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The Master of the Shell

by Talbot Baines Reed · English · Gutenberg #21050 · 570,401 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Master of the Shell

Author: Talbot Baines Reed


        
Release date: April 12, 2007 [eBook #21050]
                Most recently updated: September 21, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21050

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MASTER OF THE SHELL ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England





The Master of the Shell

By Talbot Baines Reed
________________________________________________________________________
I did find the start of this book to be rather annoying, for it can
never have been realistic that a school would advertise for a
form-master and house-master.  Even in those days it would have been
absolutely normal that a house-master would undergo a long period as a
junior master before even being asked to take a house at some time in
the future.  This would be something like five years on the staff, and
then a further ten years before actually taking charge of a house.  As
for being Master of the Shell, again, there would be a period of
probation while a young man was learning the ropes about teaching,
before he would become head of a Block, such as Shell.  In my school
there was a Shell, but it was rather a side alley, rather than the broad
avenue leading to the Sixth Form.  It was usual for the Head of a Block
to be a man who had done his fifteen years as a house master, and who
had therefore been on the staff for thirty years or more.

One last point about appointing a young master to a school: he would be
expected to play a full part in sport or other outdoor activities.  Our
hero had indeed been an Oxford Blue, and he could have got a job on the
basis of this and his academic record.  But he would never have been
accepted if he mentioned that he was planning soon to marry, for the
school needed him heart and soul as a bachelor for at least five years.
On the other hand it was quite desirable that he should marry before
becoming a house master, though on the whole the most excellent house
masters are the unmarried ones.

It takes quite a few chapters to get past the welter of nineteenth
century school-boy slang before we get to any decisive fresh action.
There was another house-master, who was an exceedingly nasty man.  Some
of the boys lay a trap for him, catch him, tie him up with a rope, and
leave him for the night in the boot box, after which none of the boys
will admit to this misdemeanour.  By chance the hero, Mr Railsford,
finds out who did it, but under circumstances which make it impossible
for him to tell anyone.  The nasty man tries to pin the deed on him,
and it comes to the point where he has to resign rather than tell.

Luckily he is saved at the very last moment, so late that his cab has
arrived to take him to the station.  When all is revealed, it is the
nasty man that has to resign. We are left to presume that the school
continued harmoniously for many a year, with Railsford still a house
master, and Master of the Shell.
N.H.
________________________________________________________________________
THE MASTER OF THE SHELL

BY TALBOT BAINES REED



CHAPTER ONE.

TWICE ACCEPTED.

The reader is requested kindly to glance through the following batch of
letters, which, oddly enough, are all dated September 9th, 18---:

Number 1.--William Grover, M.A., Grandcourt School, to Mark Railsford,
M.A., Lucerne.

"Grandcourt, _September_ 9th.

"Dear Railsford,--I suppose this will catch you at Lucerne, on your way
back to England.  I was sorry to hear you had been seedy before you left
London.  Your trip is sure to have done you good, and if you only fell
in with pleasant people I expect you will have enjoyed yourself
considerably.  What are you going to do when you get home--still follow
the profession of a gentleman at large, or what?  Term opened here again
last week, and the Sixth came back to-day.  I'm getting more reconciled
to the place by this time; indeed, there is no work I like better than
teaching, and if I was as certain it was as good for the boys as it is
congenial to me I should be perfectly contented.  My fellow-masters,
with an exception or two, are good fellows, and let me alone.  The
exceptions are harder to get on with.

"As for the boys, I have a really nice lot in my house.  One or two
rowdies, who give me some bother, and one or two cads, with whom I am at
war; but the rest are a festive, jovial crew, who tolerate their master
when he lets them have their own way, and growl when he doesn't; who
work when they are so disposed, and drop idle with the least
provocation; who lead me many a weary dance through the lobbies after
the gas is out, and now and then come and make themselves agreeable in
my rooms when I invite them.

