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The Cock-House at Fellsgarth

by Talbot Baines Reed · English · Gutenberg #21037 · 511,707 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Cock-House at Fellsgarth

Author: Talbot Baines Reed


        
Release date: April 11, 2007 [eBook #21037]
                Most recently updated: August 20, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21037

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCK-HOUSE AT FELLSGARTH ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Cock-House at Fellsgarth

By Talbot Baines Reed
________________________________________________________________________
For some reason this book was quite hard to convert to e-Book, so that
if any error is detected by a reader I would be grateful if I could be
told, either by email, or by using our Bulletin Board.

This is another story set in a nineteenth century boy's boarding school,
and is quite similar to "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's".

At the time it was greatly acclaimed, and said to be very like a real
boarding school, but things must have changed because I was at one such
school only fifty years after this book was written, and I can't imagine
any of it happening at my school. On the other hand I was also at a
boarding school for boys aged 8 to 13, which was much more like the
school in this story.  As I say, things must have changed.

It takes about ten hours to play as an audiobook.  There are a number of
quite tense incidents, particularly when a party of boys decide to walk
up a nearby mountain, and the weather turns very nasty.  This is in
chapters 17 to 19.  But there are many other well-described incidents,
so do read the book, remembering that boys' slang has changed greatly in
the past hundred years.
________________________________________________________________________
THE COCK-HOUSE AT FELLSGARTH

BY TALBOT BAINES REED



CHAPTER ONE.

GREEN AND BLUE.

First-night at Fellsgarth was always a festive occasion.  The holidays
were over, and school had not yet begun.  All day long, from remote
quarters, fellows had been converging on the dear old place; and here
they were at last, shoulder to shoulder, delighted to find themselves
back in the old haunts.  The glorious memories of the summer holidays
were common property.  So was not a little of the pocket-money.  So, by
rule immemorial, were the contents of the hampers.  And so, as they
discovered to their cost, were the luckless new boys who had to-day
tumbled for the first time headlong into the whirlpool of public school
life.

Does some one tell me he never heard of Fellsgarth?  I am surprised.
Where can you have been brought up that you have never heard of the
venerable ivy-clad pile with its watch-tower and two wings, planted
there, where the rivers Shale and Shargle mingle their waters, a mile or
more above Hawkswater?  My dear sir, Fellsgarth stood there before the
days when Henry the Eighth, (of whom you may have possibly heard in the
history books) abolished the monasteries and, some wicked people do say,
annexed their contents.

There is very little of the old place standing now.  A piece of the wall
in the head-master's garden and the lower buttresses of the watch-tower,
that is all.  The present building is comparatively modern; that is to
say, it is no older than the end of the Civil Wars, when some lucky
adherent to the winning side built it up as a manor-house and disfigured
the tower with those four pepper-castors at the corners.  Successive
owners have tinkered the place since then, but they cannot quite spoil
it.  Who can spoil red brick and ivy, in such a situation?

Not know Fellsgarth!  Have you never been on Hawkswater then, with its
lonely island, and the grey screes swooping down into the clear water?
And have you never seen Hawk's Pike, which frowns in on the fellows
through the dormitory window?  I don't ask if you have been up it.  Only
three persons, to my knowledge (guides and natives of course excepted),
have done that.  Yorke was one, Mr Stratton was another, and the
other--but that's to be part of my story.

First-night, as I have said, was a specially "go-as-you-please" occasion
at the school.  Masters, having called over their roll, disappeared into
their own quarters and discreetly heard nothing.  Dames, having received
and unpacked the "night-bags," retired elsewhere to wrestle with the big
luggage.  The cooks, having passably satisfied the cravings of two
hundred and fifty hungry souls, and having removed out of harm's way the
most perishable of the crockery, shrugged their shoulders and shut
themselves into the kitchens, listening to the noise and speculating on
the joys of the coming term.

What a noise it was!  Niagara after the rains, or an express train in a
tunnel, or the north wind in a gale against the Hawk's Back might be
able to beat it.  But then Fellsgarth was not competing; each of the
fellows was merely chatting pleasantly to his neighbours.  It was hardly
a fair trial.  And yet it was not bad for the School.  When Dangle, who
owned the longest ear in the school, could not hear a word which
Brinkman, who owned the loudest voice, shouted into it, it spoke
somewhat for what Fellsgarth might do in the way of noise if it tried.

The only two persons who were not actively contributing to the general
clamour were the two new boys who sat wedged in among a mass of juniors
at one of the lower tables.  They may have considered that the beating
of their hearts was noisy enough.  But people in this world are slow at
hearing other people's hearts beat.  No one seemed to notice it.

It is due to the stouter of these two young gentlemen to say that the
beating of his heart, and the general state of amaze in which he found
himself, did not interfere greatly with his appetite.  He had brought
that accomplishment, if no other, from home, and not being engaged like
those around him in conversation, he contrived to put away really a most
respectable meal.  Indeed, his exploits in this direction had already
become a matter for remark among his neighbours.

"It's all right," said one of the juniors, who answered to the name of
D'Arcy; "his buttons are sewn on with wire.  They'll hold."

"I suppose he's made of gutta-percha," observed another.  "He'll stretch
a little more before he's done."

"I say, what a bill he's running up!  By the way, what do they charge
for this kind of pudding?"

"It's a dear kind--and nothing like as good as the sort we get for
regular.  I never could understand why they make fellows shell out for
what they eat first-night."

"It _is_ a swindle," said D'Arcy, solemnly.  "I've had to make a very
light meal, because I've only half a crown, and I'm afraid there won't
be much change left out of that."

The new boy was just laying butter on a roll, and preparing to close the
proceedings of the meal with a good square turn of bread and butter.
But as D'Arcy's words fell on his ears he suddenly stopped short and
looked up.

"I say," said he, "isn't this dinner charged in the house bill then?"

D'Arcy laughed derisively.

"Well, you most be a muff.  Don't you know school doesn't begin till to-
morrow?  They give you dinner to-night, but you're not obliged to eat
it."

The new boy took a gulp of water, which he calculated would be gratis
under any circumstances, and then gasped--"I say, I didn't know that."

D'Arcy looked solemn.  "Jolly awkward," said he; "what have you had?"

Whereupon Master Ashby, the new boy, entered on a detailed confession,
which D'Arcy, evidently an expert at mental arithmetic, "totted up" as
he went along.

"How many times pudding did you say?" he asked towards the end, "Twice
and a bit."

"Three and ten; I dare say he won't be stiff about the bit, three and
ten; and that roll and butter--"

"I've not eaten them."

"No, but you've touched them.  You'll be charged, unless you can get a
fellow to take them off your hands."

"Will _you_ have them?" asked Ashby.

Whereupon there was a laugh at _D'Arcy's_ expense, which annoyed that
young gentleman.

"I don't want your second-hand grub.  You'd better take it round and see
what you can get for it."

Ashby looked at the bread, and then glanced round the table.

"No," said he, "I'll have it and pay for it, if it comes to that."

"That'll be four bob."

Ashby gave a gulp of despair.

"I've not got so much."

"Then you'll get in a jolly row."

"Could you lend me one and six, I say?" asked the new boy.

Again D'Arcy got the worst of the laugh.

"Didn't you hear me say I'd only just got enough to pay for my own?  But
I tell you what; you can hide under the table.  You're not known."

Ashby looked round, and felt about with his foot under the table to
ascertain what room there might be there.  Then he flushed up.  "No, I
shan't," said he; "I'd get into the row instead."

As his eye travelled round and marked the curious smile on every face it
suddenly dawned upon him that he had been "done."  His first sensation
was one of immense relief.  He should not have to pay for his dinner
after all!  His second was a cunning device for getting out of the
dilemma.

"I thought you'd begin to laugh soon," said he to D'Arcy.  "I knew you
couldn't keep it up."

D'Arcy turned very red in the face and glared at this audacious
youngster in deserved wrath.

"What do you mean, you young ass?  You know you've swallowed it all."

"He swallowed all the grub anyhow," said another.

"No, I've not," said Master Ashby.  "I'd have another go-in now.  I knew
he'd have to laugh in the end."

It was hopeless to deal seriously with a rebel of this sort.  D'Arcy
tried to ride off on the high horse; but it was not a very grand
spectacle, and Ashby, munching up the remains of his roll, was generally
held to have scored.  The relief with which he hailed the discovery of
his mistake was so genuine, and the good spirits and appetite the
incident put into him were so imperturbable, as to disarm further
experiment at his expense, and he was left comparatively free to enjoy
the noise and imbibe his first impression of Fellsgarth in his own way.

The other new boy, meanwhile, was not altogether without his
difficulties.

Fisher minor, to which name this ingenuous young gentleman answered,
would probably have been the first to pour contempt on the verdure of
his companion.  He had come up to Fellsgarth determined that, in
whatever respect he failed, no one should lightly convict him of being
green.  He had wormed out of his brother in the Sixth a few hints of
what was considered the proper thing at Fellsgarth, and these, with the
aid of his own brilliant intellect and reminiscences of what he had read
in the books, served, as he hoped, both to forewarn and forearm him
against all the uncomfortable predicaments into which the ordinary new
boy is apt to fall.

It must be confessed that as he sat and listened to the noise, and
marked how little Fellsgarth appeared to recognise his existence, he
felt a trifle uneasy and nervous.  He wasn't sure now that he knew
everything.  All these fellows seemed to be so thoroughly at home, and
to know so exactly what to do; he wished he could do the same.

He wished, for instance, he could spin a fork round with his first
finger and thumb while he talked, as Yorke, the captain, was doing.  He
did once privately try, while he was not talking, but it was a dismal
failure.  The fork fell with a great clatter to the floor and attracted
general attraction his way.  He picked the weapon up with as easy an air
as he could assume, whistling _sotto voce_ to himself as he did it, so
as to appear unconcerned.

"Look out, I say; you mustn't whistle at meal-times, it's bad manners,"
said a voice at his side.

He turned round and perceived a pleasant-looking youth of the species
junior, in a red tie and wrist studs to match.

This youth evidently knew what was what at Fellsgarth; and a further
glance at him convinced Fisher minor that he had met him in a good hour.
For all dinner-time he had been exercised as to whether it was the
thing to wear the jacket opened or buttoned.  Yorke wore his buttoned,
so did a good many of the Sixth; and Fisher minor had consequently
buttoned up too.  But his new friend, who was pronounced in all his ways
and evidently an authority on etiquette, wore his open.  Fisher minor
therefore furtively slipped his fingers down and opened his coat.

"You're a new kid, I suppose," said he of the red necktie.

"Yes, I'm Fisher minor."

"What, son of Fisher the boat-builder?  I didn't know he had one so
old."

"No, oh no.  That's my brother up there, talking to the Dux."

"The who?  I don't see any ducks."

"I mean Yorke, you know, the captain."

"Why ever do you call him ducks?  You'd better let him catch you calling
him names like that.  Oh, you're a brother of old Fisher?  You look it."

Fisher minor was alarmed at the tone in which this observation was made.
It seemed to imply that Fisher major was not quite all that could be
desired, and yet the younger brother did not exactly know what it was in
the elder which called for repudiation.  However, he was spared the pain
of deciding by a new voice on his other side.

"What's that, Wally?  Does this kid say he belongs to Fisher?  Oh, my
stars, what form we're coming to!"

Fisher minor glanced round, and experienced a shock as he did so.

For the new speaker was so like the last that he was tempted to suppose
the latter had suddenly changed seats and contrived to substitute a blue
necktie for a red, and button his jacket during the feat.  But when he
looked back, the owner of the red tie was still in his place.  After
considerable wagging of his head, he was forced to admit that he was
seated between two different persons.

"Why, he can't help that," said the gentleman addressed as Wally.

Fisher minor laughed feebly, and really wished his brother would pay a
little more attention to the "form."

"Of course," said Wally, talking across to his twin brother, "fellows
can't tell what asses they look until they're told.  Don't you remember
the chap last term who always wore his trousers turned up, till the
prefects made him turn them down or go on the Modern side."

"Catch us taking any of your cast-off louts on our side," retorted the
other brother, who evidently belonged to the slighted side; "yes--
shocking bad form it was--and when he turned them down at last, they
found seventy-four nibs, fifty matches, and nobody knows how many
candle-ends."

All this time Fisher minor, with panic at his heart, was furiously
trying to turn down his trouser-ends with his feet.  What a lucky escape
for him to get this warning in time!  During the walk round the grounds
he had turned his ends up, and had quite forgotten to put them down
again when he came in.  Now, no coaxing would get them down without
manual assistance.  He sat clawing with one foot after another,
lacerating his shins and his garments in vain.  At length in despair he
dropped his fork again, and under cover of this diversion attempted to
stoop and adjust the intractable folds.

In his flurry he naturally forgot the fork; so that when, after a minute
and a half, he emerged without it into the upper world, his two
companions were not a little perplexed.

"What have you been up to down there?  Do you generally eat your grub
under the table?" asked Wally.  "All I can say is, it's the best place
for him if he wears his hair like that," said the other in tones of
alarm.  "Young kid, I never noticed that before!  Whatever induces you
to part it on the right?  Did you ever hear of a Fellsgarth fellow-- Oh,
I say, what a wigging you'll get!  Look at me and Wally and Yorke and
all of 'em.  Whew! it makes one ill to see it!  Just look round for
yourself."

As more than half of those present appeared to have no parting at all,
and most of the rest parted on the left, Fisher minor realised with
horror that he had been guilty of a terrible solecism.

The alarm depicted in the faces of both the twins was proof enough that
the matter was a critical one.  It was no time for shuffling.  He had
had enough of that over his trouser-ends.  He must throw himself on the
mercy of his critics.

"I quite forgot--of course," said he hurriedly; "I--I--"

"Look here," said Wally, hurriedly shoving a pocket-comb into his hands;
"you'd better go downstairs again and change it sharp, or you'll be
spotted.  Cut along."

So Fisher minor began with shame to look once more for his fork, and in
doing so crawled well under the table, and sitting down proceeded
nervously and painfully to open up a parting on the left side of his
head.  It was an arduous task, and not made easier by the unjustifiable
conduct of the twins, who having got their man safe under hatches began
to kick out in an unceremonious fashion and basely betray his retreat to
their friends and neighbours.

"Pass him on!"

"Hack it through!"

"Ware cats!" was the cry, in the midst of which the luckless Fisher
minor, finding a return to his old place effectually barred, and
wearying of the ceremony of running a gauntlet of all the legs along the
table before it was half over, made a hasty selection of what seemed to
him the mildest pair within reach, and clutching at them convulsively,
hung on for dear life.

The owner of the limbs in question was Ranger, a prefect of his house
and more or less of a grandee at Fellsgarth.  As he was unaware of the
cause of the excitement around him, this sudden assault from below took
him aback, and he started up from his chair in something as near a panic
as a Fellsgarth prefect could be capable of.  Naturally his parasite
followed him.

To Ranger's credit, he took in the situation rapidly, and did not abuse
his opportunities.

"What's this?" he demanded, lifting up Fisher minor, with his hair all
on end and the pocket-comb still in his hand, by the coat-collar.  "Who
does this belong to?"

No one in particular owned the object in question.

"What are you?" asked the prefect.

"I'm Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow."

"So I should suppose.  Afraid of the draughts, I suppose."

"It was Wally and his brother put me there.  I didn't mean--"

"Oh--Wally, was it?  Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn't leave your
property about like this.  It's against rules.  Here, hook on, and don't
go chucking it about any more."

"All serene," said the twin.  "Come along, kid.  Done with my comb?  You
look ever so much better form now; doesn't he, you chaps?  How came you
to lose your way downstairs?"

Fisher minor owned himself utterly unable to account for the
misadventure, and discreetly remained silent until the signal was given
to return thanks and separate every boy to his own house.

As he was wandering across the court, very dismal and apprehensive of
what more was in store for him, a lean youth with a pale face and very
showily attired accosted him.

"Hullo, kid, are you a new chap?"

"Yes," replied Fisher minor, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

"What side are you on?"

Fisher stared interrogatively.

"Well, then, are you Modern or Classic?"

"I don't know, really," said Fisher minor, wishing he knew which he
ought to proclaim himself.  Then making a bold venture, he said, "I
believe Modern."

"Good job for you," said the youth; "saves me the trouble of kicking
you.  Can you lend me a bob?  I'll give it you back to-morrow as soon as
I've unpacked."

It did strike Fisher minor as queer that any one should pack shillings
up in a trunk, but he was too pleased to oblige this important and
fashionable-looking personage to raise any question.

"Yes.  Can you give me change out of a half-crown?  Or you can pay me
the lot back to-morrow, I shan't be wanting it till then," said he.

"All serene, kid; I'm glad you are our side.  I shall be able to give
you a leg-up with the fellows.  Whose house are you in?"

"Wakefield's, the same as my brother."

"What--then you must be a Classic!  They're all Classics at Wakefield's.
Why can't you tell the truth when you're asked, instead of a howling
pack of lies?"

"I didn't know, really, I thought--"

"Come, that's a good one.  Any idiot knows what side he's on at
Fellsgarth."

Fisher minor was greatly confused to stand convicted thus of greenness.

"You see," said he, putting on a little "side" to cover his shame, "I
was bound to be stuck on the same side as my brother, you know."

"Nice for you.  Not a gentleman among them.  All paupers and prigs,"
said this young Modern, waxing eloquent.  "You'll suit them down to the
ground."  Considering that Fisher minor had just lent the speaker half a
crown, these taunts struck him as not exactly grateful.  At the same
time he writhed under the reproach, and felt convinced that Classics
were not at all the "form" at Fellsgarth.

"Why," pursued the other, pocketing his coin in order to release his
hands for a little elocution, "we could boy 'em up twice over.  The
workhouse isn't in it with Wakefield's.  There's not a day but they come
cadging to us, wanting to borrow our tin, or our grub, or something.
There, look at that chap going across there!  He's one of 'em.  Regular
casual-ward form about him.  He's the meanest, stingiest lout in all
Fellsgarth."

"Why," exclaimed Fisher minor, looking in alarm towards this prodigy of
baseness, "why, that's--that's Fisher, my brother!"

The Modern youth's jaw fell with a snap, and his cheeks lost what little
colour they had.

"What?  Why didn't you tell me!  Look here, you needn't tell him what I
said.  It was quite between ourselves, you know.  I must be cutting, I
say.  See you again some day."

And he vanished, leaving Fisher minor considerably more bewildered, and
poorer by a cool half-crown, than he had been five minutes ago.



CHAPTER TWO.

LAMB'S SINGING.

Wakefield's house, as Fisher minor entered it under his brother's wing,
hardly seemed to the new boy as disreputable a haunt as his recent
Modern friend had led him to expect.  Nor did the sixty or seventy
fellows who clustered in the common room strike him as exactly the
lowest stratum of Fellsgarth society.  Yorke, the captain, for instance,
with his serene, well-cut face, his broad shoulders and impressive voice
hardly answered to the description of a lout.  Nor did Ranger, of the
long legs, with speed written in every inch of his athletic figure, and
gentleman in every line of his face, look the sort of fellow to be
mistaken for a cad.  Even Fisher major, about whom the younger brother
had been made to feel decided qualms, could hardly have been the hail-
fellow-well-met he was with everybody, had he been all the new boy's
informant had recently described him.

Indeed, Fisher minor, when presently he gathered himself together
sufficiently to look round him, was surprised to see so few traces of
the "casual-ward" in his new house.  True, most of the fellows might be
poor--which, of course, was highly reprehensible; and some of them might
not be connected with the nobility, which showed a great lack of proper
feeling on their part.  But as a rule they held up their heads and
seemed to think very well of themselves and one another; while their
dress, if it was not in every case as fashionable as that of the
temporary owner of Fisher minor's half-crown, was at least passably well
fitting.

Fisher minor, for all his doubts about the company he was in, could not
help half envying these fellows, as he saw with what glee and self-
satisfaction they entered into their own at Wakefield's.  They were all
so glad to be back, to see again the picture of Cain and Abel on the
wall, to scramble for the corner seat in the ingle-bench, to hear the
well-known creak on the middle landing, to catch the imperturbable tick
of the dormitory clock, to see the top of Hawk's Pike looming out, down
the valley, clear and sharp in the falling light.

Fisher minor and Ashby, as they sat dismally and watched all the fun,
wondered if the time would ever come when they would feel as much at
home as all this.  It was a stretch of imagination beyond their present
capacity.

To their alarm, Master Wally Wheatfield presently recognised them from
across the room, and came over patronisingly to where they sat.

"Hullo, new kids! thinking of your mas, and the rocking-horses, and
Nurse Jane, and all that?  Never mind, have a good blub, it'll do you
good."

Considering how near, in strict secrecy, both the young gentlemen
addressed were to the condition indicated by the genial twin, this
exhortation was not exactly kind.

They tried to look as if they did not mind it, and Fisher minor
naturally did his best to appear knowing.

"I don't mind," said he, with a snigger; "they're all milksops at home.
I'd sooner be here."

"I wouldn't," put in the sturdy Ashby.  "I think it's horrid not to see
a face you know."

"There you are; what did I say!  Screaming for his mammy," gibed Wally.

"And if I was," retorted Master Ashby, warming up, "she's a lot better
worth it than yours, so now!"

Master Wally naturally fired up at this.  Such language was hardly
respectful from a new junior to an old.

"I'll pull your nose, new kid, if you cheek me."

"And I'll pull yours, if you cheek my mother."

"Booh, booh, poor baby!  Who's cheeking your mother?  I wouldn't cheek
her with a pair of tongs.  Something better to do.  I say, are both you
kids Classics?"

"Yes," they replied.

"I thought you must be Moderns, you're both so precious green.  All
right, there'll be lamb's singing directly, then you'll have to sit up."

