ROPSLEY
Ropsley smoked his cigar on the trunk of the old tree, and Manners drank
in worldly wisdom from the lips of his junior, whom, however, he
esteemed as the very guide-book of all sporting and fashionable life.
It was the ambition of our usher to become a thorough man of the world;
and, had he been born to a fortune and a title, there was no reason why
he should not have formed a very fair average young nobleman. His
tastes were frivolous enough, his egotism sufficiently developed, his
manner formed on what he conceived the best model. All this was only
absurd, I presume, because he was an usher; had he been a marquis, he
would have shown forth as a "very charming person." His admiration of
Ropsley was genuine, the latter's contempt for his adorer equally
sincere, but better concealed. They sit puffing away at their cigars,
watching the smoke wreathing up into the summer sky, and Manners coaxes
his whiskers and looks admiringly at his friend. Ropsley's cigar is
finished, and he dashes it down somewhat impatiently.
"What can have become of that little wretch?" says he, with a yawn and a
stretch of his long, well-shaped limbs; "he's probably made some stupid
mistake, and I shall have to lick him after all. Manners, what have you
done with the old dog-whip we used to keep for the lower boys?"
"Safe in my desk," replies Manners, who, being a good-natured fellow,
likes to keep that instrument of torture locked up; "but Egerton's a
good little fellow; you mustn't be too hard upon him this time."
"I never could see the difference between a good fellow and a bad one,"
replies Ropsley. "If I want a thing done I choose the most likely
person to do it; and if he fails it's his fault and not mine, and he
must suffer for it. I've no prejudices, my good friend, and no
feelings--they're only different words for the same thing; and, depend
upon it, people get on much better without them. But come: let's walk
down to the village, and look after him. I'll go and ask March if he
wants anything 'down the road.'"
Luckily for me, my chastiser had not proceeded half a mile upon his way,
ere he met the "King of Naples" in person, hot and breathless, flustered
with drink and running, and more incoherent than usual in his
conversation and demeanour. He approached Ropsley, who was the most
magnificent of his patrons, with hat in hand, and somewhat the air of a
dog that knows he has done wrong.
"What's up now, you old reprobate?" said the latter, in his most
supercilious manner--a manner, I may observe, he adopted to all whom he
could influence without conciliating, and which made the conciliation
doubly winning to the favoured few--"What's up now? Drunk again, I
suppose, as usual?"
"Not drunk, squire--not drunk, as I'm a livin' man," replied the
poacher, sawing the air in deprecation with a villainously dirty hand;
"hagitated, perhaps, and over-anxious about the young gentlemen--Oh!
them lads, them lads!" and he leered at his patron as much as to hint
that he had a precious story to tell, if it was only made worth his
while.
"Come, no nonsense!" said Ropsley, sternly; "out with it. What's the
matter? You've got De Rohan and Egerton into some scrape; I see it in
your ugly old face. Tell me all about it this instant, or it will be
worse for you."
"Doan't hurry a man so, squire; pray ye, now, doan't. I be only out o'
breath, and the lads they be safe enough by this time; but I wanted for
you to speak up for me to the master, squire. I bain't a morsel to
blame. I went a-purpose to see as the young gents didn't get into no
mischief; I did, indeed. I be an old man now, and it's a long walk for
me at my years," whined the old rascal, who was over at the Manor three
nights a week when he thought the keepers were out of the way. "And the
dog, he was most to blame, arter all; but the keepers they've got the
young gents safe, enough,--and that's all about it." So saying, he
stood bolt upright, like a man who has fired his last shot, and is ready
to abide the worst. Truth to tell, the "King of Naples" was horribly
afraid of Ropsley.
The latter thought for a moment, put his hand in his pocket, and gave
the poacher half-a-crown. "You hold your tongue," said he, "or you'll
get into worse trouble than any of them. Now go home, and don't let me
hear of your stirring out for twenty-four hours. Be off! Do you hear?"
Old "Nap" obeyed, and hobbled off to his cottage, there to spend the
term of his enforced residence in his favourite occupation of drinking,
whilst Ropsley walked rapidly on to the village, and directed his steps
to that well-known inn, "The Greyhound," of which every boy at Everdon
School was more or less a patron.
