staircase: "you know your bedroom. No. 6, with Master Coker, and Master
Biddlecomb, and the others."
Paul dragged himself up to the highest landing-stage, and, with a sick
foreboding, opened the door on which the figure 6 was painted.
It was a large bare plainly papered room, with several curtainless
windows, the blinds of which were drawn, a long deal stand of wash-hand
basins, and eight little white beds against the walls.
A fire was lighted in consideration of its being the first night, and
several boys were talking excitedly round it. "Here he is! He's stayed
behind to tell more tales!" they cried, as Paul entered nervously. "Now
then, Bultitude, what have you got to say for yourself?"
Mr. Bultitude felt powerless among all these young wolves. He had no
knowledge of boys, nor any notion of acquiring an influence over them,
having hitherto regarded them as necessary nuisances, to be rather
repressed than studied. He could only stare hopelessly at them in
fascinated silence.
"You see he hasn't a word to say for himself!" said Tipping. "Look here,
what shall we do to him? Shall we try tossing in a blanket? I've never
tried tossing a fellow in one myself, but as long as you don't jerk him
too high, or out on the floor, you can't hurt him dangerously."
"No, I say, don't toss him in a blanket," pleaded Biddlecomb, and Paul
felt gratefully towards him at the words; "anyone coming up would see
what was going on. I vote we flick at him with towels."
"Now just you understand this clearly," said Paul, thinking, not without
reason, that this course of treatment was likely to prove painful; "I
refuse to allow myself to be flicked at with towels. No one has ever
offered me such an indignity in my life! Oh, do you think I've not
enough on my mind as it is without the barbarities of a set of young
brutes like you!"
As this appeal was not of a very conciliatory nature they at once
proceeded to form a circle round him and, judging their distance with
great accuracy, jerked towels at his person with such diabolical
dexterity that the wet corners cut him at all points like so many fine
thongs, and he span round like a top, dancing, and, I regret to add,
swearing violently, at the pain.
When he was worked up almost to frenzy pitch Biddlecomb's sweet low
voice cried, "_Cave_, you fellows! I hear Grim. Let him undress now, and
we can lam it into him afterwards with slippers!"
At this they all cast off such of their clothes as they still wore, and
slipped modestly and peacefully into bed, just as Dr. Grimstone's large
form appeared at the doorway. Mr. Bultitude made as much haste as he
could, but did not escape a reprimand from the Doctor as he turned the
gas out; and as soon as he had made the round of the bedrooms and his
heavy tread had died away down the staircase, the light-hearted
occupants of No. 6 "lammed" it into the unhappy Paul until they were
tired of the exercise and left him to creep sore and trembling with rage
and fright into his cold hard bed.
Then, after a little desultory conversation, one by one sank from
incoherence into silence, and rose from silence to snores, while Paul
alone lay sleepless, listening to the creeping tinkle of the dying fire,
drearily wondering at the marvellous change that had come over his life
and fortunes in the last few hours, and feverishly composing impassioned
appeals which were to touch the Doctor's heart and convince his reason.
5. _Disgrace_
"Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning's face."
Sleep came at last, and brought too brief forgetfulness. It was not till
the dull grey light of morning was glimmering through the blinds that
Mr. Bultitude awoke to his troubles.
The room was bitterly cold, and he remained shivering in bed for some
time, trying to realise and prepare for his altered condition.
He was the only one awake. Now and then from one of the beds around a
boy would be heard talking in his sleep, or laughing with holiday
glee--at the drolleries possibly of some pantomime performed for his
amusement in the Theatre Royal, Dreamland--a theatre mercifully open to
all boys free of charge, long after the holidays have come to an end,
the only drawbacks being a certain want of definiteness in the plot and
scenery, and a liability to premature termination of the vaguely
splendid performance.
Once Kiffin, the new boy, awoke with a start and a heavy sigh, but he
cried himself to sleep again almost immediately.
Mr. Bultitude could bear being inactive no longer. He thought, if he got
up, he might perhaps see his misfortunes shrink to a more bearable, less
hopeless scale, and besides, he judged it prudent, for many reasons, to
finish his toilet before the sleepers began theirs.