"What's lamb's singing?" said Ashby.

"Don't you know?" replied Wally, glad to have recovered the whip hand.
"It's this way.  Every new kid has to sing in his house the first-night.
You'll have to."

"Oh," faltered Ashby, "I can't; I don't know anything."

"Can't get out of it; you must," said the twin, charmed to see the
torture he was inflicting.  "So must you, Hair-parting."

Fisher minor was too knowing a hand to be caught napping.  He had had
the tip about lamb's singing from his brother last term, and was
prepared.  He joined in, therefore, against Ashby.

"What, didn't you know that, kid?  You must be green.  _I_ knew it all
along."

"That's all right," said Wheatfield.  "Now I'm going.  I can't fool away
all my evening with you.  By the way, mind you don't get taking up with
any Modern kids.  It's not allowed, and you'll get it hot if you do.  My
young brother," (each twin was particularly addicted to casting
reflections on his brother's age) "is a Modern.  Don't you have anything
to do with him.  And whatever you do, don't lend any of them money, or
there'll be a most awful row.  That's why we always call up
subscriptions for the house clubs on first-night.  It cleans the fellows
out, and then they can't lend any to the Moderns.  You'll have to shell
out pretty soon, as soon as Lamb's singing is over.  Ta, ta."

This last communication put Fisher minor in a terrible panic.  He had
evidently committed a gross breach of etiquette in lending that Modern
boy (whose name he did not even know) a half-crown; and now, when the
subscriptions were called for, he would have to declare himself before
all Wakefield's a pauper.

"I say," said he to Ashby, dropping the patronising for the pathetic,
"could you ever lend me half-a-crown?  I've--I've lost mine--I'll pay it
you back next week faithfully."

"I've only got five bob," said Ashby; "to last all the term, and half a
crown of that will go in the clubs to-night."

"But you'll get it back in a week--really you will," pleaded Fisher
minor, "and I'll--"

But here there was a sudden interruption.  Every one, from the captain
down, looked towards the new boys, and a shout of "lamb's singing,"
headed by Wally Wheatfield, left little doubt as to what it all meant.

"Pass up the new kids down there," called one of the prefects.
Whereupon Fisher minor and Ashby, rather pale and very nervous, were
hustled up to the top of the room, where sat the grandees in a row round
the table on which the sacrifice was to take place.

For the benefit of the curious it may be explained that "lamb's
singing," the name applied to the musical performances of new boys at
Fellsgarth on first-night, is supposed to have derived its title from
the frequency with which these young gentlemen fell back upon "Mary had
a little lamb" as their theme on such occasions.

"Isn't one of them your minor?" asked Yorke of Fisher senior.

"Yes," said the latter rather apologetically; "the one with the light
hair.  He's not much to look at.  The fact is, I only know him slightly.
They say at home he's a nice boy."

"Does he spend much of his time under tables, as a rule?" asked Ranger,
recognising the lost property which had hung on to his legs at dinner-
time.  "If so, I'll take the other one for my fag."

"He's bagged already," said Denton.  "Fisher and I put our names down
for him an hour ago."

"Well, that's cool.  If Fisher wanted a fag he might as well have taken
his own minor."

"Fisher major knew better," said the gentleman in question.  "It might
raise awkward family questions if I had him."

"Wouldn't it be fairer to toss up?" suggested the captain.  "Or I don't
mind swopping Wally Wheatfield for him; if you really--"

Ranger laughed.

"No, thank you, I draw the line at Wally.  I wouldn't deprive you of him
for the world.  I suppose I must have this youngster.  Let's hear him
sing first."

"Yes, lamb's singing.  Now, you two, one at a time.  Who's first?
Alphabetical order."

Ashby, with an inward groan, mounted the rostrum.  If anything could
have been more cruel than the noise which greeted his appearance, it was
the dead silence which followed it.  Fellows sat round, staring him out
of countenance with critical faces, and rejoicing in his embarrassment.

"What's the title!" demanded some one.

"I don't know any songs," said Ashby presently, "and I can't sing."

"Ho, ho! we've heard that before.  Come, forge ahead."

"I only know the words of one that my con--somebody I know--sings,
called the _Vigil_.  I don't know the tune."

"That doesn't matter--out with it."

So Ashby, pulling himself desperately together, plunged recklessly into
the following appropriate ditty; which, failing its proper tune, he
manfully set at the top of his voice, and with all the energy he was
capable of, to the air of the _Vicar of Bray_--

  The stealthy night creeps o'er the lea,
  My darling, haste away with me.
  Beloved, come I see where I stand,
  With arms outstretched upon the strand.

  The night creeps on; my love is late,
  O love, my love, I wait, I wait;
  The soft wind sighs mid crag and pine;
  Haste, O my sweet; be mine, be mine!

This spirited song, the last two lines of which were aught up as a
chorus, fairly brought down the house; and Ashby, much to his surprise,
found himself famous.  He had no idea he could sing so well, or that the
fellows would like the words as much as they seemed to do.  Yet they
cheered him and encored him, and yelled the chorus till the roof almost
fell in.

"Bravo," shouted every one, the captain himself included, as he
descended from the table; "that's a ripping song."

"That sends up the price of our fag, I fancy," said Denton to his chum.
"Your young brother won't beat that."

"Next man in," shouted Wheatfield, hustling forward Fisher minor.  "Now,
kid, lamm it on and show them what you can do."

"Title! title!" cried the meeting.

Now, if truth must be told, Fisher minor had come to Fellsgarth
determined that whatever else he failed in, he would make a hit at
"lamb's singing."  He had made a careful calculation as to what sort of
song would go down with the company and at the same time redeem his
reputation from all suspicion of greenness; and he flattered himself he
had hit upon the exact article.

"Oh," said he, with an attempt at offhand swagger, in response to the
demand.  "It's a comic song, called _Oh no_."

It disconcerted him a little to see how seriously everybody settled down
to listen, and how red his brother's face turned as he took a back seat
among the seniors.  Never mind.  Wait till they heard his song.  That
would fetch them!

He had carefully studied not only the song but the appropriate action.
As he knew perfectly well, there is one invariable attitude for a comic
song.  The head must be tilted a little to one side.  One eyebrow must
be raised and the opposite corner of the mouth turned down.  One knee
should be slightly bent; the first finger and thumb of one hand should
rest gracefully in the waistcoat pocket, and the other hand should be
free for gesture.

All these points Fisher minor attended to now as carefully as his
nervousness would permit, and felt half amused at the thought of how
comic the fellows must think him.

"Do you--" he began.

But at this point Ranger unfeelingly interrupted, and put the vocalist
completely out.

"Did you say `Oh no' or `How now'?"

"Oh no," repeated the singer.

"You mean h-o-w n-o-w?"

"Oh no; it's o-h n-o."

"Thanks--sorry to interrupt.  Fire away."  Fisher tried to get himself
back into attitude, and began again in a thin treble voice;--

Do you think I'm just as green as grass!  Oh no!

Do you take me for a silly ass!  Oh no!  Do you think I don't know A
from B!  Do you think I can't tell he from she!  Do you think I swallow
all I see?

Oh no--not me!  He was bewildered by the unearthly silence of his
audience.  No one stirred a muscle except Wheatfield, who was apparently
wiping away a tear.  Was the song too deep for them, or perhaps he did
not sing the words distinctly, or perhaps they _had_ laughed and he had
not noticed?  At any rate he would try the next verse, which was certain
to amuse them.  He looked as droll as he could, and by way of
heightening the effect, stuck his two thumbs into the armholes of his
waistcoat and wagged his hands in time with the song.

Do you think I lie abed all day?

Oh no!  Do you guess I skate on ice in May?

Oh no!  Do you think I can't tell what is what?  Do you think I don't
know pepper's hot?  Or whereabouts my i's to dot?

Oh no, no rot!

As he concluded, Fisher minor summoned up enough resolution to shake his
head and lay one finger to his nose in the most approved style of
comedy, and then awaited the result.

Fellows apparently did not take in that the song was at an end, for they
neither cheered nor smiled.  So Fisher minor made an elaborate bow to
show it was all over.  The result was the same.  A gloomy silence
prevailed, in the midst of which the singer, never more perplexed in his
life, descended from the table and proceeded to look out for the
congratulations of his admirers.

"Beautiful song," said Wally, still mopping his face.

"I never thought I could be so touched by anything.  We generally get
comic songs on first-night."

"This _is_ a comic one," said Fisher minor.

"Go on," said Wheatfield; "tell that to D'Arcy here--he'll believe you--
eh, D'Arcy?"  D'Arcy looked mysterious.

"It's no laughing matter, young Wheatfield," said he, in a loud whisper,
evidently intended for the eager ears of Fisher minor.  "I heard Yorke
just now ask Denton if he thought Fisher's minor was all there.  Denton
seemed quite cut up, and said he hadn't known it before, but it must be
a great family trouble to the Fishers.  It accounted for Fisher major's
frequent low spirits.  You know," continued D'Arcy confidentially, "I
can't help myself thinking it's a little rough on Fisher major for his
people to send a minor who's afflicted like this to Fellsgarth.  They
might at least have put him on the Modern side.  He'd have been better
understood there."

This speech Fisher minor listened to with growing perplexity.  Was
D'Arcy in jest or earnest?  He seemed to be in earnest, and the serious
faces of his listeners looked like it too.  Had the captain really made
that remark to Denton?  Suppose there _was_ something in it!  Suppose,
without his knowing, he was really a little queer in his head!  His
people might have told him of it.  And Fisher major, his brother--even
he hadn't heard of it!  Oh dear! oh dear!  How was he ever to recover
his reputation for sanity?  Whatever induced him to sing that song?

Poor Fisher minor devoutly wished himself home again, within reach of
his mother's soothing voice and his sisters' smiles.  _They_ understood
him.  These fellows didn't.  _They_ knew he was not an idiot.  These
fellows didn't.

Further reflection was cut short by a loud call to order and cheers, as
Yorke, the captain, rose to his feet.

Every one liked Yorke.  As captain of the School even the Moderns looked
up to him, and were forced to admit that he was a credit to Fellsgarth.
In Wakefield's, his own house, he was naturally an idol.  Prodigious
stories were afloat as to his wisdom and his prowess.  Examiners were
reported to have rent their clothes in despair at his answers; and at
football, rumour had it that once, in one of the out-matches against
Ridgmoor, he had run the ball down the field with six of the other side
on his back, and finished up with a drop at the goal from thirty yards.

But his popularity in his own house depended less on these exploits than
on his general good-nature and incorruptible fairness.  He scorned to
hit an opponent when he was down, and yet he would knock down a friend
as soon as a foe if the credit of the School required it.  A few,
indeed, there were whose habit it was to sneer at Yorke for being what
they called "a saint."  The captain of Fellsgarth would have been the
last to claim such a title for himself; yet those who knew him best knew
that in all he did, even in the common concerns of daily school life, he
relied on the guidance and help of a Divine Friend, and was not ashamed
to own his faith.

The one drawback to his character in the eyes of certain of his fellow-
prefects and others at Wakefield's was that in the standing feud between
Classics and Moderns he would take no part.  He demanded the allegiance
of all parties on behalf of the School, and if any man refused it, Yorke
was the sort of person who would make it his business to know the reason
why.

Now as he got up and waited for the cheers to cease, no one could deny
that he wasn't as fine a captain as Wakefield's could expect to see for
many a day.  And for the first time some of those who even feared him
realised with a qualm that this was the last "first-night" on which he
would be there to make the usual speech.

"Gentlemen," he said, "we are all glad to be back in the old place,"
(cheers).  "At any rate I am," (loud cheers).  "On first-night, as you
know, we always combine business with pleasure.  We have just had the
pleasure," (laughter, in the midst of which Fisher minor pricked up his
ears and wondered if his song wasn't going to be appreciated after all).
"The lambs have bleated and done their level best, I'm sure," (renewed
laughter, and cries of "How now?").  "Now for the business.  Gentlemen,
the house clubs demand your support."  (Fisher minor turned deadly green
as he remembered the Modern boy and his half-crown.  He looked round
wildly for Ashby, but Ashby was standing between Wally and D'Arcy, and
the proximity was not encouraging for Fisher's purpose.  The idea
occurred to him of appealing to his brother.  But Fisher major, pen in
hand, sat at the receipt of custom, and he dare not approach).  "We hope
there will be no shirking.  Every fellow in the house is expected to
back up the clubs.  If the House clubs are not kept up to the mark, the
School clubs are sure to go down," (cheers).  "We don't ask much.  The
seniors pay 5 shillings, the middle-boys 3 shillings 6 pence, and the
juniors 2 shillings 6 pence."  (Fisher minor glanced frantically in the
direction of the door, and began to edge that way.) "Now, gentlemen, one
word more.  You know, last term, there was a lot of bad blood between
Classics and Moderns," (great cheers and three groans for the Moderns).
"Of course it's open to any idiot who likes to make a fool of himself,
and quarrel with anybody he likes.  He's welcome to do it up to a
certain point, if it gives him pleasure.  But I want to say this--and
I'd say it if the whole of the school was here--that if these rows once
begin to interfere with the honour of the School in sports or anything
else, as they nearly did last term, the fellows who indulge in them will
be dropped on pretty heavily, no matter what side or what house they
belong to."

The captain looked so uncommonly like meaning what he said, that D'Arcy,
who had already made an appointment to fight Lickford, a Modern boy, at
the Three Oaks before breakfast to-morrow, quailed under his eye, and
wondered if he could with dignity "scratch" the engagement.

A general movement towards the table at which Fisher major sat with his
pen and account-book followed the captain's speech.  Of all the company
present, only one failed to enrol himself.  He was a new boy called
Fisher minor, who, evidently worn out by the fatigues of the day and
unversed in the etiquette of first-night, had sought the dame at a
somewhat early hour, and received her permission to go to bed.

Such at least was that lady's version when Fisher major, having missed
his minor, made inquiries respecting his absence.

"Best thing he could do, to make himself scarce, after such a
performance," said the elder brother to Denton, who accompanied him.

"Yes, indeed, I envy Ranger his fag.  It's a lucky thing we bagged the
other one in time."

"The young donkey couldn't be in better hands," said Fisher; "but I say,
Den, didn't the captain come down rather heavy with his thunder to-
night?  What does it all mean?"

"Bows, I expect," said Denton.  "He's not going to stand what went on
last term, and I'm jolly glad of it.  We must back him up."

"If he means I'm not to feel inclined to kick Dangle whenever I see him,
I can't promise him much."

"Dangle's a good quarter-mile man, and a good long-stop.  If your
kicking him prevents his playing for the School, you'll have to mind
your eye, my boy.  That's what he means."

"Oh!" grunted Fisher major, "I suppose the rows will begin to-morrow,
when we elect the officers for the School clubs.  Those fellows are sure
to want to stick their own men in."

"At any rate you're safe enough for treasurer, old man.  But come, I'm
dead sleepy to-night.  Time enough for rows to-morrow and the next day."



CHAPTER THREE.

CANVASSING.

When Fisher major woke early next morning he had the curious sensation
of something on his mind without knowing what it was.

He was not out of sorts.  The private supper of which he and Denton and
Ridgway had partaken last night in Ranger's study had been wholesome, if
miscellaneous.  Ranger's people had given him a hamper to bring back,
containing a good many good things--cake, biscuits, potted meats, jam,
Worcester sauce, pickles, coffee, and other groceries intended to
diversify the breakfasts of the half.  By some error of judgment this
valuable article of luggage had come from town in the van, where it had
apparently been placed at the very bottom of the baggage.  The
consequence was, that when it came to be opened, its several ingredients
were found to have got loose, and fused together in a most hopeless way.
Jam, and pickles, and Liebig's extract, and moist sugar were
indistinguishable.  The only thing seemed to be to attack the concoction
_en masse_, without needless delay, and to that end Ranger had summoned
the assistance of his friends and neighbours.  Fisher major was unable
to attribute any part of the weight on his mind to this perfectly
wholesome and homely refreshment.

What was it?  It was not Denton.  He had come back as loyal and festive
as ever, threatening to work hard this half, and determined to have
Fisher major as his guest at the rectory on the lake for the Christmas
vac.

Nor was it the captain's speech last night that bothered him.  True, it
was not altogether conciliatory to those, who, like Fisher major, were
resolved to have no truce with the enemy.  Of course it was the right
thing for Yorke to say.  But Yorke knew, as well as anybody, that the
Classics meant to keep their house Cock-House at Fellsgarth.

Nor was it the accounts; although Fisher minor had to own to himself he
was not a grand hand at finance, and that if he was appointed treasurer
of the School clubs, as well as of his House clubs, he would have his
work cut out for him to keep both funds clear and solvent.

What then was it?  His young brother?  He supposed it must be.  The
young donkey had made a bad beginning at Fellsgarth--which was bad
enough.  But had the elder brother done quite the decent thing in half
disowning him, and letting him run on his fate in the way he had?  A
little brotherly backing up, a word or two of warning, and, if needs be,
a little timely intimidation, might have made all the difference to the
youngster, and would not have done the senior much harm.

Yes; it was this precious minor of his who was on Fisher major's mind.
It was too late, of course, to pick up the milk already spilled.  But it
might be worth while to give him a word of admonition as to his future
conduct.

With this view he sent Ashby (who, with all the alacrity of a brand-new
fag, punctually presented himself for orders before getting-up bell had
ceased ringing) to summon Fisher minor to his brother's room.

"Well, kid," said the elder brother, commencing his toilet, "how did you
get on?  Sleep well?"

"Middling," said Fisher minor.  "Some of the fellows had put pepper on
the blankets, and it got into my eyes--that's all."

"It's a good job they did nothing worse."

"Well," said Fisher minor, who was evidently in a limp state, and had
not at all enjoyed his night, "they _did_ tease a good deal."

"Humph--who did!"

"Well, there was that boy they call--"

"Stop," said Fisher major, turning round fiercely in the middle of
brushing his hair; "do you mean to say you don't know that it's only
cads who sneak about one another?"

"But you asked me."

"Of course I did, and made sure you wouldn't let out.  I hope they'll
give you a few more lively nights, to teach you better."

The young brother's lips gave an ominous quiver at this unfeeling
speech, and he horrified Fisher major by betraying imminent symptoms of
tears.

"Look here, Joey," said the senior, rather more soothingly, "you've made
a jolly bad start, and that can't be helped.  The mistake you made is in
thinking you know everything, whereas you're about as green as they make
them.  Why ever do you pretend not to be?  Look at that other new kid--
the other one who sang.  He's green too; but, bless you, it's no crime,
and all the fellows take to him because he doesn't put on side like you.
Why, that song you sang--oh, my stars!--what on _earth_ put that rot
into your head?"

This finished up poor Fisher minor.  The recollection of his performance
last night was more than he could stand, and he began to whimper.

"Come, old chap," said Fisher major, kindly, patting him on the
shoulder; "perhaps it's not all your fault.  I suppose I ought to have
given you a leg-up, and prevented you making a fool of yourself.  You'll
get on right enough if you don't swagger.  And in any case, don't
blubber."

"I shall never get on here," said the new boy.  "All the fellows are
against me.  Besides--I didn't know it was wrong; and--oh, Tom?--I lent
a fellow half a crown, and now I've nothing to pay for the clubs!"

Fisher major laughed.

"I thought from your tones you were going to confess a murder, at least.
You'd better look alive and get the half-crown back."

"That's just it.  I lent it in the dark to a--a Modern chap; and I don't
know his name."

"Upon my honour, Joey, you are a-- Well, it's no good saying what you
are.  I hope you'll see your money again, that's all."

Fisher minor groaned.

"Would you ever mind lending me half-a-crown for the clubs, just this
once?" he pleaded.

"Very convenient arrangement.  I suppose I shall have to.  At least I'll
mark you as paid; and if you've not got back what you've lent your
friend before I have to shell out, I shall have to pay it for you."

"Thanks, Tom; you're an awful brick," said the younger brother,
brightening up rapidly.  "I say, I wish I could be your fag.  Couldn't
I?"

"Ranger's bagged you--you'll get on better with him than me.  He won't
stand as much nonsense as I might.  There! he is calling.  Cut along,
and don't go making such an ass of yourself again.  You'll have to get
on the best you can with your fellows; I can't interfere with them
unless they break rules, you know.  You can come in here, of course, any
time you like, and if you want a leg-up with preparation, and Ranger's
busy, you may as well do your work here."

After this Fisher major felt a little easier in his conscience, and was
able to face the tasks of the day with a lighter mind than if he had had
the care of his minor upon it all the time.

The school work of the day was not particularly onerous.  Dr Ringwood,
the head-master, held a sort of reception of the Sixth, and delivered,
as was his wont, a little lecture on the work to be taken up during the
ensuing half, interspersed with a few sarcastic references to the work
of the previous half, and one or two jokes, which scoffers like Ridgway
used to say must have cost him many serious hours during the holidays to
develop.

"Aristophanes," said the head-master, after calling attention to the
particular merits of the Greek play to be undertaken, "did not write
solely for the Sixth form of a public school.  I am afraid some of you,
last term, thought that Euripides did.  He will require more than usual
attention.  I am sure he can easily receive it.  I would not, if I were
you boys, be too chary this term of extra work.  Some of you are almost
painfully conscientious in your objection to overdo a particular study.
Aristophanes is an author with whom liberties may safely be taken in
this respect.  The test of a good classical scholar, remember, is not
the work he is obliged to do, but what he is not obliged to do--his
extra work; I advise you not to be afraid to try it.  The Sanatorium has
been unusually free of cases of over-pressure lately.  A quarter of an
hour's extra work a day by the Sixth is not at all likely to tax its
capacity," etcetera.

This was the doctor's pleasant style, delivered with a severe face and
downcast eyes.