"I fancied when I came here I should get lots of time to myself--enough
perhaps to write my book on Comparative Political Economy.  Vain hope!
I haven't time to turn round.  If my days were twenty-six hours I should
scarcely then do all I ought to do here.  Ponsford is getting old, and
leaves the executive to his lieutenants.  He sits aloft like Zeus, hurls
a thunderbolt now and then, and for the rest acts as a supreme court of
appeal.  Bickers, my opposite neighbour, is still a thorn in my side.  I
don't know how it is, I try all I know, but I can't get on with him, and
have given him up.  Moss, I believe, who is Master of the Shell and head
of a house, has come to the end of his endurance, and there is some talk
of his throwing up his place here.  It would be a pity in many ways, and
it might be hard to get a good man in his place.

"By the way, if there is a vacancy, why should not you enter the lists?
I see you smile at the idea of anyone exchanging the profession of
gentleman at large for that of Master of the Shell.  But it's worth a
thought, any how.  Let us know where and how you are; and if you can run
down this way for a Sunday, do, and make glad the heart of your
friend,--

"W.  Grover."

No. 2.--Arthur Herapath, Esquire, Lucerne, to Sir Digby Oakshott,
Baronet, Grandcourt.

"Dear Dig,--Here's a game!  The gov's been and lost a lot of the
luggage, and ma won't go home without it, so we're booked here for a
week more.  He's written to Ponsford to say I can't turn up till next
week, and says I'm doing some of the mug, so as not to be all behind.
Jolly good joke of the gov.'s, isn't it?  Catch me mugging here!

"Stunning place, this!  We went a picnic to--I say, by the way, while I
remember it, do you know it's all a howling cram about William Tell?
There never was such a chap!  This is the place he used to hang out in,
and everyone says it's all my eye what the history says about him.
You'd better let Moss know.  Tell him, from inquiries made by me on the
spot, I find it's all humbug, and he'd better get some chap to write a
new history who knows something about it.  I was asking Railsford--by
the way, he's a stunning chap.  We ran up against him on the Saint
Gothard, and he's been with us ever since.  No end of a cheese!  Rowed
in the Cambridge boat three years ago, Number 4, when Oxford won by two
feet.  He says when you're rowing in a race you see nothing but the
fellow's back in front of you.  He's 6 feet 2, and scales 12 stone 14
pounds.  That's why they put him Number 4; but he rowed stroke in his
college boat.  He's having a lot of fag about our luggage, but I'm in no
hurry for it to turn up.

"How are all the fellows?  I guess I'm missing a lot of fun this week.
Get some of them to keep something; till I come back.  How's Tilbury?
By the way, who am I stuck with this term?  I don't want to get chummed
again with that young ass Simson.  Tell Moss that.  Any more rows with
Bickers's lot?  There will be when I come back!  I've got half a dozen
of them in my eye.  Gov. says I'll have to wake up this term.  What a
go!  If I don't scrape into the Shell at Christmas, he says he'll know
the reason why!  So look out for no-larks.

"This fellow Railsford's put me up to a thing or two about mugging.  He
was a hot man at Cambridge, and says he knew Grover.  He's gone with
Daisy up a mountain to-day.  Wanted to take me, too, but I told them I
didn't see it.  I tried it once, that was enough for me!  Ta-ta, old
man; keep your pecker up till I come, and then mind your eye!

"Yours truly,--

"A.  Herapath, Ll.D."

Number 3.--From Miss Daisy Herapath to Miss Emily Sherriff.

"Lucerne, _Tuesday_.

"My Dearest Milly,--We are in _such_ trouble!  Two of our boxes have
been lost between Como and here.  One of them contained my new black
grenadine with the Spanish lace.  I have positively nothing to wear; and
had to appear at _table d'hote_ in my blue serge and one of mamma's
shawls.  Just imagine!  It is such a sad end to our holiday.  I am
longing to get home.  Travelling abroad is all very nice, but one gets
tired of it.  I feel I shall like to settle down in town once more.

"Poor papa has had so much trouble with the boxes, and must, have spent
pounds in telegrams.  It was really Arthur's fault.  He sent the porter
who was booking the luggage for us to get him some chocolate from the
buffet, and the consequence was the train went off before all the boxes
were put in the van.  Dear Milly, _never_ travel abroad with your young
brother!