Very stealthily, dreading to rouse anyone and attract attention in the
form of slippers, he broke the clinking crust of ice in one of the
basins and, shuddering from the shock, bathed face and hands in the
biting water. He parted his hair, which from natural causes he had been
unable to accomplish for some years, and now found an awkwardness in
accomplishing neatly, and then stole down the dark creaking staircase
just as the butler in the hall began to swing the big railway bell which
was to din stern reality into the sleepy ears above.
In the schoolroom a yawning maid had just lighted the fire, from which
turbid yellow clouds of sulphurous smoke were pouring into the room,
making it necessary to open the windows and lower a temperature that was
far from high originally.
Paul stood shaking by the mantelpiece in a very bad temper for some
minutes. If the Doctor had come in then, he might have been spurred by
indignation to utter his woes, and even claim and obtain his freedom.
But that was not to be.
The door did open presently, however, and a little girl appeared; a very
charming little maiden indeed, in a neat dark costume relieved by a
fresh white pinafore. She had deep grey eyes and glossy brown hair
falling over her forehead and down her back in soft straight masses, her
face was oval rather than round, and slightly serious, though her smile
was pretty and gay.
She ran towards Mr. Bultitude with a glad little cry, stretching out her
hands.
"Dick! dear Dick!" she said, "I am so glad! I thought you'd be down
early; as you used to be. I wanted to sit up last night so very much,
but mamma wouldn't let me."
Some might have been very glad to be welcomed in this way, even
vicariously. As for boys, it must have been a very bad school indeed
which Dulcie Grimstone could not have robbed of much of its terrors.
Mr. Bultitude, however, as has been explained, did not appreciate
children--being a family man himself. When one sees their petty
squabbles and jealousies, hears their cruel din, and pays for their
monkeyish mischief, perhaps the daintiest children seem but an earthly
order of cherubim. He was only annoyed and embarrassed by the
interruption, though he endured it.
"Ah," he said with condescension, "and so you're Dr. Grimstone's little
girl, are you? How d'ye do, my dear?"
Dulcie stopped and looked at him, with drawn eyebrows and her soft mouth
quivering. "What makes you talk like that?" she asked.
"How ought I to talk?" said Paul.
"You didn't talk like that before," said Dulcie plaintively. "I--I
thought perhaps you'd be glad to see me. You were once. And--and--when
you went away last you asked me to--to--kiss you, and I did, and I wish
I hadn't. And you gave me a ginger lozenge with your name written on it
in lead pencil, and I gave you a cough-lozenge with mine; and you said
it was to show that you were my sweetheart and I was yours. But I
suppose you've eaten the one I gave you?"
"This is dreadful!" thought Mr. Bultitude. "What shall I do now? The
child evidently takes me for that little scoundrel Dick." "Tut-tut," he
said aloud, "little girls like you are too young for such nonsense. You
ought to think about--about your dolls, and--ah, your needlework--not
sweethearts!"
"You say that now!" cried Dulcie indignantly. "You know I'm not a little
girl, and I've left off playing with dolls--almost. Oh, Dick, don't be
unkind! You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"No," said Paul dismally, "I've changed my body. But there--you wouldn't
understand. Run away and play somewhere, like a good little girl!"
"I know what it is!" said Dulcie. "You've been out to parties, or
somewhere, and seen some horrid girl ... you like ... better than me!"
"This is absurd, you know," said Mr. Bultitude. "You can't think how
absurd it is! Now, you'll be a very foolish little girl if you cry.
You're making a mistake. I'm not the Dick you used to know!"
"I know you're not!" sobbed Dulcie. "But oh, Dick, you will be. Promise
me you will be!" And, to Paul's horror and alarm, she put her arms round
his neck, and cried piteously on his shoulder.
"Good gracious!" he cried, "let me go. Don't do that, for Heaven's sake!
I can hear some one coming. If it's your father, it will ruin me!"
But it was too late. Over her head he saw Tipping enter the room, and
stand glaring at them menacingly. Dulcie saw him too, and sprang away to
the window, where she tried to dry her eyes unperceived, and then ran
past him with a hurried good morning, and escaped, leaving Paul alone
with the formidable Tipping.
There was an awkward silence at first, which Tipping broke by saying,
"What have you been saying to make her cry, eh?"
