails
within its own range, and Muirtown Seminary knew that, with all his
foreign ways, the Count was a man. Legends gathered around him and
flourished exceedingly, being largely invented by Nestie, and offered
for consumption at the mouth of the pistol by Speug, who let it be
understood that to deny or even to smile at Nestie's most incredible
invention would be a ground of personal offence. The Count was in turn
a foreign nobleman, who had fallen in love with the Emperor of Austria's
daughter and had been exiled by the imperial parent, but that the
Princess was true to the Count, and that any day he might be called from
Mistress Jamieson's lodgings to the palace of Vienna; that he was
himself a king of some mysterious European State, who had been driven
out by conspirators, but whose people were going to restore him, and
that some day Speug would be staying with the Count in his royal abode
and possibly sitting beside him on the throne. During this romance Speug
felt it right to assume an air of demure modesty, which was quite
consistent with keeping a watchful eye on any impertinent young rascal
who might venture to jeer, when Speug would politely ask him what he was
laughing at, and offer to give him something to laugh for. That the
Count was himself a conspirator, and the head of a secret society which
extended all over Europe, with signs and passwords, and that whenever
any tyrant became intolerable, the warrant for his death was sent from
Mistress Jamieson's. Whenever one fable grew hackneyed Nestie produced
another, and it was no longer necessary in Muirtown Seminary to buy
Indian tales or detective stories, for the whole library of fiction was
now bound up and walking about in the Count.
[Illustration: "WATCHING A BATTLE ROYAL BETWEEN THE TOPS."]
Between him and the boys there grew up a fast friendship, and he was
never thoroughly happy now unless he was with his "jolly dogs." He
attended every cricket match, and at last, after he had learned how,
kept the score, giving a cheer at every new run and tearing his hair
when any of his boys were bowled out. He rushed round the football field
without his cane, and generally without his hat; and high above all
cheers could be heard his "Bravo--bravo, forwards! Speug!" as that
enterprising player cleft his way through the opponent's ranks. It
mattered nothing to the Count that his boots were ruined, and his
speckless clothes soiled, he would not have cared though he had burst
his stays, so long as the "dogs" won, and he could go up in glory with
them to Janet MacWhae's and drink to their health in flowing
ginger-beer. During the play hour his walk seemed ever to bring him to
the North Meadow, and if a ball by accident, for none would have done it
by intention, knocked off the Count's hat, he cried "Hoor-r-rah!" in his
own pronunciation and bowed in response to this mark of attention. It
was a pretty sight to see him bending forward, his hands resting on his
knees, watching a battle royal between the tops of Speug and Howieson;
and if anything could be better it was to see the Count trying to spin a
top himself, and expostulating with it in unknown tongues.
As the boys came to the school in the morning and went home in the
evening up Breadalbane Street, the Count was always sitting at one of
the windows which had been broken, ready to wave his hand to any one who
saluted him, and in the afternoon he would often open the window to get
the school news and to learn whether there would be a match on Saturday.
As time went on this alliance told upon the Count's outer man; he never
lost his gay manner, nor his pretty little waist, nor could he ever have
been taken for a Scot, nor ever, if he had lived to the age of
Methuselah, have been made an elder of the Kirk; but his boots grew
thicker, though they were always neat, and his clothes grew rougher,
though they were always well made, and his ties became quieter, and his
week-day hat was like that of other men, and, except on Sundays,
Muirtown never saw the glory of the former days. With his new interest
in life, everyone noticed that the Count had grown simpler and kindlier,
and Muirtown folk, who used to laugh at him with a flavour of contempt,
began to love him through their boys. He would walk home with Bulldog on
a summer evening, the strangest pair that ever went together; and it was
said that many little improvements for the comfort of the lads, and many
little schemes for their happiness at Muirtown Seminary, were due to the
Count. It was believed that the time did come when he could have
returned to his own land, but that he did not go because he was a lonely
man and had found his friends in Muirtown; and when he died, now many
years ago, he left his little all for the benefit of his "jolly dogs,"
and the Count, who had no mourners of his blood, was followed to his
grave by every boy at Muirtown Seminary.