Then ensued a little lecture to the prefects on their duties and
responsibilities, which was respectfully listened to.  To judge by it,
such a thing as any rumour of dissensions between rival sides and houses
in the school had never reached his ears.  And yet the knowing ones said
the doctor knew better than the captain himself everything that went on
in Fellsgarth, and could at any moment lay his hand on an offender.  But
he preferred to leave the police of the place to his head boys; and on
the whole it was perhaps better for the School that he did.

To a larger or less degree the other forms, Classic and Modern, were
lectured in similar strains by their respective masters.  The new boys
among the junior division were, perhaps, the only ones who listened
attentively to what Mr Stratton, the young, cheery athlete who presided
over their studies, had to say.  And even the irrespectful admiration
was a good deal distracted by the babel of voices which was going on all
round them.

"Never mind him," said D'Arcy; "he's a kid of a master, and don't know
any better.  It's all rot.  Bless you, we get the same thing--"

"D'Arcy," said the master, suddenly, "I was recommending the value of
extra work, especially for clever boys.  Perhaps you will try the
experiment with fifty lines of Virgil by this time to-morrow."

"There you are," said D'Arcy, appealing to his neighbours; "didn't I
tell you he talked rot?  Did you ever hear such a stale joke as that?"

The two new boys were tremendously impressed by this sudden swoop of
vengeance, and gazed open-mouthed at the master for the rest of the
class, stealing only now and again a hasty glance at D'Arcy to see how
he was bearing up against his sore afflictions.

D'Arcy, to do him justice, appeared to be bearing up very well.  He was,
in truth, engaged in a mental calculation as to how, during the coming
term, he could most economically "job" out the impositions which usually
fell to his share.  If his countenance now and then brightened as he met
the awe-struck gaze of the two new boys, it was because in them he
thought he discerned a lively hope of solving the problem creditably to
himself and not unprofitably to them.

"Come along," said he as soon as the class was released; "let's get out
into the fresh air and have a cool.  Hullo, Wally," as the owner of that
name trotted up, "what's up?"

"Up?" said Wally in tones of injured innocence; "one would think you
didn't know it was School club elections on in an hour, and all the
chaps to whip up!  If the Moderns turn up in force, it'll be touch-and-
go if they don't carry every man.  I can't stop now--mind you bring
those kids."

And off he went with all the importance of captain's fag on his
electioneering tour.

"Wally's right," said D'Arcy.  "It'll be a close shave to carry our men.
You see, kids," added he condescendingly, "it's just this way.  The
Moderns are going to try to carry the clubs to-day, and if they do, the
whole of us aren't going to stand it, and there'll be such a jolly row
in Fellsgarth as--well, wait till you _see_."

This sounded very awful.  Fisher minor would have liked to know what
sort of clubs were to be carried, but did not like to ask.  Ashby,
however, more honest, demanded further particulars.

"I don't know what you mean," said he.

"Don't suppose you do.  Whose fault is that?  All you've got to do is to
yell for our side and vote for our men."

That seemed simple enough, if D'Arcy would _only_ vouchsafe to tell them
when to begin.

"Come along," said the latter.  "We've half an hour yet to canvass.  You
know Wally's and my study?"

"Yes."

"All right; now you," pointing to Ashby, "you hang outside that door.
That's the Modern minors' class.  Collar one of them as they come out,
or two if you can; and fetch 'em up to my room.  You," pointing to
Fisher minor, "go and prowl about the kids' gymnasium and fetch any one
with a blue ribbon on his hat, as many as you can bag.  I'm going to see
if I can find some of 'em near the tuck-shop.  Kick twice on my door and
say `Balbus,' so that I shall know it's you.  Go on; off you go.  Don't
muff it, whatever you do, or it'll be your fault if Fellsgarth goes to
pot."

Ashby, whose uncle was an M.P., had had some little experience in
general elections, but he never remembered canvassing of this kind
before.  However, D'Arcy had an authoritative air about him, and as the
School was evidently in peril, and there was no suspicion of practical
joking in the present case, he marched off sturdily to the Modern
minors' class-room, and sheltering himself conveniently behind the door,
waited the turn of events.

He had not to wait long.  He could hear the master announcing the lesson
for preparation, and the general shuffle which precedes the dismissal of
a class.  Then his heart beat a little faster as he distinguished
footsteps and heard the unsuspecting enemy approaching his way.

Now Ashby, although a new boy, was _man_ enough to calculate one or two
things.  One was that his best chance was either to attack the head or
the tail of the procession; and secondly, that as the head boys in a
form are usually those nearest the front, and conversely, the lowest are
usually nearest to the door, the smallest boys would probably be the
first to come out.  For all of which reasons he decided to make his
swoop at once, and if possible abscond with his booty before the main
body arrived on the scene.

The event justified his shrewdness.  The moment the door opened, two
small Moderns scampered out clean into the arms of the expectant
kidnapper, who before they had time so much as to inquire who he was or
what he wanted, had a grip on the coat-collar of each, and was racing
them as hard as their short legs could carry them across the grass.

"Let go, you cad!" squeaked one, presently.  "What we you doing!"

"It's only fun," said Ashby, encouragingly; "come along."

The other prisoner was more practical.  He tried to bite his captor's
hand, and when he failed in that, he tried to kick.  But though he
succeeded better in this, the pace was kept up and the grip on his
collar, if anything, tightened.  Whereupon he attempted to sit down.
But that, though it retarded the progress, was still insufficient to
arrest it.  The pace dropped to a quick walk, and in due time, greatly
to Ashby's relief, the portal of Wakefield's was reached.

Here, of course, all was safe.  If any of the few boys hanging about had
been inclined to concern themselves in the affair, the colour of the
ribbon on the victims' hats was quite sufficient reason for allowing the
law to take its course; and Ashby, who began to grow very tired of his
burden (which insisted on sitting down on either side all the way
upstairs), arrived at length at Messrs. D'Arcy and Wally's door without
challenge.

He had no need to knock, or say "Balbus," as the room was empty.  The
other canvassers had evidently not yet returned.

With a sigh of relief he deposited his loads on the carpet and locked
the door.

"Let us go, you cad!" yelled the prisoners.  "What do you want bringing
us here into this place for?"

"Fun," said Ashby.  "You'll know presently."

"If you don't let us out, we'll yell till a master comes."

"Will you?--we're used to yelling here.  Yell away; it'll do you good."

To the credit of the two "voters" they did their best, and made such a
hideous uproar that Ashby began to grow uneasy, and was immensely
relieved when presently he heard outside a sound as of coals being
carelessly carried up the staircase.  Some one was evidently coming up
with a good load.

Ashby was prudent enough not to open the door till an irregular double
kick and a breathless cry of "Balbus, look sharp," apprised him that
another of the electioneering agents had returned.  He then cautiously
opened the door, and in tumbled D'Arcy, gasping, yet triumphant, under
the weight of three fractious youngsters.

"Bully for us," said he, surveying the harvest.  "Five for our side.
Jolly well done of you, kid--you're a stunner.  Two of mine are new
kids--they came easy enough; but the other's a regular badger."

The badger in question seemed determined to maintain his reputation, for
he flew upon his captor, calling upon his fellow-prisoners to do the
same.  All but the new boys obeyed, and the two "canvassers" were very
hard put to it for a while, and might have fared yet worse, had not
D'Arcy astutely hung out a flag of truce.  "Look here," said he; "I
never knew such idiots as you Modern kids are.  Here I've done my best
to be friends and invited you to a spread in my room; and now you won't
even let me go to the cupboard and get out the black currant jam and
cake."

"You're telling crams; that's not why you brought us here.  You're a
howling--"

"Yes, really," said D'Arcy, in quite a friendly tone, "Cry _pax_ for one
minute, and if I don't hand out the things you may go; honour bright.
I've a good mind to kick you out without giving you anything."

The caged animals sullenly fell back and eyed the cupboard which D'Arcy
leisurely opened.  A row of half a dozen pots on a top shelf, a segment
of a plum-cake, and something that looked very like honey in the comb,
met their greedy eyes.

"There you are," said D'Arcy.  "What did I tell you!  They belong to
Wally; he'll be here directly.  You'll be all right--all except _you_,"
said he, singling out his principal assailant.  "You don't know how to
behave, like these other kids.  I shall advise Wally not to waste any of
his stuff on you."

"I didn't know it was a feast," said the youth, much softened.  "I
thought you were only humbugging; really I did."

"I've a good mind to do what you think.  You'd better mind your eye, I
can tell you--I wish Wally would come.  There's five o'clock striking--
I'll go and look for him.  Ashby, you see if he's in the library; you
kids, stay here, and lock the door, and don't let anybody in but Wally.
Do you hear?  If you do, you'll get it pretty hot for being out of your
house.  And look here, if Wally doesn't come by half-past, you can help
yourselves."

"Thanks awfully," said the party.

"Mind! honour bright you don't touch a thing till the clock strikes the
half.  When you've done, stay here till one of us comes to fetch you,
and we'll see you safe out.  Don't go without, as our chaps are awfully
down on Moderns this term, and you'll get flayed alive.  If they've seen
you come in, they'll try to get at you, be sure; so lock yourselves in,
whatever you do, and don't make the room in too great a mess.  Come
along, Ashby; let's look for Wally."

"Cut hard," said he, as soon as they stood outside, and had heard the
lock within duly turned.  "We've only just time to get over; that's five
votes lost to their side!  Real good business!  I wonder where the other
new kid is?  He was bound to make a mess of it.  That's why I sent him
to the gymnasium; it's closed to-day."

"Hooray for the Cock-House!" shouted Ashby, as, side by side with his
now admiring patron, he entered the School Hall, where the ceremony of
club elections was just beginning.

At the door they encountered Wheatfield.

"Such games!" whispered D'Arcy, clapping him joyously on the back.
"We've got five Modern kids boxed up in our room, waiting for the clock
to strike the half-hour before they have a tuck in at our empty jam-
pots."

"Ha, ha!" said Wheatfield; "splendid joke!" and vanished.

D'Arcy's countenance suddenly turned pale as he gripped his companion by
the arm.

"What's the matter?" inquired Ashby, alarmed for his friend's health.
"What's up?"

"It's all up!  We're regularly done.  My, that _is_ a go!"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why, you blockhead, didn't you see that was the wrong Wheatfield--not
Wally, but the Modern one!  And now he's gone to let those chaps out,
and we're clean done for!"

"Whew! what is to be done?" groaned Ashby, almost as pale as his friend.



CHAPTER FOUR.

A CLOSE ELECTION.

Ever since certain well-meaning governors, two years ago, had succeeded
in forcing upon Fellsgarth the adoption of a Modern side, the School had
been rent by factions whose quarrels sometimes bordered on civil war.
When people squabble about the management of a school outside, the boys
are pretty sure to quarrel and take sides against one another inside.

The old set, consisting mostly of the Classical boys, felt very sore on
the question.  It was a case of sentiment, not argument.  If boys, said
they, wanted to learn science and modern languages, let them; but don't
let them come fooling around at Fellsgarth and spoiling the reputation
of a good old classical school.  There were plenty of schools where
fellows could be brought up in a new-fangled way.  Let them go to one of
these, and leave Fellsgarth in peace to her dead authors.

The boys who used such arguments, it is fair to say, were not always the
most profound classical scholars.  Most of them, like D'Arcy and Wally
Wheatfield, had a painful acquaintance with the masterpieces of old-
world literature in the way of impositions, but there their interest
frequently ended.  The upper Classical boys, however, though not so
noisily hostile, had their own strong opinions about the new departure;
and when it was discovered that the new Modern side had not only
alienated one or two of their old comrades, but, so far from being
apologetic, were disposed to claim equal rights with, and in certain
cases superior privileges to, the old boys, the relations became
strained all round.

As it happened, the Modern set consisted of a number of moderate
athletes who could not be wholly ignored in the School sports, and had
no intention of being ignored.  And to add to their crimes they numbered
among them a good number of rich boys, who boasted in public of their
wealth with a freedom which was particularly aggravating to the
Classical seniors, who were for the most part boys to whose parents
money was an important consideration.

As has been said, the rivalry had been growing acute all last term, and
but for Yorke's determined indifference, it might long ago have come to
a rupture.  Now, every one felt that at any moment the peace might be
broken, and civil war break out between the two sides at Fellsgarth.

The School clubs offered a rare opportunity for an exhibition of party
feeling, for they were the common ground on which every one was bound to
meet every one else on _level_ terms.

By an old rule, every member of the House clubs was a member of the
School clubs and had the privilege of electing the committee and
officers for the year.  It was this business which brought together the
crowd that flocked into the Hall to-day; and it was in view of this
critical event that Mr D'Arcy had carefully shut up five voters of the
other side in his study until the election should be over.

"Whatever's to be done?" asked Ashby, with blank countenance.

"Nobody but a born idiot would begin to ask riddles just now!" retorted
D'Arcy surlily.  "Shut up; that's what's to be done."

"I expect it will be all right," persisted the dogged Ashby, venturing
on a further remark.  "They won't let him in, if he's not Wally; or if
they do, they'll go for him."

"I hope they will.  Anyhow we've done our best.  Stick near the door.
We may be able to bundle a few of 'em out before the voting comes on.
Look out, Yorke's speaking.  Yell as hard as you can."

Whereupon Ashby lay his head back and yelled until D'Arcy kicked him and
told him it was time to shut up.

Yorke was moving a resolution that the captains, vice-captains,
secretaries, and treasurers of each house should form the School sports
committee, whose business it would be to arrange matches, keep the
ground, make rules, and generally organise the athletics of Fellsgarth.
He hoped every one would agree to this.

Clapperton, the Modern captain, and head of Forder's house, rose to
second the motion.

"Howl away!" said D'Arcy, nudging his _protege_.  Whereupon Ashby held
on to a desk and howled till the windows shook.

"That'll do," shouted D'Arcy in his ear after a moment or two, and
Ashby, thankful for the relief, shut off steam and awaited his next
orders.

Clapperton was a big, smirking fellow, rather loudly dressed, with a
persuasive voice and what was intended to be a condescending manner.
Some fellows could never make out why Clapperton did not go down in
Fellsgarth.  He tried to be civil, he was lavish with his pocket-money,
and always disclaimed any desire to quarrel with anybody.  And yet no
one oared for him, while of course the out-and-out champions of the
rival side hated him.  He seconded with pleasure the motion of "his
friend Yorke,"--("Cheek!" exclaimed D'Arcy, _sotto voce_; "what business
has he to call our captain his friend!") This was the old rule of
Fellsgarth, and a very good rule.  It meant hard work, but he was always
glad to do what he could for the old School.  (It always riled the
Classics to hear a Modern talking about "the old School," and their
backs went up at this.)  He had been on this committee two years now,
and had had the pleasure in a humble way of helping the clubs through
one or two of their financial difficulties, and he should be glad to
serve again.  He seconded the motion.

It was a trial to one or two who had listened to see that the names were
being put to the vote by Yorke _en bloc_, without giving them the chance
of voting against anybody.  Never mind, their chance for that would
come!

The next business was the election of captain of the clubs; and of
course Yorke was chosen by acclamation.  No one dared oppose him.  Even
"his friend Clapperton," who had the pleasure of proposing him, was sure
every one would be as glad as he would to see "his fellow-captain" (oh,
how the Classics squirmed and ground their teeth at the expression!) at
the head of the clubs.

The pent-up feelings of D'Arcy and those of his way of thinking found
some relief in the demonstration which accompanied the carrying of this
resolution.  It was too good a chance to be lost, and for three minutes
by the clock the Classics stood on their feet and cheered their
champion, glaring defiantly as they did so at the Moderns, who having
held up their hands and cheered a little, relapsed into silence and left
the noise in the hands of the other side.

Then followed the election of vice-captain, which of course had to go to
Clapperton.  This time the Moderns had their demonstration amid the
silence of the Classics, who thought they had never in their lives seen
fellows make such asses of themselves.

It was twenty minutes past the hour, and D'Arcy and Ashby were both
getting uncomfortable and impatient.  What did these Modern idiots want
to waste the time of everybody by standing there and bellowing!  It was
scandalous.

"Shut up--go on to the next vote," they cried, but in vain.  The Moderns
were going to have their full share, if not a little more, of the row,
and to stop them before their time was hopeless.

"Disgusting exhibition, isn't it?" said D'Arcy; "never mind.  Hullo, I
say, there's some one at the door.  It's those chaps!"

No, it was only Fisher minor, who, having waited meekly all this time
outside the deserted gymnasium, now ventured, like a degenerate
Casabianca, to desert his post and come and see what was going forward
in the Hall.

As he tried to enter, a Modern boy, seeing by his ribbon that he was on
the wrong side, put his foot against the door and tried to turn him
back.  But his little plot dismally failed.  For D'Arcy and Ashby,
shocked and horrified witnesses of this scandalous act of corruption,
came to the rescue with a hubbub which even made itself heard above the
shouting.

"Let him in!--howling cheat!--he's trying to shut out one of our side!
Ya-boo!  That's the way you elect your men, is it!  Come in, Fisher
minor.  Let him in, do you hear?  All right; come on, you fellows, and
kick this Modern chap out for a wretched sneak--(that'll be seven off
their side, counting Wheatfield; and one more to us--bully!)  Yah,
cheats! turn 'em out!"

Amid such cries of virtuous indignation, Fisher minor was hauled in, and
his obstructor, by the same _coup de main_, excluded.  Fisher minor
might have had his head turned by this triumphal entry, had he not
recognised in the ejected Modern boy the gentleman to whom he had lent
his half-crown on the previous evening.  Any reminder of yesterday's
misfortunes was depressing to him, and his joy at finding himself on the
right side of the door now was decidedly damped by the knowledge that
his half-crown was on the wrong.  However, there was no time for
explanations, as the shouting had ceased, and an evidently important
event was about to take place.  This was the appointment of treasurer,
for whom each of the rival sides had a candidate; that of the Classics
being Fisher major, and that of the Moderns Brinkman of Forder's house,
a particular enemy of the other side, and reputed to be rich and no
gentlemen.

Both candidates were briefly proposed and seconded by boys of their own
side, and both having declared their intention of going to the vote, a
show of hands was demanded.

The excitement of our young friends at the end of the Hall while this
tedious operation was in progress may well be imagined.  The captain had
sternly ordained silence during the voting; so that all they could do
was to hold up their hands to the very top of their reach, and keep a
wild look-out that they were being counted, and that none of the enemy
was in any way, moral or physical, circumventing them.  As for Fisher
minor, he simply trembled with excitement as he cast his eyes round and
calculated his brother's chances.  He could not comprehend how any one
could dare not to vote for Fisher major; and absorbed in that wonder he
continued to hold up his hand long after the two tellers had agreed
their figure, and the captain had ordered "hands down."

"Fisher major, one hundred and twenty-seven votes; now, hands up for
Brinkman."

"Whew!" said D'Arcy, fanning himself with his handkerchief; "it'll be a
close shave.  I say, we'd better lean up hard against the door.  It'll
keep out the draughts."

"They've got it, I'm afraid," said Ashby, looking round at the forest of
hands; "we hadn't as many as that."

"I say, that cad Brinkman is voting for himself," said some one.

"What a shame!  My brother didn't.  He's too honourable," said Fisher
minor.

"Hullo!  `How now'--you there?" cried Wally.

Whereupon, amid great laughter, Fisher minor retired modestly behind the
rest.

The counting seemed interminable, and every moment, to the guilty ears
of Ashby, there seemed to be a sound of footsteps without.  At last,
however, the cry, "hands down," came once more, and you might have heard
a pin drop.

"Fisher major, one hundred and twenty-seven votes; Brinkman, one hundred
and twenty-two.  Fisher is elected."

Amid the terrific Classic cheers which greeted this announcement, D'Arcy
and Ashby exchanged glances.

Those five voters, waiting patiently in Wally's room for the clock to
strike the half-hour, would have turned the scale!

Ashby wished the majority had been greater or less.  But he tried to be
jubilant, and in response to D'Arcy's thumps on the back yelled and
roared till he was black in the face.

As he did so, he caught sight through the window of a small procession
of five or six boys emerging from the door of Wakefield's house and
starting at a trot in the direction of Hall.

"I say," shouted he in D'Arcy's ear, "here they come!"

D'Arcy abruptly ceased shouting and descended from his form.

"Come and squash up near the front," said he, hurriedly; "more room, you
know, up there."

"Hoo, hoo! nearly licked that time," shouted a Modern youth near the
door, as they moved forward.  "Served you right!"

"Never mind, we'll take it out of you, next vote," retorted D'Arcy.
"Come on, kid; squash up."  Then a happy thought struck him.  The boys
immediately near the door were mostly Moderns.  What a fine bit of
electioneering, if he could get them to shut out their own men!  So he
shouted, "Look out, our side!  Mind they don't keep out any of our
chaps.  Just the sort of dodge they'd be up to."

Whereupon the Moderns set their backs determinedly against the door and
wagged their heads at one another, and were obliged to D'Arcy for the
tip.

"That'll do for 'em," said that delighted schemer; "they won't let 'em
in, you bet.  Look out--they're going to vote for secretary now."

The Classical side candidate for this important office was Ranger,
almost as great an idol in his house as the captain himself.  His Modern
opponent was Dangle, a clever senior, reputed to be Clapperton's toady
and man-of-all-work.  It was felt that if he were secretary, there would
be a strong Modern bias given to the clubs, which in the opinion of the
Classic partisans would be disastrous.

The show of hands had been taken for Ranger, and every one was silent to
hear the figures, when a hideous clamour arose at the door, with shouts
of--

"Open the door I let us in.  Cheats!  Fair play!"