"I have been quite lazy about sketching the last few days.  I can't tell
you how lovely some of the sunsets have been.  It is the regular thing
to sit out in the hotel grounds and watch them.  I wish so often you
could be here to share my pleasure, for papa and mamma are afraid to sit
out, and Arthur is so unpoetical!  There are a great many Americans
here.  The fashion of short steeves seems quite to be coming in again!
I shall have to get mine altered as soon as I come home.  Some of our
party went up the Rigi to-day.  The view from the top was beautiful; but
the place is spoiled by the crowds of people who go up.  I so much
prefer the quieter excursions.

"I must go to bed now, dearest Milly.  It will be lovely to see you
soon.  When one is away from home, one feels more than ever how nice it
would be to have one's friends always about one.  (What a lot of
`ones'!)

"Ever your very loving friend,--

"Daisy.

"P.S.--We met the Thompsons at Como.  Did you know Edith was to be
married this autumn, quite quietly, in the country?  The Walkleys are
here, and one or two other people we know.  Arthur has struck up with a
Cambridge fellow, named Railsford, whom we met on the Saint Gothard, and
who took _so_ much trouble about the luggage.  It is so nice for Arthur
to have a companion.  Dearest Milly, he (M.R.) was one of the party who
went up the Rigi to-day; he speaks German so well, and is so attentive
to mamma.  Don't be too horribly curious, darling; I'll tell you
_everything_ when I get home.  (He is _so_ good and handsome!)"

Number 4.--Francis Herapath, Esquire, Merchant, to James Blake, Esquire,
Solicitor.

"_Private and Confidential_.

"Dear Blake,--Being detained here owing to a miscarriage of some of our
luggage, I write this instead of waiting till I see you, as it may be
another week before we are home.

"During our travels my daughter has become engaged to a Mr Mark
Railsford, apparently a very desirable and respectable young man.  You
will wonder why I trouble you about such a very domestic detail.  The
young gentleman was very frank and straightforward in making his
proposal, and volunteered that if I desired to make any inquiries, he
was quite sure that you, his late father's solicitor, would answer any
questions.  I have no doubt, from the readiness with which he invited
the inquiry and his satisfaction in hearing that you and I were old
friends, that you will have nothing to say which will alter my
favourable impression.  Still, as my child's happiness is at stake, I
have no right to omit any opportunity of satisfying myself.  Anything
you may have to say I shall value and treat as confidential.

"I understand Mr R., under his father's will, has a small property; but
of course it will be necessary for him now to find some occupation,
which with his abilities I have no doubt he will easily do.  As usual,
the young people are in a hurry to know their fate, so it will be a
charity to them to reply as soon as convenient.  Excuse the trouble I am
giving you, and, with kind regards to Mrs B. and your sister,--

"Believe me, yours faithfully,--

"Fras.  Herapath."

Number 5.--Mark Railsford to William Grover, Grandcourt.

"Lucerne, _September_ 9th, 18---.

"Dear Grover,--You have often in your lighter moods laughed at the
humble individual who addresses you.  Laugh once again.  The fact is, I
am engaged.  I can fancy I see you reeling under this blow!  I have been
reeling under it for thirty-six hours.

"It's partly your fault.  Coming over the Saint Gothard a week ago, I
fell in with a family party, Herapath by name; father, mother, boy and
girl.  They had come part of the way by train, and were driving over the
top.  The boy and I walked, and I discovered he was at Grandcourt, and
of course knew you, though he's not in your house, but Moss's.  That's
how _you_ come to be mixed up in it.  During the last hour or so Miss
H--- walked with us, and before we reached the Devil's Bridge my fate
was sealed.

"The ladies were in great distress about some lost luggage--lost by the
kind offices of the boy--and I went back to Como to look for it.  It
lost me two days, and I never found it.  However, I found the brightest
pair of blue eyes when I got back.  I will draw you no portraits, you
old scoffer; but I challenge you to produce out of your own imagination
anything to match it.  I don't mind confessing to you that I feel half
dazed by it all at present, and have to kick myself pretty often to make
sure it is not a dream.  The father, whom I bearded yesterday, nods his
head and will say `Yes' as soon as he's looked into my credentials.
Meanwhile I am tolerated, and dread nothing except the premature turning
up of the lost luggage.