"What's that to you, sir?" said Paul, trying to keep his voice firm.
"Why, it's just this to me," said Tipping, "that I've been spoons on
Dulcie myself ever since I came, and she never would have a word to say
to me. I never could think why, and now it turns out to be you! What do
you mean by cutting me out like this? I heard her call you 'dear Dick.'"
"Don't be an ass, sir!" said Paul angrily.
"Now, none of your cheek, you know!" said Tipping, edging up against him
with a dangerous inclination first to jostle aggressively, and then maul
his unconscious rival. "You just mind what I say. I'm not going to have
Dulcie bothered by a young beggar in the second form; she deserves
something better than that, anyway, and I tell you that if I once catch
you talking to her in the way you did just now, or if I hear of her
favouring you more than any other fellows, I'll give you the very
juiciest licking you ever had in your life. So look out!"
At this point the other boys began to straggle down and cluster round
the fire, and Paul withdrew from the aggrieved Tipping, and looked
drearily out of the window on the hard road and bare black trees
outside.
"I _must_ tell the Doctor how I'm situated!" he thought; "and yet
directly I open my mouth, he threatens to flog me. If I stay here, that
little girl will be always trying to speak to me, and I shall be
thrashed by the red-haired boy. If I could only manage to speak out
after breakfast!"
It was not without satisfaction that he remembered that he paid extra
for "meat for breakfast" in his son's school-bills, for he was beginning
to look forward to meal-time with the natural desire of a young and
healthy frame for nourishment.
At eight o'clock the Doctor came in and announced breakfast, leading
the way himself to what was known in the school as the "Dining Hall." It
scarcely deserved so high-sounding a name perhaps, being a long low room
on the basement floor, with a big fireplace, fitted with taps, and
baking ovens, which provoked the suspicion that it had begun existence
as a back kitchen.
The Doctor took his seat alone at a cross table forming the top of one
of the two rows of tables, set with white cups and saucers, and plates
well heaped with the square pieces of bread and butter, while Mrs.
Grimstone with Dulcie and Tom, sat at the foot of the same row, behind
two ugly urns of dull block-tin.
But when Mr. Bultitude, more hungry than he had felt for years, found
his place at one of the tables, he was disgusted to find upon his
plate--not, as he had confidently expected, a couple of plump poached
eggs, with their appetising contrast of ruddy gold and silvery white,
not a crisp and crackling sausage or a mottled omelette, not even the
homely but luscious rasher, but a brace of chill forbidding sardines,
lying grim and headless in bilious green oil!
It was a fish he positively loathed, nor could it be reasonably expected
that the confidence necessary for a declaration was to be forgotten by
so sepulchral a form of nutriment.
He roused himself, however, to swallow them, together with some of the
thin and tin-flavoured coffee. But the meal as a whole was so different
from the plentiful well-cooked breakfasts he had sat down before for
years as a matter of course, that it made him feel extremely unwell.
No talking was allowed during the meal. The Doctor now and then looked
up from his dish of kidneys on toast (at which envious glances were
occasionally cast) to address a casual remark to his wife across the
long row of plates and cups, but, as a rule, the dull champing sound of
boys solemnly and steadily munching was all that broke the silence.
Towards the end, when the plates had been generally cleared, and the
boys sat staring with the stolidity of repletion at one another across
the tables, the junior house-master, Mr. Tinkler, made his appearance.
He had lately left a small and little-known college at Cambridge, where
he had contrived, contrary to expectation, to evade the uncoveted wooden
spoon by just two places, which enabled the Doctor to announce himself
as being "assisted by a graduate of the University of Cambridge who has
taken honours in the Mathematical Tripos."
For the rest, he was a small insignificant-looking person, who evidently
disliked the notice his late appearance drew upon himself.
"Mr. Tinkler," said the Doctor in his most awful voice, "if it were my
custom to rebuke my assistants before the school (which it is not), I
should feel forced to remind you that this tardiness in rising is a bad
beginning of the day's work, and sets a bad example to those under your
authority."
Mr. Tinkler made no articulate reply, but sat down with a crushed
expression, and set himself to devour bread and butter with an energy
which he hoped would divert attention from his blushes; and almost
immediately the Doctor looked at his watch and said, "Now, boys, you
have half-an-hour for 'chevy'--make the most of it. When you come in I
shall have something to say to you all. Don't rise, Mr. Tinkler, unless
you have quite finished."