In ten minutes' time there was much ringing of bells and general
confusion pervading that establishment; the curly-headed waiter (why do
all waiters have curly hair?) rushed to and fro with a glass-cloth in
his hand; the barmaid drooped her long ringlets over her own
window-sill, within which she was to be seen at all hours of the day and
night, like a pretty picture in its frame; the lame ostler stumped about
with an activity foreign to his usual methodical nature, and a chaise
and pair was ordered to be got ready immediately for Beverley Manor.
Richard the Third is said to have been born with all his double teeth
sharp set, and in good masticatory order. It is my firm belief that
Ropsley was also ushered into the world with his wisdom teeth in a state
of maturity. He had, indeed, an old head upon young shoulders; and yet
this lad was brought up and educated by his mother until he was sent to
school. Perhaps he was launched into the world too early; perhaps his
recollections of home were not vivid enough to soften his character or
awaken his feelings. When I first knew him he had been an orphan for
years; but I am bound to say that the only being of whom he spoke with
reverence was his mother. I never heard him mention her name but twice,
and each time a soft light stole over his countenance and altered the
whole expression of his features, till I could hardly believe it was the
same person. From home, when a very little boy, he was sent to Eton;
and after a long process of hardening in that mimic world, was
transferred to Everdon, more as a private pupil than a scholar. Here it
was that I first knew him; and great as was my boyish admiration for the
haughty, aristocratic youth just verging upon manhood, it is no wonder
that I watched and studied his character with an intensity born of my
own ardent disposition, the enthusiasm of which was all the stronger for
having been so repressed and concealed in my strange and solitary
childhood. Most children are hero-worshippers, and my hero for the time
was Ropsley.
He was, I think, the only instance I can recollect of a mere boy
proposing to himself a certain aim and end in life, and going steadily
forward to its attainment without pause or deviation. I often think
now, what is there that a man with ordinary faculties might not attain,
would he but propose to himself at fourteen that position which he would
wish to reach at forty? Show me the hill that six-and-twenty years of
perseverance would fail to climb. But no; the boy never thinks of it at
all--or if he does, he believes the man of forty to be verging on his
grave, and too old to enjoy any of the pleasures of existence, should he
have the means of indulging them. He will not think so when he has
reached that venerable period; though, after all, age is a relative
term, and too often totally irrespective of years. Many a heart is
ruined and worn out long ere the form be bent or the head grown grey.
But the boy thinks there is time enough; the youth grudges all that
interferes with his pleasures; and the man only finds the value of
energy and perseverance when it is too late to avail himself of them.
Oh! opportunity!--opportunity!--phantom goddess of success, that not one
in a million has decision to seize and make his own:--if hell be paved
with good intentions, it might be roofed with lost opportunities.
Ropsley, however, was no morbid whiner over that which is irretrievable.
He never lost a chance by his own carelessness; and if he failed, as all
must often fail, he never looked back. _Aide-toi, et Dieu t'aidera_, is
a motto that comprises in five words the noblest code of philosophy; the
first part of the sentence Ropsley had certainly adopted for his
guidance, and to do him justice, he never was remiss in any sense of the
word in helping himself.
Poor, though of good family, his object was to attain a high position in
the social world, power, wealth, and influence, especially the latter,
but each and all as a means towards self-aggrandisement. The motive
might not be amiable or noble, but it was better than none at all, and
he followed it out most energetically. For this object he spared no
pains, he feared no self-denial, he grudged no sacrifice. He was a
scholar, and he meant to make the most of his scholarship, just as he
made the most of his cricket-playing, his riding, his skill in all
sports and exercises. He knew that his physical good looks and
capabilities would be of service to him hereafter, and he cultivated
them just as he stored and cultivated that intellect which he valued not
for itself, but as a means to an end.
"If I had fifty thousand a year," I once heard him say to Manners, "I
should take no trouble about anything. Depend upon it, the real thing to
live for is enjoyment. But if I had only forty-five thousand I should
work like a slave--it would not _quite_ give me the position I require."
Such was Ropsley at this earliest period of our acquaintance.
"Drive to Beverley Manor," said he, as he made himself thoroughly
comfortable amongst the cushions, let down all the windows, and settled
himself to the perusal of the last daily paper.
Any other boy in the school would have gone in a gig.