"But, to be practical for once in my life.  Amongst much that is
delightfully vague and dreamy, one thing stands out very clear in my own
mind at present.  I must do something.  My loafing days are over.  The
profession of a gentleman at large, with which you twit me, I hereby
renounce.  She will back me up in any honest work--she says so.  I've
confessed the way I wasted the last three years.  She said she is glad
she did not know me then.  Oh my, William, it is all very well for you
to scoff.  I'm not ashamed to tell you what it is that has brought me to
my senses.  Don't scoff, but help a lame dog over a stile.  My object in
life is to have an object in life at present.  Give me your counsel, and
deserve the benediction of someone besides your friend, M.R."

The patient reader must infer what he can from these five letters.  They
are copied word for word from the original documents, and speak for
themselves.  I am unable to say whether the luggage was found--whether
Miss Daisy got her sleeves altered to her liking--whether Arthur found
any "fun" left on his arrival, a fortnight late, at Grandcourt, or how
soon Mr Blake's reply to the father's letter reached Lucerne.  All
these momentous questions the reader can settle for himself as well as I
can for him.  He will at any rate be able to understand that when one
day in October a telegram reached Railsford from Grandcourt with the
brief announcement--"Vacancy here; see advertisement _Athenaeum_! am
writing"--it created no small stir in the manly breast of the worthy to
whom it was directed.

He went at once to Westbourne Park and held a cabinet council with his
chief adviser, and again, on returning home, called his sisters into
consultation.  He wrote to his college tutor, drew up a most elegant
letter to the governors, read a few chapters of _Tom Brown's
Schooldays_, and then waited impatiently for Grover's promised letter.

"You will have guessed," said that letter, when it arrived, "from my
telegram that Moss has resigned, and that there will be a vacancy for a
house-master and Master of the Shell here at Christmas.  You know how I
would like to see you appointed.  But--"

"But what?" inquired someone who read the letter over the reader's
shoulder.

"I should not be your friend if I represented this place as a bed of
roses, especially Moss's house.  You'll have hard work to hold your own
with the boys, and harder still with some of the masters.  You will get
more criticism than backing-up from head-quarters.  Still it is a
splendid opening for a man of courage like you; and all the school would
profit by your success.  Talk to Podmore about it; he'll give you good
advice.  So will Weston.  Of course I can do nothing at all but look on
sympathetically, and, if you try for the place and succeed, promise you
at least one hearty welcome."

"It seems pretty clear it won't be child's play," said Railsford,
folding up the letter.

"It would not suit you if it was," replied his adviser.

This brave speech went far to make up Railsford's mind.

In the house at Westbourne Park, particularly, the career opening before
our hero was hailed with eager enthusiasm.  "Dear Arthur" was in Moss's
house, and at Christmas he would get his remove to the Shell.  In both
capacities he would have the protecting interest of his prospective
brother-in-law, spread like an aegis over his innocent head.  "It really
seems almost a providential arrangement," said Mrs Herapath.

"I am sure it will be a great thing for Arthur," said Daisy.

"It makes one believe there's some truth in the saying that every man
has his niche waiting for him somewhere in life," moralised Mr
Herapath.

That evening a letter came from Arthur to Daisy.  The boy, of course,
knew nothing of Railsford's candidature.

"Such a flare-up!" wrote the youth.  "Moss has got kicked out!  He's
jacked it up, and is going at Christmas.  Jolly good job!  He shouldn't
have stopped the roast potatoes in the dormitories.  Bickers's fellows
have them; they can do what they like!  Dig and I did the two mile spin
in 11.19, but there was too much slush to put it on.  All I can say is,
I hope we'll get a fellow who is not a cad after Moss, especially as he
will be Master of the Shell, and I'll get a dose of him both ways after
Christmas.  We mean not to let him get his head up like Moss did; we're
going to take it out of him at first, and then he'll cave in and let us
do as we like afterwards.  Dig and I will get a study after Christmas.
I wish you'd see about a carpet, and get the gov. to give us a picture
or two; and we've got to get a rig-out of saucepans and kettles and a
barometer and a canary, and all that.  The room's 15 feet by 9, so see
the carpet's the right size.  Gedge says Turkey carpets are the best, so
we'll have a Turkey.  How's Railsford?  Are you and he spoons still?
Dig and the fellows roared when I told them about catching you two that
time at Lucerne in the garden.  You know, when I thought the window was
being smashed?  Could you lend me a bob's worth of stamps till
Christmas?  I'll pay you back.  Dig says he once had a cousin who went
spoons on a chap.  He says it was an awful game to catch them at it.
So, you see, we've lots to sympathise about.  Love to all.