Mr. Tinkler preferred leaving his breakfast to continuing it under the
trying ordeal of his principal's inspection. So, hastily murmuring that
he had "made an excellent breakfast"--which he had not--he followed the
others, who clattered upstairs to put on their boots and go out into the
playground.
It was noticeable that they did so without much of the enthusiasm which
might be looked for from boys dismissed to their sports. But the fact
was that this particular sport, "chevy," commonly known as "prisoners'
base," was by no means a popular amusement, being of a somewhat
monotonous nature, and calling for no special skill on the part of the
performers. Besides this, moreover, it had the additional disadvantage
(which would have been fatal to a far more fascinating diversion) of
being in a great measure compulsory.
Football and cricket were of course reserved for half-holidays, and
played in a neighbouring field rented by the Doctor, and in the
playground he restricted them to "chevy," which he considered, rightly
enough, both gave them abundant exercise and kept them out of mischief.
Accordingly, if any adventurous spirit started a rival game, it was
usually abandoned sooner or later in deference to suggestions from
headquarters which were not intended to be disregarded.
This, though undoubtedly well meant, did not serve to stimulate their
affection for the game, an excellent one in moderation, but one which,
if played "by special desire" two or three hours a day for weeks in
succession is apt to lose its freshness and pall upon the youthful mind.
It was a bright morning. There had been a hard frost during the night,
and the ground was hard, sparkling with rime and ringing to the foot.
The air was keen and invigorating, and the bare black branches of the
trees were outlined clear and sharp against the pale pure blue of the
morning sky.
Just the weather for a long day's skating over the dark green glassy
ice, or a bracing tramp on country roads into cheery red-roofed market
towns. But now it had lost all power to charm. It was almost depressing
by the contrast between the boundless liberty suggested, and the dull
reality of a round of uninteresting work which was all it heralded.
So they lounged listlessly about, gravitating finally towards the end of
the playground, where a deep furrow marked the line of the base. There
was no attempt to play. They stood gossiping in knots, grumbling and
stamping their feet to keep warm. By-and-by the day-boarders began to
drop in one by one, several of them, from a want of tact in adapting
themselves to the general tone, earning decided unpopularity at once by
a cheerful briskness and an undisguised satisfaction at having something
definite to do once more.
If Mr. Tinkler, who had joined one of the groups, had not particularly
distinguished himself at breakfast, he made ample amends now, and by the
grandeur and manliness of his conversation succeeded in producing a
decided impression upon some of the smaller boys.
"The bore of a place like this, you know," he was saying with
magnificent disdain, "is that a fellow can't have his pipe of a morning.
I've been used to it, and so, of course, I miss it. If I chose to insist
on it Grimstone couldn't say anything; but with a lot of young fellows
like you, you see, it wouldn't look well!"
It could hardly have looked worse than little Mr. Tinkler himself would
have done, if he had ventured upon more than the mildest of cigarettes,
for he was a poor but pertinacious smoker, and his love for the weed was
chastened by wholesome fear. There, however, he was in no danger of
betraying this, and indeed it would have been injudicious to admit it.
"Talking of smoking," he went on, with a soft chuckle, as at
recollections of unspeakable devilry, "did I ever tell you chaps of a
tremendous scrape I very nearly got into up at the 'Varsity? Well, you
must know there's a foolish rule there against smoking in the streets.
Not that that made any difference to some of us! Well, one night about
nine, I was strolling down Petty Cury with two other men, smoking
(Bosher of "Pothouse," and Peebles of "Cats," both pretty well known up
there for general rowdiness, you know--great pals of mine!) and, just as
we turned the corner, who should we see coming straight down on us but a
Proctor with his bull-dogs (not dogs, you know, but the strongest 'gyps'
in college). Bosher said, 'Let's cut it!' and he and Peebles bolted.
(They were neither of them funks, of course, but they lost their heads.)
I went calmly on, smoking my cigar as if nothing was the matter. That
put the Proctor in a bait, I can tell you! He came fuming up to me.