To D'Arcy's satisfaction, as from the safe shelter of a front place he
peered down that way, the Moderns held their post at the door and
refused to let it open.  For a minute it looked as if they would
succeed; when suddenly the irate Wally appeared on the scene, followed
by Fisher minor, and shouting, "Cheats! cads!  Let our fellows in!" went
for the obstructionists.

"Stupid ass!" growled D'Arcy.  "It's all up now.  Why couldn't he have
let them be?"

A short and sharp _melee_ followed.  The Classics were reinforced
rapidly, and the Moderns, seeing their plot detected and fearing the
intervention of the seniors, sullenly raised the blockade, and allowed
the door to open.

Whereat in tumbled Percy Wheatfield with five young Moderns at his
heels--the very five who had been waiting for the clock to strike in
Wally's study.

"What do you mean by keeping us out!" demanded Percy of his brother, who
chanced to be the first person he encountered.

"What are you talking about?" retorted Wally, extremely chagrined to
discover who it was he had been helping.  "We were the chaps who let you
in!  It was your own cads who were keeping you out.  Ask them."

"We thought you were Classics," said one of the offenders, letting the
cat out of the bag.

"Oh, you beauty!  Wait till I get some of you outside," bellowed the
outraged Percy.

"Order!  Shut up, you kids down there!" was the cry from the front.

"Shut up, you kids down there!" echoed D'Arcy and Ashby on their own
account.

"Ranger one hundred and twenty-three.  Hands up for Dangle; and if the
youngsters down there don't make less noise, I'll adjourn the meeting,"
said the captain.  This awful threat secured silence while the counting
proceeded.  D'Arcy's face grew longer and longer, and Wally at the back
began to breathe vengeance on the world at large.

"Hands down."

The captain turned and said something to Clapperton; and Fisher major,
who overheard what was said, looked very glum.  Every one knew what was
coming.

"Ranger one hundred and twenty-three votes, Dangle one hundred and
twenty-four.  Dangle is--"

The shouts of the Moderns drowned the last words, and the captain had to
wait a minute before he could finish what he had to say.

"The votes are very close," said he.  "If any one would like, we can
count again."

"No, no!" cried Ranger.  "It's all right.  I don't dispute it."

"That concludes the elections," said the captain.

And amid loud cheers and counter-cheers the meeting dispersed.

The prefects of Wakefield's house met that evening in Yorke's study to
talk over the events of the afternoon.

The captain was the only person present who appeared to regard the
result of the elections with equanimity.

"After all," said he, "though I'm awfully sorry about old Ranger, it
seems fairer to have the officers evenly divided.  There's much less
chance of a row than it we were three to their one."

"That's all very well," said Fisher, whose pleasure in his own election
had been completely spoiled by the defeat of his friend, "if we could
count on fair play.  You know Dangle as well as I do.  I'd sooner resign
myself than have him secretary."

"What rot!" said Ranger.  "You'd probably only give them another man.
No, we shall have to see we get fair play."

"And give it, too," said the captain.

"They simply packed the meeting," said Dalton, "and fetched up five
juniors at the very end, who turned the scale.  If our fellows had done
the same, we should have been all right."

"I don't see the use of growling now it's well over," said Yorke; "the
great thing is to see we get the best men into the teams, and that they
play up."

"We hardly need go outside Wakefield's for that," said Fisher major;
"they've not a man worth his salt in a football scrimmage."

"Look out that they haven't more than we have, that's all," said the
captain, gloomily.  "I tell you what, you fellows," added he, with a
touch of temper in his voice, "if our house is to be Cock-House at
Fellsgarth, we can't afford to make fools of ourselves.  The School's a
jolly sight more important than any one house, and as long as I'm
captain of the School clubs I don't intend to inquire what house a man
belongs to so long as he can play.  We can keep all our jealousy for the
House club if you like; but if it's to be carried into the School sports
we may as well dissolve the clubs and scratch all our matches at once."

"I wonder if Clapperton is giving vent to the same patriotic sentiments
to his admirers," said Ridgway, laughing.  "Fancy him, and Dangle, and
Brinkman conspiring together for the glory of the School."

"Why not!" said the captain, testily.  "Why won't you give anybody
credit for being decent outside Wakefield's?"

"I'm afraid old Yorke hardly gives any one credit for being decent in
it.  For pity's sake don't lecture any more to-night, old man," said
Dalton.  "I'll agree to anything rather than that."

"There's just one more thing," said Yorke, "which you may take as
lecture or not as you like.  Clapperton said something about helping out
the clubs with money.  Fisher major, you are the treasurer; don't have
any of that.  Don't take more than the regular subscription from
anybody, and don't take less.  If there's a deficit let's all stump up
alike.  We don't want anybody's charity."

This sentiment was generally applauded, and restored the captain in the
good opinion of every one present.  After all, old Yorke's bark was
always worse than his bite.  He wasn't going to be put upon by the other
side, however much he seemed to stick up for them.

Ranger waited a few minutes after the others had gone.

"Look here, Ranger," said the captain, "you must back me up in this.
You can afford to do it, because you've been beaten.  I only wish you
were in my place.  I know you hate those fellows, and are cut up to have
lost the secretaryship."

"I'm not going to break my heart about that," said Ranger.

"Of course not.  You're going to do what will be a lot more useful.
You're going to work as hard for the School as if you were secretary and
captain in one; and you're going to back me up in keeping the peace,
aren't you?"

"Would you, if you were in my shoes?" said Ranger.

"I might find it hard, but I almost think I should try.  And if I had
your good temper, I should succeed too."

Ranger laughed.

"I didn't think you went in for flattery, Yorke.  Anyhow, I believe you
are right.  I'll be as affectionate as I can to those Modern chaps.
Ugh! good night."

After the day's excitement Fellsgarth went to bed early.  But no one
dreamed, least of all the heroes of the exploit themselves, how much was
to depend during the coming months on those five small voters who had
waited patiently in Wally Wheatfield's study that afternoon to hear the
clock strike 5:30.



CHAPTER FIVE.

PERCY WHEATFIELD, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY.

The misgivings of the Classics were justified.  The Moderns did not
accept their victory at Elections with a meekness which augured harmony
for the coming half.

On the contrary, they executed that difficult acrobatic feat known as
going off their heads, with jubilation.

For many terms they had groaned under a sense of inferiority, partly
imagined but partly well founded, in their relations with the rival
side.  The Classics had given themselves airs, and, what was worse,
proved their right to give them.  In its early days the Modern side was
not "in it" at Fellsgarth.  Its few members were taught to look upon
themselves as altogether a lower order of creation than the pupils of
the old foundation, and had accepted the position with due humility.
Then certain rebellious spirits had arisen, who dared to ask why their
side wasn't as good as any other?  The answer was crushing.  "What can
you do?  Only French, and book-keeping and `stinks'"--(the strictly
Classical nickname for chemistry).  "You can't put a man into the
cricket or football field worth his salt; your houses are rowdy; your
men do nothing at the University; two out of three of you are not even
gentlemen."  Whereupon the Moderns went in desperately for sports, and
claimed to be represented in the School clubs.  They maintained that
they were as good gentlemen as any who talked Latin and Greek; and to
prove it they jingled their money in their trouser-pockets, and asked
what the Classics could do in that line.  The Classics could do very
little, and fell back on their moral advantages.  By degrees the new
side grew in numbers, and made themselves heard rather more definitely.
They put into the field one or two men who could not honestly be denied
a place in the School teams; and they began to figure also among the
School prefects.  The present seniors, Clapperton and his friends,
carried the thing a step further, and insisted on equal rights with
their rivals in all the School institutions.  To their surprise they
found an ally in Yorke, who, as we have already said, hurt the feelings
of many of his admirers by his Quixotic insistence on fair play all
round.

The proceedings yesterday had been the most recent instance of the flow
in the tide of Modern progress at Fellsgarth.  Reinforced by an unusual
influx of new boys, they had aimed at, and succeeded in winning, their
level half of the control of the School clubs; and Yorke had looked on
and let them do it!

No wonder they went off their heads as they discoursed on their triumph,
and no wonder they already pictured themselves masters of Fellsgarth!

It never does occur to some people that the mountain is not climbed till
the top is reached.

"Really, you know," said Brinkman, "I felt half sorry for those poor
beggars; they did look so sick when Dangle was elected."

"It's my opinion," said Clapperton, "you'd have been in too, if all our
fellows had turned up.  I saw four or five of our youngsters come in at
the last moment."

"Yes--by the way," said Dangle, "that ought to be looked into.  It's
fishy, to say the least of it, and would have made all the difference to
Brinkman's election."

"Do you know who the fellows were?" asked Clapperton.

"I believe your fag was one of them."

"Percy Wheatfield?  Catch him being shut out of anything.  But I'll ask
about it.  Fancy poor Yorke's feelings if we were to demand a new
election!"

"I tell you what," said Dangle, "I don't altogether understand Yorke.
He tries to pass off as fair, and just, and all that sort of thing; but
one can't be sure he's not playing a game of his own."

"We shall easily see that when it comes to choosing the football fifteen
against Rendlesham.  I mean to send him in a list of fellows on our
side.  It's only fair we should have half of them our men."

"Half fifteen is seven and a half," said Fullerton, a melancholy senior
who had not yet spoken; "how will you manage about that?"

"Shut up, you ass!"

"I only asked," said Fullerton.  "It doesn't matter to me, I don't mind
going as the half man, if you like.  If you send seven names you'll be
in a minority in the fifteen, and if you send eight you'll be in a
majority.  It doesn't matter to me a bit."

"Just like Fullerton.  Always asking riddles that haven't got an
answer," said Dangle.

"I wonder how Fisher will manage the treasurership," said Brinkman, who
was evidently sore at his defeat.  "I shouldn't have thought accounts
were much in his line."

"He can't have very hard work doing his own," said Clapperton, laughing,
"but that's not his fault, poor beggar.  Only I think it would be much
better to have a fellow for treasurer who wasn't in a chronic state of
being hard up."

"I suppose you mean," said Fullerton, who had a most awkwardly blunt way
of putting things, "he'd have less temptation to steal.  I hope Fisher's
not a thief."

"What an idiot you are, Fullerton!" said Clapperton; "whoever said he
was?"

"I didn't.  I only asked what you thought.  It doesn't much matter to
me, except that it wouldn't be creditable to the School."

"Of course it wouldn't; it's hardly creditable to our side to have a
jackass in it," said Clapperton.

"Oh, all right--I'll go.  I dare say you'll get on as well without me."

The others presently followed his example, and Clapperton, left to
himself, proceeded to draw up his list.

"Dear Yorke," he wrote, "You will probably be making up the fifteen for
the Rendlesham match shortly.  Please put down me, Brinkman, Dangle,
Fullerton, West, Harrowby, and Ramshaw major, to play from our side.
This will give your side the odd man.

"Yours truly,--

"Geo.  Clapperton."

This important epistle accomplished, he shouted for his fag to come and
convey it to its destination.

It was not till after several calls, on an increasing scale of
peremptoriness, that Master Percy condescended to appear.  When he did,
he was covered with dust from head to foot, and his face, what could be
seen of it, was visibly lopsided.

"Why don't you come when you're called?  Whatever have you been up to--
fighting?"

"Rather not," said Percy, "only boxing.  You see, it was this way;
Cottle brought a pair of gloves up this term, and young Lickford had an
old pair; so we three and Ramshaw have been having an eight-handed mill.
It was rather jolly; only Ramshaw and Lickford had the old gloves on,
and they've all the horse-hair out, so Cottle and I got it rather hot on
the face.  But we took it out of them with our body blows--above the
belt, you know--not awfully above.  I couldn't come when you called,
because we were wrestling out one of the rounds.  It's harder work an
eight-handed wrestle than four hands.  Just when you called first, I
nearly had Cottle and Lickford down, but you put me off my trip, and
Ramshaw had me over instead."

"All very interesting," said Clapperton, "but you'll have to come sharp
next time or I shall trip you up myself.  Take this note over to Yorke.
Stop while he reads it, and if there's any answer, bring it; if not,
don't wait."

"Can't Cash take it?  We're not nearly finished."

"No.  Cut off, sharp!"

"Awful shame!" growled the messenger to himself, as he departed.  "I
hate Clapperton; he always waits till I'm enjoying myself, and then
routs me out.  I shan't stand it much longer.  What does he want with
Yorke!  Perhaps it's a challenge.  Yes, by the way, very good chance!
I'll see what that cad Wally's got to say about those kids I found in
his room yesterday.  Nice old games he gets up to; Wally's all very well
when he's asleep, or grubbing, or doing impositions, but he's a sight
too artful out of school, like all those Classic kids.  One's as bad as
another."

As if to emphasise this sentiment, a Classic kid at that moment came
violently into collision with Master Percy's waistcoat.

It was Fisher minor, who had once more caught sight in the distance of
the mysterious borrower of his half-crown, and was giving chase.

"Where are you coming to, you kid.  You've nearly smashed a button.
I'll welt you for that."

"I beg your pardon, Wally, I--"

"Wally--what do you mean by calling me Wally?" exclaimed Percy.

"Well, Wheatfield, I beg your pardon; I was in a hurry to catch a fellow
up and I didn't see you."

"Didn't you?  Well, you'll feel me.  Take that."

Fisher minor meekly accepted the cuff, and, full of his half-crown,
essayed to proceed.  But Percy stopped him.

"You're that new kid, Fisher's minor, aren't you?"

It astonished Fisher minor, that the speaker, whom he supposed he had
seen only ten minutes ago, should so soon have forgotten his name.

"Yes, but I say, Wally, I mean Wheatfield--"

"Humph--I suppose you held up both hands for your precious brother
yesterday."

"No, only one.  I was nearly late, though.  I waited an hour at the
gymnasium, you know, and no Modern chaps came out at all."

Percy began to smell rats.

"Waited at the gymnasium, did you?  Who told you to do that?"

"Oh, you know--it was part of the canvassing."

"Oh, _you_ were in that job, were you, my boy?  All serene, I'll--"

"I say," cried Fisher minor, turning pale, "aren't you Wally Wheatfield?
I thought--"

"Me Wally? what do you take me for?  I'll let you know who I am.  You're
a beauty, you are.  Some of our chaps'll tell you who I am, Mr
Canvasser.  Now, look here, you stop there till I come back from
Yorke's.  If you move an inch--whew! you'll find the weather pretty
warm, I can tell you.  Canvassing?  You'll get canvassed, I fancy,
before you grow much taller."

And off stalked the indignant Percy, promising himself a particularly
pleasant afternoon, as soon as his errand to the captain was over.

Yorke was at work, with his lexicon and notebooks on the table, when the
envoy entered.

"Well, is that you or your brother?" inquired he.

"Not my brother, if I know it," said Percy.

"That's not much help.  He says exactly the same when I put the same
question to him."

"He does, does he?  I owe Wally one already, now--"

"Thanks--then you're not Wally.  What do you want?"

"This note.  Clapperton said I was to wait while you read it, and bring
an answer if there was one."

Yorke read the note, and smiled as he did so.  Percy wished he knew what
was in it.  He didn't know Clapperton could make jokes.

"Any answer?" he demanded.

"Yes--there's an answer," said the captain.

He took out a list of names from his pocket, and compared it with that
on Clapperton's letter.  Then he wrote as follows:--

"Dear Clapperton,--The fifteen against Rendlesham is already made up as
follows," (here followed the list).  "You will see it includes six of
the names you sent.  We must play the best team we can; and I think we
shall have it.

"Yours truly,--

"Cecil Yorke."

"There's the answer.  Take it over at once."

"I like his style," growled Percy to himself.  "He don't seem to have a
`please' about him.  Catch me hurrying myself for him; I've got this
precious canvasser to look after."

And he returned at a leisurely pace to the rendezvous.

No Fisher minor was there!

That young gentleman, when left to himself, found himself in a
perspiration of doubt and fear.  He had made a most awkward blunder, and
confessed the delinquencies of his comrades to the very last man they
would wish to know of them.  That was bad enough; but, to make things
worse, he was to be let in for the blame of the whole affair, and, with
Master Percy's assistance, was shortly to experience warm weather among
the Moderns.

Happy thought!  He would not stay where he was.  He would retire, as the
Latin book said, into winter quarters, and entrench himself in the
stronghold of Wally and D'Arcy and Ashby.  If he _was_ to get it hot, he
would sooner get it from them than from the barbarians in Forder's.

With which desperate conclusion, and once more devoutly wishing himself
safe at home, he made tracks, at a rapid walk, to Wally's room.  His
three comrades were all there.

"What's up?" said they as he entered, with agitated face.

"Oh, I say, it's all because you and your brother are so alike.  I met
him just now; and--he's heard about that canvassing, you know, and I
thought you'd like to know."

"You mean to say you blabbed?" said Wally, jumping to his feet.

"It's your fault," said D'Arcy.  "I've made the same mistake myself.
Why can't you grow a moustache or something to distinguish you?"

"Why can't you get your brother to be a Classic! then it wouldn't
matter--either of you would do," suggested Ashby.

Ashby was beginning to feel quite at home in Wakefield's.

"I'll let some of you see if it won't matter," retorted Wally.  "If
they've got wind of that affair the other side, there'll be a fearful
row.  They'll want another election.  Oh, you young idiot!  That comes
of trusting a new kid, that sings comic songs, and parts his hair the
wrong side, with a secret.  D'Arcy's nearly as big an ass as you are
yourself, to trust you."

After this Philippic, Wally felt a little better, and was ready to
consider what had better be done.

"He's bound to come here, you chaps," said he.  "You cut.  Leave him to
me--I'll tackle him."

Fisher minor considered this uncommonly good advice, and obeyed it with
alacrity.  The other two followed less eagerly.  They would have liked
to stay and see the fun.

As Wally expected, his affectionate relative, being baulked of his prey
outside, came to pay a fraternal visit.

"What cheer?" said he.  "I say, have you seen a kid called Fisher minor?
The new kid, you know, that we had a lark with at dinner on first-
night."

"Oh, that chap.  Bless you, he messes in our study.  What about him?"

"I want him.  I want to say something to him."

"I'll tell him."

"All right.  He's come and told you, has he? and you're hiding him?
Never mind; I'll bowl him out, the beauty.  I know all about that little
game of yours, yesterday, you know!"

"What little game?"

"As if you didn't know!  Do you suppose I didn't find five of 'em shut
up here yesterday, being kept out of the way at Elections?"

"Yes; and do you suppose if it hadn't been for me they'd have got into
the Hall at all?  Don't be a beast, Percy, if you can help.  They stayed
here of their own accord.  No one kept them in.  I say, have some
toffee?"

"Got any?"

"Rather.  A new brew this morning.  I say, you can have half of it."

"Thanks, awfully, Wally."

"You see--oh, take more than that--these new kids are such born asses,
they boss everything.  You should have heard that Fisher minor at lamb's
singing the other night--like the toffee?  I say, don't be a sneak about
those chaps.  You'd never have got them in without me.  I backed you up,
and got the door open.  I say--would you like a Turkish stamp?  I've got
one to swop--but you can have it if you like."

"Thanks, old man.  Yes, new kinds are rot.  Well, ta, ta--better make it
up, I suppose.  I say, I shan't have time to write home to-day.  You
write this time, and I'll do the two next week."

"All serene, if you like.  Here, you're leaving one of your bits of
toffee.  Ta, ta, old chappie."

And these great twin brethren, whose infirmity it was always to be fond
of one another when they were together, and to scorn one another when
they were apart, separated in a most amicable fashion.

"Well?" asked the three exiles, putting in their heads as soon as the
enemy had gone.

"Choked him off," said Wally, fanning himself.  "Jolly hard work.  But
he came round."

Percy, meanwhile, having suddenly remembered his errand, hastened back
to the house.  As he did so he observed notices of the fifteen for the
Rendlesham match posted on Wakefield's door, on the school-board, and at
Forder's.  He solaced himself by writing in bold characters the word
"beast" against each of the names which belonged to a Classic boy, and
discovered, when his task was done, that he had inscribed the word nine
times out of fifteen on each notice.  Whereupon he made off at a run to
his senior's.

"Well," said Clapperton, evidently anxious, "didn't I tell you to come
back at once!  Any answer?"

"Yes, this," said Percy, producing the captain's letter.  "I say, Yorke
grinned like anything when he read yours."

"Did he?" replied Clapperton, opening the envelope.

Evidently Yorke in his reply had not been guilty of a joke, for the face
of the Modern captain was dark and scowling as he read it.

"Cool cheek," muttered he.  "Dangle was right, after all.  You can go,
youngster."

"All right.  I say, they've got the fifteen stuck up on the boards--six
of our chaps in it.  We ought to lick them this year."

But as Clapperton did not do him the favour of heeding his observations,
he retired, and tried vainly to collect his scattered forces to conclude
the eight-handed boxing match, which had been so unfeelingly interrupted
an hour ago.

Clapperton, to do him justice, could not deny to himself that the team
selected by the captain was the best fighting fifteen the School could
put into the football field.  But, having advanced his claim for half
numbers, his pride was hurt at finding it almost contemptuously set
aside.  It would never do for him to climb down now.

The Moderns, after all, had a right to have their men in; and he had a
right to assume they were better players than some of the selected
Classics.  It was easy to work himself into a rage, and talk about
favouritism, and abuse of privilege, and all that.  His popularity in
his own house depended on his fighting their battles, and he must do it
now.  So he wrote a reply to Yorke.

"Dear Yorke,--I do not agree with you about the fifteen.  I consider the
men on our side whom you have omitted are better than the three I have
marked on your list.  If we are to make the clubs a success, we ought to
pull together, and let there be no suspicion, however groundless, of
favouritism.

"Yours truly, Geo.  Clapperton."