"I am, yours truly,--

"Arthur.

"P.S.--Don't forget the stamps.  Two bob's worth will do as well."

Daisy laughed and cried over this outrageous epistle, and hesitated
about showing it to Mark.  However, that happy youth only laughed, and
produced half a crown, which he begged Daisy to add to her own
contribution.

"That's the sort of Young England I like!" said he.  "It will be like a
canter on a breezy moor to come in contact with fresh life and spirit
like this, after wasting my time here for three years."

"I expect you will find it breezy," said Daisy, recovering her smiles.
"Arthur is a dreadful boy; it _will_ be so good for him to have you."

At the end of a fortnight came a summons to Railsford, as one of six
selected candidates, to appear and show himself to the governors.  He
had expected thus much of success, but the thought of the other five
rendered him uncomfortable as he leaned back in the railway carriage and
hardened himself for the ordeal before him.  Grover had deemed it
prudent not to display any particular interest in his arrival, but he
contrived to pay a flying visit to his hotel that evening.

"There's only one fellow likely to run you close--an Oxford man, first-
class in classics, and a good running-man in his day.  I think when they
see you they'll prefer you.  They will have the six up in alphabetical
order, so you'll come last.  That's a mercy.  Take a tip from me, and
don't seem too anxious for the place, it doesn't pay; and keep in with
Ponsford."

"Will he be there?  Oh, of course.  What sort of men are the governors?"

"Very harmless.  They'll want to know your character and your creed, and
that sort of thing, and will leave all the rest to Ponsford."

Next morning at 11.30 Railsford sat with his five fellow-martyrs in the
ante-room of the governors' hall at Grandcourt.  They talked to one
another, these six unfortunates, about the weather, about the Midland
Railway, about the picture on the wall.  They watched one another as, in
obedience to the summons from within, they disappeared one by one
through the green baize door, and emerged a quarter or half an hour
later with tinged cheeks, and taking up their hats, vanished into the
open-air.  Railsford was the only one left to witness the exit of the
fifth candidate.  Then the voice from within called, "Come in, Mr
Railsford," and he knew his turn was come.  It was less terrible than he
expected.  Half a score of middle-aged gentlemen round a table, some
looking at him, some reading his testimonials, and one or two putting
questions.  Most of them indulgent to his embarrassment and even sharing
it.  Dr Ponsford, however, massive, stern, with his shaggy eyebrows and
pursed mouth, was above any such weakness.

"What have you been doing since you left college?" demanded he,
presently fixing the candidate with his eyes.

It was a home question.  Railsford answered it honestly, if
hesitatingly.

"I was unfortunately not under the necessity of working," he added,
after going through the catalogue of his abortive studies, "that is, not
for my livelihood."  Some of the governors nodded their heads a little,
as though they recognised the misfortune of such a position.

"And what places you under that necessity now?"

"I do not expect to remain a bachelor always, sir."

Here a governor chuckled.

"Ha, ha!  Hymen comes to the rescue.  Wonderful the revolutions he makes
in young fellows' lives."

The governor had left school fifty-five years ago, and was rather proud
to have remembered who Hymen was.  The doctor waited with chilling
patience till the interruption was over.

"You feel yourself competent to take charge of a house of forty to fifty
boys, do you? as well as to conduct a class of seventy?"

"I have thought over the matter, and tried to realise the duties, and
think I can succeed."

"Quite right; I like that.  No brag," said another of the governors, in
an aside.

"Your temper is good, is it? you are not likely to fall out with your
fellow-masters, are you?"

"Yes, that's important," interjected a governor.

"I believe I am good-tempered and patient."

"Well, Mr Railsford, you may retire.  If you are not busy elsewhere,
you can remain a short time in the outer room."

Railsford retired, and for an interminable half-hour kicked his heels in
the ante-chamber.  He got to hate the picture on the wall and the
ruthless ticking of the clock in the hall outside.  Presently the door
opened and his name was called.  This time the spokesman was the
chairman of the governors.

