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Wodehouse + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Politeness of Princes, by P. G. Wodehouse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Politeness of Princes + And Other School Stories + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8178] +First Posted: June 26, 2003 +Last Updated: November 11, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POLITENESS OF PRINCES *** + + + +Etext produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE POLITENESS OF PRINCES + </h1> + <h3> + And Other School Stories + </h3> + <h2> + By P. G. Wodehouse + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + CONTENTS + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE POLITENESS OF PRINCES</a> + </td> + <td> + 1905 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SHIELDS' AND THE CRICKET CUP</a> + </td> + <td> + 1905 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR</a> + </td> + <td> + 1905 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> Part 1 </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> Part 2 </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> Part 3 </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE GUARDIAN</a> + </td> + <td> + 1908 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A CORNER IN LINES</a> + </td> + <td> + 1905 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS</a> + </td> + <td> + 1905 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> PILLINGSHOT, DETECTIVE</a> + </td> + <td> + 1910 + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + <b>Transcriber's note:</b> This selection of early Wodehouse stories was + assembled for Project Gutenberg. The original publication date of each + story is listed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE POLITENESS OF PRINCES + </h2> + <p> + The painful case of G. Montgomery Chapple, bachelor, of Seymour's house, + Wrykyn. Let us examine and ponder over it. + </p> + <p> + It has been well said that this is the age of the specialist. Everybody, + if they wish to leave the world a better and happier place for their stay + in it, should endeavour to adopt some speciality and make it their own. + Chapple's speciality was being late for breakfast. He was late not once or + twice, but every day. Sometimes he would scramble in about the time of the + second cup of coffee, buttoning his waistcoat as he sidled to his place. + Generally he would arrive just as the rest of the house were filing out; + when, having lurked hidden until Mr. Seymour was out of the way, he would + enter into private treaty with Herbert, the factotum, who had influence + with the cook, for Something Hot and maybe a fresh brew of coffee. For + there was nothing of the amateur late-breakfaster about Chapple. Your + amateur slinks in with blushes deepening the naturally healthy hue of his + face, and, bolting a piece of dry bread and gulping down a cup of cold + coffee, dashes out again, filled more with good resolutions for the future + than with food. Not so Chapple. He liked his meals. He wanted a good deal + here below, and wanted it hot and fresh. Conscience had but a poor time + when it tried to bully Chapple. He had it weak in the first round. + </p> + <p> + But there was one more powerful than Conscience—Mr. Seymour. He had + marked the constant lateness of our hero, and disapproved of it. + </p> + <p> + Thus it happened that Chapple, having finished an excellent breakfast one + morning some twenty minutes after everybody else, was informed as he sat + in the junior day-room trying, with the help of an illustrated article in + a boys' paper, to construct a handy model steam-engine out of a reel of + cotton and an old note-book—for his was in many ways a giant brain—that + Mr. Seymour would like to have a friendly chat with him in his study. + Laying aside his handy model steam-engine, he went off to the + housemaster's study. + </p> + <p> + "You were late for breakfast to-day," said Mr. Seymour, in the horrid, + abrupt way housemasters have. + </p> + <p> + "Why, yes, sir," said Chapple, pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + "And the day before." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "And the day before that." + </p> + <p> + Chapple did not deny it. He stood on one foot and smiled a propitiating + smile. So far Mr. Seymour was entitled to demand a cigar or cocoanut every + time. + </p> + <p> + The housemaster walked to the window, looked out, returned to the + mantelpiece, and shifted the position of a china vase two and a quarter + inches to the left. Chapple, by way of spirited repartee, stood on the + other leg and curled the disengaged foot round his ankle. The conversation + was getting quite intellectual. + </p> + <p> + "You will write out——" + </p> + <p> + "Sir, please, sir——" interrupted Chapple in an + "I-represent-the defendant-m'lud" tone of voice. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" + </p> + <p> + "It's awfully hard to hear the bell from where I sleep, sir." + </p> + <p> + Owing to the increased numbers of the house this term Chapple had been + removed from his dormitory proper to a small room some distance away. + </p> + <p> + "Nonsense. The bell can be heard perfectly well all over the house." + </p> + <p> + There was reason in what he said. Herbert, who woke the house of a + morning, did so by ringing a bell. It was a big bell, and he enjoyed + ringing it. Few sleepers, however sound, could dream on peacefully through + Herbert's morning solo. After five seconds of it they would turn over + uneasily. After seven they would sit up. At the end of the first quarter + of a minute they would be out of bed, and you would be wondering where + they picked up such expressions. + </p> + <p> + Chapple murmured wordlessly in reply. He realised that his defence was a + thin one. Mr. Seymour followed up his advantage. + </p> + <p> + "You will write a hundred lines of Vergil," he said, "and if you are late + again to-morrow I shall double them." + </p> + <p> + Chapple retired. + </p> + <p> + This, he felt, was a crisis. He had been pursuing his career of + unpunctuality so long that he had never quite realised that a time might + come when the authorities would drop on him. For a moment he felt that it + was impossible, that he could not meet Mr. Seymour's wishes in the matter; + but the bull-dog pluck of the true Englishman caused him to reconsider + this. He would at least have a dash at it. + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you what to do," said his friend, Brodie, when consulted on the + point over a quiet pot of tea that afternoon. "You ought to sleep without + so many things on the bed. How many blankets do you use, for instance?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't know," said Chapple. "As many as they shove on." + </p> + <p> + It had never occurred to him to reckon up the amount of his bedclothes + before retiring to rest. + </p> + <p> + "Well, you take my tip," said Brodie, "and only sleep with one on. Then + the cold'll wake you in the morning, and you'll get up because it'll be + more comfortable than staying in bed." + </p> + <p> + This scientific plan might have worked. In fact, to a certain extent it + did work. It woke Chapple in the morning, as Brodie had predicted; but it + woke him at the wrong hour. It is no good springing out of bed when there + are still three hours to breakfast. When Chapple woke at five the next + morning, after a series of dreams, the scenes of which were laid mainly in + the Arctic regions, he first sneezed, then he piled upon the bed + everything he could find, including his boots, and then went to sleep + again. The genial warmth oozed through his form, and continued to ooze + until he woke once more, this time at eight-fifteen. Breakfast being at + eight, it occurred to him that his position with Mr. Seymour was not + improved. While he was devoting a few moments' profound meditation to this + point the genial warmth got in its fell work once again. When he next + woke, the bell was ringing for school. He lowered the world's record for + rapid dressing, and was just in time to accompany the tail of the + procession into the form-room. + </p> + <p> + "You were late again this morning," said Mr. Seymour, after dinner. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir. I overslebbed myselb, sir," replied Chapple, who was suffering + from a cold in the head. + </p> + <p> + "Two hundred lines." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + Things had now become serious. It was no good going to Brodie again for + counsel. Brodie had done for himself, proved himself a fraud, an idiot. In + fine, a rotter. He must try somebody else. Happy thought. Spenlow. It was + a cold day, when Spenlow got left behind. He would know what to do. <i>There</i> + was a chap for you, if you liked! Young, mind you, but what a brain! + Colossal! + </p> + <p> + "What <i>I</i> should do," said Spenlow, "is this. I should put my watch + on half an hour." + </p> + <p> + "What 'ud be the good of that?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, don't you see? You'd wake up and find it was ten to eight, say, by + your watch, so you'd shove on the pace dressing, and nip downstairs, and + then find that you'd really got tons of time. What price that?" + </p> + <p> + "But I should remember I'd put my watch on," objected Chapple. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no, probably not. You'd be half asleep, and you'd shoot out of bed + before you remembered, and that's all you'd want. It's the getting out of + bed that's so difficult. If you were once out, you wouldn't want to get + back again." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, shouldn't I?" said Chapple. + </p> + <p> + "Well, you might want to, but you'd have the sense not to do it." + </p> + <p> + "It's not a bad idea," said Chapple. "Thanks." + </p> + <p> + That night he took his Waterbury, prised open the face with a pocket-knife + as if he were opening an oyster, put the minute hand on exactly half an + hour, and retired to bed satisfied. There was going to be no nonsense + about it this time. + </p> + <p> + I am sorry to disappoint the reader, but facts are facts, and I must not + tamper with them. It is, therefore, my duty to state, however reluctantly, + that Chapple was not in time for breakfast on the following morning. He + woke at seven o'clock, when the hands of the watch pointed to + seven-thirty. Primed with virtuous resolutions, he was just about to leap + from his couch, when his memory began to work, and he recollected that he + had still an hour. Punctuality, he felt, was an excellent thing, a noble + virtue, in fact, but it was no good overdoing it. He could give himself at + least another half hour. So he dozed off. He woke again with something of + a start. He seemed to feel that he had been asleep for a considerable + time. But no. A glance at the watch showed the hands pointing to + twenty-five to eight. Twenty-five minutes more. He had a good long doze + this time. Then, feeling that now he really must be getting up, he looked + once more at the watch, and rubbed his eyes. It was still twenty-five to + eight. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that, in the exhilaration of putting the hands on, he had + forgotten that other and even more important operation, winding up. The + watch had stopped. + </p> + <p> + There are few more disturbing sensations than that of suddenly discovering + that one has no means of telling the time. This is especially so when one + has to be in a certain place by a certain hour. It gives the discoverer a + weird, lost feeling, as if he had stopped dead while all the rest of the + world had moved on at the usual rate. It is a sensation not unlike that of + the man who arrives on the platform of a railway station just in time to + see the tail-end of his train disappear. + </p> + <p> + Until that morning the world's record for dressing (set up the day before) + had been five minutes, twenty-three and a fifth seconds. He lowered this + by two seconds, and went downstairs. + </p> + <p> + The house was empty. In the passage that led to the dining-room he looked + at the clock, and his heart turned a somersault. <i>It was five minutes + past nine.</i> Not only was he late for breakfast, but late for school, + too. Never before had he brought off the double event. + </p> + <p> + There was a little unpleasantness in his form room when he stole in at + seven minutes past the hour. Mr. Dexter, his form-master, never a jolly + sort of man to have dealings with, was rather bitter on the subject. + </p> + <p> + "You are incorrigibly lazy and unpunctual," said Mr. Dexter, towards the + end of the address. "You will do me a hundred lines." + </p> + <p> + "Oo-o-o, sir-r," said Chapple. But he felt at the time that it was not + much of a repartee. After dinner there was the usual interview with Mr. + Seymour. + </p> + <p> + "You were late again this morning," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said Chapple. + </p> + <p> + "Two hundred lines." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + The thing was becoming monotonous. + </p> + <p> + Chapple pulled himself together. This must stop. He had said that several + times previously, but now he meant it. Nor poppy, nor mandragora, nor all + the drowsy syrups of the world should make him oversleep himself again. + This time he would try a combination of schemes. + </p> + <p> + Before he went to bed that night he put his watch on half an hour, wound + it up, and placed it on a chair at his bedside. Then he seized his rug and + all the blankets except one, and tore them off. Then he piled them in an + untidy heap in the most distant corner of the room. He meant to put + temptation out of his reach. There should be no genial warmth on this + occasion. + </p> + <p> + Nor was there. He woke at six feeling as if he were one solid chunk of + ice. He put up with it in a torpid sort of way till seven. Then he could + stand it no longer. It would not be pleasant getting up and going + downstairs to the cheerless junior day-room, but it was the only thing to + do. He knew that if he once wrapped himself in the blankets which stared + at him invitingly from the opposite corner of the room, he was lost. So he + crawled out of bed, shivering, washed unenthusiastically, and he proceeded + to put on his clothes. + </p> + <p> + Downstairs it was more unpleasant than one would have believed possible. + The day-room was in its usual state of disorder. The fire was not lit. + There was a vague smell of apples. Life was very, very grey. There seemed + no brightness in it at all. + </p> + <p> + He sat down at the table and began once more the task of constructing a + handy model steam-engine, but he speedily realised, what he had suspected + before, that the instructions were the work of a dangerous madman. What + was the good of going on living when gibbering lunatics were allowed to + write for weekly papers? + </p> + <p> + About this time his gloom was deepened by the discovery that a tin + labelled mixed biscuits, which he had noticed in Brodie's locker, was + empty. + </p> + <p> + He thought he would go for a stroll. It would be beastly, of course, but + not so beastly as sitting in the junior day-room. + </p> + <p> + It is just here that the tragedy begins to deepen. + </p> + <p> + Passing out of Seymour's gate he met Brooke, of Appleby's. Brooke wore an + earnest, thoughtful expression. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo, Brooke," said Chapple, "where are you off to?" + </p> + <p> + It seemed that Brooke was off to the carpenter's shop. Hence the earnest, + thoughtful expression. His mind was wrestling with certain pieces of wood + which he proposed to fashion into photograph frames. There was always a + steady demand in the school for photograph frames, and the gifted were in + the habit of turning here and there an honest penny by means of them. + </p> + <p> + The artist soul is not always unfavourable to a gallery. Brooke said he + didn't mind if Chapple came along, only he wasn't to go rotting about or + anything. So Chapple went along. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the carpenter's shop, Brooke was soon absorbed in his labours. + Chapple watched him for a time with the interest of a brother-worker, for + had he not tried to construct handy model steam-engines in his day? + Indeed, yes. After a while, however, the <i>rtle</i> of spectator began to + pall. He wanted to <i>do</i> something. Wandering round the room he found + a chisel, and upon the instant, in direct contravention of the treaty + respecting rotting, he sat down and started carving his name on a smooth + deal board which looked as if nobody wanted it. The pair worked on in + silence, broken only by an occasional hard breath as the toil grew + exciting. Chapple's tongue was out and performing mystic evolutions as he + carved the letters. He felt inspired. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning the A when he was brought to earth again by the voice of + Brooke. + </p> + <p> + "You <i>are</i> an idiot," said Brooke, complainingly. "That's <i>my</i> + board, and now you've spoilt it." + </p> + <p> + Spoilt it! Chapple liked that! Spoilt it, if you please, when he had done + a beautiful piece of carving on it! + </p> + <p> + "Well, it can't be helped now," said Brooke, philosophically. "I suppose + it's not your fault you're such an ass. Anyhow, come on now. It's struck + eight." + </p> + <p> + "It's what?" gasped Chapple. + </p> + <p> + "Struck eight. But it doesn't matter. Appleby never minds one being a bit + late for breakfast." + </p> + <p> + "Oh," said Chapple. "Oh, doesn't he!" + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Go into Seymour's at eight sharp any morning and look down the table, and + you will see the face of G. M. Chapple—obscured every now and then, + perhaps, by a coffee cup or a slice of bread and marmalade. He has not + been late for three weeks. The spare room is now occupied by + Postlethwaite, of the Upper Fourth, whose place in Milton's dormitory has + been taken by Chapple. Milton is the head of the house, and stands alone + among the house prefects for the strenuousness of his methods in dealing + with his dormitory. Nothing in this world is certain, but it is highly + improbable that Chapple will be late again. There are swagger-sticks. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHIELDS' AND THE CRICKET CUP + </h2> + <p> + The house cricket cup at Wrykyn has found itself on some strange + mantelpieces in its time. New talent has a way of cropping up in the house + matches. Tail-end men hit up fifties, and bowlers who have never taken a + wicket before except at the nets go on fifth change, and dismiss first + eleven experts with deliveries that bounce twice and shoot. So that nobody + is greatly surprised in the ordinary run of things if the cup does not go + to the favourites, or even to the second or third favourites. But one + likes to draw the line. And Wrykyn drew it at Shields'. And yet, as we + shall proceed to show, Shields' once won the cup, and that, too, in a year + when Donaldson's had four first eleven men and Dexter's three. + </p> + <p> + Shields' occupied a unique position at the School. It was an absolutely + inconspicuous house. There were other houses that were slack or wild or + both, but the worst of these did something. Shields' never did anything. + It never seemed to want to do anything. This may have been due in some + degree to Mr. Shields. As the housemaster is, so the house is. He was the + most inconspicuous master on the staff. He taught a minute form in the + junior school, where earnest infants wrestled with somebody's handy book + of easy Latin sentences, and depraved infants threw cunningly compounded + ink-balls at one another and the ceiling. After school he would range the + countryside with a pickle-bottle in search of polly woggles and other big + game, which he subsequently transferred to slides and examined through a + microscope till an advanced hour of the night. The curious part of the + matter was that his house was never riotous. Perhaps he was looked on as a + non-combatant, one whom it would be unfair and unsporting to rag. At any + rate, a weird calm reigned over the place; and this spirit seemed to + permeate the public lives of the Shieldsites. They said nothing much and + they did nothing much and they were very inoffensive. As a rule, one + hardly knew they were there. + </p> + <p> + Into this abode of lotus-eaters came Clephane, a day boy, owing to the + departure of his parents for India. Clephane wanted to go to Donaldson's. + In fact, he said so. His expressions, indeed, when he found that the whole + thing had been settled, and that he was to spend his last term at school + at a house which had never turned out so much as a member of the Gym. Six, + bordered on the unfilial. It appeared that his father had met Mr. Shields + at dinner in the town—a fact to which he seemed to attach a mystic + importance. Clephane's criticism of this attitude of mind was of such a + nature as to lead his father to address him as Archibald instead of + Archie. + </p> + <p> + However, the thing was done, and Clephane showed his good sense by + realising this and turning his energetic mind to the discovery of the best + way of making life at Shields' endurable. Fortune favoured him by sending + to the house another day boy, one Mansfield. Clephane had not known him + intimately before, though they were both members of the second eleven; but + at Shields' they instantly formed an alliance. And in due season—or + a little later—the house matches began. Henfrey, of Day's, the + Wrykyn cricket captain, met Clephane at the nets when the drawing for + opponents had been done. + </p> + <p> + "Just the man I wanted to see," said Henfrey. "I suppose you're captain of + Shields' lot, Clephane? Well, you're going to scratch as usual, I + suppose?" + </p> + <p> + For the last five seasons that lamentable house had failed to put a team + into the field. "You'd better," said Henfrey, "we haven't overmuch time as + it is. That match with Paget's team has thrown us out a lot. We ought to + have started the house matches a week ago." + </p> + <p> + "Scratch!" said Clephane. "Don't you wish we would! My good chap, we're + going to get the cup." + </p> + <p> + "You needn't be a funny ass," said Henfrey in his complaining voice, "we + really are awfully pushed. As it is we shall have to settle the opening + rounds on the first innings. That's to say, we can only give 'em a day + each; if they don't finish, the winner of the first innings wins. You + might as well scratch." + </p> + <p> + "I can't help your troubles. By rotten mismanagement you have got the + house-matches crowded up into the last ten days of term, and you come and + expect me to sell a fine side like Shields' to get you out of the + consequences of your reckless act. My word, Henfrey, you've sunk pretty + low. Nice young fellow Henfrey was at one time, but seems to have got + among bad companions. Quite changed now. Avoid him as much as I can. Leave + me, Henfrey, I would be alone." + </p> + <p> + "But you can't raise a team." + </p> + <p> + "Raise a team! Do you happen to know that half the house is <i>biting</i> + itself with agony because we can't find room for all? Shields gives + stump-cricket <i>soiries</i> in his study after prep. One every time you + hit the ball, two into the bowl of goldfish, and out if you smash the + microscope." + </p> + <p> + "Well," said Henfrey viciously, "if you want to go through the farce of + playing one round and making idiots of yourselves, you'll have to wait a + bit. You've got a bye in the first round." + </p> + <p> + Clephane told the news to Mansfield after tea. "I've been and let the + house in for a rollicking time," he said, abstracting the copy of Latin + verses which his friend was doing, and sitting on them to ensure undivided + attention to his words. "Wanting to score off old Henfrey—I have few + pleasures—I told him that Shields' was not going to scratch. So we + are booked to play in the second round of the housers. We drew a bye for + the first. It would be an awful rag if we could do something. We <i>must</i> + raise a team of some sort. Henfrey would score so if we didn't. Who's + there, d'you think, that can play?" + </p> + <p> + Mansfield considered the question thoughtfully. "They all <i>play</i>, I + suppose," he said slowly, "if you can call it playing. What I mean to say + is, cricket's compulsory here, so I suppose they've all had an innings or + two at one time or another in the eightieth game or so. But if you want + record-breakers, I shouldn't trust to Shields' too much." + </p> + <p> + "Not a bit. So long as we put a full team into the field, that's all I + care about. I've often wondered what it's like to go in first and bowl + unchanged the whole time." + </p> + <p> + "You'll do that all right," said Mansfield. "I should think Shields' + bowling ran to slow grubs, to judge from the look of 'em. You'd better go + and see Wilkins about raising the team. As head of the house, he probably + considers himself captain of cricket." + </p> + <p> + Wilkins, however, took a far more modest view of his position. The notion + of leading a happy band of cricketers from Shields' into the field had, it + seemed, small attractions for him. But he went so far as to get a house + list, and help choose a really representative team. And as details about + historic teams are always welcome, we may say that the averages ranged + from 3.005 to 8.14. This last was Wilkins' own and was, as he would have + been the first to admit, substantially helped by a contribution of + nineteen in a single innings in the fifth game. + </p> + <p> + So the team was selected, and Clephane turned out after school next day to + give them a little fielding-practice. To his surprise the fielding was not + so outrageous as might have been expected. All the simpler catches were + held, and one or two of the harder as well. Given this form on the day of + their appearance in public, and Henfrey might be disappointed when he came + to watch and smile sarcastically. A batting fiasco is not one half so + ridiculous as maniac fielding. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime the first round of the house matches had been played off, + and it would be as well to describe at this point the positions of the + rival houses and their prospects. In the first place, there were only four + teams really in the running for the cup, Day's (headed by the redoubtable + Henfrey), Spence's, who had Jackson, that season a head and shoulders + above the other batsmen in the first eleven—he had just wound up the + school season with an average of 51.3, Donaldson's, and Dexter's. All the + other house teams were mainly tail. + </p> + <p> + Now, in the first round the powerful quartette had been diminished by the + fact that Donaldson's had drawn Dexter's, and had lost to them by a couple + of wickets. + </p> + <p> + For the second round Shields' drew Appleby's, a poor team. Space on the + Wrykyn field being a consideration, with three house matches to be played + off at the same time, Clephane's men fought their first battle on rugged + ground in an obscure corner. As the captain of cricket ordered these + matters, Henfrey had naturally selected the best bit of turf for Day's <i>v</i>. + Dexter's. That section of the ground which was sacred to the school + second-eleven matches was allotted to Spence's <i>v</i>. the School House. + The idle public divided its attention between the two big games, and paid + no attention to the death struggle in progress at the far end of the + field. Whereby it missed a deal of quiet fun. + </p> + <p> + I say death struggle advisedly. Clephane had won his second-eleven cap as + a fast bowler. He had failed to get into the first eleven because he was + considered too erratic. Put these two facts together, and you will suspect + that dark deeds were wrought on the men of Appleby in that lonely corner + of the Wrykyn meadow. + </p> + <p> + The pitch was not a good one. As a sample of the groundman's art it was + sketchy and amateurish; it lacked finish. Clephane won the toss, took a + hasty glance at the corrugated turf, and decided to bat first. The wicket + was hardly likely to improve with use. + </p> + <p> + He and Mansfield opened the batting. He stood three feet out of his + ground, and smote. The first four balls he took full pitch. The last two, + owing to a passion for variety on the part of the bowler, were long hops. + At the end of the over Shields' score was twenty-four. Mansfield pursued + the same tactics. When the first wicket fell, seventy was on the board. A + spirit of martial enthusiasm pervaded the ranks of the house team. Mild + youths with spectacles leaped out of their ground like tigers, and snicked + fours through the slips. When the innings concluded, blood had been spilt—from + an injured finger—but the total was a hundred and two. + </p> + <p> + Then Clephane walked across to the School shop for a vanilla ice. He said + he could get more devil, as it were, into his bowling after a vanilla ice. + He had a couple. + </p> + <p> + When he bowled his first ball it was easy to see that there was truth in + the report of the causes of his inclusion in the second eleven and + exclusion from the first. The batsman observed somewhat weakly, "Here, I + <i>say!</i>" and backed towards square leg. The ball soared over the + wicket-keep's head and went to the boundary. The bowler grinned + pleasantly, and said he was just getting his arm in. + </p> + <p> + The second ball landed full-pitch on the batsman's right thigh. The third + was another full pitch, this time on the top of the middle stump, which it + smashed. With profound satisfaction the batsman hobbled to the trees, and + sat down. "Let somebody else have a shot," he said kindly. + </p> + <p> + Appleby's made twenty-eight that innings. + </p> + <p> + Their defeat by an innings and fifty-three runs they attributed + subsequently to the fact that only seven of the team could be induced to + go to the wickets in the second venture. + </p> + <p> + "So you've managed to win a match," grunted Henfrey, "I should like to + have been there." + </p> + <p> + "You might just as well have been," said Clephane, "from what they tell + me." + </p> + <p> + At which Henfrey became abusive, for he had achieved an "egg" that + afternoon, and missed a catch; which things soured him, though Day's had + polished off Dexter's handsomely. + </p> + <p> + "Well," he said at length, "you're in the semi-final now, of all weird + places. You'd better play Spence's next. When can you play?" + </p> + <p> + "Henfrey," said Clephane, "I have a bright, open, boyish countenance, but + I was not born yesterday. You want to get a dangerous rival out of the way + without trouble, so you set Shields' to smash up Spence's. No, Henfrey. I + do not intend to be your catspaw. We will draw lots who is to play which. + Here comes Jackson. We'll toss odd man out." + </p> + <p> + And when the coins fell there were two tails and one head; and the head + belonged to the coin of Clephane. + </p> + <p> + "So, you see," he said to Henfrey, "Shields' is in the final. No wonder + you wanted us to scratch." + </p> + <p> + I should like this story to end with a vivid description of a tight + finish. Considering that Day's beat Spence's, and consequently met + Shields' in the final, that would certainly be the most artistic ending. + Henfrey batting—Clephane bowling—one to tie, two to win, one + wicket to fall. Up goes the ball! Will the lad catch it!! He fumbles it. + It falls. All is over. But look! With a supreme effort—and so on. + </p> + <p> + The real conclusion was a little sensational in its way, but not nearly so + exciting as that. + </p> + <p> + The match between Day's and Shields' opened in a conventional enough + manner. Day's batted first, and made two hundred and fifty. Henfrey + carried his bat for seventy-six, and there were some thirties. For + Shields' Clephane and Mansfield made their usual first-wicket stand, and + the rest brought the total up to ninety-eight. At this point Henfrey + introduced a variation on custom. The match was a three days' match. In + fact, owing to the speed with which the other games had been played, it + could, if necessary, last four days. The follow-on was, therefore, a + matter for the discretion of the side which led. Henfrey and his team saw + no reason why they should not have another pleasant spell of batting + before dismissing their opponents for the second time and acquiring the + cup. So in they went again, and made another two hundred and fifty odd, + Shields' being left with four hundred and twelve to make to win. + </p> + <p> + On the morning after Day's second innings, a fag from Day's brought + Clephane a message from Henfrey. Henfrey was apparently in bed. He would + be glad if Clephane would go and see him in the dinner-hour. The interview + lasted fifteen minutes. Then Clephane burst out of the house, and dashed + across to Shields' in search of Mansfield. + </p> + <p> + "I say, <i>have</i> you heard?" he shouted. + </p> + <p> + "What's up?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, every man in Day's team, bar two kids, is in bed. Ill. Do you mean + to say you haven't heard? They thought they'd got that house cup safe, so + all the team except the two kids, fags, you know, had a feed in honour of + it in Henfrey's study. Some ass went and bought a bad rabbit pie, and now + they're laid up. Not badly, but they won't be out for a day or two." + </p> + <p> + "But what about the match?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, that'll go on. I made a point of that. They can play subs." + </p> + <p> + Mansfield looked thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + "But I say," he said, "it isn't very sporting, is it? Oughtn't we to wait + or something?" + </p> + <p> + "Sporting! My dear chap, a case like this mustn't be judged by ordinary + standards. We can't spoil the giant rag of the century because it isn't + quite sporting. Think what it means—Shields' getting the cup! It'll + keep the school laughing for terms. What do you want to spoil people's + pleasure for?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, all right," said Mansfield. + </p> + <p> + "Besides, think of the moral effect it'll have on the house. It may turn + it into the blood house of Wrykyn. Shields himself may get quite sportive. + We mustn't miss the chance." + </p> + <p> + The news having got about the school, Clephane and Mansfield opened their + second innings to the somewhat embarrassed trundling of Masters Royce and + Tibbit, of the Junior School, before a substantial and appreciative + audience. + </p> + <p> + Both played carefully at first, but soon getting the measure of the + bowling (which was not deep) began to hit out, and runs came quickly. At + fifty, Tibbit, understudying Henfrey as captain of the side, summoned to + his young friend Todby from short leg, and instructed him to "have a go" + at the top end. + </p> + <p> + It was here that Clephane courteously interfered. Substitutes, he pointed + out, were allowed, by the laws of cricket, only to field, not to bowl. He + must, therefore, request friend Todby to return to his former sphere of + utility, where, he added politely, he was a perfect demon. + </p> + <p> + "But, blow it," said Master Tibbit, who (alas!) was addicted to the use of + strong language, "Royce and I can't bowl the whole blessed time." + </p> + <p> + "You'll have to, I'm afraid," said Clephane with the kindly air of a + doctor soothing a refractory patient. "Of course, you can take a spell at + grubs whenever you like." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, darn!" said Master Tibbit. + </p> + <p> + Shortly afterwards Clephane made his century. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The match ended late on the following afternoon in a victory for Shields' + by nine wickets, and the scene at the School Shop when Royce and Tibbit + arrived to drown their sorrows and moisten their dry throats with ginger + beer is said by eyewitnesses to have been something quite out of the + common run. + </p> + <p> + The score sheet of the match is also a little unusual. Clephane's three + hundred and one (not out) is described in the <i>Wrykinian</i> as a + "masterly exhibition of sound yet aggressive batting." How Henfrey + described it we have never heard. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART 1 + </h2> + <p> + The whole thing may be said to have begun when Mr. Oliver Ring of New + York, changing cars, as he called it, at Wrykyn on his way to London, had + to wait an hour for his train. He put in that hour by strolling about the + town and seeing the sights, which were not numerous. Wrykyn, except on + Market Day, was wont to be wrapped in a primaeval calm which very nearly + brought tears to the strenuous eyes of the man from Manhattan. He had + always been told that England was a slow country, and his visit, now in + its third week, had confirmed this opinion: but even in England he had not + looked to find such a lotus-eating place as Wrykyn. He looked at the shop + windows. They resembled the shop windows of every other country town in + England. There was no dash, no initiative about them. They did not leap to + the eye and arrest the pedestrian's progress. They ordered these things, + thought Mr. Ring, better in the States. And then something seemed to + whisper to him that here was the place to set up a branch of Ring's + Come-One Come-All Up-to-date Stores. During his stroll he had gathered + certain pieces of information. To wit, that Wrykyn was where the county + families for ten miles round did their shopping, that the population of + the town was larger than would appear at first sight to a casual observer, + and, finally, that there was a school of six hundred boys only a mile + away. Nothing could be better. Within a month he would take to himself the + entire trade of the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + "It's a cinch," murmured Mr. Ring with a glad smile, as he boarded his + train, "a lead-pipe cinch." + </p> + <p> + Everybody who has moved about the world at all knows Ring's Come-one + Come-all Up-to-date Stores. The main office is in New York. Broadway, to + be exact, on the left as you go down, just before you get to Park Row, + where the newspapers come from. There is another office in Chicago. Others + in St. Louis, St. Paul, and across the seas in London, Paris, Berlin, and, + in short, everywhere. The peculiar advantage about Ring's Stores is that + you can get anything you happen to want there, from a motor to a macaroon, + and rather cheaper than you could get it anywhere else. England had up to + the present been ill-supplied with these handy paradises, the one in + Piccadilly being the only extant specimen. But now Mr. Ring in person had + crossed the Atlantic on a tour of inspection, and things were shortly to + be so brisk that you would be able to hear them whizz. + </p> + <p> + So an army of workmen invaded Wrykyn. A trio of decrepit houses in the + High Street were pulled down with a run, and from the ruins there began to + rise like a Phoenix the striking building which was to be the Wrykyn + Branch of Ring's Come-one Come-all Up-to-date Stores. + </p> + <p> + The sensation among the tradesmen caused by the invasion was, as may be + imagined, immense and painful. The thing was a public disaster. It + resembled the advent of a fox in a fowl-run. For years the tradesmen of + Wrykyn had jogged along in their comfortable way, each making his little + profits, with no thought of competition or modern hustle. And now the + enemy was at their doors. Many were the gloomy looks cast at the gaudy + building as it grew like a mushroom. It was finished with incredible + speed, and then advertisements began to flood the local papers. A special + sheaf of bills was despatched to the school. + </p> + <p> + Dunstable got hold of one, and read it with interest. Then he went in + search of his friend Linton to find out what he thought of it. + </p> + <p> + Linton was at work in the laboratory. He was an enthusiastic, but + unskilful, chemist. The only thing he could do with any real certainty was + to make oxygen. But he had ambitions beyond that feat, and was continually + experimenting in a reckless way which made the chemistry master look wan + and uneasy. He was bending over a complicated mixture of tubes, acids, and + Bunsen burners when Dunstable found him. It was after school, so that the + laboratory was empty, but for them. + </p> + <p> + "Don't mind me," said Dunstable, taking a seat on the table. + </p> + <p> + "Look out, man, don't jog. Sit tight, and I'll broaden your mind for you. + I take this bit of litmus paper, and dip it into this bilge, and if I've + done it right, it'll turn blue." + </p> + <p> + "Then I bet it doesn't," said Dunstable. + </p> + <p> + The paper turned red. + </p> + <p> + "Hades," said Linton calmly. "Well, I'm not going to sweat at it any more. + Let's go down to Cook's." + </p> + <p> + Cook's is the one school institution which nobody forgets who has been to + Wrykyn. It is a little confectioner's shop in the High Street. Its + exterior is somewhat forbidding, and the uninitiated would probably + shudder and pass on, wondering how on earth such a place could find a + public daring enough to support it by eating its wares. But the school + went there in flocks. Tea at Cook's was the alternative to a study tea. + There was a large room at the back of the shop, and here oceans of hot tea + and tons of toast were consumed. The staff of Cook's consisted of Mr. + Cook, late sergeant in a line regiment, six foot three, disposition + amiable, left leg cut off above the knee by a spirited Fuzzy in the last + Soudan war; Mrs. Cook, wife of the above, disposition similar, and + possessing the useful gift of being able to listen to five people at one + and the same time; and an invisible menial, or menials, who made toast in + some nether region at a perfectly dizzy rate of speed. Such was Cook's. + </p> + <p> + "Talking of Cook's," said Dunstable, producing his pamphlet, "have you + seen this? It'll be a bit of a knock-out for them, I should think." + </p> + <p> + Linton took the paper, and began to read. Dunstable roamed curiously about + the laboratory, examining things. + </p> + <p> + "What are these little crystal sort of bits of stuff?" he asked, coming to + a standstill before a large jar and opening it. "They look good to eat. + Shall I try one?" + </p> + <p> + "Don't you be an idiot," said the expert, looking up. "What have you got + hold of? Great Scott, no, don't eat that stuff." + </p> + <p> + "Why not? Is it poison?" + </p> + <p> + "No. But it would make you sick as a cat. It's Sal Ammoniac." + </p> + <p> + "Sal how much?" + </p> + <p> + "Ammoniac. You'd be awfully bad." + </p> + <p> + "All right, then, I won't. Well, what do you think of that thing? It'll be + rough on Cook's, won't it? You see they advertise a special + 'public-school' tea, as they call it. It sounds jolly good. I don't know + what buckwheat cakes are, but they ought to be decent. I suppose now + everybody'll chuck Cook's and go there. It's a beastly shame, considering + that Cook's has been a sort of school shop so long. And they really depend + on the school. At least, one never sees anybody else going there. Well, I + shall stick to Cook's. I don't want any of your beastly Yankee invaders. + Support home industries. Be a patriot. The band then played God Save the + King, and the meeting dispersed. But, seriously, man, I am rather sick + about this. The Cooks are such awfully good sorts, and this is bound to + make them lose a tremendous lot. The school's simply crawling with chaps + who'd do anything to get a good tea cheaper than they're getting now. + They'll simply scrum in to this new place." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I don't see what we can do," said Linton, "except keep on going to + Cook's ourselves. Let's be going now, by the way. We'll get as many chaps + as we can to promise to stick to them. But we can't prevent the rest going + where they like. Come on." + </p> + <p> + The atmosphere at Cook's that evening was heavily charged with gloom. + ExSergeant Cook, usually a treasury of jest and anecdote, was silent and + thoughtful. Mrs. Cook bustled about with her customary vigour, but she too + was disinclined for conversation. The place was ominously empty. A + quartette of school house juniors in one corner and a solitary prefect + from Donaldson's completed the sum of the customers. Nobody seemed to want + to talk a great deal. There was something in the air which + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>said as plain as whisper in the ear, + "The place is haunted.</i>" +</pre> + <p> + and so it was. Haunted by the spectre of that hideous, new, glaring + red-brick building down the street, which had opened its doors to the + public on the previous afternoon. + </p> + <p> + "Look there," said Dunstable, as they came out. He pointed along the + street. The doors of the new establishment were congested. A crowd, made + up of members of various houses, was pushing to get past another crowd + which was trying to get out. The "public-school tea at one shilling" + appeared to have proved attractive. + </p> + <p> + "Look at 'em," said Dunstable. "Sordid beasts! All they care about is + filling themselves. There goes that man Merrett. Rand-Brown with him. Here + come four more. Come on. It makes me sick." + </p> + <p> + "I wish it would make <i>them</i> sick," said Linton. + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps it will.... By George!" + </p> + <p> + He started. + </p> + <p> + "What's up?" said Linton. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, nothing. I was only thinking of something." + </p> + <p> + They walked on without further conversation. Dunstable's brain was working + fast. He had an idea, and was busy developing it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The manager of the Wrykyn Branch of Ring's Come-one Come-all Stores stood + at the entrance to his shop on the following afternoon spitting with + energy and precision on to the pavement—he was a free-born American + citizen—and eyeing the High Street as a monarch might gaze at his + kingdom. He had just completed a highly satisfactory report to + headquarters, and was feeling contented with the universe, and the way in + which it was managed. Even in the short time since the opening of the + store he had managed to wake up the sluggish Britishers as if they had had + an electric shock. + </p> + <p> + "We," he observed epigrammatically to a passing cat, which had stopped on + its way to look at him, "are it." + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he perceived a youth coming towards him down the street. He + wore a cap of divers colours, from which the manager argued that he + belonged to the school. Evidently a devotee of the advertised + "public-school" shillingsworth, and one who, as urged by the small bills, + had come early to avoid the rush. "Step right in, mister," he said, moving + aside from the doorway. "And what can I do for <i>you</i>?" + </p> + <p> + "Are you the manager of this place?" asked Dunstable—for the youth + was that strategist, and no other. + </p> + <p> + "On the bull's eye first time," replied the manager with easy courtesy. + "Will you take a cigar or a cocoa-nut?" + </p> + <p> + "Can I have a bit of a talk with you, if you aren't busy?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure. Step right in." + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir," said the manager, "what's <i>your</i> little trouble?" + </p> + <p> + "It's about this public school tea business," said Dunstable. "It's rather + a shame, you see. Before you came bargeing in, everybody used to go to + Cook's." + </p> + <p> + "And now," interrupted the manager, "they come to us. Correct, sir. We <i>are</i> + the main stem. And why not?" + </p> + <p> + "Cook's such a good sort." + </p> + <p> + "I should like to know him," said the manager politely. + </p> + <p> + "You see," said Dunstable, "it doesn't so much matter about the other + things you sell; but Cook's simply relies on giving fellows tea in the + afternoon——" + </p> + <p> + "One moment, sir," said the man from the States. "Let me remind you of a + little rule which will be useful to you when you butt into the big, cold + world. That is, never let sentiment interfere with business. See? Either + Ring's Stores or your friend has got to be on top, and, if I know + anything, it's going to be We. We! And I'm afraid that's all I can do for + you, unless you've that hungry feeling, and want to sample our + public-school tea at twenty-five cents." + </p> + <p> + "No, thanks," said Dunstable. "Here come some chaps, though, who look as + if they might." + </p> + <p> + He stepped aside as half a dozen School House juniors raced up. + </p> + <p> + "For one day only," said the manager to Dunstable, "you may partake free, + if you care to. You have man's most priceless possession, Cool Cheek. And + Cool Cheek, when recognised, should not go unrewarded. Step in." + </p> + <p> + "No thanks," said Dunstable. "You'll find me at Cook's if you want me." + </p> + <p> + "Kindness," said he to himself, as Mrs. Cook served him in the depressed + way which had now become habitual with her, "kindness having failed, we + must try severity." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART 2 + </h2> + <p> + Those who knew and liked Dunstable were both pained and disgusted at his + behaviour during the ensuing three days. He suddenly exhibited a weird + fondness for some of Wrykyn's least deserving inmates. He walked over to + school with Merrett, of Seymour's, and Ruthven, of Donaldson's, both + notorious outsiders. When Linton wanted him to come and play fives after + school, he declined on the ground that he was teaing with Chadwick, of + Appleby's. Now in the matter of absolute outsiderishness Chadwick, of + Appleby's, was to Merrett, of Seymour's, as captain is to subaltern. + Linton was horrified, and said so. + </p> + <p> + "What do you want to do it for?" he asked. "What's the point of it? You + can't like those chaps." + </p> + <p> + "Awfully good sorts when you get to know them," said Dunstable. + </p> + <p> + "You've been some time finding it out." + </p> + <p> + "I know. Chadwick's an acquired taste. By the way, I'm giving a tea on + Thursday. Will you come?" + </p> + <p> + "Who's going to be there?" inquired Linton warily. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Chadwick for one; and Merrett and Ruthven and three other chaps." + </p> + <p> + "Then," said Linton with some warmth, "I think you'll have to do without + me. I believe you're mad." + </p> + <p> + And he went off in disgust to the fives-courts. + </p> + <p> + When on the following Thursday Dunstable walked into Ring's Stores with + his five guests, and demanded six public-school teas, the manager was + perhaps justified in allowing a triumphant smile to wander across his + face. It was a signal victory for him. "No free list to-day, sir," he + said. "Entirely suspended." + </p> + <p> + "Never mind," said Dunstable, "I'm good for six shillings." + </p> + <p> + "Free list?" said Merrett, as the manager retired, "I didn't know there + was one." + </p> + <p> + "There isn't. Only he and I palled up so much the other day that he + offered me a tea for nothing." + </p> + <p> + "Didn't you take it?" + </p> + <p> + "No. I went to Cook's." + </p> + <p> + "Rotten hole, Cook's. I'm never going there again," said Chadwick. "You + take my tip, Dun, old chap, and come here." + </p> + <p> + "Dun, old chap," smiled amiably. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know," he said, looking up from the tea-pot, into which he had + been pouring water; "you can be certain of the food at Cook's." + </p> + <p> + "What do you mean? So you can here." + </p> + <p> + "Oh," said Dunstable, "I didn't know. I've never had tea here before. But + I've often heard that American food upsets one sometimes." + </p> + <p> + By this time, the tea having stood long enough, he poured out, and the + meal began. + </p> + <p> + Merrett and his friends were hearty feeders, and conversation languished + for some time. Then Chadwick leaned back in his chair, and breathed + heavily. + </p> + <p> + "You couldn't get stuff like that at Cook's," he said. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose it is a bit different," said Dunstable. "Have any of you ... + noticed something queer...?" + </p> + <p> + Merrett stared at Ruthven. Ruthven stared at Merrett. + </p> + <p> + "I...." said Merrett. + </p> + <p> + "D'you know...." said Ruthven. + </p> + <p> + Chadwick's face was a delicate green. + </p> + <p> + "I believe," said Dunstable, "the stuff ... was ... poisoned. I...." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Drink this," said the school doctor, briskly, bending over Dunstable's + bed with a medicine-glass in his hand, "and be ashamed of yourself. The + fact is you've over-eaten yourself. Nothing more and nothing less. Why + can't you boys be content to feed moderately?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't think I ate much, sir," protested Dunstable. "It must have been + what I ate. I went to that new American place." + </p> + <p> + "So <i>you</i> went there, too? Why, I've just come from attending a + bilious boy in Mr. Seymour's house. He said he had been at the American + place, too." + </p> + <p> + "Was that Merrett, sir? He was one of the party. We were all bad. We can't + all have eaten too much." + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + "H'm. Curious. Very curious. Do you remember what you had?" + </p> + <p> + "I had some things the man called buckwheat cakes, with some stuff he said + was maple syrup." + </p> + <p> + "Bah. American trash." The doctor was a staunch Briton, conservative in + his views both on politics and on food. "Why can't you boys eat good + English food? I must tell the headmaster of this. I haven't time to look + after the school if all the boys are going to poison themselves. You lie + still and try to go to sleep, and you'll be right enough in no time." + </p> + <p> + But Dunstable did not go to sleep. He stayed awake to interview Linton, + who came to pay him a visit. + </p> + <p> + "Well," said Linton, looking down at the sufferer with an expression that + was a delicate blend of pity and contempt, "you've made a nice sort of ass + of yourself, haven't you! I don't know if it's any consolation to you, but + Merrett's just as bad as you are. And I hear the others are, too. So now + you see what comes of going to Ring's instead of Cook's." + </p> + <p> + "And now," said Dunstable, "if you've quite finished, you can listen to me + for a bit...." + </p> + <p> + "So now you know," he concluded. + </p> + <p> + Linton's face beamed with astonishment and admiration. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'm hanged," he said. "You're a marvel. But how did you know it + wouldn't poison you?" + </p> + <p> + "I relied on you. You said it wasn't poison when I asked you in the lab. + My faith in you is touching." + </p> + <p> + "But why did you take any yourself?" + </p> + <p> + "Sort of idea of diverting suspicion. But the thing isn't finished yet. + Listen." + </p> + <p> + Linton left the dormitory five minutes later with a look of a young + disciple engaged on some holy mission. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART 3 + </h2> + <p> + "You think the food is unwholesome, then?" said the headmaster after + dinner that night. + </p> + <p> + "Unwholesome!" said the school doctor. "It must be deadly. It must be + positively lethal. Here we have six ordinary, strong, healthy boys struck + down at one fell swoop as if there were a pestilence raging. Why——" + </p> + <p> + "One moment," said the headmaster. "Come in." + </p> + <p> + A small figure appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir," said the figure in the strained voice of one speaking a + "piece" which he has committed to memory. "Mr. Seymour says please would + you mind letting the doctor come to his house at once because Linton is + ill." + </p> + <p> + "What!" exclaimed the doctor. "What's the matter with him?" + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir, I believe it's buckwheat cakes." + </p> + <p> + "What! And here's another of them!" + </p> + <p> + A second small figure had appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + "Sir, please, sir," said the newcomer, "Mr. Bradfield says may the doctor——" + </p> + <p> + "And what boy is it <i>this</i> time?" + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir, it's Brown. He went to Ring's Stores——" + </p> + <p> + The headmaster rose. + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps you had better go at once, Oakes," he said. "This is becoming + serious. That place is a positive menace to the community. I shall put it + out of bounds tomorrow morning." + </p> + <p> + And when Dunstable and Linton, pale but cheerful, made their way—slowly, + as befitted convalescents—to Cook's two days afterwards, they had to + sit on the counter. All the other seats were occupied. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GUARDIAN + </h2> + <p> + In his Sunday suit (with ten shillings in specie in the right-hand trouser + pocket) and a brand-new bowler hat, the youngest of the Shearnes, Thomas + Beauchamp Algernon, was being launched by the combined strength of the + family on his public-school career. It was a solemn moment. The landscape + was dotted with relatives—here a small sister, awed by the occasion + into refraining from insult; there an aunt, vaguely admonitory. "Well, + Tom," said Mr. Shearne, "you'll soon be off now. You're sure to like + Eckleton. Remember to cultivate your bowling. Everyone can bat nowadays. + And play forward, not outside. The outsides get most of the fun, + certainly, but then if you're a forward, you've got eight chances of + getting into a team." + </p> + <p> + "All right, father." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, and work hard." This by way of an afterthought. + </p> + <p> + "All right, father." + </p> + <p> + "And, Tom," said Mrs. Shearne, "you are sure to be comfortable at school, + because I asked Mrs. Davy to write to her sister, Mrs. Spencer, who has a + son at Eckleton, and tell her to tell him to look after you when you get + there. He is in Mr. Dencroft's house, which is next door to Mr. + Blackburn's, so you will be quite close to one another. Mind you write + directly you get there." + </p> + <p> + "All right, mother." + </p> + <p> + "And look here, Tom." His eldest brother stepped to the front and spoke + earnestly. "Look here, don't you forget what I've been telling you?" + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "You'll be right enough if you don't go sticking on side. Don't forget + that, however much of a blood you may have been at that rotten little + private school of yours, you're not one at Eckleton." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "You look clean, which is the great thing. There's nothing much wrong with + you except cheek. You've got enough of that to float a ship. Keep it + under." + </p> + <p> + "All right. Keep your hair on." + </p> + <p> + "There you go," said the expert, with gloomy triumph. "If you say that + sort of thing at Eckleton, you'll get jolly well sat on, by Jove!" + </p> + <p> + "Bai Jove, old chap!" murmured the younger brother, "we're devils in the + Forty-twoth!" + </p> + <p> + The other, whose chief sorrow in life was that he could not get the + smaller members of the family to look with proper awe on the fact that he + had just passed into Sandhurst, gazed wistfully at the speaker, but, + realising that there was a locked door between them, tried no active + measures. + </p> + <p> + "Well, anyhow," he said, "you'll soon get it knocked out of you, that's + one comfort. Look here, if you do get scrapping with anybody, don't forget + all I've taught you. And I should go on boxing there if I were you, so as + to go down to Aldershot some day. You ought to make a fairly decent + featherweight if you practise." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "Let's know when Eckleton's playing Haileybury, and I'll come and look you + up. I want to see that match." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, Tom." + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, Tom, dear." + </p> + <p> + Chorus of aunts and other supers: "Goodbye, Tom." + </p> + <p> + Tom (comprehensively): "G'bye." + </p> + <p> + The train left the station. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Kennedy, the head of Dencroft's, said that when he wanted his study turned + into a beastly furnace, he would take care to let Spencer know. He pointed + out that just because it was his habit to warm the study during the winter + months, there was no reason why Spencer should light the gas-stove on an + afternoon in the summer term when the thermometer was in the eighties. + Spencer thought he might want some muffins cooked for tea, did he? Kennedy + earnestly advised Spencer to give up thinking, as Nature had not equipped + him for the strain. Thinking necessitated mental effort, and Spencer, in + Kennedy's opinion, had no mind, but rubbed along on a cheap substitute of + mud and putty. + </p> + <p> + More chatty remarks were exchanged, and then Spencer tore himself away + from the pleasant interview, and went downstairs to the junior study, + where he remarked to his friend Phipps that Life was getting a bit thick. + </p> + <p> + "What's up now?" inquired Phipps. + </p> + <p> + "Everything. We've just had a week of term, and I've been in extra once + already for doing practically nothing, and I've got a hundred lines, and + Kennedy's been slanging me for lighting the stove. How was I to know he + didn't want it lit? Wish I was fagging for somebody else." + </p> + <p> + "All the while you're jawing," said Phipps, "there's a letter for you on + the mantelpiece, staring at you?" + </p> + <p> + "So there is. Hullo!" + </p> + <p> + "What's up? Hullo! is that a postal order? How much for?" + </p> + <p> + "Five bob. I say, who's Shearne?" + </p> + <p> + "New kid in Blackburn's. Why?" + </p> + <p> + "Great Scott! I remember now. They told me to look after him. I haven't + seen him yet. And listen to this: 'Mrs. Shearne has sent me the enclosed + to give to you. Her son writes to say that he is very happy and getting on + very well, so she is sure you must have been looking after him.' Why, I + don't know the kid by sight. I clean forgot all about him." + </p> + <p> + "Well, you'd better go and see him now, just to say you've done it." + </p> + <p> + Spencer perpended. + </p> + <p> + "Beastly nuisance having a new kid hanging on to you. He's probably a + frightful rotter." + </p> + <p> + "Well, anyway, you ought to," said Phipps, who possessed the <i>scenario</i> + of a conscience. + </p> + <p> + "I can't." + </p> + <p> + "All right, don't, then. But you ought to send back that postal order." + </p> + <p> + "Look here, Phipps," said Spencer plaintively, "you needn't be an idiot, + you know." + </p> + <p> + And the trivial matter of Thomas B. A. Shearne was shelved. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Thomas, as he had stated in his letter to his mother, was exceedingly + happy at Eckleton, and getting on very nicely indeed. It is true that + there had been one or two small unpleasantnesses at first, but those were + over now, and he had settled down completely. The little troubles alluded + to above had begun on his second day at Blackburn's. Thomas, as the reader + may have gathered from his glimpse of him at the station, was not a + diffident youth. He was quite prepared for anything Fate might have up its + sleeve for him, and he entered the junior day-room at Blackburn's ready + for emergencies. On the first day nothing happened. One or two people + asked him his name, but none inquired what his father was—a question + which, he had understood from books of school life, was invariably put to + the new boy. He was thus prevented from replying "coolly, with his eyes + fixed on his questioner's": "A gentleman. What's yours?" and this, of + course, had been a disappointment. But he reconciled himself to it, and on + the whole enjoyed his first day at Eckleton. + </p> + <p> + On the second there occurred an Episode. + </p> + <p> + Thomas had inherited from his mother a pleasant, rather meek cast of + countenance. He had pink cheeks and golden hair—almost indecently + golden in one who was not a choirboy. + </p> + <p> + Now, if you are going to look like a Ministering Child or a Little Willie, + the Sunbeam of the Home, when you go to a public school, you must take the + consequences. As Thomas sat by the window of the junior day-room reading a + magazine, and deeply interested in it, there fell upon his face such a + rapt, angelic expression that the sight of it, silhouetted against the + window, roused Master P. Burge, his fellow-Blackburnite, as it had been a + trumpet-blast. To seize a Bradley Arnold's Latin Prose Exercises and hurl + it across the room was with Master Burge the work of a moment. It struck + Thomas on the ear. He jumped, and turned some shades pinker. Then he put + down his magazine, picked up the Bradley Arnold, and sat on it. After + which he resumed his magazine. + </p> + <p> + The acute interest of the junior day-room, always fond of a break in the + monotony of things, induced Burge to go further into the matter. + </p> + <p> + "You with the face!" said Burge rudely. + </p> + <p> + Thomas looked up. + </p> + <p> + "What the dickens are you going with my book? Pass it back!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, is this yours?" said Thomas. "Here you are." + </p> + <p> + He walked towards him, carrying the book. At two yards range he fired it + in. It hit Burge with some force in the waistcoat, and there was a pause + while he collected his wind. + </p> + <p> + Then the thing may be said to have begun. + </p> + <p> + Yes, said Burge, interrogated on the point five minutes later, he <i>had</i> + had enough. + </p> + <p> + "Good," said Thomas pleasantly. "Want a handkerchief?" + </p> + <p> + That evening he wrote to his mother and, thanking her for kind inquiries, + stated that he was not being bullied. He added, also in answer to + inquiries, that he had not been tossed in a blanket, and that—so far—no + Hulking Senior (with scowl) had let him down from the dormitory window + after midnight by a sheet, in order that he might procure gin from the + local public-house. As far as he could gather, the seniors were mostly + teetotallers. Yes, he had seen Spencer several times. He did not add that + he had seen him from a distance. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "I'm so glad I asked Mrs. Davy to get her nephew to look after Tom," said + Mrs. Shearne, concluding the reading of the epistle at breakfast. "It + makes such a difference to a new boy having somebody to protect him at + first." + </p> + <p> + "Only drawback is," said his eldest brother gloomily—"won't get + cheek knocked out of him. Tom's kid wh'ought get'sheadsmacked reg'ly. Be + no holding him." + </p> + <p> + And he helped himself to marmalade, of which delicacy his mouth was full, + with a sort of magnificent despondency. + </p> + <p> + By the end of the first fortnight of his school career, Thomas Beauchamp + Algernon had overcome all the little ruggednesses which relieve the path + of the new boy from monotony. He had been taken in by a primaeval "sell" + which the junior day-room invariably sprang on the new-comer. But as he + had sat on the head of the engineer of the same for the space of ten + minutes, despite the latter's complaints of pain and forecasts of what he + would do when he got up, the laugh had not been completely against him. He + had received the honourable distinction of extra lesson for ragging in + French. He had been "touched up" by the prefect of his dormitory for + creating a disturbance in the small hours. In fact, he had gone through + all the usual preliminaries, and become a full-blown Eckletonian. + </p> + <p> + His letters home were so cheerful at this point that a second postal order + relieved the dwindling fortune of Spencer. And it was this, coupled with + the remonstrances of Phipps, that induced the Dencroftian to break through + his icy reserve. + </p> + <p> + "Look here, Spencer," said Phipps, his conscience thoroughly stirred by + this second windfall, "it's all rot. You must either send back that postal + order, or go and see the chap. Besides, he's quite a decent kid. We're in + the same game at cricket. He's rather a good bowler. I'm getting to know + him quite well. I've got a jolly sight more right to those postal orders + than you have." + </p> + <p> + "But he's an awful ass to look at," pleaded Spencer. + </p> + <p> + "What's wrong with him? Doesn't look nearly such a goat as you," said + Phipps, with the refreshing directness of youth. + </p> + <p> + "He's got yellow hair," argued Spencer. + </p> + <p> + "Why shouldn't he have?" + </p> + <p> + "He looks like a sort of young Sunday-school kid." + </p> + <p> + "Well, he jolly well isn't, then, because I happen to know that he's had + scraps with some of the fellows in his house, and simply mopped them." + </p> + <p> + "Well, all right, then," said Spencer reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + The historic meeting took place outside the school shop at the quarter to + eleven interval next morning. Thomas was leaning against the wall, eating + a bun. Spencer approached him with half a jam sandwich in his hand. There + was an awkward pause. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo!" said Spencer at last. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo!" said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + Spencer finished his sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his trousers. + Thomas continued operations on the bun with the concentrated expression of + a lunching python. + </p> + <p> + "I believe your people know my people," said Spencer. + </p> + <p> + "We have some awfully swell friends," said Thomas. Spencer chewed this + thoughtfully awhile. + </p> + <p> + "Beastly cheek," he said at last. + </p> + <p> + "Sorry," said Thomas, not looking it. + </p> + <p> + Spencer produced a bag of gelatines. + </p> + <p> + "Have one?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "What's wrong with 'em?" + </p> + <p> + "All right, don't." + </p> + <p> + He selected a gelatine and consumed it. + </p> + <p> + "Ever had your head smacked?" he inquired courteously. + </p> + <p> + A slightly strained look came into Thomas's blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Not often," he replied politely. "Why?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I don't know," said Spencer. "I was only wondering." + </p> + <p> + "Oh?" + </p> + <p> + "Look here," said Spencer, "my mater told me to look after you." + </p> + <p> + "Well, you can look after me now if you want to, because I'm going." + </p> + <p> + And Thomas dissolved the meeting by walking off in the direction of the + junior block. + </p> + <p> + "That kid," said Spencer to his immortal soul, "wants his head smacked, + badly." + </p> + <p> + At lunch Phipps had questions to ask. + </p> + <p> + "Saw you talking to Shearne in the interval," he said. "What were you + talking about?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, nothing in particular." + </p> + <p> + "What did you think of him?" + </p> + <p> + "Little idiot." + </p> + <p> + "Ask him to tea this afternoon?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "You must. Dash it all, you must do something for him. You've had ten bob + out of his people." + </p> + <p> + Spencer made no reply. + </p> + <p> + Going to the school shop that afternoon, he found Thomas seated there with + Phipps, behind a pot of tea. As a rule, he and Phipps tea'd together, and + he resented this desertion. + </p> + <p> + "Come on," said Phipps. "We were waiting for you." + </p> + <p> + "Pining away," added Thomas unnecessarily. + </p> + <p> + Spencer frowned austerely. + </p> + <p> + "Come and look after me," urged Thomas. + </p> + <p> + Spencer sat down in silence. For a minute no sound could be heard but the + champing of Thomas's jaws as he dealt with a slab of gingerbread. + </p> + <p> + "Buck up," said Phipps uneasily. + </p> + <p> + "Give me," said Thomas, "just one loving look." + </p> + <p> + Spencer ignored the request. The silence became tense once more. + </p> + <p> + "Coming to the house net, Phipps?" asked Spencer. + </p> + <p> + "We were going to the baths. Why don't you come?" + </p> + <p> + "All right," said Spencer. + </p> + <p> + Doctors tell us that we should allow one hour to elapse between taking + food and bathing, but the rule was not rigidly adhered to at Eckleton. The + three proceeded straight from the tea-table to the baths. + </p> + <p> + The place was rather empty when they arrived. It was a little earlier than + the majority of Eckletonians bathed. The bath filled up as lock-up drew + near. With the exception of a couple of infants splashing about in the + shallow end, and a stout youth who dived in from the spring-board, + scrambled out, and dived in again, each time flatter than the last, they + had the place to themselves. + </p> + <p> + "What's it like, Gorrick," inquired Phipps of the stout youth, who had + just appeared above the surface again, blowing like a whale. The question + was rendered necessary by the fact that many years before the boiler at + the Eckleton baths had burst, and had never been repaired, with the + consequence that the temperature of the water was apt to vary. That is to + say, most days it was colder than others. + </p> + <p> + "Simply boiling," said the man of weight, climbing out. "I say, did I go + in all right then?" + </p> + <p> + "Not bad," said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + "Bit flat," added Thomas critically. + </p> + <p> + Gorrick blinked severely at the speaker. A head-waiter at a fashionable + restaurant is cordial in his manner compared with a boy who has been at a + public school a year, when addressed familiarly by a new boy. After + reflecting on the outrage for a moment, he dived in again. + </p> + <p> + "Worse than ever," said Truthful Thomas. + </p> + <p> + "Look here!" said Gorrick. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, come <i>on</i>!" exclaimed Phipps, and led Thomas away. + </p> + <p> + "That kid," said Gorrick to Spencer, "wants his head smacked, badly." + </p> + <p> + "That's just what I say," agreed Spencer, with the eagerness of a great + mind which has found another that thinks alike with itself. + </p> + <p> + Spencer was the first of the trio ready to enter the water. His movements + were wary and deliberate. There was nothing of the professional diver + about Spencer. First he stood on the edge and rubbed his arms, regarding + the green water beneath with suspicion and dislike. Then, crouching down, + he inserted three toes of his left foot, drew them back sharply, and said + "Oo!" Then he stood up again. His next move was to slap his chest and + dance a few steps, after which he put his right foot into the water, again + remarked "Oo!" and resumed Position I. + </p> + <p> + "Thought you said it was warm," he shouted to Gorrick. + </p> + <p> + "So it is; hot as anything. Come on in." + </p> + <p> + And Spencer came on in. Not because he wanted to—for, by rights, + there were some twelve more movements to be gone through before he should + finally creep in at the shallow end—but because a cold hand, placed + suddenly on the small of his back, urged him forward. Down he went, with + the water fizzing and bubbling all over and all round him. He swallowed a + good deal of it, but there was still plenty left; and what there was was + colder than one would have believed possible. + </p> + <p> + He came to the surface after what seemed to him a quarter of an hour, and + struck out for the side. When he got out, Phipps and Thomas had just got + in. Gorrick was standing at the end of the cocoanut matting which formed a + pathway to the spring-board. Gorrick was blue, but determined. + </p> + <p> + "I say! Did I go in all right then?" inquired Gorrick. + </p> + <p> + "How the dickens do I know?" said Spencer, stung to fresh wrath by the + inanity of the question. + </p> + <p> + "Spencer did," said Thomas, appearing in the water below them and holding + on to the rail. + </p> + <p> + "Look here!" cried Spencer; "did you shove me in then?" + </p> + <p> + "Me! Shove!" Thomas's voice expressed horror and pain. "Why, you dived in. + Jolly good one, too. Reminded me of the diving elephants at the + Hippodrome." + </p> + <p> + And he swam off. + </p> + <p> + "That kid," said Gorrick, gazing after him, "wants his head smacked." + </p> + <p> + "Badly," agreed Spencer. "Look here! did he shove me in? Did you see him?" + </p> + <p> + "I was doing my dive. But it must have been him. Phipps never rags in the + bath." + </p> + <p> + Spencer grunted—an expressive grunt—and, creeping down the + steps, entered the water again. + </p> + <p> + It was Spencer's ambition to swim ten lengths of the bath. He was not a + young Channel swimmer, and ten lengths represented a very respectable + distance to him. He proceeded now to attempt to lower his record. It was + not often that he got the bath so much to himself. Usually, there was + barely standing-room in the water, and long-distance swimming was + impossible. But now, with a clear field, he should, he thought, be able to + complete the desired distance. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning the fifth length before interruption came. Just as he + reached halfway, a reproachful voice at his side said: "Oh, Percy, you'll + tire yourself!" and a hand on the top of his head propelled him firmly + towards the bottom. + </p> + <p> + Every schoolboy, as Honble. Macaulay would have put it, knows the + sensation of being ducked. It is always unpleasant—sometimes more, + sometimes less. The present case belonged to the former class. There was + just room inside Spencer for another half-pint of water. He swallowed it. + When he came to the surface, he swam to the side without a word and + climbed out. It was the last straw. Honour could now be satisfied only + with gore. + </p> + <p> + He hung about outside the baths till Phipps and Thomas appeared, then, + with a steadfast expression on his face, he walked up to the latter and + kicked him. + </p> + <p> + Thomas seemed surprised, but not alarmed. His eyes grew a little rounder, + and the pink on his cheeks deepened. He looked like a choir-boy in a bad + temper. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo! What's up, you ass, Spencer?" inquired Phipps. + </p> + <p> + Spencer said nothing. + </p> + <p> + "Where shall we go?" asked Thomas. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, chuck it!" said Phipps the peacemaker. + </p> + <p> + Spencer and Thomas were eyeing each other warily. + </p> + <p> + "You chaps aren't going to fight?" said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + The notion seemed to distress him. + </p> + <p> + "Unless he cares to take a kicking," said Spencer suavely. + </p> + <p> + "Not to-day, I think, thanks," replied Thomas without heat. + </p> + <p> + "Then, look here!" said Phipps briskly, "I know a ripping little place + just off the Lelby Road. It isn't five minutes' walk, and there's no + chance of being booked there. Rot if someone was to come and stop it + half-way through. It's in a field; thick hedges. No one can see. And I + tell you what—I'll keep time. I've got a watch. Two minute rounds, + and half-a-minute in between, and I'm the referee; so, if anybody fouls + the other chap, I'll stop the fight. See? Come on!" + </p> + <p> + Of the details of that conflict we have no very clear record. Phipps is + enthusiastic, but vague. He speaks in eulogistic terms of a "corker" which + Spencer brought off in the second round, and, again, of a "tremendous + biff" which Thomas appears to have consummated in the fourth. But of the + more subtle points of the fighting he is content merely to state + comprehensively that they were "top-hole." As to the result, it would seem + that, in the capacity of referee, he declared the affair a draw at the end + of the seventh round; and, later, in his capacity of second to both + parties, helped his principals home by back and secret ways, one on each + arm. + </p> + <p> + The next items to which the chronicler would call the attention of the + reader are two letters. + </p> + <p> + The first was from Mrs. Shearne to Spencer, and ran as follows— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My Dear Spencer,—I am writing to you direct, instead of through + your aunt, because I want to thank you so much for looking after + my boy so well. I know what a hard time a new boy has at a public + school if he has got nobody to take care of him at first. I heard + from Tom this morning. He seems so happy, and so fond of you. He + says you are "an awfully decent chap" and "the only chap who has + stood up to him at all." I suppose he means "for him." I hope you + will come and spend part of your holidays with us. ("Catch <i>me!</i>" + said Spencer.) + + <i>Yours sincerely,</i> + <i>Isabel Shearne</i> + + P.S.—I hope you will manage to buy something nice with + the enclosed. +</pre> + <p> + The enclosed was yet another postal order for five shillings. As somebody + wisely observed, a woman's P.S. is always the most important part of her + letter. + </p> + <p> + "That kid," murmured Spencer between swollen lips, "has got cheek enough + for eighteen! 'Awfully decent chap!'" + </p> + <p> + He proceeded to compose a letter in reply, and for dignity combined with + lucidity it may stand as a model to young writers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>5 College Grounds,</i> + <i>Eckleton.</i> + + Mr. C. F. Spencer begs to present his compliments to Mrs. Shearne, + and returns the postal order, because he doesn't see why he should + have it. He notes your remarks <i>re</i> my being a decent chap in + your favour of the 13th <i>prox</i>., but cannot see where it quite + comes in, as the only thing I've done to Mrs. Shearne's son is to + fight seven rounds with him in a field, W. G. Phipps refereeing. It + was a draw. I got a black eye and rather a whack in the mouth, but + gave him beans also, particularly in the wind, which I learned to do + from reading "Rodney Stone"—the bit where Bob Whittaker beats the + Eyetalian Gondoleery Cove. Hoping that this will be taken in the + spirit which is meant, + + <i>I remain</i> + <i>Yours sincerely,</i> + <i>C. F. Spencer</i> + <i>One enclosure.</i> +</pre> + <p> + He sent this off after prep., and retired to bed full of spiritual pride. + </p> + <p> + On the following morning, going to the shop during the interval, he came + upon Thomas negotiating a hot bun. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo!" said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + As was generally the case after he had had a fair and spirited turn-out + with a fellow human being, Thomas had begun to feel that he loved his late + adversary as a brother. A wholesome respect, which had hitherto been + wanting, formed part of his opinion of him. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo!" said Spencer, pausing. + </p> + <p> + "I say," said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + "What's up?" + </p> + <p> + "I say, I don't believe we shook hands, did we?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't remember doing it." + </p> + <p> + They shook hands. Spencer began to feel that there were points about + Thomas, after all. + </p> + <p> + "I say," said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo?" + </p> + <p> + "I'm sorry about in the bath, you know. I didn't know you minded being + ducked." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, all right!" said Spencer awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + Eight bars rest. + </p> + <p> + "I say," said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo!" + </p> + <p> + "Doing anything this afternoon?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing special, Why?" + </p> + <p> + "Come and have tea?" + </p> + <p> + "All right. Thanks." + </p> + <p> + "I'll wait for you outside the house." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + It was just here that Spencer regretted that he had sent back that + five-shilling postal order. Five good shillings. + </p> + <p> + Simply chucked away. + </p> + <p> + Oh, Life, Life! + </p> + <p> + But they were not, after all. On his plate at breakfast next day Spencer + found a letter. This was the letter— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Messrs. J. K. Shearne (father of T. B. A. Shearne) and P. W. Shearne + (brother of same) beg to acknowledge receipt of Mr. C. F. Spencer's + esteemed communication of yesterday's date, and in reply desire to + inform Mr. Spencer of their hearty approval of his attentions to + Mr. T. B. A. Shearne's wind. It is their opinion that the above, + a nice boy but inclined to cheek, badly needs treatment on these + lines occasionally. They therefore beg to return the postal order, + together with another for a like sum, and trust that this will meet + with Mr. Spencer's approval. + + (Signed) <i>J. K. Shearne,</i> + <i>P. W. Shearne.</i> + Two enclosures. +</pre> + <p> + "Of course, what's up really," said Spencer to himself, after reading + this, "is that the whole family's jolly well cracked." + </p> + <p> + His eye fell on the postal orders. + </p> + <p> + "Still——!" he said. + </p> + <p> + That evening he entertained Phipps and Thomas B. A. Shearne lavishly at + tea. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CORNER IN LINES + </h2> + <p> + Of all the useless and irritating things in this world, lines are probably + the most useless and the most irritating. In fact, I only know of two + people who ever got any good out of them. Dunstable, of Day's, was one, + Linton, of Seymour's, the other. For a portion of one winter term they + flourished on lines. The more there were set, the better they liked it. + They would have been disappointed if masters had given up the habit of + doling them out. + </p> + <p> + Dunstable was a youth of ideas. He saw far more possibilities in the + routine of life at Locksley than did the majority of his contemporaries, + and every now and then he made use of these possibilities in a way that + caused a considerable sensation in the school. + </p> + <p> + In the ordinary way of school work, however, he was not particularly + brilliant, and suffered in consequence. His chief foe was his form-master, + Mr. Langridge. The feud between them had begun on Dunstable's arrival in + the form two terms before, and had continued ever since. The balance of + points lay with the master. The staff has ways of scoring which the school + has not. This story really begins with the last day but one of the summer + term. It happened that Dunstable's people were going to make their annual + migration to Scotland on that day, and the Headmaster, approached on the + subject both by letter and in person, saw no reason why—the + examinations being over—Dunstable should not leave Locksley a day + before the end of term. + </p> + <p> + He called Dunstable to his study one night after preparation. + </p> + <p> + "Your father has written to me, Dunstable," he said, "to ask that you may + be allowed to go home on Wednesday instead of Thursday. I think that, + under the special circumstances, there will be no objection to this. You + had better see that the matron packs your boxes." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said Dunstable. "Good business," he added to himself, as he + left the room. + </p> + <p> + When he got back to his own den, he began to ponder over the matter, to + see if something could not be made out of it. That was Dunstable's way. He + never let anything drop until he had made certain that he had exhausted + all its possibilities. + </p> + <p> + Just before he went to bed he had evolved a neat little scheme for scoring + off Mr. Langridge. The knowledge of his plans was confined to himself and + the Headmaster. His dorm-master would imagine that he was going to stay on + till the last day of term. Therefore, if he misbehaved himself in form, + Mr. Langridge would set him lines in blissful ignorance of the fact that + he would not be there next day to show them up. At the beginning of the + following term, moreover, he would not be in Mr. Langridge's form, for he + was certain of his move up. + </p> + <p> + He acted accordingly. + </p> + <p> + He spent the earlier part of Wednesday morning in breaches of the peace. + Mr. Langridge, instead of pulling him up, put him on to translate; + Dunstable went on to translate. As he had not prepared the lesson and was + not an adept at construing unseen, his performance was poor. + </p> + <p> + After a minute and a half, the form-master wearied. + </p> + <p> + "Have you looked at this, Dunstable?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + There was a time-honoured answer to this question. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," he said. + </p> + <p> + Public-school ethics do not demand that you should reply truthfully to the + spirit of a question. The letter of it is all that requires attention. + Dunstable had <i>looked</i> at the lesson. He was looking at it then. + Masters should practise exactness of speech. A certain form at Harrow were + in the habit of walking across a copy of a Latin author before + morning-school. They could then say with truth that they "had been over + it." This is not an isolated case. + </p> + <p> + "Go on," said Mr. Langridge. + </p> + <p> + Dunstable smiled as he did so. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Langridge was annoyed. + </p> + <p> + "What are you laughing at? What do you mean by it? Stand up. You will + write out the lesson in Latin and English, and show it up to me by four + this afternoon. I know what you are thinking. You imagine that because + this is the end of the term you can do as you please, but you will find + yourself mistaken. Mind—by four o'clock." + </p> + <p> + At four o'clock Dunstable was enjoying an excellent tea in Green Street, + Park Lane, and telling his mother that he had had a most enjoyable term, + marred by no unpleasantness whatever. His holidays were sweetened by the + thought of Mr. Langridge's baffled wrath on discovering the true + inwardness of the recent episode. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When he returned to Locksley at the beginning of the winter term, he was + at once made aware that that episode was not to be considered closed. On + the first evening, Mr. Day, his housemaster, sent for him. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Dunstable," he said, "where is that imposition?" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable affected ignorance. + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir, you set me no imposition." + </p> + <p> + "No, Dunstable, no." Mr. Day peered at him gravely through his spectacles. + "<i>I</i> set you no imposition; but Mr. Langridge did." + </p> + <p> + Dunstable imitated that eminent tactician, Br'er Rabbit. He "lay low and + said nuffin." + </p> + <p> + "Surely," continued Mr. Day, in tones of mild reproach, "you did not think + that you could take Mr. Langridge in?" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable rather thought he <i>had</i> taken Mr. Langridge in; but he made + no reply. + </p> + <p> + "Well," said Mr. Day. "I must set you some punishment. I shall give the + butler instructions to hand you a note from me at three o'clock + to-morrow." (The next day was a half-holiday.) "In that note you will find + indicated what I wish you to write out." + </p> + <p> + Why this comic-opera secret-society business, Dunstable wondered. Then it + dawned upon him. Mr. Day wished to break up his half-holiday thoroughly. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Dunstable retired in disgust to his study to brood over his + wrongs; to him entered Charles, his friend, one C. J. Linton, to wit, of + Seymour's, a very hearty sportsman. + </p> + <p> + "Good," said Linton. "Didn't think I should find you in. Thought you might + have gone off somewhere as it's such a ripping day. Tell you what we'll + do. Scull a mile or two up the river and have tea somewhere." + </p> + <p> + "I should like to awfully," said Dunstable, "but I'm afraid I can't." + </p> + <p> + And he explained Mr. Day's ingenious scheme for preventing him from + straying that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + "Rot, isn't it," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Beastly. Wouldn't have thought old Day had it in him. But I'll tell you + what," he said. "Do the impot now, and then you'll be able to start at + three sharp, and we shall get in a good time on the river. Day always sets + the same thing. I've known scores of chaps get impots from him, and they + all had to do the Greek numerals. He's mad on the Greek numerals. Never + does anything else. You'll be as safe as anything if you do them. Buck up, + I'll help." + </p> + <p> + They accordingly sat down there and then. By three o'clock an imposing + array of sheets of foolscap covered with badly-written Greek lay on the + study table. + </p> + <p> + "That ought to be enough," said Linton, laying down his pen. "He can't set + you more than we've done, I should think." + </p> + <p> + "Rummy how alike our writing looks," said Dunstable, collecting the sheets + and examining them. "You can hardly tell which is which even when you + know. Well, there goes three. My watch is slow, as it always is. I'll go + and get that note." + </p> + <p> + Two minutes later he returned, full of abusive references to Mr. Day. The + crafty pedagogue appeared to have foreseen Dunstable's attempt to + circumvent him by doing the Greek numerals on the chance of his setting + them. The imposition he had set in his note was ten pages of irregular + verbs, and they were to be shown up in his study before five o'clock. + Linton's programme for the afternoon was out of the question now. But he + loyally gave up any other plans which he might have formed in order to + help Dunstable with his irregular verbs. Dunstable was too disgusted with + fate to be properly grateful. + </p> + <p> + "And the worst of it is," he said, as they adjourned for tea at half-past + four, having deposited the verbs on Mr. Day's table, "that all those + numerals will be wasted now." + </p> + <p> + "I should keep them, though," said Linton. "They may come in useful. You + never know." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Towards the end of the second week of term Fate, by way of compensation, + allowed Dunstable a distinct stroke of luck. Mr. Forman, the master of his + new form, set him a hundred lines of Virgil, and told him to show them up + next day. To Dunstable's delight, the next day passed without mention of + them; and when the day after that went by, and still nothing was said, he + came to the conclusion that Mr. Forman had forgotten all about them. + </p> + <p> + Which was indeed the case. Mr. Forman was engaged in editing a new edition + of the "Bacchae," and was apt to be absent-minded in consequence. So + Dunstable, with a glad smile, hove the lines into a cupboard in his study + to keep company with the Greek numerals which he had done for Mr. Day, and + went out to play fives with Linton. + </p> + <p> + Linton, curiously enough, had also had a stroke of luck in a rather + similar way. He told Dunstable about it as they strolled back to the + houses after their game. + </p> + <p> + "Bit of luck this afternoon," he said. "You remember Appleby setting me a + hundred-and-fifty the day before yesterday? Well, I showed them up to-day, + and he looked through them and chucked them into the waste-paper basket + under his desk. I thought at the time I hadn't seen him muck them up at + all with his pencil, which is his usual game, so after he had gone at the + end of school I nipped to the basket and fished them out. They were as + good as new, so I saved them up in case I get any more." + </p> + <p> + Dunstable hastened to tell of his own good fortune. Linton was impressed + by the coincidence. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you what," he said, "we score either way. Because if we never get + any more lines——" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable laughed. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I know," Linton went on, "we're bound to. But even supposing we + don't, what we've got in stock needn't be wasted." + </p> + <p> + "I don't see that," said Dunstable. "Going to have 'em bound in cloth and + published? Or were you thinking of framing them?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, don't you see? Sell them, of course. There are dozens of chaps in + the school who would be glad of a few hundred lines cheap." + </p> + <p> + "It wouldn't work. They'd be spotted." + </p> + <p> + "Rot. It's been done before, and nobody said anything. A chap in Seymour's + who left last Easter sold all his stock lines by auction on the last day + of term. They were Virgil mostly and Greek numerals. They sold like hot + cakes. There were about five hundred of them altogether. And I happen to + know that every word of them has been given up and passed all right." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I shall keep mine," said Dunstable. "I am sure to want all the + lines in stock that I can get. I used to think Langridge was fairly bad in + the way of impots, but Forman takes the biscuit easily. It seems to be a + sort of hobby of his. You can't stop him." + </p> + <p> + But it was not until the middle of preparation that the great idea flashed + upon Dunstable's mind. + </p> + <p> + It was the simplicity of the thing that took his breath away. That and its + possibilities. This was the idea. Why not start a Lines Trust in the + school? An agency for supplying lines at moderate rates to all who desired + them? There did not seem to be a single flaw in the scheme. He and Linton + between them could turn out enough material in a week to give the Trust a + good working capital. And as for the risk of detection when customers came + to show up the goods supplied to them, that was very slight. As has been + pointed out before, there was practically one handwriting common to the + whole school when it came to writing lines. It resembled the movements of + a fly that had fallen into an ink-pot, and subsequently taken a little + brisk exercise on a sheet of foolscap by way of restoring the circulation. + Then, again, the attitude of the master to whom the lines were shown was + not likely to be critical. So that everything seemed in favour of + Dunstable's scheme. + </p> + <p> + Linton, to whom he confided it, was inclined to scoff at first, but when + he had had the beauties of the idea explained to him at length, became an + enthusiastic supporter of the scheme. + </p> + <p> + "But," he objected, "it'll take up all our time. Is it worth it? We can't + spend every afternoon sweating away at impots for other people." + </p> + <p> + "It's all right," said Dunstable, "I've thought of that. We shall need to + pitch in pretty hard for about a week or ten days. That will give us a + good big stock, and after that if we turn out a hundred each every day it + will be all right. A hundred's not much fag if you spread them over a + day." + </p> + <p> + Linton admitted that this was sound, and the Locksley Lines Supplying + Trust, Ltd., set to work in earnest. + </p> + <p> + It must not be supposed that the Agency left a great deal to chance. The + writing of lines in advance may seem a very speculative business; but both + Dunstable and Linton had had a wide experience of Locksley masters, and + the methods of the same when roused, and they were thus enabled to reduce + the element of chance to a minimum. They knew, for example, that Mr. Day's + favourite imposition was the Greek numerals, and that in nine cases out of + ten that would be what the youth who had dealings with him would need to + ask for from the Lines Trust. Mr. Appleby, on the other hand, invariably + set Virgil. The oldest inhabitant had never known him to depart from this + custom. For the French masters extracts from the works of Victor Hugo + would probably pass muster. + </p> + <p> + A week from the date of the above conversation, everyone in the school, + with the exception of the prefects and the sixth form, found in his desk + on arriving at his form-room a printed slip of paper. (Spiking, the + stationer in the High Street, had printed it.) It was nothing less than + the prospectus of the new Trust. It set forth in glowing terms the + advantages offered by the agency. Dunstable had written it—he had a + certain amount of skill with his pen—and Linton had suggested subtle + and captivating additions. The whole presented rather a striking + appearance. + </p> + <p> + The document was headed with the name of the Trust in large letters. Under + this came a number of "scare headlines" such as: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SEE WHAT YOU SAVE! + + NO MORE WORRY! + + PEACE, PERFECT PEACE! + + WHY DO LINES WHEN WE DO THEM + FOR YOU? +</pre> + <p> + Then came the real prospectus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Locksley Lines Supplying Trust, Ltd. has been instituted to + meet the growing demand for lines and other impositions. While + there are masters at our public schools there will always be lines. + At Locksley the crop of masters has always flourished—and still + flourishes—very rankly, and the demand for lines has greatly taxed + the powers of those to whom has been assigned the task of supplying + them. + + It is for the purpose of affording relief to these that the Lines + Trust has been formed. It is proposed that all orders for lines + shall be supplied out of our vast stock. Our charges are moderate, + and vary between threepence and sixpence per hundred lines. The + higher charge is made for Greek impositions, which, for obvious + reasons, entail a greater degree of labour on our large and + efficient staff of writers. + + All orders, which will be promptly executed, should be forwarded to + Mr. P. A. Dunstable, 6 College Grounds, Locksley, or to Mr. C. J. + Linton, 10 College Grounds, Locksley. <i>Payment must be inclosed + with order, or the latter will not be executed.</i> Under no + conditions will notes of hand or cheques be accepted as legal + tender. There is no trust about us except the name. + + Come in your thousands. We have lines for all. If the Trust's + stock of lines were to be placed end to end it would reach part + of the way to London. "You pay the threepence. We do the rest." +</pre> + <p> + Then a blank space, after which came a few "unsolicited testimonials": + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Lower Fifth" writes: "I was set two hundred lines of Virgil on + Saturday last at one o'clock. Having laid in a supply from your + agency I was enabled to show them up at five minutes past one. + The master who gave me the commission was unable to restrain his + admiration at the rapidity and neatness of my work. You may make + what use of this you please." + + "Dexter's House" writes: "Please send me one hundred (100) lines + from <i>Aeneid, Book Two</i>. Mr. Dexter was so delighted with the last + I showed him that he has asked me to do some more." + + "Enthusiast" writes: "Thank you for your Greek numerals. Day took + them without blinking. So beautifully were they executed that I can + hardly believe even now that I did not write them myself." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + There could be no doubt about the popularity of the Trust. It caught on + instantly. + </p> + <p> + Nothing else was discussed in the form-rooms at the quarter to eleven + interval, and in the houses after lunch it was the sole topic of + conversation. Dunstable and Linton were bombarded with questions and + witticisms of the near personal sort. To the latter they replied with + directness, to the former evasively. + </p> + <p> + "What's it all <i>about?</i>" someone would ask, fluttering the leaflet + before Dunstable's unmoved face. + </p> + <p> + "You should read it carefully," Dunstable would reply. "It's all there." + </p> + <p> + "But what are you playing at?" + </p> + <p> + "We tried to make it clear to the meanest intelligence. Sorry you can't + understand it." + </p> + <p> + While at the same time Linton, in his form-room, would be explaining to + excited inquirers that he was sorry, but it was impossible to reply to + their query as to who was running the Trust. He was not at liberty to + reveal business secrets. Suffice it that there the lines were, waiting to + be bought, and he was there to sell them. So that if anybody cared to lay + in a stock, large or small, according to taste, would he kindly walk up + and deposit the necessary coin? + </p> + <p> + But here the public showed an unaccountable disinclination to deal. It was + gratifying to have acquaintances coming up and saying admiringly: "You are + an ass, you know," as if they were paying the highest of compliments—as, + indeed, they probably imagined that they were. All this was magnificent, + but it was not business. Dunstable and Linton felt that the whole attitude + of the public towards the new enterprise was wrong. Locksley seemed to + regard the Trust as a huge joke, and its prospectus as a literary <i>jeu + d'esprit</i>. + </p> + <p> + In fact, it looked very much as if—from a purely commercial point of + view—the great Lines Supplying Trust was going to be what is known + in theatrical circles as a frost. + </p> + <p> + For two whole days the public refused to bite, and Dunstable and Linton, + turning over the stacks of lines in their studies, thought gloomily that + this world is no place for original enterprise. + </p> + <p> + Then things began to move. + </p> + <p> + It was quite an accident that started them. Jackson, of Dexter's, was + teaing with Linton, and, as was his habit, was giving him a condensed + history of his life since he last saw him. In the course of this he + touched on a small encounter with M. Gaudinois which had occurred that + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + "So I got two pages of 'Quatre-Vingt Treize' to write," he concluded, "for + doing practically nothing." + </p> + <p> + All Jackson's impositions, according to him, were given him for doing + practically nothing. Now and then he got them for doing literally nothing—when + he ought to have been doing form-work. + </p> + <p> + "Done 'em?" asked Linton. + </p> + <p> + "Not yet; no," replied Jackson. "More tea, please." + </p> + <p> + "What you want to do, then," said Linton, "is to apply to the Locksley + Lines Supplying Trust. That's what you must do." + </p> + <p> + "You needn't rot a chap on a painful subject," protested Jackson. + </p> + <p> + "I wasn't rotting," said Linton. "Why don't you apply to the Lines Trust?" + </p> + <p> + "Then do you mean to say that there really is such a thing?" Jackson said + incredulously. "Why I thought it was all a rag." + </p> + <p> + "I know you did. It's the rotten sort of thing you would think. Rag, by + Jove! Look at this. Now do you understand that this is a genuine concern?" + </p> + <p> + He got up and went to the cupboard which filled the space between the + stove and the bookshelf. From this resting-place he extracted a great pile + of manuscript and dumped it down on the table with a bang which caused a + good deal of Jackson's tea to spring from its native cup on to its owner's + trousers. + </p> + <p> + "When you've finished," protested Jackson, mopping himself with a + handkerchief that had seen better days. + </p> + <p> + "Sorry. But look at these. What did you say your impot was? Oh, I + remember. Here you are. Two pages of 'Quatre-Vingt Treize.' I don't know + which two pages, but I suppose any will do." + </p> + <p> + Jackson was amazed. + </p> + <p> + "Great Scott! what a wad of stuff! When did you do it all?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, at odd times. Dunstable's got just as much over at Day's. So you see + the Trust is a jolly big show. Here are your two pages. That looks just + like your scrawl, doesn't it? These would be fourpence in the ordinary + way, but you can have 'em for nothing this time." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I say," said Jackson gratefully, "that's awfully good of you." + </p> + <p> + After that the Locksley Lines Supplying Trust, Ltd. went ahead with a + rush. The brilliant success which attended its first specimen—M. + Gaudinois took Jackson's imposition without a murmur—promoted + confidence in the public, and they rushed to buy. Orders poured in from + all the houses, and by the middle of the term the organisers of the scheme + were able to divide a substantial sum. + </p> + <p> + "How are you getting on round your way?" asked Linton of Dunstable at the + end of the sixth week of term. + </p> + <p> + "Ripping. Selling like hot cakes." + </p> + <p> + "So are mine," said Linton. "I've almost come to the end of my stock. I + ought to have written some more, but I've been a bit slack lately." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, buck up. We must keep a lot in hand." + </p> + <p> + "I say, did you hear that about Merrett in our house?" asked Linton. + </p> + <p> + "What about him?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, he tried to start a rival show. Wrote a prospectus and everything. + But it didn't catch on a bit. The only chap who bought any of his lines + was young Shoeblossom. He wanted a couple of hundred for Appleby. Appleby + was on to them like bricks. Spotted Shoeblossom hadn't written them, and + asked who had. He wouldn't say, so he got them doubled. Everyone in the + house is jolly sick with Merrett. They think he ought to have owned up." + </p> + <p> + "Did that smash up Merrett's show? Is he going to turn out any more?" + </p> + <p> + "Rather not. Who'd buy 'em?" + </p> + <p> + It would have been better for the Lines Supplying Trust if Merrett had not + received this crushing blow and had been allowed to carry on a rival + business on legitimate lines. Locksley was conservative in its habits, and + would probably have continued to support the old firm. + </p> + <p> + As it was, the baffled Merrett, a youth of vindictive nature, brooded over + his defeat, and presently hit upon a scheme whereby things might be + levelled up. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, shortly before lock-up, Dunstable was surprised by the + advent of Linton to his study in a bruised and dishevelled condition. One + of his expressive eyes was closed and blackened. He also wore what is + known in ring circles as a thick ear. + </p> + <p> + "What on earth's up?" inquired Dunstable, amazed at these phenomena. "Have + you been scrapping?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—Merrett—I won. What are you up to—writing lines? + You may as well save yourself the trouble. They won't be any good." + Dunstable stared. + </p> + <p> + "The Trust's bust," said Linton. + </p> + <p> + He never wasted words in moments of emotion. + </p> + <p> + "What!" + </p> + <p> + "'Bust' was what I said. That beast Merrett gave the show away." + </p> + <p> + "What did he do? Surely he didn't tell a master?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, he did the next thing to it. He hauled out that prospectus, and + started reading it in form. I watched him do it. He kept it under the desk + and made a foul row, laughing over it. Appleby couldn't help spotting him. + Of course, he told him to bring him what he was reading. Up went Merrett + with the prospectus." + </p> + <p> + "Was Appleby sick?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't believe he was, really. At least, he laughed when he read the + thing. But he hauled me up after school and gave me a long jaw, and made + me take all the lines I'd got to his house. He burnt them. I had it out + with Merrett just now. He swears he didn't mean to get the thing spotted, + but I knew he did." + </p> + <p> + "Where did you scrag him!" + </p> + <p> + "In the dormitory. He chucked it after the third round." + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + "Come in," shouted Dunstable. + </p> + <p> + Buxton appeared, a member of Appleby's house. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Dunstable, Appleby wants to see you." + </p> + <p> + "All right," said Dunstable wearily. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Appleby was in facetious mood. He chaffed Dunstable genially about his + prospectus, and admitted that it had amused him. Dunstable smiled without + enjoyment. It was a good thing, perhaps, that Mr. Appleby saw the humorous + rather than the lawless side of the Trust; but all the quips in the world + could not save that institution from ruin. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mr. Appleby's manner changed. "I am a funny dog, I know," he + seemed to say; "but duty is duty, and must be done." + </p> + <p> + "How many lines have you at your house, Dunstable?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "About eight hundred, sir." + </p> + <p> + "Then you had better write me eight hundred lines, and show them up to me + in this room at—shall we say at ten minutes to five? It is now a + quarter to, so that you will have plenty of time." + </p> + <p> + Dunstable went, and returned five minutes later, bearing an armful of + manuscript. + </p> + <p> + "I don't think I shall need to count them," said Mr. Appleby. "Kindly take + them in batches of ten sheets, and tear them in half, Dunstable." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + The last sheet fluttered in two sections into the surfeited waste-paper + basket. + </p> + <p> + "It's an awful waste, sir," said Dunstable regretfully. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Appleby beamed. + </p> + <p> + "We must, however," he said, "always endeavour to look on the bright side, + Dunstable. The writing of these eight hundred lines will have given you a + fine grip of the rhythm of Virgil, the splendid prose of Victor Hugo, and + the unstudied majesty of the Greek Numerals. Good-night, Dunstable." + </p> + <p> + "Good-night, sir," said the President of the Locksley Lines Supplying + Trust, Ltd. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS + </h2> + <p> + Dunstable had his reasons for wishing to obtain Mr. Montagu Watson's + autograph, but admiration for that gentleman's novels was not one of them. + </p> + <p> + It was nothing to him that critics considered Mr. Watson one of the most + remarkable figures in English literature since Scott. If you had told him + of this, he would merely have wondered in his coarse, material way how + much Mr. Watson gave the critics for saying so. To the reviewer of the <i>Weekly + Booklover</i> the great man's latest effort, "The Soul of Anthony + Carrington" (Popgood and Grooly: 6s.) seemed "a work that speaks + eloquently in every line of a genius that time cannot wither nor custom + stale." To Dunstable, who got it out of the school library, where it had + been placed at the request of a literary prefect, and read the first + eleven pages, it seemed rot, and he said as much to the librarian on + returning it. + </p> + <p> + Yet he was very anxious to get the novelist's autograph. The fact was that + Mr. Day, his house-master, a man whose private life was in other ways + unstained by vicious habits, collected autographs. Also Mr. Day had + behaved in a square manner towards Dunstable on several occasions in the + past, and Dunstable, always ready to punish bad behaviour in a master, was + equally anxious to reward and foster any good trait which he might + exhibit. + </p> + <p> + On the occasion of the announcement that Mr. Watson had taken the big + white house near Chesterton, a couple of miles from the school, Mr. Day + had expressed in Dunstable's hearing a wish that he could add that + celebrity's signature to his collection. Dunstable had instantly + determined to play the part of a benevolent Providence. He would get the + autograph and present it to the house-master, as who should say, "see what + comes of being good." It would be pleasant to observe the innocent joy of + the recipient, his child-like triumph, and his amazement at the donor's + ingenuity in securing the treasure. A touching scene—well worth the + trouble involved in the quest. + </p> + <p> + And there would be trouble. For Mr. Montagu Watson was notoriously a foe + to the autograph-hunter. His curt, type-written replies (signed by a + secretary) had damped the ardour of scores of brave men and—more or + less—fair women. A genuine Montagu Watson was a prize in the + autograph market. + </p> + <p> + Dunstable was a man of action. When Mark, the boot-boy at Day's, carried + his burden of letters to the post that evening, there nestled among them + one addressed to M. Watson, Esq., The White House, Chesterton. Looking at + it casually, few of his friends would have recognised Dunstable's + handwriting. For it had seemed good to that man of guile to adopt for the + occasion the role of a backward youth of twelve years old. He thought + tender years might touch Mr. Watson's heart. + </p> + <p> + This was the letter: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Dear Sir</i>,—I am only a littel boy, but I think your + books ripping. I often wonder how you think of it all. Will you + please send me your ortograf? I like your books very much. I have + named my white rabit Montagu after you. I punched Jones II in + the eye to-day becos he didn't like your books. I have spent the + only penny I have on the stampe for this letter which I might have + spent on tuck. I want to be like Maltby in "The Soul of Anthony + Carrington" when I grow up. + + <i>Your sincere reader</i>, + P. A. Dunstable. +</pre> + <p> + It was a little unfortunate, perhaps, that he selected Maltby as his ideal + character. That gentleman was considered by critics a masterly portrait of + the cynical <i>roui</i>. But it was the only name he remembered. + </p> + <p> + "Hot stuff!" said Dunstable to himself, as he closed the envelope. + </p> + <p> + "Little beast!" said Mr. Watson to himself as he opened it. It arrived by + the morning post, and he never felt really himself till after breakfast. + </p> + <p> + "Here, Morrison," he said to his secretary, later in the morning: "just + answer this, will you? The usual thing—thanks and most deeply + grateful, y'know." + </p> + <p> + Next day the following was included in Dunstable's correspondence: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mr. Montagu Watson presents his compliments to Mr. P. A. Dunstable, + and begs to thank him for all the kind things he says about his + work in his letter of the 18th inst., for which he is deeply grateful. +</pre> + <p> + "Foiled!" said Dunstable, and went off to Seymour's to see his friend + Linton. + </p> + <p> + "Got any notepaper?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "Heaps," said Linton. "Why? Want some?" + </p> + <p> + "Then get out a piece. I want to dictate a letter." + </p> + <p> + Linton stared. + </p> + <p> + "What's up? Hurt your hand?" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable explained. + </p> + <p> + "Day collects autographs, you know, and he wants Montagu Watson's badly. + Pining away, and all that sort of thing. Won't smile until he gets it. I + had a shot at it yesterday, and got this." + </p> + <p> + Linton inspected the document. + </p> + <p> + "So I can't send up another myself, you see." + </p> + <p> + "Why worry?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I'd like to put Day one up. He's not been bad this term. Come on." + </p> + <p> + "All right. Let her rip." + </p> + <p> + Dunstable let her rip. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Dear Sir</i>,—I cannot refrain from writing to tell you what + an inestimable comfort your novels have been to me during years + of sore tribulation and distress—— +</pre> + <p> + "Look here," interrupted Linton with decision at this point. "If you think + I'm going to shove my name at the end of this rot, you're making the + mistake of a lifetime." + </p> + <p> + "Of course not. You're a widow who has lost two sons in South Africa. + We'll think of a good name afterwards. Ready? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Ever since my darling Charles Herbert and Percy Lionel were + taken from me in that dreadful war, I have turned for consolation + to the pages of 'The Soul of Anthony Carrington' and——" +</pre> + <p> + "What, another?" asked Linton. + </p> + <p> + "There's one called 'Pancakes.'" + </p> + <p> + "Sure? Sounds rummy." + </p> + <p> + "That's all right. You have to get a queer title nowadays if you want to + sell a book." + </p> + <p> + "Go on, then. Jam it down." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "—and 'Pancakes.' I hate to bother you, but if you could send me + your autograph I should be more grateful than words can say. Yours + admiringly." +</pre> + <p> + "What's a good name? How would Dorothy Maynard do?" + </p> + <p> + "You want something more aristocratic. What price Hilda Foulke-Ponsonby?" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable made no objection, and Linton signed the letter with a flourish. + </p> + <p> + They installed Mrs. Foulke-Ponsonby at Spiking's in the High Street. It + was not a very likely address for a lady whose blood was presumably of the + bluest, but they could think of none except that obliging stationer who + would take in letters for them. + </p> + <p> + There was a letter for Mrs. Foulke-Ponsonby next day. Whatever his other + defects as a correspondent, Mr. Watson was at least prompt with his + responses. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Montagu Watson presented his compliments, and was deeply grateful for + all the kind things Mrs. Foulke-Ponsonby had said about his work in her + letter of the 19th inst. He was, however, afraid that he scarcely deserved + them. Her opportunities of deriving consolation from "The Soul of Anthony + Carrington" had been limited by the fact that that book had only been + published ten days before: while, as for "Pancakes," to which she had + referred in such flattering terms, he feared that another author must have + the credit of any refreshment her bereaved spirit might have extracted + from that volume, for he had written no work of such a name. His own "Pan + Wakes" would, he hoped, administer an equal quantity of balm. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Secretary Morrison had slept badly on the night before he wrote this + letter, and had expended some venom upon its composition. + </p> + <p> + "Sold again!" said Dunstable. + </p> + <p> + "You'd better chuck it now. It's no good," said Linton. + </p> + <p> + "I'll have another shot. Then I'll try and think of something else." + </p> + <p> + Two days later Mr. Morrison replied to Mr. Edgar Habbesham-Morley, of 3a, + Green Street, Park Lane, to the effect that Mr. Montagu Watson was deeply + grateful for all the kind things, etc.—— + </p> + <p> + 3a, Green Street was Dunstable's home address. + </p> + <p> + At this juncture the Watson-Dunstable correspondence ceases, and the + relations become more personal. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of the twenty-third of the month, Mr. Watson, taking a + meditative stroll through the wood which formed part of his property, was + infuriated by the sight of a boy. + </p> + <p> + He was not a man who was fond of boys even in their proper place, and the + sight of one in the middle of his wood, prancing lightly about among the + nesting pheasants, stirred his never too placid mind to its depths. + </p> + <p> + He shouted. + </p> + <p> + The apparition paused. + </p> + <p> + "Here! Hi! you boy!" + </p> + <p> + "Sir?" said the stripling, with a winning smile, lifting his cap with the + air of a D'Orsay. + </p> + <p> + "What business have you in my wood?" + </p> + <p> + "Not business," corrected the visitor, "pleasure." + </p> + <p> + "Come here!" shrilled the novelist. + </p> + <p> + The stranger receded coyly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Watson advanced at the double. + </p> + <p> + His quarry dodged behind a tree. + </p> + <p> + For five minutes the great man devoted his powerful mind solely to the + task of catching his visitor. + </p> + <p> + The latter, however, proved as elusive as the point of a half-formed + epigram, and at the end of the five minutes he was no longer within sight. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Watson went off and addressed his keeper in terms which made that + worthy envious for a week. + </p> + <p> + "It's eddication," he said subsequently to a friend at the "Cowslip Inn." + "You and me couldn't talk like that. It wants eddication." + </p> + <p> + For the next few days the keeper's existence was enlivened by visits from + what appeared to be a most enthusiastic bird's-nester. By no other theory + could he account for it. Only a boy with a collection to support would run + such risks. + </p> + <p> + To the keeper's mind the human boy up to the age of twenty or so had no + object in life except to collect eggs. After twenty, of course, he took to + poaching. This was a boy of about seventeen. + </p> + <p> + On the fifth day he caught him, and conducted him into the presence of Mr. + Montagu Watson. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Watson was brief and to the point. He recognised his visitor as the + boy for whose benefit he had made himself stiff for two days. + </p> + <p> + The keeper added further damaging facts. + </p> + <p> + "Bin here every day, he 'as, sir, for the last week. Well, I says to + myself, supposition is he'll come once too often. He'll come once too + often, I says. And then, I says, I'll cotch him. And I cotched him." + </p> + <p> + The keeper's narrative style had something of the classic simplicity of + Julius Caesar's. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Watson bit his pen. + </p> + <p> + "What you boys come for I can't understand," he said irritably. "You're + from the school, of course?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," said the captive. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I shall report you to your house-master. What is your name?" + </p> + <p> + "Dunstable." + </p> + <p> + "Your house?" + </p> + <p> + "Day's." + </p> + <p> + "Very good. That is all." + </p> + <p> + Dunstable retired. + </p> + <p> + His next appearance in public life was in Mr. Day's study. Mr. Day had + sent for him after preparation. He held a letter in his hand, and he + looked annoyed. + </p> + <p> + "Come in, Dunstable. I have just received a letter complaining of you. It + seems that you have been trespassing." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "I am surprised, Dunstable, that a sensible boy like you should have done + such a foolish thing. It seems so objectless. You know how greatly the + head-master dislikes any sort of friction between the school and the + neighbours, and yet you deliberately trespass in Mr. Watson's wood." + </p> + <p> + "I'm very sorry, sir." + </p> + <p> + "I have had a most indignant letter from him—you may see what he + says. You do not deny it?" + </p> + <p> + Dunstable ran his eye over the straggling, untidy sentences. + </p> + <p> + "No, sir. It's quite true." + </p> + <p> + "In that case I shall have to punish you severely. You will write me out + the Greek numerals ten times, and show them up to me on Tuesday." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "That will do." + </p> + <p> + At the door Dunstable paused. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Dunstable?" said Mr. Day. + </p> + <p> + "Er—I'm glad you've got his autograph after all, sir," he said. + </p> + <p> + Then he closed the door. + </p> + <p> + As he was going to bed that night, Dunstable met the house-master on the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + "Dunstable," said Mr. Day. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "On second thoughts, it would be better if, instead of the Greek numerals + ten times, you wrote me the first ode of the first book of Horace. The + numerals would be a little long, perhaps." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PILLINGSHOT, DETECTIVE + </h2> + <p> + Life at St. Austin's was rendered somewhat hollow and burdensome for + Pillingshot by the fact that he fagged for Scott. Not that Scott was the + Beetle-Browed Bully in any way. Far from it. He showed a kindly interest + in Pillingshot's welfare, and sometimes even did his Latin verses for him. + But the noblest natures have flaws, and Scott's was no exception. He was + by way of being a humorist, and Pillingshot, with his rather serious + outlook on life, was puzzled and inconvenienced by this. + </p> + <p> + It was through this defect in Scott's character that Pillingshot first + became a detective. + </p> + <p> + He was toasting muffins at the study fire one evening, while Scott, seated + on two chairs and five cushions, read "Sherlock Holmes," when the Prefect + laid down his book and fixed him with an earnest eye. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know, Pillingshot," he said, "you've got a bright, intelligent + face. I shouldn't wonder if you weren't rather clever. Why do you hide + your light under a bushel?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot grunted. + </p> + <p> + "We must find some way of advertising you. Why don't you go in for a + Junior Scholarship?" + </p> + <p> + "Too old," said Pillingshot with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + "Senior, then?" + </p> + <p> + "Too young." + </p> + <p> + "I believe by sitting up all night and swotting——" + </p> + <p> + "Here, I say!" said Pillingshot, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + "You've got no enterprise," said Scott sadly. "What are those? Muffins? + Well, well, I suppose I had better try and peck a bit." + </p> + <p> + He ate four in rapid succession, and resumed his scrutiny of Pillingshot's + countenance. + </p> + <p> + "The great thing," he said, "is to find out your special line. Till then + we are working in the dark. Perhaps it's music? Singing? Sing me a bar or + two." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot wriggled uncomfortably. + </p> + <p> + "Left your music at home?" said Scott. "Never mind, then. Perhaps it's all + for the best. What are those? Still muffins? Hand me another. After all, + one must keep one's strength up. You can have one if you like." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot's face brightened. He became more affable. He chatted. + </p> + <p> + "There's rather a row on downstairs," he said. "In the junior day-room." + </p> + <p> + "There always is," said Scott. "If it grows too loud, I shall get in + amongst them with a swagger-stick. I attribute half my success at bringing + off late-cuts to the practice I have had in the junior day-room. It keeps + the wrist supple." + </p> + <p> + "I don't mean that sort of row. It's about Evans." + </p> + <p> + "What about Evans?" + </p> + <p> + "He's lost a sovereign." + </p> + <p> + "Silly young ass." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot furtively helped himself to another muffin. + </p> + <p> + "He thinks some one's taken it," he said. + </p> + <p> + "What! Stolen it?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot nodded. + </p> + <p> + "What makes him think that?" + </p> + <p> + "He doesn't see how else it could have gone." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I don't—By Jove!" + </p> + <p> + Scott sat up with some excitement. + </p> + <p> + "I've got it," he said. "I knew we should hit on it sooner or later. + Here's a field for your genius. You shall be a detective. Pillingshot, I + hand this case over to you. I employ you." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot gaped. + </p> + <p> + "I feel certain that's your line. I've often noticed you walking over to + school, looking exactly like a blood-hound. Get to work. As a start you'd + better fetch Evans up here and question him." + </p> + <p> + "But, look here——" + </p> + <p> + "Buck up, man, buck up. Don't you know that every moment is precious?" + </p> + <p> + Evans, a small, stout youth, was not disposed to be reticent. The gist of + his rambling statement was as follows. Rich uncle. Impecunious nephew. + Visit of former to latter. Handsome tip, one sovereign. Impecunious nephew + pouches sovereign, and it vanishes. + </p> + <p> + "And I call it beastly rot," concluded Evans volubly. "And if I could find + the cad who's pinched it, I'd jolly well——" + </p> + <p> + "Less of it," said Scott. "Now, then, Pillingshot, I'll begin this thing, + just to start you off. What makes you think the quid has been stolen, + Evans?" + </p> + <p> + "Because I jolly well know it has." + </p> + <p> + "What you jolly well know isn't evidence. We must thresh this thing out. + To begin with, where did you last see it?" + </p> + <p> + "When I put it in my pocket." + </p> + <p> + "Good. Make a note of that, Pillingshot. Where's your notebook? Not got + one? Here you are then. You can tear out the first few pages, the ones + I've written on. Ready? Carry on, Evans. When?" + </p> + <p> + "When what?" + </p> + <p> + "When did you put it in your pocket?" + </p> + <p> + "Yesterday afternoon." + </p> + <p> + "What time?" + </p> + <p> + "About five." + </p> + <p> + "Same pair of bags you're wearing now?" + </p> + <p> + "No, my cricket bags. I was playing at the nets when my uncle came." + </p> + <p> + "Ah! Cricket bags? Put it down, Pillingshot. That's a clue. Work on it. + Where are they?" + </p> + <p> + "They've gone to the wash." + </p> + <p> + "About time, too. I noticed them. How do you know the quid didn't go to + the wash as well?" + </p> + <p> + "I turned both the pockets inside out." + </p> + <p> + "Any hole in the pocket?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "Well, when did you take off the bags? Did you sleep in them?" + </p> + <p> + "I wore 'em till bed-time, and then shoved them on a chair by the side of + the bed. It wasn't till next morning that I remembered the quid was in + them——" + </p> + <p> + "But it wasn't," objected Scott. + </p> + <p> + "I thought it was. It ought to have been." + </p> + <p> + "He thought it was. That's a clue, young Pillingshot. Work on it. Well?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, when I went to take the quid out of my cricket bags, it wasn't + there." + </p> + <p> + "What time was that?" + </p> + <p> + "Half-past seven this morning." + </p> + <p> + "What time did you go to bed?" + </p> + <p> + "Ten." + </p> + <p> + "Then the theft occurred between the hours of ten and seven-thirty. Mind + you, I'm giving you a jolly good leg-up, young Pillingshot. But as it's + your first case I don't mind. That'll be all from you, Evans. Pop off." + </p> + <p> + Evans disappeared. Scott turned to the detective. + </p> + <p> + "Well, young Pillingshot," he said, "what do you make of it?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't know." + </p> + <p> + "What steps do you propose to take?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't know." + </p> + <p> + "You're a lot of use, aren't you? As a start, you'd better examine the + scene of the robbery, I should say." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot reluctantly left the room. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" said Scott, when he returned. "Any clues?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "You thoroughly examined the scene of the robbery?" + </p> + <p> + "I looked under the bed." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Under</i> the bed? What's the good of that? Did you go over every inch + of the strip of carpet leading to the chair with a magnifying-glass?" + </p> + <p> + "Hadn't got a magnifying-glass." + </p> + <p> + "Then you'd better buck up and get one, if you're going to be a detective. + Do you think Sherlock Holmes ever moved a step without his? Not much. + Well, anyhow. Did you find any foot-prints or tobacco-ash?" + </p> + <p> + "There was a jolly lot of dust about." + </p> + <p> + "Did you preserve a sample?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "My word, you've a lot to learn. Now, weighing the evidence, does anything + strike you?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "You're a bright sort of sleuth-hound, aren't you! It seems to me I'm + doing all the work on this case. I'll have to give you another leg-up. + Considering the time when the quid disappeared, I should say that somebody + in the dormitory must have collared it. How many fellows are there in + Evans' dormitory?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't know." + </p> + <p> + "Cut along and find out." + </p> + <p> + The detective reluctantly trudged off once more. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" said Scott, on his return. + </p> + <p> + "Seven," said Pillingshot. "Counting Evans." + </p> + <p> + "We needn't count Evans. If he's ass enough to steal his own quids, he + deserves to lose them. Who are the other six?" + </p> + <p> + "There's Trent. He's prefect." + </p> + <p> + "The Napoleon of Crime. Watch his every move. Yes?" + </p> + <p> + "Simms." + </p> + <p> + "A dangerous man. Sinister to the core." + </p> + <p> + "And Green, Berkeley, Hanson, and Daubeny." + </p> + <p> + "Every one of them well known to the police. Why, the place is a perfect + Thieves' Kitchen. Look here, we must act swiftly, young Pillingshot. This + is a black business. We'll take them in alphabetical order. Run and fetch + Berkeley." + </p> + <p> + Berkeley, interrupted in a game of Halma, came unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + "Now then, Pillingshot, put your questions," said Scott. "This is a black + business, Berkeley. Young Evans has lost a sovereign——" + </p> + <p> + "If you think I've taken his beastly quid——!" said Berkeley + warmly. + </p> + <p> + "Make a note that, on being questioned, the man Berkeley exhibited + suspicious emotion. Go on. Jam it down." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot reluctantly entered the statement under Berkeley's indignant + gaze. + </p> + <p> + "Now then, carry on." + </p> + <p> + "You know, it's all rot," protested Pillingshot. "I never said Berkeley + had anything to do with it." + </p> + <p> + "Never mind. Ask him what his movements were on the night of the—what + was yesterday?—on the night of the sixteenth of July." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot put the question nervously. + </p> + <p> + "I was in bed, of course, you silly ass." + </p> + <p> + "Were you asleep?" inquired Scott. + </p> + <p> + "Of course I was." + </p> + <p> + "Then how do you know what you were doing? Pillingshot, make a note of the + fact that the man Berkeley's statement was confused and contradictory. + It's a clue. Work on it. Who's next? Daubeny. Berkeley, send Daubeny up + here." + </p> + <p> + "All right, Pillingshot, you wait," was Berkeley's exit speech. + </p> + <p> + Daubeny, when examined, exhibited the same suspicious emotion that + Berkeley had shown; and Hanson, Simms, and Green behaved in a precisely + similar manner. + </p> + <p> + "This," said Scott, "somewhat complicates the case. We must have further + clues. You'd better pop off now, Pillingshot. I've got a Latin Prose to + do. Bring me reports of your progress daily, and don't overlook the + importance of trifles. Why, in 'Silver Blaze' it was a burnt match that + first put Holmes on the scent." + </p> + <p> + Entering the junior day-room with some apprehension, the sleuth-hound + found an excited gathering of suspects waiting to interview him. + </p> + <p> + One sentiment animated the meeting. Each of the five wanted to know what + Pillingshot meant by it. + </p> + <p> + "What's the row?" queried interested spectators, rallying round. + </p> + <p> + "That cad Pillingshot's been accusing us of bagging Evans' quid." + </p> + <p> + "What's Scott got to do with it?" inquired one of the spectators. + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot explained his position. + </p> + <p> + "All the same," said Daubeny, "you needn't have dragged us into it." + </p> + <p> + "I couldn't help it. He made me." + </p> + <p> + "Awful ass, Scott," admitted Green. + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot welcomed this sign that the focus of popular indignation was + being shifted. + </p> + <p> + "Shoving himself into other people's business," grumbled Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + "Trying to be funny," Berkeley summed up. + </p> + <p> + "Rotten at cricket, too." + </p> + <p> + "Can't play a yorker for nuts." + </p> + <p> + "See him drop that sitter on Saturday?" + </p> + <p> + So that was all right. As far as the junior day-room was concerned, + Pillingshot felt himself vindicated. + </p> + <p> + But his employer was less easily satisfied. Pillingshot had hoped that by + the next day he would have forgotten the subject. But, when he went into + the study to get tea ready, up it came again. + </p> + <p> + "Any clues yet, Pillingshot?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot had to admit that there were none. + </p> + <p> + "Hullo, this won't do. You must bustle about. You must get your nose to + the trail. Have you cross-examined Trent yet? No? Well, there you are, + then. Nip off and do it now." + </p> + <p> + "But, I say, Scott! He's a prefect!" + </p> + <p> + "In the dictionary of crime," said Scott sententiously, "there is no such + word as prefect. All are alike. Go and take down Trent's statement." + </p> + <p> + To tax a prefect with having stolen a sovereign was a task at which + Pillingshot's imagination boggled. He went to Trent's study in a sort of + dream. + </p> + <p> + A hoarse roar answered his feeble tap. There was no doubt about Trent + being in. Inspection revealed the fact that the prefect was working and + evidently ill-attuned to conversation. He wore a haggard look and his eye, + as it caught that of the collector of statements, was dangerous. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" said Trent, scowling murderously. + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot's legs felt perfectly boneless. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Well</i>?" said Trent. + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot yammered. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Well</i>?" + </p> + <p> + The roar shook the window, and Pillingshot's presence of mind deserted him + altogether. + </p> + <p> + "Have you bagged a sovereign?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + There was an awful silence, during which the detective, his limbs suddenly + becoming active again, banged the door, and shot off down the passage. + </p> + <p> + He re-entered Scott's study at the double. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" said Scott. "What did he say?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing." + </p> + <p> + "Get out your note-book, and put down, under the heading 'Trent': + 'Suspicious silence.' A very bad lot, Trent. Keep him under constant + espionage. It's a clue. Work on it." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot made a note of the silence, but later on, when he and the + prefect met in the dormitory, felt inclined to erase it. For silence was + the last epithet one would have applied to Trent on that occasion. As he + crawled painfully into bed Pillingshot became more than ever convinced + that the path of the amateur detective was a thorny one. + </p> + <p> + This conviction deepened next day. + </p> + <p> + Scott's help was possibly well meant, but it was certainly inconvenient. + His theories were of the brilliant, dashing order, and Pillingshot could + never be certain who and in what rank of life the next suspect would be. + He spent that afternoon shadowing the Greaser (the combination of boot-boy + and butler who did the odd jobs about the school house), and in the + evening seemed likely to be about to move in the very highest circles. + This was when Scott remarked in a dreamy voice, "You know, I'm told the + old man has been spending a good lot of money lately...." + </p> + <p> + To which the burden of Pillingshot's reply was that he would do anything + in reason, but he was blowed if he was going to cross-examine the + head-master. + </p> + <p> + "It seems to me," said Scott sadly, "that you don't <i>want</i> to find + that sovereign. Don't you like Evans, or what is it?" + </p> + <p> + It was on the following morning, after breakfast, that the close observer + might have noticed a change in the detective's demeanour. He no longer + looked as if he were weighed down by a secret sorrow. His manner was even + jaunty. + </p> + <p> + Scott noticed it. + </p> + <p> + "What's up?" he inquired. "Got a clue?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot nodded. + </p> + <p> + "What is it? Let's have a look." + </p> + <p> + "Sh—h—h!" said Pillingshot mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + Scott's interest was aroused. When his fag was making tea in the + afternoon, he questioned him again. + </p> + <p> + "Out with it," he said. "What's the point of all this silent mystery + business?" + </p> + <p> + "Sherlock Holmes never gave anything away." + </p> + <p> + "Out with it." + </p> + <p> + "Walls have ears," said Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + "So have you," replied Scott crisply, "and I'll smite them in half a + second." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot sighed resignedly, and produced an envelope. From this he + poured some dried mud. + </p> + <p> + "Here, steady on with my table-cloth," said Scott. "What's this?" + </p> + <p> + "Mud." + </p> + <p> + "What about it?" + </p> + <p> + "Where do you think it came from?" + </p> + <p> + "How should I know? Road, I suppose." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + "Eighteen different kinds of mud about here," he said patronisingly. "This + is flower-bed mud from the house front-garden." + </p> + <p> + "Well? What about it?" + </p> + <p> + "Sh—h—h!" said Pillingshot, and glided out of the room. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Well?" asked Scott next day. "Clues pouring in all right?" + </p> + <p> + "Rather." + </p> + <p> + "What? Got another?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot walked silently to the door and flung it open. He looked up + and down the passage. Then he closed the door and returned to the table, + where he took from his waistcoat-pocket a used match. + </p> + <p> + Scott turned it over inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + "What's the idea of this?" + </p> + <p> + "A clue," said Pillingshot. "See anything queer about it? See that rummy + brown stain on it?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Blood!" snorted Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + "What's the good of blood? There's been no murder." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot looked serious. + </p> + <p> + "I never thought of that." + </p> + <p> + "You must think of everything. The worst mistake a detective can make is + to get switched off on to another track while he's working on a case. This + match is a clue to something else. You can't work on it." + </p> + <p> + "I suppose not," said Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + "Don't be discouraged. You're doing fine." + </p> + <p> + "I know," said Pillingshot. "I shall find that quid all right." + </p> + <p> + "Nothing like sticking to it." + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot shuffled, then rose to a point of order. + </p> + <p> + "I've been reading those Sherlock Holmes stories," he said, "and Sherlock + Holmes always got a fee if he brought a thing off. I think I ought to, + too." + </p> + <p> + "Mercenary young brute." + </p> + <p> + "It has been a beastly sweat." + </p> + <p> + "Done you good. Supplied you with a serious interest in life. Well, I + expect Evans will give you something—a jewelled snuff-box or + something—if you pull the thing off." + </p> + <p> + "<i>I</i> don't." + </p> + <p> + "Well, he'll buy you a tea or something." + </p> + <p> + "He won't. He's not going to break the quid. He's saving up for a camera." + </p> + <p> + "Well, what are you going to do about it?" + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot kicked the leg of the table. + </p> + <p> + "<i>You</i> put me on to the case," he said casually. + </p> + <p> + "What! If you think I'm going to squander——" + </p> + <p> + "I think you ought to let me off fagging for the rest of the term." + </p> + <p> + Scott reflected. + </p> + <p> + "There's something in that. All right." + </p> + <p> + "Thanks." + </p> + <p> + "Don't mention it. You haven't found the quid yet." + </p> + <p> + "I know where it is." + </p> + <p> + "Where?" + </p> + <p> + "Ah!" + </p> + <p> + "Fool," said Scott. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + After breakfast next day Scott was seated in his study when Pillingshot + entered. + </p> + <p> + "Here you are," said Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + He unclasped his right hand and exhibited a sovereign. Scott inspected it. + </p> + <p> + "Is this the one?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," said Pillingshot. + </p> + <p> + "How do you know?" + </p> + <p> + "It <i>is</i>. I've sifted all the evidence." + </p> + <p> + "Who had bagged it?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't want to mention names." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, all right. As he didn't spend any of it, it doesn't much matter. Not + that it's much catch having a thief roaming at large about the house. + Anyhow, what put you on to him? How did you get on the track? You're a + jolly smart kid, young Pillingshot. How did you work it?" + </p> + <p> + "I have my methods," said Pillingshot with dignity. + </p> + <p> + "Buck up. I shall have to be going over to school in a second." + </p> + <p> + "I hardly like to tell you." + </p> + <p> + "Tell me! Dash it all, I put you on to the case. I'm your employer." + </p> + <p> + "You won't touch me up if I tell you?" + </p> + <p> + "I will if you don't." + </p> + <p> + "But not if I do?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "And how about the fee?" + </p> + <p> + "That's all right. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "All right then. Well, I thought the whole thing over, and I couldn't make + anything out of it at first, because it didn't seem likely that Trent or + any of the other fellows in the dormitory had taken it; and then suddenly + something Evans told me the day before yesterday made it all clear." + </p> + <p> + "What was that?" + </p> + <p> + "He said that the matron had just given him back his quid, which one of + the housemaids had found on the floor by his bed. It had dropped out of + his pocket that first night." + </p> + <p> + Scott eyed him fixedly. Pillingshot coyly evaded his gaze. + </p> + <p> + "That was it, was it?" said Scott. + </p> + <p> + Pillingshot nodded. + </p> + <p> + "It was a clue," he said. "I worked on it." + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Politeness of Princes, by P. G. Wodehouse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POLITENESS OF PRINCES *** + +***** This file should be named 8178-h.htm or 8178-h.htm ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/7/8178/ + +Etext produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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