To this letter, which he sent over by another junior, more expeditious
than his last, he received the following reply:--

"Dear Clapperton,--Sides have nothing to do with it.  If the best
fifteen names were all on your side, I should have to select them.  But
they are not.  The fifteen I have chosen are undoubtedly the best men we
have, and the team most likely to win the match.  I suppose that is what
we play for.

"Yours truly,--

"Cecil Yorke."

This polite correspondence Clapperton laid before his friends.  The
general feeling was that the Moderns were being unfairly and
disrespectfully used.

"It's the old story over again," said Dangle.  "If we don't look after
ourselves, nobody else will."

"At any rate, as long as he's captain, I suppose he has the right to
pick the team," said Fullerton.  "_I_ shouldn't be particularly sorry if
he were to leave me out.  It wouldn't matter to me."

"Who cares whether it matters to you?  It matters to our side," said
Brinkman, "and we oughtn't to stand it."



CHAPTER SIX.

ROLLITT.

Rollitt of Wakefield's was a standing mystery at Fellsgarth.  Though he
had been three years at the school, and worked his way up from the
junior form to one of the first six, no one knew him.  He had no
friends, and did not want any.  He rarely spoke when not obliged to do
so; and when he did, he said either what was unexpected or disagreeable.
He scarcely ever played in the matches, but when he did he played
tremendously.  Although a Classic, he was addicted to scientific
research and long country walks.  His study was a spectacle for
untidiness and grime.  He abjured his privilege of having a fag.  No one
dared to take liberties with him, for he had an arm like an oak branch,
and a back as broad as the door.

All sorts of queer stories were afloat about him.  It was generally
whispered that his father was a common workman, and that the son was
being kept at school by charity.  Any reference to his poverty was the
one way of exciting Rollitt.  But it was too risky an amusement to be
popular.

His absence of mind, however, was his great enemy at school.  Of him the
story was current that once in the Fourth, when summoned to the front to
call-over the register, he called his own name among the rest, and
receiving no reply, looked to his place, and seeing the desk vacant,
marked Rollitt down as absent.  Another time, having gone to his room
after morning school to change into his flannels for cricket, he had
gone to bed by mistake, and slept soundly till call-bell next morning.
"Have you heard Rollitt's last?" came to be the common way of prefacing
any unlikely story at Fellsgarth; and what with fact and fiction, the
hero had come to be quite a mythical celebrity at Fellsgarth.

His thrift was another of his characteristics.  He had never been seen
to spend a penny, unless it was to save twopence.  If fellows had dared,
they would have liked now and then to pay his subscriptions to the
clubs; or even hand on an old pair of cricket shoes or part of the
contents of a hamper for his benefit.  But woe betide them if they ever
tried it!  The only extravagance he had ever been known to commit was
some months ago, when he bought a book of trout-flies, which rumour said
must have cost him as much as an ordinary Classic's pocket-money for a
whole term.

To an impressionable youth like Fisher minor it was only natural that
Rollitt should be an object of awe.  For a day or two after his arrival,
when the stories he had heard were fresh in his memory, the junior was
wont to change his walk to a tip-toe as he passed the queer boy's door.
If ever he met him face to face, he started and quaked like one who has
encountered a ghost or a burglar.  After a week this excess of deference
toned down.  Finding that Rollitt neither hurt nor heeded him, he
abandoned his fears, and, instead of running away, stood and stared at
his man, as if by keeping his eye hard on him he could discover his
mystery.

It was two or three days after Elections that Fisher minor, having
discovered by the absence of everybody from their ordinary haunts that
it was a half-holiday, took it into his head to explore a little way
down the Shargle Valley.  He believed the other fellows had gone up; and
he thought it a little unfriendly that they should have left him in the
lurch.

He was not particularly fond of woods, unless there were nuts in them;
or of rivers, unless there were stones on the banks to shy in.  Still,
it seemed to be half-holiday form at Fellsgarth to go down valleys, so
he went, quite indifferent to the beauties of Nature, and equally
indifferent as to where this walk brought him.

A mile below Fellsgarth, as everybody knows, the Shargle tumbles wildly
into the Shayle, with a great fuss of rapids and cataracts and "narrows"
to celebrate the fact; and a mile further, the united streams flow
tamely out among reeds and gravel islands into Hawkswater.

Fisher minor had nearly reached the junction, and was proceeding to
speculate on the possibility of picking his way among the stones towards
the lake, when he caught sight of a boat in the middle of the rapid
stream.  It was tied somewhat carelessly to the overhanging branch of a
tree, which bent and creaked with every lurch of the boat in the passing
rapids.  Standing in the stern as unconcerned as if he was on an island
in a duck-pond, was Rollitt with his fishing-rod, casting diligently
into the troubled waters.

For the first time the junior enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the
object of his curiosity.  He found it hard to recognise at first in the
eager, sportsmanlike figure, with his animated face, the big shambling
fellow whom he had so often eyed askance in the passages at Wakefield's.
But there was no mistaking the shabby clothes, the powerful arms, the
broad, square back.  Rollitt the sportsman was another creature from
Rollitt the Classic, and Fisher minor was critic enough to see that the
advantage was with the former.

There was no chance of being detected.  Rollitt was far too busy to heed
anything but the six-pounder that struggled and plunged and tore away
with his line to the end of the reel.  Had all Fellsgarth stood
congregated on the banks, he would never have noticed them.

Ah! he was beginning to wind in now, gingerly and artfully, and the
fish, sulking desperately among the stones, was beginning to find his
master.  It was a keen battle between those two.  Now the captive would
dive behind a rock and force the line out a yard or two; now the captor
would coax it on from one hiding-place to the next, and by a cunning
flank movement cut off its retreat.  Then, yielding little by little,
the fish would feign surrender, till just as it seemed within reach,
twang would go the line and the rod bend almost double beneath the
sudden plunge.  Then the patient work would begin again.  The man's
temper was more than a match for that of the victim, and, exhausted and
despondent, the fish would, sooner or later, have to submit to the
inexorable.

How long it might have gone on Fisher could never tell; for once, when
victory seemed on the point of declaring for the angler, and the shining
fins of the fish floundered despairingly almost within his reach, a
downward dash nearly wrenched the rod from his hands and sent him
sprawling on to the thwarts.  The sudden lurch of the boat was too much
for the ill-tied rope, and to Fisher's horror the noose gave way and
sent boat and fisherman spinning down the rapids at five miles an hour.

Rollitt either did not notice the accident or was too engrossed to heed
it.  He still had his fish, though as far off as before, and once more
the tedious task of coaxing him out of his tantrums was to begin over
again.  It was useless to shout.  The roar of the water among the stones
above and over the rocks below was deafening, and Fisher's piping voice
could never make itself heard above it.  He tried to throw a stone, but
its little splash was lost in the hurly-burly of the rapids.  It was
hopeless to expect that Rollitt would see him.  He had no eyes but for
his rod.

The last glimpse Fisher minor caught of him as the boat, side-on,
swirled round the turn towards the falls below, he was standing on the
seat, craning his neck for a glimpse of his prize, and winding in
gingerly on the reel as he did so.  Then he disappeared.

With a groan of panic the small boy started to follow.  The boulders
were big and rough, and it was hard work to go at ordinary rate, still
more to run.  Happily, however, after a few steps he stumbled upon a
path which, though it seemed to lead from the river, would take him, he
calculated, back to it above the falls at the end of the bend in which
the boat was.  It was a tolerable path, and Fisher minor never got over
ground so fast before or after.  A few seconds brought him out of the
wood on to the river-bank, where the stream, deepening and hushing,
gathers itself for its great leap over the falls.

Had the boat already passed, and was he too late!  No; there it came,
sidling along on the swift waters, the angler still at his post, leaning
over with his landing-net, within reach at last of his hard-earned
prize.  What could Fisher minor do!  The stream was fairly narrow, and
the boat, sweeping round the bend, was, if anything, nearer the other
side, where the banks were high.  His one chance was to attract the
anglers attention.  Had that angler been any one but Rollitt, it might
have been easy.

Arming himself with a handful of stones, Fisher minor waited till the
boat came within a few yards.  Then with a great shout he flung with all
his might at the boat.

The sudden fusillade might have been unheeded, had not one stone struck
the angler's hand just as he was manoeuvring his landing-net under the
fish.  In the sudden start he missed his aim and looked up.

"Look out!" screamed Fisher.  "You're adrift!  Catch the branch!"

And he pointed wildly to the branch of an ash which straggled out over
the water just above the fall.

Rollitt took in the situation at last.  He cast a regretful glance at
the fish as it gave its last victorious leap and vanished.  Then,
standing on the gunwale and measuring his distance from the tree, he
jumped.  For a moment Fisher minor thought he had missed; for the branch
yielded and went under with his weight.  But in a moment, just as the
boat with a swoop plunged over the fall, he rose, clutching securely and
hauling himself inch by inch out of the torrent.  To Fisher, who watched
breathlessly, it seemed as if every moment the branch would snap and
send the senior back to his fate.  But it held out bravely and supported
him as he gradually drew himself up and finally perched high and dry
above the water.

Fisher minor's difficulties now began.  Having seen his man safe he
would have liked to run away; for he was not at all sure how Rollitt
would take it.  Besides, he wouldn't much care to be seen by fellows
like Wally or D'Arcy walking back in his company to Fellsgarth.  On the
other hand, it seemed rather low to desert a fellow just when he was
half-drowned and might be hurt.  What had he better do?  Rollitt decided
for him.

He came along the bough to where the boy stood, and dropped to the
ground in front of him.

"Thanks," he said, and held out his hand.

Fisher was horribly alarmed.  The tone in which the word was spoken was
very like that which Giant Blunderbore may have used when dinner was
announced.  However, he summoned up courage to hold out his hand, and
was surprised to find how gently Rollitt grasped it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you with the stones," he said.

"You didn't.  Come and look for the boat, Fisher minor."

"He knows my name then," soliloquised the minor, beginning to recover a
little from his panic.  "I hope nobody will see me."

The boat was found bottom upwards--a wreck, with its side stove in,
entangled in a mass of flotsam and jetsam which had gathered in one of
the side eddies below the waterfall.

"Haul in, Fisher minor," growled Rollitt, surveying the wreck.

With difficulty they got it ashore and turned it right side up.

"Rod, flies, net, all gone," said Rollitt, half angry; "and fish too."

"It was such a beauty, the trout you hooked.  I wish you'd got it.  You
nearly had it too when you had to jump out," ventured Fisher.

Rollitt looked down almost amiably at the speaker.  Had the boy studied
for weeks he could not have made a more conciliatory speech.

"Can't be helped," said the senior.  "Might have been worse.  Thanks
again.  Come and see Mrs Wisdom."

Mrs Wisdom was a decent young widow woman in whom the Fellsgarth boys
felt a considerable interest.  Her husband, late gamekeeper at Shargle
Lodge, had always had a civil word for the young gentlemen, especially
those addicted to sport, by whom he had been looked up to as a universal
authority and ally.  In addition to his duties at the Lodge, which were
very ill paid, he had eked out his slender income by the help of a boat,
which he kept on the lower reach below the falls, and which was, in the
season, considerably patronised by the schoolboys.  When last season he
met his death over one of the cliffs of Hawk's Pike, every one felt
sympathy for the widow and her children, who were thus left homeless and
destitute.  An effort was made, chiefly by the School authorities, to
get her some laundry work, and find her a home in one of the little
cottages on the School farm, near the river; while the boys made it
almost a point of honour never to hire another boat down at the lake if
Mrs Wisdom's was to be had.

Last week the boat had been brought up to the cottage on a cart, to be
repainted for the coming season, and while here Rollitt had begged the
use of it for this particular afternoon to fish from in the upper reach.

"Take care of her, Master Rollitt," said the widow; "she's a'most all
I've got left, except the children.  My John, he did say the upper reach
was no water for boats."

"I'll take care," said Rollitt.

As the two boys now walked slowly, towards the cottage, Fisher minor
could see that his companion's face was working ominously.  He mistook
it for ill-temper at the time, for he did not know Mrs Wisdom's
history, or what the wreck meant to her.

She was at her door as they approached, and as she looked up and saw
their long faces, the poor woman jumped at the truth at once.

"Don't say there's anything wrong with the boat, Master Rollitt.  Don't
tell me that."

Rollitt nodded, almost sternly.

"It went over the fall," said Fisher, feeling that something ought to be
said.  "Rollitt only just got out in time."

"Over the fall!  Then it's smashed," cried she, bursting into tears.
"It was to keep our body and soul together this season.  Now what'll
become of us!  Oh, Master Rollitt, I did think you'd take care of my
boat.  It was all I had left--bar the children.  What'll _they_ do now?"

Rollitt stood by grimly silent till she had had her cry and looked up.

"I'm sorry," said he, in a voice that meant what it said.  "What was it
worth?"

"Worth?  Everything to me."

"What would a new one cost?"

"More than I could pay, or you either.  My John gave five pound for
her--and oh, how we scrimped to save it!  Where's it to come from now!"
and she relapsed again into tears.

Rollitt waited a little longer, but there was nothing more to add; and
presently he signalled Fisher to come away.

He was silent all the way home.  The junior did not dare to speak to
him--scarcely to look up in his face.  Yet it did occur to him that if
any one had a right to be in a bad temper over that afternoon's
proceedings it was Mrs Wisdom, and not Rollitt.

As they neared the school, Fisher minor began to feel dreadfully
compromised by his company.  Rollitt's clothes were wet and muddy; his
hands and face were dirty with his scramble along the tree; his air was
morose and savage, and his stride was such that the junior had to trot a
step or two every few yards to keep up.  What would fellows think of
him!  Suppose Ranger were to see him, or, still worse, the Modern
Wheatfield, or--

At this moment fate solved his problem.  For just ahead of him, turning
the corner of Fowler's Wall, was the cadaverous individual who owed him
half a crown.

"Oh, excuse me, Rollitt," said he, "there's a fellow there I want to
speak to.  Good-bye."

Rollitt did not appear either to hear the words or notice the desertion,
but stalked on till he reached Wakefields'.  The house seemed to be
empty.  Evidently none of the other half-holiday makers had returned.
Study doors stood open; an unearthly silence reigned in Wally's
quarters.  Even the tuck-shop was deserted.

The only person he met was Dangle, the clubs' secretary, who had
penetrated into the enemy's quarter in order to confer with his dear
colleague the treasurer as to calling a committee meeting, and was now
returning unsuccessful.

"Ah, Rollitt," said he, "tell Fisher major, will you, I want to see him
as soon as he comes in.  I'd leave a line for him, but I don't know his
room."

Whether Rollitt heard or not, he had to guess.  At any rate he hardly
felt sanguine that his message would be delivered.

As for Rollitt, he shut himself into his study with a bang, and might
have been heard by any one who took the trouble to listen, pacing up and
down the floor for a long time that evening.  He did not put in an
appearance in the common room, and although Yorke sent to ask him to
tea, he forgot all about the invitation, and even if he had remembered
it, would have forgotten whether he had said Yes or No.

The next morning--Sunday--just as the chapel bell was beginning to ring,
Widow Wisdom was startled by a loud knock at her door.

"Oh, Master Rollitt," said she, and her eyes were red still, "is the
boat safe after all?"

"No; but I've got you another.  Farmer Gay's was for sale on the lake--
I've bought it.  It's yours now."

"Farmer Gay's--mine?  Oh, go on, Master Rollitt, how could _you_ buy a
boat any more than me?  You've no money to spare, I know."

"It's yours--here's the receipt," said the boy, with almost a scowl.

"But, Master Rollitt--"

But Master Rollitt had gone to be in time for chapel.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

TRIAL BY JURY.

Fisher minor's hopes rose high within him as he stalked his debtor
across the School Green.  Three times already he had encountered him,
but fate had stepped in to prevent the collection of his dues.  Now--

He had arrived at this stage when a voice at his side sent a cold shiver
down his back.

"Hullo, kid, got you at last, then?  That's what you call waiting where
I left you, do you?"

"I didn't promise to wait," said Fisher.  "You told me to."

"It's the same thing.  Now you'll come along with me, my beauty."

Had Fisher minor been anything but a raw hand, it might have occurred to
him that it would take Percy Wheatfield all his time to convey a boy
his, Fisher's, size against his will into Forder's house.  But such is
the force of innocence on one side, and authority on the other, that the
new boy laid down his arms, and followed his captor meekly into the
enemy's citadel.  Just as they were entering, a posse of the enemy
appeared on the scene, consisting, among other supporters of the Modern
cause, of Ramshaw, Cottle, Lickford, and Cash.

"Here's a game, Rammy," cried Percy.  "Got him at last!  This is the
villain, this is the murdering, highway forger.  Come on, you kid;
you're in for it."

It did occur to Fisher minor at this juncture that a change of air might
be refreshing.  But it was too late now.  The enemy had him fast.  There
was no getting out of the "warm weather" which had been promised him.

"Come on--we'll have a regular Old Bailey of it," cried Percy.  "Go and
tell the fellows, and collar some witnesses, do you hear; and tell the
hangman he'll be wanted in half an hour."

This promise of judicial dispatch was not consoling to the prisoner, who
had grave doubts as to the impartiality of the tribunal before which he
was to be arraigned.  He wondered if Ashby, or D'Arcy, or any of his
friends would appear among the witnesses.

The trial took place in the room jointly owned by Percy, Ramshaw,
Cottle, and Lickford.  A chair was planted on the bed for the
accommodation of the judge.  The fender was brought out in front of the
chest of drawers for a witness-box; while Rix minimus, who officiated as
jury, sat on a footstool on the table.

As for the prisoner, a dock was provided for him in the form of a wash-
stand, out of which the basin had been removed to make room for his
uneasy person in the vacant hole.

"Now, you chaps," said Percy, who had naturally appointed himself, in
addition to his other offices, "usher of the court", "no larks.  Shut
up.  This is a big job.  This young cad cheated at Elections."

Here the door opened, and Dangle looked in.

"What on earth is all this row?" he said.

"A trial.  I say, Dangle, will you be judge?  It's a Classic kid that
cheated at Elections."

"No, really, I didn't," said Fisher, painfully aware that so far, the
trial was going against him.

Dangle, who fancied something might come of this, was condescending
enough to say he didn't mind playing at judge, if they liked.  Whereat,
amid cheers, he was voted to the chair on the bed, where he sat rather
precariously, and ordered silence in the court.

"Who is the prisoner?"

"Go on, kid, tell 'em your name," said Percy, encouragingly.

"Fisher minor--really I didn't do anything," said the prisoner.

"What's the charge?" said the judge.

"You see, it's this way," said Percy, forgetting to go inside the
fender--"Bam, and Cot, and Lick and I were having a ripping eight-handed
mill in here the other day--"

The prisoner thought over all his crimes, and could recall nothing that
was even remotely connected with an eight-handed mill.

"Cot and Lick had got gloves with no horse-hair in them, you know, so
they lammed it pretty hard; but Ram and I were just scrunching them
up--"

"Crams!  You never got near us.  My nose wasn't hit once," said Cottle.

"No; but we had you in the ribs."

"Under the belt," ejaculated Lickford.

"No, it wasn't--I say, Dangle," said the witness, "it was just on his
waistcoat pocket, and he says that's below the belt.  If he likes to
wear his belt round his neck, of course he gets hit under."

"And if you wear yours round your ankle, there's not much room for your
bread-basket," retorted Cottle.

"And where does Fisher minor come in?" asked the judge; "was he in the
middle of the mill?"

"No.  You see, we were just in the middle of it, and these jolly cheats
were beginning to cave in--"

"Ho, ho!--It would take a lot more than you to make us--"

"Order in the court--go on, Wheatfield."

"There you are--shut up, you chaps--beginning to cave in, when
Clapperton yelled for me, and I had to go."

"Lucky job for you," growled Cottle.  "You wouldn't have been able to go
at all five minutes later."

Whereupon Percy appealed to the court to keep order.

"Fire away," said the judge, "that's nothing to do with the prisoner."

"Oh, hasn't it!--You see, Clapperton wanted me to take a letter to
Yorke.  It must have been a screamer, for Yorke yelled when he read it.
I wanted him to let me finish our mill first, but--"

"Who, Yorke?"

"No, Clapperton.  If there'd been time for another round--"

"Now, then, don't let's have any more of that mill," said the judge.

"That's just what they felt at the time, wasn't it, Lick?" ejaculated
Cottle.

"Did we?--wait till you see, my beauty," said the witness.  "I wish you
wouldn't interrupt.  Oh, so I had to go, and this kid came and caught me
a jolly crack in the stomach."

"Which side of your belt?" inquired Lickford.

"The side you'll get it hot, my boy, next time I catch you," retorted
Percy.

"That'll be under, you bet," said Lickford.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," said the prisoner, who began to hope that
the charge against him was to prove much less serious than he had at
first feared, "I apologise."

"Shut up, don't talk to me--talk to the jury."

As the jury at this moment was struggling manfully to protect his
hassock from the depredations of Cash, who was anxious to investigate
its interior, it was not much use addressing him; so Fisher subsided,
and wished the hole of Percy's wash-stand had been at least so much
easier in diameter as to allow him room to sigh.

"Fire away," said the judge, "we shall be all night at this."

"Well, you see," continued Percy, "it's this way.  I've got a brother,
you know, called Wally, a seedy Classic chap, and up to no end of low
tricks."

"We know him," echoed the court generally.

"Not got such a rummy-shaped waist as his brother, though," whispered
Cottle.

"All right, young Cottle, I'll take it out of you, you'll see."

"What'll you take!  I keep mine outside," replied Cottle.

"Order in the court.  Forge away, Wheatfield."

"I should like to know how I'm to forge away, with these two asses
fooling about down here?  Why can't you raise them to the bench to keep
them quiet?  Oh yes--well, you see, this kid, being new, and green, and
about as high old an idiot as they make them--did you fellows see him on
first-night?  I say! oh my--"

"Look here, Wheatfield," said the judge, sternly, "if you aren't done in
three minutes, I'll call the next witness."