"We have been through your testimonials a second time, Mr Railsford,
and are satisfied with them, both those which refer to your scholarship
and those which relate to your character and other qualifications.  We
are also glad to know from you that you have fully considered the
responsibilities of this very important post, and are prepared to enter
upon them in a firm yet conciliatory spirit.  The governors and head-
master agree with me in considering that, taken as a whole, your
qualifications are higher than those of the other candidates, and they,
therefore, have agreed to appoint you to the vacant post.  I trust it
may result in our mutual satisfaction and the good of the school."



CHAPTER TWO.

"VENI, VIDI, --"

If a light heart and faith in one's own good luck are omens of success,
Mark Railsford undoubtedly entered on his new duties at Grandcourt under
the most favourable of auspices.  It would not have been to his
discredit if his light heart had acknowledged even slightly the weight
of the responsibility it was undertaking.  But, as a matter of fact, it
was all the lighter for that very responsibility.  The greater the task,
he argued, the greater the achievement; and the greater the achievement,
the greater the triumph.  A less sanguine hero might have been daunted
by the pictures with which his nervous friends did their best to damp
his ardour.  Grover, delighted as he was at the success of his friend's
application, took care to keep the rocks ahead well above the surface in
all his letters and conversations.  Railsford laughed him pleasantly to
scorn.

Grover's was not the only attempt made to intimidate our hero.  A week
or so before he entered upon his duties, a nervous-looking man called to
see him.  It was Mr Moss, the late master.

"I hear you have been appointed to my house," he said, by way of
explanation, "and I thought it would be only friendly to call and tell
you the sort of thing you are to expect when you go there."

"Thanks, very much," said Railsford, with a smile of the corner of his
mouth.

"You may be made of cast iron, or be possessed of the patience of a
Job," began this cheery adviser.  "If so, you're all right.  I wasn't
either."

"Did you find the boys unmanageable?"

"No--not more than other boys--all boys, of course, are the sworn foes
of law and order, and nobody imagines anything else.  No, your
difficulties, if you have anything like my luck, will be more with your
colleagues than your subjects."

"And how do they make themselves objectionable?" asked the new master,
rather contemptuously.

Mr Moss did not miss the tone of this question, and fired up himself.

"Of course, if _you_ don't mind being systematically snubbed at head-
quarters--thwarted and slandered by your fellow-masters--baulked in
every attempt to improve the condition either of your house or the
school--and misrepresented and undermined in your influence among your
boys, you may go up and enjoy it.  I didn't.  That's why I left."

"At any rate, I have one friend among the masters--Grover."

"Oh, poor Grover.  He is the only master who can get on at all, and he
does so by effacing himself on every possible occasion, and agreeing
with everybody."

"Not a very noble character to hear of one's friend," said Railsford,
who was beginning to get tired of this jeremiad.

"I don't blame him; he can stand more than you or I can."

"That, I suppose, is meant for a compliment to me?" said Railsford,
laughing.  "You think, then, I would be wise to back out before it is
too late?"

"I don't say that, only--"

"Only you pity me.  Thanks, very much."

That evening Railsford sent a line to Grover:--

"Tell me in two words why Moss left Grandcourt."

A telegram came next morning, "Incompatibility of temper."

Whereat the new master chuckled, and dismissed the lugubrious ex-master
and his friendly warnings from his mind.  But although the gloomy
prognostications of his Job's comforters failed in the least to depress
his spirits, one very small cloud hovered occasionally on the horizon.
This was the attitude of his worthy and respected prospective pupil and
brother-in-law, Arthur Herapath.  That young gentleman, who had been
prudently kept in the dark while term lasted, was, as may be imagined,
considerably astounded on arriving home to be met with the news that the
new master of the Shell at Grandcourt was to be Mark Railsford.

"What a lark!" he exclaimed.

Now, genial as the remark was, the tone in which it was uttered was not
calculated to inspire confidence in the breasts of those to whom it was
addressed.  There was more of enjoyment in it than respect.  Yet boys
will be boys, and who can gauge the depths of a nature below the smiles
that ripple on the surface?