A TOURNAMENT
VIII
Since the day when Speug and a few young friends had broken every pane
of glass in the Count's windows, and the Count had paid for the damage
like a gentleman, that excellent foreigner had spent all his spare
cash--which we thought afterwards was not very much--in encouraging
athletic exercises among the Seminary lads. His zeal, like that of every
other convert, was much greater than his knowledge, and left to his own
devices he would certainly have gone far astray; but with the able
assistance of Speug, with whom he took intimate counsel, it was
astonishing what a variety could be infused into the sports. When every
ordinary competition had been held, and champions had been declared (and
this had never been done before in the history of the school) for the
hundred yards, the quarter, and the mile (the ten miles down the Carse
and over the top of Kinnoul Hill had been stopped by an impromptu
meeting of parents), for broad jumping and high jumping, for throwing
the cricket ball and kicking the football, Speug came out with a quite
new programme which was rapturously received, and had it not met with a
cross-providence would have lasted over four happy Saturdays and
considerably reduced the attendance at the Seminary. The first item was
a swimming match across the Tay, a river not to be trifled with, and
four boys were saved from death by a salmon cobble, whose owner
fortunately turned up to watch the sport. The Count was so excited by
this event that he not only lost his hat in the river, but being
prevented from going in to help, for the very good reason that he could
not swim a stroke, he took off and flung the coat, which was the marvel
of Muirtown, into the river, in the hope that it might serve as a
lifebelt. The second item, upon which Speug prided himself very much,
was a climbing match, and for this he had selected a tree which seemed
to be designed for the purpose, since it had a rook's nest on its
highest branch, and no branches at all for the first twenty feet. The
conditions were, that every boy above twelve should have his chance, and
the boy who climbed to the top, put his hand into the rook's nest, and
came down in the shortest time, should get the prize. The Seminary above
twelve were going up and down that tree a whole Saturday morning, and in
one kirk next day thanks were offered in the first prayer in peculiarly
dignified and guarded terms that half the families of Muirtown had not
been bereaved. As a matter of fact, nobody was killed, and no limbs
were broken, but Speug, who was not allowed to enter for this
competition, but acted as judge, with his tongue out all the time at the
sight of the sport, had to go up twice on errands of mercy, once to
release his friend Howieson, who had missed a branch and was hanging by
his feet, and the second time to succour Pat Ritchie, who was suspended
by the seat of his trousers, swaying to and fro like a gigantic apple on
the branch. It was understood that the Seminary had never enjoyed
themselves so entirely to their heart's content, but the Count's moral
courage failed during the performance, and at the most critical moment
he was afraid to look. When Muirtown got wind of this last achievement
of Speug's, indignation meetings were held at church-doors and street
corners, and it was conveyed to the Rector--who knew nothing about the
matter, and was so absent-minded that if he had passed would never have
seen what was going on--that if Providence was going to be tempted in
this fashion again, the matter would be brought before the Town Council.
The Count himself would have been faithfully dealt with had he not been
considered a helpless tool in the hands of Speug, who was now understood
to have filled the cup of his sins up to the brim. He might indeed have
been at last expelled from the Seminary, of which he was the chief
ornament, had it not been that the Count went to the Rector and
explained that the idea had been his from beginning to end, and that it
was with the utmost difficulty he could induce Speug even to be present.
For, as I said, the Count was a perfect gentleman, and always stood by
his friends through thick and thin; but the thrashing which Speug got
from Bulldog was monumental, and in preparation for it that ingenious
youth put on three folds of underclothing.
What Speug bitterly regretted, however, was not the punishment, which
was cheap at the money, but the loss of the next two items in his
programme. He had planned a boxing competition, in which the main
feature was to be a regular set-to between Dunc Robertson and himself,
to decide finally which was the better man, for they had fought six
times and the issue was still doubtful; and Speug, who had a profligate
genius outside the class-rooms, had also imagined a pony race with
hurdles; and as about twenty fellows, farmers' sons and others, had
ponies, of which they were always bragging, and Speug had the pick of
his father's stables, he modestly believed that the affair would be
worth seeing. When the hurdle race was forbidden, for which Speug had
already begun to make entries and to arrange weights with his father's
valuable assistance, he took the matter so much to heart that his health
gave way, and Mr. McGuffie senior had to take him to recruit at the
Kilmarnock Races, from which he returned in the highest spirits and full
of stories.
For some time after this painful incident the Count lay low and adopted
a deprecating manner when he met the fathers and mothers of Muirtown;
but he gave his friends to understand that his resources were not at an
end, and that he had a surprise in store for the Seminary. Speug ran
over every form of sport in casual conversation to discover what was in
the Count's mind, but he would not be drawn and grew more mysterious
every day. One Saturday evening in midsummer he took Speug and Nestie
into his confidence, explaining that his idea would be announced to the
assembled school by himself next Wednesday, and that it had nothing to
do, as Speug had hinted in turn, with rats, or rabbits, or fencing, or
the sword dance. With their permission he would say one word which would
be enough for persons of so distinguished an imagination, and that word
was "Tournament;" and then he would speak of nothing else except the
beauty of the evening light upon the river, which he declared to be
"ravishing," and the excellence of a certain kind of chocolate which he
carried in his pocket, and shared generously with his "dogs." As he
parted with his friends the Count tapped his nose and winked at
them--"Tournament--great, magnificent, you will see, ha, ha! you will
see;" and Speug went home in a state of utter confusion, coming finally
to the conclusion that the Count intended to introduce some French game,
and in that case it would be his painful duty to oppose the Count tooth
and nail, for everybody knew that French games were only for girls, and
would bring endless disgrace upon Muirtown Seminary. During Sunday
Nestie had turned the matter over in his mind, and being full of Scott's
novels he was able on Monday to give the astonished school a full
programme with the most minute particulars. The tournament was to be
held in the North Meadow; the judge was to be the Commander of the
cavalry at the barracks; John Chalmers, the town's bellman, was to be
herald; the Fair Maid of Perth was to be the Queen of Beauty; and the
combatants were to be such knights as Robertson, Howieson, and of course
Speug. Each knight was to be in armour, and Nestie freely suggested
dish-covers would be useful as breastplates, broom-handles would come in
conveniently for lances, and as ponies were now forbidden, sturdy boys
of the lower forms would be used instead. The two knights who challenged
one another would rush from opposite ends of the lists, meet in the
centre, lance upon breastplate, horse to horse, and man to man, and the
one that overthrew the other would receive the prize; and at the thought
of such a meeting between Speug and Dunc Robertson, each in full armour,
the delighted school smacked their lips.