"_He_ wouldn't know anything about it, bless you," said Percy.  "You
see, it was like this--this kid thought I was Wally--what do you think
of that?"

"Cheek.  Jolly rough on Wally," remarked Cash.  The witness looked at
the interrupter, and tried to make out whether his remark was a
compliment or the reverse.  He decided that, as he had only three
minutes left, he had better defer thinking the question out till
afterwards.

"So, of course, he began to swagger about his big brother--"

"No, you asked me--" began the prisoner.

"Shut up," cried Percy, sternly, "how am I to get done in three minutes
if--"

"Only two left now," said Ramshaw.

"Go on, Ram, I've not been a minute yet."

"Yes, you have--sixty-five seconds," said Ramshaw, who held his watch in
his hand.

"I never did believe in those Waterbury turnips, they always stop when
you--oh yes!--swaggered about his big brother and all those fellows over
there, and blabbed out there'd been a regular plant among 'em to rig the
Elections, and he and a lot of 'em had been out canvassing and bagged a
lot of our kids and locked them out, and if it hadn't been for that,
Brinkman would have pulled off the treasurership, and if it hadn't been
for me getting wind of it, and going and fetching them out and bringing
them into Hall in the nick of time, Ranger would have got the
secretaryship, and our side would have been jolly well out of it, and I
mean to say it's a howling swindle--and--hope--there'll--be--a--jolly--
good--row kicked--up--and--you--needn't--say--I--let--out--about it--
because--Wally--asked--me--to--keep--it--mum--and I--said--"

"Time's up," said Ramshaw.  "No side?"

Whereupon the witness stopped short triumphantly, like an athlete who
has just won his race by a neck.

"Come," said the judge, "this is getting interesting.  Who's the next
witness?  Are any of our fellows who were collared here?"

"Rather--young Rix is one."

"Please, Dangle," said the prisoner, "I didn't touch anybody.  I was--
that is--"

"Don't tell crams," said Percy, "it's a bad habit."

"Rix had better go into the witness-box," said the judge.

"What about the jury?" asked that functionary.

"Oh, I'd keep the place warm," volunteered Percy.

Whereupon Rix quitted his hassock, and entered the fender.

"I and Slingsby got nailed by a Classic cad outside our form door.  I
kicked him on the shins, though," said he.

"What Classic cad!"

"Oh, I don't know; a new kid with sandy hair, a horrid lout.  It was
Wally's room we were taken to, and they fooled us about high tea and
that sort of thing.  The place was swarming with our chaps who had been
collared."

"How many?" asked the judge.  "Fifty?"

"Not quite so many; there were four or five."

"Next witness."

Another of the captives gave similar evidence.  After which, Lickford
deposed that he had seen the troop come in to Elections just in time to
vote for Dangle.

"Yes; and who tried to keep us out, I'd like to know?" said Percy.
"There you are, it was _you_!"

"I thought you were on the other side."

"Did you?  I'm very glad Wally gave you a welting for it.  I wish he'd
do it again."

"He hits above the belt, that's how I know him from you," retorted
Lickford.

"Order--what's the prisoner got to say!"

"Crams," said Percy, "it's no use asking him."

"Wait a bit," said the judge.  "Fisher minor, how many of our chaps did
you collar?"

"None, really," said the prisoner.  "I waited by the gymnasium."

"Oh.  What for?"

"Well, I was canvassing."

"What did you wait at the gymnasium for?"  This was awkward.  Fisher
minor found himself getting into a tight corner, tighter even than the
wash-stand.  "I was told to."

"Who by? your brother, I suppose."

"Oh no.  My brother wouldn't do such a thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Why, try to collar fellows off the other side."

"Oh, that was your little game, was it?  Whose idea was it?  Yorke's?"

"Oh no.  It was D'Arcy spoke to me."

"Oh, D'Arcy.  And who spoke to him?  Whose fag is he?"

"Ridgway's."

"And what did Ridgway tell him?"

"I don't think Ridgway told him anything.  The only one I heard speak to
him was Wally."

"Wretched young sneak!" said Percy.  "I'll let Wally know that."

"Wally, he's Yorke's fag.  Who else was there?"

"Only me and Ashby."

"Who does Ashby fag for?"

"My brother, Fisher major."

"I thought you said just now your brother wasn't in it.  You'd better be
careful, youngster."

For the life of him, Fisher minor, in his bewildered state, could not
make out how Ridgway, and Yorke, and Fisher major all seemed to have got
mixed up in the affair.

"You mean to say," said the judge, "you don't know what the orders to
the fags were?"

"No, really--I only heard of it from D'Arcy."

"Your brother never said anything to you direct!"

"Oh no."

"Has he said anything since?"

"Oh no; that is, he only said it was a pity Ranger got beaten."

"Did he say how it happened?"

"He said if the five Modern chaps hadn't turned up at the last moment,
he'd have won."

"Was he angry about it?"

"He was rather in a wax."

"Did he tell you you were an ass?"

"Not that time."

"Another time?"

"Yes, once or twice."

"'Cute chap, your brother," said Percy, aside.

"Shut up, Wheatfield.  Now tell me this, young Fisher major," said
Dangle, with an air of importance which intimidated the prisoner; "what
was it your brother said about the election?"

"It wasn't to me, it was to Ranger, my senior.  He said it was a regular
sell, and he'd have given a lot to see you beaten, because he knew you
couldn't play fair at anything, even if you tried."

Some of the court were rude enough to laugh at this very candid
confession; but the judge himself failed to see any humour in it.

"Oh, that's what he said?  And yet you mean to tell me, after that, that
your brother had nothing to do with trying to get Ranger elected instead
of me?"

"I suppose he had; but I'm sure he didn't mean to do anything fishy, any
more than I did.  I thought it was only a joke."

"You've a nice notion of a joke.  That'll do, you can cut."

"What!" exclaimed Percy, aghast, "aren't you going to hang him?"

"No, I must go.  You can finish the trial yourselves."

As soon as the judge had quitted the bench, Percy mounted it, and
proceeded to sum up.

"You're a nice article, you are," said he, addressing the
prisoner--"what do you mean by sneaking on my young brother, Wally, eh?
You'll get it hot for that, I can tell you.  You're to be hanged, drawn,
and quartered; then you're to be kicked all round our side; then you're
to be ducked in the river; then you're to kneel down and lick every
chap's boots; then you're to be executed; then you're to be burnt alive;
then you're to write out fifty Greek verbs; then you're-- Hallo, who's
there?  Come in! what do you want?"

This abrupt curtailment of the prisoner's doom was occasioned by a
modest tap at the door; probably some belated witness come to add his
evidence to the rest, "Come in, can't you?" repeated Percy.

Whereupon the door opened with a swing, and in rushed Wally, D'Arcy,
Ashby, and three or four other Classic fags.  How they had got wind of
the capture of their man it would be hard to say; but now they had come
to fetch him.

The only thing visible in Percy's room for several minutes was dust--out
of which proceeded yells, and howls, and recriminations which would have
done credit to Pandemonium.  As the cloud rolled by, the Classics might
be seen in a firm phalanx, with their man in the middle, backing on to
the door.  Signs of carnage lay all around.  Lickford was struggling,
head downward, in the wash-stand.  Cash was leaning up in a corner, with
his hand modestly placed over his nose.  Ramshaw and Cottle were engaged
in deadly strife on the floor, each under the fond delusion that the
other was a Classic; while the twin brothers, armed with the better pair
of boxing-gloves, were having a friendly spar in the middle.

It was a victory all along the line for the invaders, and when, a moment
afterwards, they stampeded in a body, and marched with shouts of victory
down the passage, carrying the late prisoner among them, there was no
mistake about the ignominious defeat of the besieged garrison.

That evening Fisher major received a polite note from his colleague, the
secretary.

"Dear Fisher,--It is only right to tell you, that we have discovered
that five of our fellows were prevented from voting at Elections by boys
of your side, apparently acting under orders from their seniors.  We
don't profess to know who were at the bottom of it, but it is a fact
that the election for treasurer would have gone differently but for this
very shady trick.  Clapperton and most of us are not disposed to claim a
new election, now everything is settled, and you have already got in
most of the subscriptions.  But it makes us think that even the virtuous
Classics at Fellsgarth are not absolutely perfect even yet--which is a
pity.

"Yours truly,--

"R.  Dangle."

This pleasant letter, Fisher major, raging, carried to the captain.

Yorke pulled a long face when he read it.

"There's no truth in it, surely?" said he.

"I can't answer for any foolery the juniors have been up to; but apart
from that, it's a sheer lie, and the fellows deserve to be kicked."

"Much better offer them a new election," said the captain.

"What!  They'll get their man in."

"My dear fellow, suppose they do.  You'll still belong to Fellsgarth.
They mustn't have a chance of saying they don't get fair play."

"Well, perhaps you're right.  I don't care twopence about the
treasurership, but I wouldn't like to be beaten by Brinkman."

"I hope you won't be, old man," said the captain.

Next morning, when fellows got up, they found the following notice on
the boards:

"Elections.

"A protest having been handed in against the recent election for
treasurer, notice is given that a fresh election will be held for this
office on Friday next at 3.

"C.Y., Captain."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

ONE TOO MANY.

The seniors of Forder's house were by no means gratified at the
captain's prompt reply to Dangle's accusation.  Indeed, that active and
energetic official had written to Fisher on his own responsibility, and
was now a little hurt to find that his colleagues were half inclined to
repudiate his action.

"Why ever couldn't you speak about the thing before you wrote like
that?" said Clapperton.  "We don't want another election."

"You weren't going to sit down meekly, and let those fellows cheat
without saying a word, were you?" retorted Dangle.

"No--rather not.  But that wasn't the way to do it.  It would have paid
us much better to stand on our dignity."

"In other words," said Fullerton in his melancholy voice, "to have a
grievance, and nurse it well."

"You idiot!" said Clapperton.  "I don't want you to tell me what I
mean."

"I wasn't, I was telling the others," said Fullerton.  "But I agree with
you.  If we have another election and get beaten, we shall be far worse
off than if we were able to take heaven and earth to witness we had been
wronged and were too noble to seek revenge."

If Fullerton could have translated Cicero as well as he translated
Clapperton, what a good Classic he would have been!

"We'd better decline the new election at once," said Brinkman; "it
concerns me more than anybody else; and I agree with Clapperton."

"Why ever not have the new election?" said Dangle.  "We're bound to get
our man in."

"Better decline it first," said Clapperton.  "They'll be glad enough not
to let it go to a trial, I expect."

"Hurrah for injured innocence," said Fullerton; "it's the best paying
thing I know."

The result of this conference was, that Dangle went across after school
next morning to the captain's study where Fisher and Ranger happened to
be calling at the same time.

"Look here, Yorke," said the secretary, adopting his most civil tones,
"you quite misunderstood my letter to Fisher major.  We don't want
another election.  We'd just as soon let things stop as they are.  It
was rough on us, of course; but it divides the offices up more fairly to
have them as they are."

"Thanks," said Yorke, "that's not good enough.  We'll have another
election on Friday."

Dangle's face fell.

"You're fools if you do," said he.  "Those five votes will make all the
difference."

"I don't care if they've five hundred," said Yorke.

"Oh, all right.  You've no message about the cheats who kept our men
out, have you?  Probably they've been promoted to prefects!"

"You took care not to commit yourself to any names; but, as you wrote to
Fisher major, you probably include him as one of the cheats.  If so, I
dare say he'll be glad to discuss the matter with you outside."

"I never said it was he," said Dangle hurriedly.

"But I know who it was."

"Three of our juniors, I understand?" said Yorke.  "The fags of three of
your prefects, yes."

"Fisher," said the captain, "will you fetch Ashby, D'Arcy, and Fisher
minor here?"

The young gentlemen in question were not far away busily engaged in
their joint study, with Wally's assistance, in getting up a stock of
impositions, which should serve as a common fund on which to draw daring
the term.

The idea was D'Arcy's.

"You see," he had said, "we're bound to catch it, some of as, and it's a
jolly fag having to do the lines just when they're wanted.  My notion
is, if we just keep a little stock by us, it'll be awfully handy.  Why,
suppose young Ashby were to get fifty lines at morning school next
Saturday, what about his chance of getting into the 58th fifteen?"

"It's the 6th fifteen, not the 58th," said Ashby.

"Well, there's not much difference."

"It would be jolly awkward," said Ashby.

"Yes; and you always do get potted just when it is jolliest awkward,"
said D'Arcy.  "That's why it's such a tip to have your impots written
before you get them.  Penny wise, pound foolish, you know."

It was not at all clear what this valuable aphorism had to do with the
subject in hand, but it impressed the two new boys considerably.

"And just fancy," continued Wally, driving home his chum's nails with
considerable industry, "just fancy if young Fisher was to have to sit up
here swotting over lines, just when his brother wants his vote in Hall
on Friday!  Why, one vote will make all the difference."

Fisher immediately called for pens, ink, and paper, which Wally and
D'Arcy promptly supplied for him and Ashby, and a scene of unparalleled
industry ensued.  Even D'Arcy insisted on doing his share, which
consisted of drawing niggers in various stages of public execution,
labelled with the names of Clapperton, Dangle, and Brinkman, while Wally
generally superintended and assisted, by playing fives against the wall.

"I say," said he presently, "I suppose it's all out about your precious
canvassing.  That beast Percy has gone and blabbed--after me giving him
toffee too!"

"Never mind," said D'Arcy, "we rather took it out of them, I fancy,
yesterday.  They won't mess about with us in a hurry again."

"No, we did pull that off pretty well.  I'm sorry for our seniors, you
know.  We did our best for them, and we shan't be able to give them the
same leg-up on Friday."

"They ought to be pretty civil to us this term, anyhow," said Wally.

Whereupon Fisher major entered the room.

"Yorke wants D'Arcy, Ashby, and my minor.  Come at once, he's waiting."

"Don't he want me?" said Wally, evidently afraid lest his services were
going to be overlooked.  "I was in it too, you know, Fisher."

"Were you?  Oh, you'd better come too, then."

"Thanks."

And the four, disposing themselves meekly for their coming honours,
followed, single file, into the captain's room.

"Wally wished to come too," explained Fisher.  "He says he was in it."

It perplexed the four heroes to see Dangle there.  What did he want!
And why did the captain look so stern?  And, oh, horrors, what was that
switch on the table for?

Gradually it dawned upon them that the honours in store for them would
fall rather thicker than they were prepared for; and Wally, for one,
wished he had stayed at home.

"You youngsters," said the captain, "it is said that you four behaved
unfairly last election, by keeping out five boys from voting.  Is that
true?"

"Yes," said Ashby.

"They were only Modern kids," explained D'Arcy.

"They wouldn't have got in for the second vote, if it hadn't been for
me," remarked Wally.

"I didn't catch any boys; I couldn't find any," said Fisher minor.

"You see, Yorke," said D'Arcy, who began to realise that he was "boss of
this show," "these two kids are new kids; they oughtn't to be licked;
it's Wally and me."

"Me?" exclaimed the injured Wally; "I like your style, young D'Arcy;
what did _I_ do?"

"All right, it's me then, if you like!"

"I don't mind being in it, to give you a leg-up," said Wally, touched by
the heroism of his friend, "but you might let a chap bowl himself out,
you know.  All right, Yorke, it was me and D'Arcy."

"You should say _I_ and D'Arcy," said Ranger.

"What, were _you_ in it? Good old--"

"No, you young ass; it's bad grammar to say _me_ and D'Arcy were in it."

"I never knew you were.  It's the first we've heard of it; isn't it, you
chaps?"

The chaps most emphatically agreed that it was.

"Let them be, Ranger," said the captain.  "There'll be time enough for a
grammar lesson after."

"Can't do it to-day, we've got syntax this afternoon," said D'Arcy.

"Now, you youngsters, look here," said the captain.  "You may think
you're very clever; but this sort of thing is cheating, and cheating is
what cads do.  We don't want any of it inside Fellsgarth.  Dangle, here
are the youngsters, and here is the switch; will you lick them, or shall
I?"

"I don't want to lick them.  Let them off," growled Dangle.

The hopes of the culprits rose for a moment, but they went down below
zero when Yorke picked up the cane.

"Wheatfield, come here."

Wally held out his case-hardened hand and received half a dozen cuts,
for which it is saying a good deal that they made the recipient dance.

D'Arcy followed, and received his six with meek indifference.  If he had
come first, he would probably have danced.  But as Wally had done that,
he stood firm.

Ashby received three cuts only, which astonished him dreadfully.  It was
his first acquaintance with the cane.  He had never realised before what
a venomous instrument it can be.  Still, he bore it like a man.

Poor Fisher minor had a similar experience.  With his brother looking
on, and his messmates to watch how he bore it, he passed through the
ordeal creditably.  His three "Ohs" varied in cadence from anguish to
surprise, and from surprise to mild expostulation, "Oh!"  "Ehee!"  "Ow!"
after which he felt very pleased, on his brother's account, that he had
not shed tears.

"Now cut," said the captain, "and if you're bowled out in that sort of
thing again, you won't be let off so easy."

"Yorke's a beast," said Wally, when the shattered forces mastered once
more in his study, "but he's a just beast.  He gave it us all hot
alike."

No one disputed the proposition.

"I thought he'd let you new kids off, but he didn't.  It's just as well.
It'll do you good, and make you sit up."

"Jolly sell for that cad Dangle," said D'Arcy.  "He thought Yorke was
going to shirk it."

"He can't say that now," said Ashby, rubbing the palm of his hand up and
down his thigh.

Dangle, meanwhile, had returned to his quarters with the unsatisfactory
report of his mission.

"Bother them!" said Clapperton.  "They take advantage of us whenever
there's a chance.  Now they've offered a new election, and licked the
youngsters, the wind is out of our sails."

"When it comes to the time, I shall decline to be nominated," said
Brinkman.

"That won't be much good.  You'll get some of our fellows voting for you
whether you stand or not.  And if some vote, all must."

"We shall have to see all our men turn up," said Dangle.  "It was a
tight enough shave for the secretaryship."

"Yes.  If we don't carry it now, we'd much better have left it alone.  I
only wish we had."

"There's this to be said," said Dangle, anxious to make the best of his
mistake; "if we do get three officers to their one, there should be no
doubt about our getting properly represented in the fifteen next week."

"Ah--yes; we've still that bone to pick with them."

As the Friday approached, signs of excitement in the coming conquest
were plainly visible.  By tacit agreement the return match between
Percy's adherents and Wally's was postponed till after the election.
Absentees at the last election were diligently looked up by their
respective prefects, and ordered to be in attendance.  Minute
calculations were made by the knowing ones, which decided within one or
two what Brinkman's majority would be.  Even in Wakefield's it was
admitted that the Classic chance was a slender one.

"I wish it was all over," said Fisher major.  "I'm getting sick of these
precious accounts already, and shall be glad to hand them over."

"You won't lose them," said Dalton, "if we can help.  You may have to
vote for yourself, though."

"Catch me.  I've come to the conclusion I wasn't born a treasurer, and I
couldn't conscientiously vote for myself.  I only wish I could back
out."

"You can't do that now," said his friend.  "Bless you, we can keep the
accounts for you.  We couldn't for Brinkman."

When morning school was over on the Friday, there was a general stampede
for the Hall, where boys crowded up for good seats a quarter of an hour
before the time, and enlivened the interval with cheers and
demonstrations for their favourite candidate.  Wally and his friends
were particularly active in their corner, and addressed the meeting
generally in favour of Fisher major.

"Back up, you Classic kids!" shouted Wally, standing on his seat and
apostrophising a group of the Sixth who were standing near.  "Fisher's
your friend!  Won the mile in 4-38; batting average 34.658742.3;
bowling, 12 wickets an innings, and 3 runs an over.  Never tells lies,
or cheats.  Always comes home sober and gives silver in the collection.
He won't waste your money or cook your accounts, like some chaps; and
he'll run the ball up the field, instead of sitting down in the middle
of the scrummage like the Modern chaps to keep warm.  Walk up! walk up!
vote for Fisher and economy!  Hooray for Fisher!  Down with the swell
mob!"

Amid such torrents of eloquence the cause of Fisher major was not likely
to go by default.

Brinkman, too, was not without his champions, who, however, avoided set
speeches and confined themselves to personalities and generalities, such
as--

"Who cheats at Elections?"

"Oh, my hands, what a licking!"

"How now--not me!"  (Here Fisher minor coloured up.) "Look out, you
chaps, there's a Classic cad blushing."

"No! where? won't he want a rest after it!"

"Here comes Brinkman!  Hooray for honesty and fair play!  Hooray for the
Moderns!  Down with Wakefield's kids!  Send 'em home to their mas!"

"Shut up there!  Sit down, you youngsters."

Whereupon there fell a lull.

Fisher minor surveyed the scene with anxious trepidation.  If his
brother were to lose now, it would be his--Fisher minor's--fault.  He
would never be able to hold up his head again.  How he wished he had a
dozen votes!

"Strong muster," he heard some one say near him.  "I expect every
fellow's here."

"Except Rollitt."

"Of, of course," said the other, with a laugh, "no one ever expects
him."

"Why not?" said Fisher minor to himself.  "Why shouldn't Rollitt come
and vote?"

He quite shuddered at the audacity of the idea; and yet, when he looked
up to the front and saw his brother standing there, worried and uneasy,
and realised that in a few minutes he was to stand his ordeal, the
younger brother's courage rose within him, and he edged towards the
door.

In due time Yorke arose.  This time, amid the vociferous cheers of his
own side, a few of the Moderns ventured to mingle howls.  They soon
discovered their mistake, for not even their own side was with them as a
body.  They were hooted down with execrations, and the result of this
interposition was that the captain was cheered for twice the usual time.