It was little incidents like these which occasionally suggested to
Railsford, far more forcibly than the lugubrious warnings of his
officious friends, that the task before him at Grandcourt would tax his
powers considerably.  But, on the whole, he rejoiced that all would not
be plain-sailing at first, and that there was no chance of his relapsing
immediately into the condition of a humdrum pedagogue.

The Christmas holidays slipped away only too fast for Arthur and for
Daisy.  Mark, much as he felt the approaching separation from his
betrothed, could not suppress a slight feeling of exultation as the day
drew near when he was to "go, see, and conquer" at Grandcourt.  His
three idle years made the prospect of hard work now welcome; and the
importance which everyone else attached to his new duties made him
doubly keen for a fray on which so many eyes were turned.

Dr Ponsford had suggested, in terms which amounted to a mandate, that
the new master might find it convenient to arrive at Grandcourt a day
before the school returned, in order to take possession of his quarters
and acquaint himself with the details of his coming duties.  This
arrangement was not altogether satisfactory, for it deprived Mark of the
pleasure of his future brother-in-law's escort, which was a great loss,
and also of the prospect of finding Grover at his journey's end, on
which he had reckoned with some confidence.  However, it was only the
difference of a day, and during that day he would at least do his utmost
to make a favourable impression on his chief.  So, with a heart full of
confidence, and a cab full of luggage, he set out gaily on his new
career.

"Good-bye, Mark.  You'll be good to my son, I know," said Mrs Herapath.

"Good-bye, my boy; take care of your health," said Mr Herapath.

"Good-bye, Mark," said Daisy.

"Ta-ta, old man," called Arthur.  "See you to-morrow."

This last greeting, strange as it may seem, recurred to Railsford's
memory more frequently than any of the others during the course of the
long railway journey to Grandcourt.  It took all sorts of forms as the
day wore on.  At first it seemed only a fraternal _au revoir_, then it
became a rather serious promise, and finally sounded in his ears rather
like a menace.

Here was he, going down like a prince to his coronation, and his
subjects would "see him to-morrow."  It had never occurred to him before
that these subjects might have something to say to the ordering of the
new kingdom, and that he should have to reckon with them, as well as
they with him.  The idea was not altogether comfortable, and he tried to
shelve it.  Of course he would get on with them.  They would look up to
him, and they would discover that his interests and theirs were the
same.  He was prepared to go some way to meet them.  It would be odd if
they would not come the rest to meet him.  He turned his mind to other
subjects.  Still he wished he could be quite sure that Arthur's innocent
"see you again to-morrow" had no double meaning for him.

The railway took him as far as Blankington Junction, about five miles
from Grandcourt; and, as it would be some time before a Grandcourt train
came up, he decided, after seeing his effects into a cab, to take
advantage of the fine, frosty afternoon, and complete his journey on
foot.  He was, in fact, beginning to grow a little depressed, and the
exercise would brace him up.  He had, foolishly enough, looked forward
to a somewhat different kind of advent, dropping, perhaps, with some
little _eclat_ on a school where Arthur had already proclaimed his fame
among the boys, and where Grover had prepared him a welcome among the
masters.  Compared with that, this solitary backstairs arrival seemed
tame and dispiriting, and he half regretted that he had not postponed
his coming till to-morrow, even in the face of Dr Ponsford's
suggestion.

A mile from Grandcourt he caught sight of the square red ivy-covered
brick tower of the school among the trees.  Even in winter it looked
warm and picturesque.  It was growing dark when he passed the lodge, and
crossed the playing-field towards the school-house.  The cabman was
awaiting him in the square.

"Never gave me your name," explained he, "and nobody knows nothink about
you here.  Five miles is seven-and-six, and luggage is two bob more, and
waiting another 'alf-hour's a crown,--namely, twelve shillings, and
thank you, mister."

Railsford rang the bell at the porter's lodge.  A small child of eight
appeared.

"Where's your father?" asked the new master.

"Yout," replied the girl.

"Well, your mother?"

"Please, she's--she's in the churchyard along of my Aunt Sally."

"Well, run and-- You mean she's dea--?"

The child nodded before he had finished his sentence.

"Is there anyone about?" inquired the perplexed new-comer.

"There's Mrs 'Astings, doing the floors in Bickers's."

Mrs Hastings was duly summoned, and arrived with her broom and
kneeling-pad.