'What do you mean, sir,' says he, quite pale with anger (he was a great
bull-headed fellow, one of the strongest dons of his year, that's why
they made him a Proctor)--'what do you mean by breaking the University
Statutes in this way?' 'It _is_ a fine evening,' said I (I was
determined to keep cool). 'Do you mean to insult me?' said he. 'No, old
boy,' said I, 'I don't; have a cigar?' He couldn't stand that, so he
called up his bull-dogs. 'I give him in charge!' he screamed out. 'I'll
have him sent down!' 'I'll send you down first,' said I, and I just gave
him a push--I never meant to hurt the fellow--and over he went. I rolled
over a bull-dog to keep him company, and, as the other fellow didn't
want any more and stood aside to let me pass, I finished my stroll and
my cigar."
"Was the Proctor hurt, sir?" inquired a small boy with great respect.
"More frightened than hurt, I always said," said Mr. Tinkler lightly,
"but somehow he never would proctorise any more--it spoilt his nerve. He
was a good deal chaffed about it, but of course no one ever knew I'd had
anything to do with it!"
With such tales of Homeric exploit did Mr. Tinkler inculcate a spirit of
discipline and respect for authority. But although he had indeed once
encountered a Proctor, and at night, he did himself great injustice by
this version of the proceedings, which were, as a matter of fact, of a
most peaceable and law-abiding character, and though followed by a
pecuniary transaction the next day in which six-and-eightpence changed
pockets, the Proctors continued their duties much as before, while Mr.
Tinkler's feelings towards them, which had ever been reverential in the
extreme, were, if anything, intensified by the experience.
Upon this incident, however, he had gradually embroidered the above
exciting episode, until he grew to believe at intervals that he really
had been a devil of a fellow in his time, which, to do him justice, was
far from the case.
He might have gone on still further to calumniate himself, and excite
general envy and admiration thereby, if at that moment Dr. Grimstone had
not happened to appear at the head of the cast-iron staircase that led
down into the playground; whereupon Mr. Tinkler affected to be intensely
interested in the game, which, as a kind of involuntary compliment to
the principal, about this time was galvanised into a sort of vigour.
But the Doctor, after frowning gloomily down upon them for a minute or
so, suddenly called "All in!"
He had several ways of saying this. Sometimes he would do so in a
half-regretful tone, as one himself obeying the call of duty; sometimes
he would appear for some minutes, a benignant spectator, upon the
balcony, and summon them to work at length with a lenient pity--for he
was by no means a hard-hearted man; but at other times he would step
sharply and suddenly out and shout the word of command with a grim and
ominous expression. On these last occasions the school generally
prepared itself for a rather formidable quarter of an hour.
This was the case now and, as a further portent, Mr. Blinkhorn was
observed to come down and, after a few words with Mr. Tinkler, withdrew
with him through the school gate.
"He's sent them out for a walk," said Siggers, who was skilled in omens.
"It's a row!"
Rows at Crichton House, although periodical, and therefore things to be
forearmed against in some degree, were serious matters. Dr. Grimstone
was a quick-tempered man, with a copious flow of words and a taste for
indulging it. He was also strongly prejudiced against many breaches of
discipline which others might have considered trifling, and whenever he
had discovered any such breach he could not rest until by all the means
in his power he had ascertained exactly how many were implicated in the
offence, and to what extent.
His usual method of doing this was to summon the school formally
together and deliver an elaborate harangue, during which he worked
himself by degrees into such a state of indignation that his hearers
were most of them terrified out of their senses, and very often
conscience-stricken offenders would give themselves up as hopelessly
detected and reveal transgressions altogether unsuspected by him--much
as a net brings up fish of all degrees of merit, or as heavy firing will
raise drowned corpses to the surface.
Paul naturally knew nothing of this peculiarity; he had kept himself as
usual apart from the others, and was now trying to compel himself to
brave the terrors of an avowal at the first opportunity. He followed the
others up the steps with an uneasy wonder whether, after all, he would
not find himself ignominiously set down to learn lessons.
The boys filed into the schoolroom in solemn silence, and took their
seats at the desks and along the brown tables. The Doctor was there
before them, standing up with one elbow resting upon a reading-stand,
and with a suggestion of coming thunder in his look and attitude that,
combined with the oppressive silence, made some of the boys feel
positively ill.