"You fellows," said he, as soon as there was silence, "you probably
understand from the notice why this meeting is called.  The last
election was very close, and I am sorry to say there was not fair play.
I am still more sorry to say the offenders were juniors in Wakefield's,"
(terrific yells and hoots from the Moderns), "who ought to have known
better, and who I hope are thoroughly ashamed of themselves," (terrific
cheers, during which, D'Arcy, Wally, and Ashby, who had been standing on
a form, modestly took seats and exchanged defiant signals with the youth
of the Modern side through the chinks of the crowd).  "They have had the
licking they deserve," ("Not half of it!" and laughter), "as Dangle
here, who was present at the time, will testify."  (Dangle scowled at
this reference--What right had the captain to score off him?).  "Of
course under the circumstances it was necessary to have a new election.
Fisher here," (tremendous cheers, amidst which the culprits,
considering that the storm had blown over, remounted their perches)
"would scorn to be treasurer of the clubs, and everybody would scorn him
too, if there was any suspicion of foul play about his election.  He has
resigned, like an honest man; and our business is now to elect a
treasurer."  (Cheers and "Vote for Fisher major" from Wally.)

Dalton rose and proposed his friend Fisher major, which Ranger briefly
seconded.

Dangle thereupon proposed Brinkman.  He was sorry the School was being
put to the trouble of this new election.  They hadn't wanted it on their
side; and his friend had been very reluctant to stand.  But of course,
as the election was to take place, he hoped Brinkman would win by a
majority which would show the School what Fellsgarth thought about the
foul play which had been tried on at the last election.

Clapperton seconded the nomination, and assured his friends that, now
the offence had been acknowledged and atoned for by the castigation of
the offenders, they would try to forget it and feel to the other side as
if it had not occurred.

Clapperton, of course, was cheered by his side; and yet his chief
admirers did not feel as proud of him as they would have liked.  His
tone was patronising, and Fellsgarth could not stand being patronised,
even by its captain.

Just as the meeting was settling down for the important business of the
vote, a sensational incident took place.

The door swung open, and in strode Rollitt, with Fisher minor, panting
and pale, at his heels.

The new-comer, heedless of the astonishment caused by his appearance,
strode negligently up to the front where the other prefects were, while
his escort modestly slipped into the arms of his admiring friends.

For a moment the meeting looked on with amused bewilderment.  Then it
suddenly dawned on everybody that this meant a new voter; and terrific
shouts of jubilation went up from the Classics; during which Fisher
minor had his back thumped almost in two.

For once in his life he was a hero!  How he wished his young sisters
could have seen him then!

"Never mind," shouted Percy across the room, "he's bound to vote the
wrong side, or forget to vote at all."

"Order!  Those who vote for Brinkman, hold up your hands."

It was far too serious to humbug now.  Even D'Arcy was grave as he
surveyed the force of the enemy.

Two tellers had been appointed from either side, so that the votes were
counted four times, and the total was not allowed till all were agreed
on the result.

"Brinkman has one hundred and twenty-eight votes."

Loud and long were the cheers which greeted this announcement.  The
knowing ones felt that it practically meant victory for the Moderns, for
it was one more vote than Fisher major had won with last time.

"Now, hands up for Fisher major."

Amid dead silence the Classic hands went up.  Anxious eyes were cast in
Rollitt's direction.  But he, strange to say, was all there, and held up
his hand with the rest.

Fisher major himself at the last moment kept his own hand down.  He had
decided that, if Brinkman voted for himself, he would do the same.
Brinkman had voted.  But, when it came to following his example, the
candidate's pride went on strike, and, whether it lost the election or
not, he declined to vote, Three of the tellers evidently agreed, but the
other had to count again before he made the figure right.  Then the
written paper was handed up to Yorke, "Brinkman 128, Fisher major, 129--
Fisher is elected."



CHAPTER NINE.

CARRIED NEM.  CON.

It must not be supposed that in the midst of the excitement of School
politics the intellectual side of the Fellsgarth juniors, life was being
quite neglected.

On the contrary, they complained that so far from being neglected it was
rather overdone.

The Classic juniors, for instance, suffered many things at the hands of
the cheerful Mr Stratton, who really worked hard to instil into their
opening minds some rudiments of those studies from which their side took
its name.  He took pains to explain not only when a thing was wrong, but
why; and, unlike some of his calling, he devoted his chief attention to
his most backward boys.  This was his great offence in the eyes of
D'Arcy and Wally and some of their fraternity, because under the
arrangement they came in for the special attention alluded to.

"That kid," said Wally, one day, _sotto voce_, as class was proceeding,
"has no more idea of teaching than my hat.  We don't get a chance to
_do_ things ourselves, with him always messing about and looking over.
It's rude to look over.  I mean to mark my exercise _private_ in
future."

"The thing is," said D'Arcy, "if he'd anything original to say it
wouldn't matter so.  But he's always talking the same old rot about
roots.  What's the use of a root, I should like to know, if you can't
bury it?  Eh, kid?"

Fisher minor, to whom the question was addressed, did not know, and
remarked that they didn't teach Latin here the same way as when he
learned from a governess at home.

He regretted this admission almost as soon as he had made it.  For Wally
and D'Arcy immediately got paper and began to draw fancy portraits of
Fisher minor learning Latin under the old _regime_.  The point of these
illustrations was not so much in the figures as in the conversation.
The figures were more or less unlike the originals; at least, Fisher
minor declared that the three isosceles triangles piled by Wally one on
the top of the other were not a bit like his governess; while the plum-
pudding on two sticks, with a little pudding above for a head which
emitted four huge tears, the size of an orange, from either eye, he
regarded as a simple libel on himself.  In one sense the likenesses were
speaking--that is, a gibbous balloon proceeded from the mouth of each
figure, wherein the following dialogue was indicated.
"_Governess_.--`Naughty little Tommy-wommy, didn't know his Latin.
Tommy must have a smack when he goes bye-bye.'  _Tommy_.--`Booh, hoo,
how bow, yow, wow, oh my!  I'll tell my ma!'"

"Bring up that paper, Wheatfield," said Mr Stratton.

Wally made a wild grab at Ashby's exercise, and was proceeding to take
it up when the master stopped him.

"Not that; the other, Wheatfield.  Bring it immediately."

Whereupon Wally with shame had to rejoice Ashby's heart by restoring his
_exercise_, and take up in its place the fancy portrait.

Mr Stratton gazed attentively and critically at this work of art.

"Not at all well done, Wheatfield," said he.  "Sit down at my table here
and draw me thirty copies of it before you leave this room.  Next boy,
go on."

Wally confessed, in later life, that of all the impositions he had had
in the course of his chequered career, none had been more abominable and
wearisome than this.  Oh, how he got to detest that governess and her
ward, and how sickening their talk became before the task was half over!

He sat in that room nearly three hours by the clock, groaning over this
task, and when at last he went in search of Mr Stratton with the
original and thirty copies in his hand, he felt as limp and flabby,
bodily and mentally, as he had ever done in his life.

Mr Stratton, who was having tea in his own room, examined each picture
in turn, and rejected two as not fair copies of the original.

"Do these two again--here," said he.

Wally meekly obeyed.  He had not a kick left in him.

"That's better," said the young master when they were done.  "Now sit
down and have some tea."

It was a solemn meal.  Mr Stratton went quietly on with his meal,
looking up now and then to see that his guest was supplied with bread
and butter and cake and biscuits.  Wally was equally silent.  He felt
sore against the master, but he liked his cake--and the tea was "tip-
top."

The ceremony came to an end about the same time as the cake, and then
Mr Stratton said, pointing to the papers--

"You can put them in the fire now, Wheatfield."

Wally obeyed with grim satisfaction.

"Thanks.  You can go now.  You must come another day and bring your
friends.  Good-bye," and he shook hands.

"I wonder if the chap's all there," said Wally to himself as he limped
over to his quarters.  "He forgot to jaw me.  Wonder if I ought to have
reminded him?  Wonder who he gets his cake from?  I wouldn't care for
many more impots like that.  It was pretty civil of him asking me to
tea, when you come to think of it.  Not sure I sha'n't back him up a bit
this half, and make the chaps do so too.  Wonder if he meant all four of
us to come to tea?  One cake wouldn't go round.  Besides, there's no
saying how that young cad Fisher minor would behave."

This little episode was not without its effect on all the occupants of
Wally's study.  For that young gentleman had not the slightest intention
of turning over a new leaf by himself.  No, bother it; if he was going
to "back up" Stratton, the other fellows would have to back up too.

His one grief was that the stock of impositions stored up by the
industry of the two new boys would not be likely to be wanted now, which
would be wicked waste.  D'Arcy had already occasionally drawn on them,
and one day nearly spoiled the whole arrangement by taking up to Mr
Wakefield fifty lines of Virgil precisely five minutes after they had
been awarded.  Fortunately, however, his hands were exceedingly grimy at
the time, so that Mr Wakefield sent him back for ablutions before he
would communicate with him.  And in the interval he fortunately
discovered his error, and instead of taking up the imposition with his
clean hands, he delighted the master with a knotty inquiry as to one of
the active tenses of the Latin verb "To be."

However, there was no saying when the impositions might not come in
useful, and meanwhile Ashby and Fisher minor were taken off the job and
ordered to sit up hard with their work for Stratton.

"You know," said Wally, propounding his scheme of moral reform in a
little preliminary speech, "you kids are not sent up here to waste your
time.  No more's D'Arcy."

"How do you know what I was sent up here for?" said D'Arcy.  "It wasn't
to hear your jaw."

"Shut up.  I've just been having tea with Stratton, and we were talking
about you chaps, him and I--I mean he and _me_."

"You didn't get on to English grammar, did you, while you were about
it?" asked Ashby.

"No.  Look here, you chaps, no larks.  It would be rather a spree if we
put our back into it this term, wouldn't it?--beastly sell, you know,
for the others; and rather civil to Stratton too, for asking us to tea."

This last argument was more impressive than the first; and the company
said they supposed they might.

"All right--of course we may have to shut off a lark or two, but unless
we stick-- Hullo, I say, look at those Modern chaps down there punting a
football on our side of the path!  Cheek!  Why, it's Cash and my young
brother.  I say, let's go and drive them off, you fellows."

So the four descended, and a brisk scrimmage ensued, which resulted in
the complete rout of the invaders and the capture of their football.

With which tremendous prize the victorious army returned to quarters and
continued their discussion on moral reform.

"Yes, as I was saying, we shall have to stick to it a bit.  But young
Stratton'll make it worth our while, I fancy."

This hidden allusion to the tea and cake completed the speaker's
argument, and the party forthwith sat down with one ink-pot among them
for preparation.

As it happened, the preparation for the day was an English Essay on
"Your favourite Animal," with special attention to the spelling and the
stops.

It was always a sore point with the Classic juniors to be set an English
lesson.  They could understand being taught Latin, but they considered
they ought to be exempt from writing and spelling their own language.
It wasn't Classics, and they didn't like it, and they oughtn't to be let
in for it.  However, it was no use growling; and as the subject (apart
from the spelling and points) was a congenial one, it seemed a fair
opening for the commencement of their reformed career.

"Look here," said Wally, "don't let's all have the same beast.  I'm
going to have a dog."

"Oh, I wanted a dog," said Fisher minor.

"Can't; he's bagged.  Have a cat?"

"No, I don't like cats--can't I write about a dog too?"

"That would be rot.  Haven't you got the whole of Noah's Ark to pick
from--lions, tigers, ants, hippopotamuses, cobra de capellos?"

"How much?" asked D'Arcy.  "Are they good to eat?"

"Uncommon good.  Will you take cobra de capellos?"

"Ah right," said D'Arcy; "I don't mind."

"I shall take pigs," said Ashby.

"There you are," said Wally; "there's lots left.  You have cows, kid--"

"No--if you won't let me have the dog--"

"Dog in the Wheatfield.  Joke!--laugh, you chaps," interjected D'Arcy.

"I shall have rabbits," said Fisher minor.

"Good old rabbits!  Did you ever keep any?  What were their names?" said
Wally.

"Don't you know?" said Ashby, solemnly.  "One was called `How' and the
other `Now,' weren't they, Fisher minor?"

Whereupon there was mirth at the expense of Fisher minor.

Silence having been procured, D'Arcy began to write.

"`Cobbrer de Capillars is my favrite--' What is it?  Bird, beast, or
fish, Wally?"

"Shut up; bird, of course."

"`Bird,'" continued the essayist.  "`It was in Nore's arck and is good
eating'--that's all I know about it.  Tell us something more, Wally,
there's a good chap."

"Oh, bother.  Don't go disturbing, it spoils everything."

"`The cobberer oart not to be disterbd for it spoyls everything--it
spoyls your close and--' wire in, Wally, what else does it do?  You
might tell a chap."

"What I'll do to you, you cad, and that's pull your nose if you don't
shut up!" retorted Wally, who was busy over his own theme.

"`--and puis yore knows if yore a cad, and don't shut up.'  There,
bother it, that ought to do--twelve lines.  Good enough for him."

"Stuck in the stops?" asked Ashby.

"No; by the way--glad you reminded me--I suppose about every four words,
eh?"

"Something about that," said Ashby.

So D'Arcy sprinkled a few stops judiciously through his copy, and having
done so began to upbraid his partners for their slowness.

Some time was lost in suppressing him, but he was eventually disposed of
under the bath, which was turned upside down to accommodate him and sat
upon by the other three, who were thus able to continue their work in
peace.

Ashby was done first.  He had a congenial subject and wrote _con amore_.

"I shall now say something about the pig which is my favourite annimal--
The pig is a quadruped--Sometimes he is male in which case he is called
a hog.  Sometimes he is female in which case he is called a sow.  Pigs
were rings in their noses and are fond of apple-peal.  Their young are
called litter and are very untidy in their habbits.  Pig's cheek is nice
to eat and pork in season is a treat."  (The writer was very proud of
this little outbreak of poetry.)

"It is preferrablest roast with sage and apple sauce.  I hope I have now
described the pig and told you why he is my favourite."

Fisher minor, on the uncongenial topic of the rabbit, found composition
difficult and punctuation impossible.

"I like rabbits next best to dogs which Wally has taken mine were black
and white one was one and the other the other the white one died first
of snuffles he had lobears the other had the same pequliarity and was
swoped for 2 white mice who eskaped the first-night owing to the size of
the bars there is a kind of rabbit called welsh rabbit that my father is
fond of he says it goes best on toast but I give mine oats and bran it
is a mistake for boys to keep rabbits because first they give them too
much and burst them and then they give them too little and starve them
which is not wright and makes the rabbit skinny to eat if a boy feeds
rabbits well he can get his mother to give him half-a-crown a peace to
make pies of them which is very agreeable so I therefore on this account
consider rabbits favourites."

Before this conclusion had been reached, Wally, with a complacent smile,
had laid down his pen, flattering himself he had made a real good thing
of the dog.  He scorned commonplace language, and, mindful of the
eloquent periods of certain newspapers of his acquaintance, had "let
out" considerably on his favourite theme, which, if the spelling and
punctuation had been as good as the language, would have been a fine
performance.

"The dog is the sublymest, gift of beficient nature to the zografical
Speeches, He has been the confidenshul playmate of; man since before the
creation, he is compounded of the most plezing trays and Generaly ansers
to the endeering name of carlo? if you put his noes at the extremity of
a rat-Hole he: will continue their ad libbitums till he has his man; In
Barberous lands there is an exorable law ordayning muscles but It can be
invaded by a little despeshun and sang frore, as one side of the streat
is not unfrequentedly Outside the rools so that if you take him that
side the politician cannot Run him in which is the wulgar for lagging
him for not [waring Mussles I have] ockasionaly done bobys this Way
myself so that I am convinzed of my voracity, the lesson we learn from
this is that dogs should be treeted kindly and not Injected to unkind
tretemant there? was Ice a dog with the pattrynamie of dognes who lived
in a tub but; tubs are not helthy kenels because, they Roal when you
dont stick brix under, which teechus to be kind `to our' fello animals
and pleze Our masters--I will.  Only include by adding that dogs like
cake? which Shoes how like they are to boys who have kind masters that
they strive to pleas in ewery way in Their incapacity as the righter of
this esay strives ever to endevor."

"That ought to fetch him," said the delighted author, as he dotted his
last "i," and released D'Arcy from under the bath.  "Now I vote we stow
it, and--"

Here there was a loud knock at the door and a senior's voice calling,
"Open the door, you youngsters."

The intruder was Dangle, at sight of whom the backs of our four heroes
went up.

"What do you youngsters mean by bagging one of our balls!" said the
Modern senior.  "Give it me directly."

"It doesn't belong to you," said Wally; "it's my young brother's."

"Do you hear?--give it to me," said Dangle.  "He can fetch it if he
wants it.  You're not our prefect," retorted Wally.

None of the four were more astounded than Wally himself at the audacity
of this speech.  It must have been due to the exhilarating effect of his
tea and essay combined.

Dangle was evidently unprepared for defiance of this sort and became
threatening.

"If you don't give me that ball at once, I'll give the lot of you the
best hiding you ever had in your lives."

"Try it.  We're not going to give up the ball.  There!  If Percy wants
it, let him come for it.  Back up, you chaps."

In a tussle between one big boy and four small ones, the odds are
usually in favour of the former, but Dangle on the present occasion did
not find his task quite as easy as he expected.  The juniors defended
themselves with great tenacity, and although the senior's blows came
home pretty hard, he could only deal with them one at a time.  It got to
be a little humiliating to discover that he would have to fight hard to
gain his end, and his temper evaporated rapidly.

Seizing his opportunity, when Fisher minor, who had been fighting
perhaps the least steadily of the four--yet doggedly enough--was within
reach, he struck out at him wildly, determined to get him disposed of
first.  It was a cruel blow even for a fellow in Dangle's plight.  The
small boy recoiled half-stunned, and uttered a yell which for an instant
startled the bully.

Before Dangle had time to recover, the three survivors were upon him
tooth and nail; at the same moment the door opened again, and Rollitt,
of all persons, stood in the room.

He took in the situation at a glance--the big boy white with rage, his
three assailants with heads down and lips tight, pounding away, and
Fisher minor leaning against the wall with his handkerchief to his face.

"Stop!" said he in a voice which suspended hostilities at once.  Then
turning to Dangle he said--

"Get out."

Dangle glared defiantly, and remained where he was, whereupon Rollitt,
without another word, lifted him in his arms like a child, and slinging
him across his shoulders marched forth.

Wakefield's boys were just trooping up the staircase from the fields,
and at this strange apparition stood still and made a lane for it to
pass.  Dangle's struggles were futile.  The giant, if he was aware of
them, heeded them no more than the kicking of a kitten, and proceeded
deliberately down the stairs, past everybody, juniors, middle-boys,
prefects and all, and walked with his burden out at the door.  There
every one expected the scene would end.

But no.  He walked on sedately across the Green.  Indifferent as to who
saw him or what they said, until he came to the door of Forder's house,
where he entered.  Up the stairs he stumped amid gaping juniors and
menacing middle, boys until he reached his captive's study; where
without ceremony he deposited him, and, not vouchsafing a word, turned
on his heel.

Strangely enough, no one had the presence of mind to challenge him or
demand reparation for the insult to their house.  He neither dawdled nor
hurried.

At the door a bodyguard of Classics had assembled to meet him and escort
him back.  But he had no need of their services.  He made his way
through them as coolly as if he was coming from class; and utterly
indifferent to the rising clamour and shouts behind him--for the Moderns
had by this time recovered breath enough to use their tongues--reached
Wakefield's, where without a word to any one he proceeded to his own
study and shut himself in to continue the scientific experiments which
had only been interrupted a few minutes before by the sudden cry of
distress from the one boy in Fellsgarth to whom he owed the least
obligation.



CHAPTER TEN.

HOW PERCY GOT BACK HIS FOOTBALL.

It was not to be expected that in the present state of party feeling at
Fellsgarth the incident recorded in the last chapter would be confined
to a personal quarrel between Dangle and Rollitt.

If it be true that it takes two to make a quarrel, there was not much to
be feared in the latter respect.  For Rollitt was apparently unaware
that he had done anything calling for general remark, and went his ways
with his customary indifference.

When Dangle, egged on by the indignation of his friends, had gone across
to find him and demand satisfaction, Rollitt had told him to call again
to-morrow, as he was busy.

Dangle therefore called again.

"I've come to ask if you mean to apologise for what you did the other
day?  If you don't--"

"Get out!" said Rollitt, going on with his work.

"--If you don't," continued Dangle, "you'll have to take the
consequences."

"Get out!"

"If you funk it, Rollitt, you'd better say so."

"Get out," said Rollitt, rising slowly to his feet.

Dangle reported, when he got back to his house, that argument had been
hopeless.  Yet he meant to take it out of his adversary some other way.

But if the principals in the quarrel were inactive, their adherents on
either side took care to keep up the feud.

The Modern juniors especially, who felt very sore at the indignity put
upon their house, took up the cudgels very fiercely.  Secretly they
admitted that Dangle had cut rather a poor figure, and that they could
have made a much better job over the impounded football than he had by
his interference.  But that had nothing to do with the conduct of the
enemy, whom they took every opportunity of defying and deriding.

"There go the sneaks," shouted Lickford, as the four Classic juniors
paraded arm in arm across the Green.  "Who got licked by our chap and
had to squeal for a prefect to come and help them?  Oh my--waterspouts!"

"Ya--_how now_--_oh no, not me_!"  Percy shouted for the special benefit
of Fisher minor.

"Look at them!  They daren't come our side.  Cowards!--daren't come on
to our side of the path," chimed in Cash.