"Muirtown Races 'ill be nothing to it," said Ritchie. "I'll lay anybody
a shilling that Speug coups (capsizes) Dunc the first meeting;
but"--feeling as if it were almost too good to be true--"I dinna
believe a word o't. Nestie is a fearsome liar." And after the school had
spoken of nothing else for a day, Dunc Robertson asked the Count boldly
whether such things were true.
"_Mon ami_," said the Count, who had tasted Nestie's romance with much
relish, "you will pardon me, but it is a _banalité_, that is what you
call a stupidity, to ask whether so good a _jeu d'esprit_ is true. True?
Truth is a dull quality, it belongs to facts; but Nestie, he does not
live among facts, he flies in the air, in the atmosphere of poetry. He
is a _raconteur_. A tournament with knights on the North Meadow--good!
Our little Nestie, he has been reading _Ivanhoe_ and he is a
troubadour." And the Count took off his hat in homage to Nestie's
remarkable powers as an author of fiction.
"But yes, it will be a tournament; but not for the body, for the mind.
My dogs are jolly dogs; they can run, they can leap, they can swim, they
can kick the ball; now they must think, ah! so deep. They must write
their very best words, they must show that they have beautiful minds;
and they will do so, I swear they will, in the tournament, which will
not be on the meadow--no; too many cows there, and too many washers of
clothes--but in seclusion, in the class-room of that brave man called
the Bulldog. It will be a battle," concluded the Count with enthusiasm,
"of heads: and the best head, that head will have the prize, _voilà_."
"Silence!" and Bulldog brought his cane down upon his desk that
Wednesday afternoon when the whole upper school was gathered in his
class-room, bursting with curiosity. "The Count has a proposeetion to
lay before you which he will explain in his own words and which has the
sanction of the Rector. Ye will be pleased to give the Count a
respectful hearing, as he deserves at yir hands." And Bulldog was there
to see that the Count's deserts and his treatment strictly corresponded.
"Monsieur," and the Count bowed to Bulldog, "and you," and now he bowed
to the boys, "all my friends of the Seminary, I have the honour to ask a
favour which your politeness will not allow you to refuse. Next Saturday
I will dare to hold a reception in this place, with the permission of
the good Bull---- I do forget myself--I mean the distinguished master.
And when you come, I promise you that I will not offer you coffee--pouf!
it is not for the brave boys I see before me, _non_," and the Count
became very roguish. "I will put a leetle, very leetle sentence on
the----" ("Blackboard," suggested Bulldog). "_Merci_, yes, the
blackboard; no, the honourable master he will have the goodness to write
it in his so beautiful characters. One sentence, that is all, and you
will sit for one hour in this room where you make your studies, and you
will write all the beautiful things which come into your heads about
that sentence. You will then do me the pleasure of letting me carry
home all those beautiful things, and I will read them; and the writer
who affects me most, I will ask him to accept a book of many volumes,
and the Lor' Mayor" ("Provost," interpolated Bulldog) "will present it
on the great day in the Town Hall.
"No one, not even the honourable master himself, will know that leetle
sentence till it be written on the--the----" ("Blackboard," said
Bulldog, with asperity), "and every boy will be able to write many
things about that sentence. The scholars upon whom I do felicitate the
honourable master will write much learning," and the Count made a
graceful inclination in the direction of the two Dowbiggins; "and the
brave boys who love the sport, they will also write, ah! ah!"--and the
Count nodded cheerfully in the direction of Speug--"such wonderful
things. There will be no books; no, you will have your heads, and so it
will be the fair play, as you say," repeated the Count with much
satisfaction, "the fair play."
Bulldog dismissed the school after he had explained that no one need
come unless he wished, but that anyone who didn't come was missing the
opportunity of securing an honourable distinction, and would also show
himself to be an ungrateful little scoundrel for all that the Count had
done for the Seminary.
"Dod," said Jock Howieson, with much native shrewdness, "aifter all his
palaver it's naething but anither confounded exercise," for that worthy
had suffered much through impositions, and had never been able to
connect one sentence with another in an intelligent manner. "The
Dowbiggins can go if they want, and they're welcome to the books. I'm
going next Saturday to Woody Island--will you come, Speug?" And it hung
in the balance whether or not the Count would be openly affronted next
Saturday when he found himself in the company of half a dozen "swats,"
while his "jolly dogs" were off in a pack to their island of romance.