"Look at their short legs," called Ramshaw; "only useful for cutting
away when they see a Modern."

"Who got licked on the hands for cheating at Elections, and blubbed like
anything!" put in Cottle.

The four heroes walked on, hearing every word and trying to appear as if
they did not.  They spoke to one another with forced voices and
mechanical smiles, and did their best not to be self-conscious in the
matter of their legs.

But as the defiance grew bolder in proportion as they walked further,
Wally said--

"I say, this is a drop too much.  We can't stand this, eh?"

"No; the cads!" chimed in the other three.

"Tell you what," said Wally, "it wouldn't be a bad joke to have a punt-
about with their football right under their noses, would it?"

"How if they bag it?"

"Bother!--we must chance that."

"I say," said Ashby, "if we could bag their boots first!"

"Can't do that; but we might wait till they're in their class after
breakfast in the morning.  They go in half an hour before us.  I know,
they all sit near the window, and are squinting out at everybody that
passes.  Won't they squirm?"

Next morning therefore at early school, as Percy and Company sat huddled
at their desks in the Modern class-room, biting their pens, groaning
over their sums, and gazing dismally from the window all at the same
time, they had the unspeakable anguish of beholding Wally, D'Arcy,
Ashby, and Fisher minor, with _their_ ball, having a ding-dong game of
punt-about on the sacred Modern grass, under their very eyes.

How these four enjoyed themselves and kicked about the ball, nodding and
kissing their hands all the while at the mortified enemy, who sat like
caged beasts glaring at them through their bars, and gnawing their
fingers in impotent fury!

Sometimes, to add a little relish to the sport, they invited a passing
prefect of their own house to give the ball a punt, and once a neat
drop-kick from D'Arcy left a muddy splotch on the face of the sundial
above border's door.

This was too much; and when, a few minutes later, they caught sight of
the marauders waving to them and calling attention by pantomimic gesture
to the fact that they were carrying off the ball once more to their own
quarters, Percy could contain himself no longer.

"Beasts!" he ejaculated.

"Wheatfield," said Mr Forder, who was in charge of the class, "write me
out fifty lines of the _Paradise Lost_ and a letter of apology in Latin
for using bad language in class."

Percy was conducted home by his friends that morning in a critical
state.  He felt it necessary to kick somebody, and therefore kicked
them; and they, entirely misunderstanding his motives, kicked back.
Consequently, a good deal of time was occupied in arranging matters all
round on a comfortable footing; by the end of which time the fraternity,
though marred in visage, felt generally easier in its mind.

It was no use appealing to the Modern prefects.  They had made a mess of
it so far, and weren't to be trusted.  Nor did the course of lodging a
complaint with Yorke commend itself to the company.  It might be
mistaken for telling tales.  How would it do to--

Here entered Robert, the school porter, with a letter addressed
"Wheatfield minor, Mr Forder's," in a scholarly hand.

"Wheatfield minor," snarled Percy; "that's not me, Bob.  What do you
take me for!  Here, take it over to Wakefield's, and look about for the
dirtiest, ugliest, beastliest kid you can see.  That's Wheatfield
minor."

"You'll be sore to know him by his likeness to Percy," added Cash, by
way of encouragement.

"But Wakefield's ain't Forder's," observed the sage Robert.  "Look what
the envelope says."

True; it must be meant for Percy after all.

"You go and tell him it's like his howling cheek to call me minor,
whoever it is; and when I catch him I'll welt him.  Do you hear?"

"Very good, sir, I'll tell him," said the porter with a grin.

Meanwhile Percy had opened the letter and caught sight of the signature.

He uttered a whistle of amazement.

"Hullo!" he cried, "it's from Stratton!  Whatever--Oh, I say, Bob, it
doesn't matter about that message; do you hear!"

"Won't be no trouble, sir," said the porter.

"If I want to give it I'll do it myself," said Percy.

"Whatever's it about?" said his friends.

"Dear Wheatfield minor,"--(cheek!) read Percy, "Mrs Stratton and I will
be glad to see you and three or four of your friends to tea this evening
at six.  I will arrange with Mr Forder to give you exeats from
preparation."

"Humph!" grunted Percy--"rather civil--I hear he gives rather good grub.
I vote we go."

"May as well.  It gets us off preparation too," said Cash.

"Who said _you_ were in it?" replied Percy.  "Catch me taking you unless
you behave.  I've a good mind to take Clapperton and Brinkman and Dangle
and Fullerton."

This threat reduced the clan to obedience at once, and Percy sat down
presently, and wrote in his most admired style--

"Wheatfield major," (the "major" was heavily underlined) "is much
obliged to Mr Stratton for his invitation to him to tea in his room,
and he will be glad to bring the following of his friends, if he has no
objection, with him; viz.  Lickford, Ramshaw, Cash, and Cottle.  With
kind regards from P.W.;" and sent the note over by the hand of the
youngest of the Modern juniors.

This diversion served for a time to heal the mental ravages of the
morning, and to occupy the attention of the company most of the
afternoon.

"Case of Sunday-go-to-meeting, isn't it?" said lickford.

"Rather.  Mind you tog up well, you chaps; I'm not going to take four
louts out to tea with me, I promise you."

Whereupon ensued great searchings of hearts and wardrobes, to see what
could be done in the way of appropriate decoration.  The invitation came
at an awkward time, for it was Friday afternoon, and Mrs Wisdom rarely
sent home the washing before Saturday.  Consequently it was a work of
some difficulty to muster five clean collars among the party, still less
as many shirt-fronts.

Lickford spent at least an hour over his last Sunday's shirt with ink-
eraser, trying to get it to look tidy; while Cottle, more ingenious,
neatly gummed pieces of white paper over the dirty spots on his.

A great discussion took place as to chokers.  Percy, who had one,
threatened to leave behind any one not similarly adorned.  It was only
by adroit cajolery, and persuading him that he, as personal conductor of
the party, had a right to be sweller than the rest, that he could be
induced to waive the point.

The same argument had to be urged with regard to boots, as none of the
others had patent leathers, which Percy insisted was the first thing any
one looked to see if you had on at a party.  It was urged that as most
of the time would be spent with the feet under the table, this, though
sound in law, was not in the present case of such vital importance in
equity.  Objection waived once more.

Finally, when all was ready, Percy held a full-dress parade of his
forces, and looked each of them up and down as minutely and critically
as an officer of the Guards inspecting his company.  He objected to Cash
wearing white gloves, as he had none himself, and he nearly cashiered
Cottle for having a coloured handkerchief, because he himself had a
brand-new white one.  At length, however, all these little details were
arranged, and as the school clock began to chime the hour the order to
march was given, and the company proceeded at the double to Mr
Stratton's house.

Mr Stratton was more or less of a favourite with both sides at
Fellsgarth.  He had a small house, in which were representatives of both
factions, but most of them of the quieter sort, who, being obliged to
live together under one roof, did not see so much to quarrel about out
of doors.  Mr Stratton, too, took the juniors' divisions of each
school, and so kept fairly well in touch with both.  Add to this, that
he was a good all round athlete, that he had a serene and cheerful
temper, and, what is of scarcely less importance, a charming young wife,
and you have several very good reasons why he was one of the most
popular masters at Fellsgarth.  The juniors, on the whole, appreciated
him.  When he was down on them they forgave him on account of his youth,
and when he complained that he could not get them to understand his
precepts, they asked one another whose fault was that.  Occasionally he
condoned all his offences by an act of hospitality, and for once in a
way betrayed that he recognised the merits of a select few of his pupils
by asking them to tea.

This was evidently the ease now, and as our five young Moderns trotted
across the Green, they wished their enemies in Wakefield's could only
have looked out and witnessed their triumph.

Little they dreamed that at that moment Wally, Ashby, D'Arcy, and Fisher
minor, resplendent in shirts and collars fresh from the wash, with their
eight hands encased in white kid and their eight feet in patent leather,
were standing about in Mr Stratton's drawing-room, wondering who on
earth it was whose non-arrival was preventing the ringing of the tea-
bell.

When presently Percy and his party were ushered in, and discovered who
were their fellow-guests, it did some credit to their breeding that they
remembered to go up and shake hands with Mr and Mrs Stratton, and did
not immediately fly at the enemy's throat.  The enemy, however, were
equally taken aback, and were fully entitled to half the credit for the
self-control with which the discovery was received.

"There's no need to introduce you to one another, I'm sure," said Mr
Stratton.  "By the way, Wheatfield--you I mean," pointing to Percy, "I
must apologise for calling you minor.  It was very kind of you to put me
right."

Wally glared up at this, and would have liked to put the matter right
there and then, but Mrs Stratton said--

"It isn't fair to number twins at all, is it?"

"Unless," suggested D'Arcy, blushing to find himself talking, "unless
you reckon them half each."

This only mended matters to the extent of raising a laugh at the expense
of the twins, who felt mutually uncomfortable.

The tea-bell, however, relieved the tension, "Come," said the hostess.
"You must take one another in.  No, that won't do, all Mr Wakefield's
boys together.  Two of you come this side--that's right; and Cottle and
Ramshaw, you go over there.  Now, you're beautifully sorted.  Edward,
dear, you mustn't talk till you've handed round the tea-cake to our
guests.  Lickford, do you take cream and sugar?  And you too, twins?  Oh
really, dear, you don't call those slices, do you?  Do let Ashby cut up
the cake; I'm sure he knows better than you what a slice is; don't you,
Ashby?"

Apparently Ashby did; and the party, thus genially thrown together and
set to work, soon began, to experience the balmy influences of a
convivial high tea.

Very little was spoken at first except by Mr Stratton, who gave a brief
account of a University cricket match in which he had once played--a
narrative which served as a most soothing refrain to the silent exercise
in which his listeners were engaged.  Presently a few questions were put
in by the boys, followed by a few observations which gradually, by the
adroit piloting of the host, loyally backed up by his wife, developed
into a discussion on the use and abuse of "third man up" in modern
cricket.  After this knotty point was disposed of the talk grew more
general, and Wally became aware that his brother was handing him the
apricot jam.

The act, simple in itself, meant a great deal to Wally.  He liked
apricot jam, and had not been able to get at it all the evening.  As he
now helped himself he admitted to himself that Percy was not quite such
a lout as he had occasionally thought him.

"Thanks awfully, Percy.  Did you like that toffee I gave you the other
day?"

"Rather.  It was spiffing," said Percy.  "I say, I don't mind writing
home this week if you like."

"Oh, don't you grind; I will."

"Really I don't mind."

"No more do I.  I say, can you reach the butter?"

"Rather.  Better rinse this dish up here between us.  There's another
down there."

Similar scenes of reconciliation were taking place elsewhere.  Cottle
was asking Ashby his riddle; D'Arcy was laying down the law in the
admiring hearing of Ramshaw and Lickford as to the cooking of sprats on
the shovel; while Fisher minor was telling the sympathetic Mrs Stratton
all about the people at home.  Mr Stratton was wise enough not to
disturb this state of affairs by talk of his own.  When, however, the
meal began to flag, and his guests one by one abandoned the attack, he
proposed an adjournment to the drawing-room.

"I want the advice of you youngsters," said he presently, "about
something I dare say you all know something about.  I mean the old
School shop."

The party looked guilty.  Didn't they know the tuck-shop?

"It seems to me," said Mr Stratton, "it's rather in a bad way just now;
don't you think so?  Robert hasn't time to look after it, and wants to
give it up.  He says it doesn't pay; and really some of his things
aren't particularly nice.  I went and had a jam tart there this morning.
It was like shoe-leather; and the jam was almost invisible."

Wally laughed.  He knew those tarts well.

"I think it would be a pity if it was given up; don't you?  We all want
a little grub now and then; besides, it's an old School institution."

"Robert charges three-halfpence a-piece for those tarts," said D'Arcy.

"Yes--think of that.  I've no doubt you could get them for half the
price at Penchurch.  What I was thinking was, why shouldn't some of us
carry on the shop ourselves?"

The boys opened their eyes.  The idea of carrying on a tuck-shop on
their own account opened a vista of such endless possibilities, that
they were quite startled.

"It ought to be easy enough if we manage properly," said Mr Stratton.
"Suppose, now, we who are here were to form a committee and decide to
run the shop, how should we begin?"

"It depends on what Robert left behind," said Percy.

"Oh, we wouldn't take over any of his stuff.  No, the first thing would
be to reckon up how much we should want to start with, and either club
together or get some one to advance it.  How many tarts do you suppose
are sold a day?"

"Hundreds," said Ashby.

"Well, according to Robert, about eighty.  But say one hundred.  That at
a penny each would be about 8 shillings for tarts.  Then the ginger-
beer.  Would twenty bottles do?  That would be 3 shillings 4 pence,
supposing they cost 2 pence each.  That's 11 shillings 4 pence.  What
next?  Apples?  Suppose we put them down at 2 shillings 6 pence--13
shillings 10 pence.  Sweets?  Well, say 2 shillings 6 pence more--16
shillings 4 pence.  Nuts 1 shilling--17 shillings 4 pence.  It mounts
up, you see.  We ought at least to have 25 or 30 shillings to start
with.  Well, I happen to know somebody who would lend that amount to the
shareholders for a little time if we should want it.  Now suppose we've
got our money.  We ought to send to some of the best shops and market
people in the town to see what we could get our things for.  As it
happens, Mrs Stratton when she was in Penchurch this morning did
inquire, and this is her report.  The tarts that we should sell for a
penny we could get for three farthings each, so that on a hundred tarts
we should make a profit of 2 shillings 1 penny.  And the confectioner
would send his cart up every day with fresh tarts of different kinds of
jam, and take back yesterday's stale ones at half-price.  That would be
a great improvement, wouldn't it?"

"Rather," said everybody.

"Then the ginger-beer.  Would you believe it, if we undertake to take
not less than twelve bottles a day daring the half we can get them for a
penny each, and might sell them for three-halfpence.  That would make a
great increase in the demand, I fancy, and every bottle we can sell, we
make a dear halfpenny profit.  The same with the sweets.  You can get
most sorts for 9 or 10 pence a pound, and if we sell at a penny an
ounce, you see we get 7 or 8 pence profit.  I should vote for only
getting the best kind of sweets, and making rather less profit than
that.  At any rate, you see, if we are careful, we ought pretty soon to
be able to pay back what we owe, and after providing for the expense of
a person to mind the shop and do the selling, put by a little week by
week, which will go to the School clubs or anything else the fellows
decide.  What do you think of the plan?"

They all thought it would be magnificent.

"I see no reason why you youngsters should not manage it splendidly by
yourselves at soon as you get once started.  You'll have to draw up
strict rules, of course, for managing the shop, and make up the
accounts; and look out sharp that you aren't selling anything at a loss.
Remember, the cheaper you can sell (provided you get a fair profit),
the more customers you'll have.  And the better your stuff is, the more
it will be liked.  Mrs Stratton says she will act as banker, and take
care of the money at the end of each day and pay out what you want for
stores.  Don't say anything about it out of doors at present; talk it
over among yourselves daring the week, and if you think it will work,
tell me, and we'll have a regular business meeting to settle
preliminaries.  Now suppose we have a game of crambo?"

When the party broke up, Moderns and Classics strolled affectionately
across the Green arm in arm, deep in confabulation as to the projected
shop.

When they reached the door of Wakefield's, Wally said, "By the way, have
any of you chaps lost a football?  There's one kicking about in our
room.  Hang outside and I'll chuck it to you out of the window."

Which he did.  And the ball proved to be the very one the Moderns had
lost a week ago!  How curious!



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

FELLSGARTH VERSUS RENDLESHAM.

How it came that Rollitt played, after all, in the Rendlesham match, no
one could properly understand.

His name was not down on the original list.  Yorke _had_ given up asking
him to play, as he always either excused himself, or, what was worse,
promised to come and failed at the last moment.

After the defeat of the Moderns at the second election, the question of
the selection of the fifteen had been allowed to drop; and those who
were keen on victory hoped no further difficulty would arise.  Two days
before the match, however, Brinkman was unlucky enough to hurt his foot,
and to his great mortification was forbidden by the doctor to play.  The
news of his accident caused general consternation, as he was known to be
a good forward and a useful man in a scrimmage.  Clapperton increased
the difficulty by coming over to say that as Brinkman was laid up, he
had arranged for Corder to play instead.

Corder, as it happened, was a Modern senior, a small fellow, and reputed
an indifferent player.

"He wouldn't do at all," said Yorke, decisively.

"Why not?  Surely we've got a right to find a substitute for our own
man," said Clapperton, testily.

"What do you mean by your own man?  Who cares twopence whose man he is,
as long as he plays up?  The fifteen are Fellsgarth men, and no more
yours than they are mine."

"If they were as much mine as yours no one would complain."

"You mean to say that if you were captain of the fifteen you'd put
Corder in the team for a first-class match?"

"Why not?  There are plenty worse than he."

"There are so many better, that he is out of the question."

"That means only five of our men are to play against ten of yours."

"You're talking rot, Clapperton, and you know it.  If I'm captain, I'll
choose my own team.  If you don't like it, or if the best fifteen men in
the school aren't in it, you are welcome to complain.  I hope you will."

"It strikes me pretty forcibly our fellows won't fancy being snubbed
like this.  It would be a bad job if they showed as much on the day of
the match."

"It would be a bad job--for them," said the captain.

When Yorke repeated this disagreeable conversation to his friends later
on, they pulled long faces.

"I suppose he means they don't intend to play up," said Dalton.

"If that's so," said Fisher major, "why not cut them all out and make up
the fifteen of fellows you can depend on?"

"That wouldn't do," said Yorke.  "I expect when the time comes they'll
play up all right.  After all, Clapperton and Fullerton are two of our
best men."

"But what about the vacant place?"

"I've four or five names all better than Corder," said the captain, "but
none of them as good as Brinkman."

The company generally, it is to be feared, did not lament as honestly as
Yorke did, the accident to their rival.  They did not profess to
rejoice, of course; still they bore the blow with equanimity.

Next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, the notice board
contained an abrupt announcement in the captain's hand, that in
consequence of Brinkman's inability to play, Rollitt would take his
place in the fifteen.

Yorke himself could not account for this sudden act of patriotism.
Rollitt, he said, had looked into his room last night at bedtime and
said--

"I'll play on Saturday," and vanished.

Fisher minor was perhaps, of all persons, better able to explain the
mystery than any one else.  He had overheard in Ranger's study a general
lamentation about the prospects for Saturday, and a wish expressed by
his brother that Rollitt were not so unsociable and undependable.
Everybody agreed it was utterly useless to ask him to play, and that
they would have to get a second-rate man to fill the empty place, and so
most probably lose the match.

Fisher minor heard all this, and when presently, on his way to his own
den, he passed Rollitt's door, a tremendous resolution seized him to
take upon himself the duty of ambassador extraordinary for the School.
Rollitt appeared to owe him no grudge for throwing stones the other day,
and had already come to his relief handsomely at the time of the second
election and in the affair with Dangle.  On the whole, Fisher minor
thought he might venture.

Rollitt was reading hard by the light of one small candle when he
entered.

"Please, Rollitt," said the boy, "would you ever mind playing for the
School on Saturday?"

Rollitt looked up in such evident alarm that Fisher major put his hand
on the latch of the door, and made ready to bolt.

"I'll see--get out," said Rollitt.

And Fisher minor did get out.

It was really too absurd to suppose that Rollitt was going to play in
the fifteen to oblige Fisher minor.  So at least thought that young
gentleman, and remained discreetly silent about his interview, hoping
devoutly no one would hear of it.

The joy of the Classics was almost equal to the fury of the Moderns.
The latter could not deny that Rollitt was a host in himself, and worth
a dozen Corders.  Yet it galled them to see him quietly put in the
vacant place, and to hear the jubilation on every hand.

For Rollitt was the fellow who had publicly insulted the Moderns in the
person of Dangle; and not only that, but--poor and shabby as he was--had
shown himself utterly indifferent to their indignation and contemptuous
of their threats.

"Why," Dangle said, "the fellow's a pauper! he can't even pay for his
clubs!  His father's a common fellow, I'm told."

"Yes, and I heard," said Brinkman, "his fees up here are paid for him.
Why, we might just as well have Bob in the fifteen."

"A jolly sight better.  Bob knows how to be civil."

"It is a crime to be poor," said Fullerton.  "I hope I shall never
commit it."

"Well," said Clapperton, ignoring this bit of sarcasm, "if he was well
enough off to buy a cake of soap once a term, it wouldn't be so bad.  I
believe when he wants a wash he goes down to Mrs Wisdom and borrows a
bit of hers."

"By the way, that reminds me," said Dangle; "did you fellows ever hear
about Mrs Wisdom's boat?  The lout had it out the other day in the
rapids, and let it go over the falls, and it got smashed up."

"What!" exclaimed everybody.

"Do you mean," said Brinkman, "poor Widow Wisdom has lost her boat owing
to that cad?  Why, she'll be ruined?  However is she to get a new one?"

"That's the extraordinary thing," said Dangle.  "It was she told me
about it.  She says that Rollitt went straight away to the lake and
bought her a boat that was for sale there; and she's got it now down in
the lower reach; and it's a better one than the other."

"What!" exclaimed Clapperton, incredulously; "Rollitt bought a new boat!
Bosh!"

"It was a second-hand one for sale cheap.  But it cost five pounds.  She
showed me the receipt."

"Stuff and nonsense.  She was gammoning you," said Clapperton.

"All right," said Dangle, snappishly; "you're not obliged to believe it
unless you like."

And there the conversation ended.

The day of the great match came at last.  The Rendlesham men, who had to
come from a distance, were not due till one o'clock, and, as may be
imagined, the interval was peculiarly trying to some of the inhabitants
of Fellsgarth.  The farce of morning school was an ordeal alike to
masters

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