"My good woman, can you tell me the fare from Blankington here?"

The lady looked perplexed, then embarrassed, then angry.

"And you fetched me over from Bickers's--me, with my lame foot, over the
cobbles--to ask me that!  You oughter be ashamed of yerself, young man.
Ask the cabman; he knows."

It was hopeless.  Railsford assisted to unload the cab, and meekly gave
the cabman the fare demanded.

"I am Mr Railsford, the new master," said he presently, overtaking Mrs
Hastings, as she hobbled back in dudgeon to her work; "which are my
rooms?"

"I'm sure I don't know.  You're a day too early.  All the rooms is up,
and it will take us all our times to get them done against the school
comes back to-morrow."

"It is an extraordinary thing," said Railsford, who began to feel his
dignity somewhat put upon, "that Dr Ponsford should tell me to come to-
day, and that no preparations--"

"'Tain't got to do with me.  You'd best go to the doctor's house, out of
that gate, across the little square, the house on the far side of the
chapel."

Railsford, leaving his luggage stacked on the pavement outside the
porter's lodge, started off with flushed cheeks to the lion's den.  The
doctor, said the maid, was in, but was at dinner.  The gentleman had
better call again in half an hour.

So Railsford, in the closing twilight, took a savage walk round the
school precincts, in no mood to admire the natural beauties of the
place, or to indulge in any rhapsodies at this near view of the scene of
his coming triumphs.  In half an hour he returned, and was shown into
the doctor's study.

"How do you do, Mr ---;" here the doctor took up his visitor's card to
refresh his memory--"Mr Railsford?"

"I was afraid, sir," said Mark, "I had mistaken your letter about coming
to-day; there appears to be no one--no one who can--I have been unable
to ascertain where I am to go."

The doctor waited patiently for the end of this lucid explanation.

"I rather wonder it did not suggest itself to you to call on me for
information."

Railsford wondered so too, and felt rather sheepish.

"Your train must have been late.  I expected you an hour ago."

"I think we were up to time.  I walked from Blankington here."

"Really--I wish I had known of your intention."

"I trust," said Railsford, struck by a horrible suspicion, "you were not
waiting dinner for me."

"Not in the least," said the doctor, with a grim smile; "but I had
calculated on taking you round before nightfall.  We must defer our
visit till the morning.  Talking of dinner," he added, "you will be
ready for something after your journey, will you not?"

As Railsford was nearly famishing, he could only colour up and reply--

"Thank you."

The doctor rang the bell.

"See that Mr Railsford gets dinner.  I have to go out," he added, "but
you will, no doubt, make yourself at home;" and the great man withdrew,
leaving the new master in a very crestfallen and disturbed state of
mind.

If this was a sample of the sympathy he might expect at head-quarters,
Moss's prognostications, after all, were not quite baseless.  He made
the best of his solitary dinner, and then sallied out in the dark to try
to find the porter's lodge once more and rescue his luggage.  That
functionary was still absent, and Mark was compelled himself to haul his
belongings in under cover, and leave word with the little girl that they
were to be taken over to Mr Railsford's rooms as soon as her father
came in.  Then taking with him a bag which contained what he wanted for
the night, he returned to the head-master's house and made a point of
retiring to rest before his host reappeared on the scene.

Once more luck was against him.

"You vanished early last night," said the doctor, blandly, at breakfast
next morning.  "I brought Mr Roe in to supper, thinking you and he
might like a chat about the work in the Shell, about which he could have
given you some useful hints.  However, early hours are very
commendable."

"I am extremely sorry," faltered Railsford.  "I had no idea you would be
home so early.  I should have liked to meet Mr Roe so much."

"Take some more coffee?" said the doctor.

After breakfast Mark was conducted in state to his house.  The floors
were all damp and the carpets up; beds and washstands were piled up in
the passages, and nowhere was a fire to be seen.

"There are your rooms," said the doctor, pointing out a suite of three
apartments opening one into the other, at the present time reeking of
soft-soap and absolutely destitute of furniture.  "You will find them
comfortable and central.  The inner room is the bedroom, the middle your
private sitting-room, and this larger one the house-parlour.  Now we
will go to the dormitories and studies.  You understand your head boys--
those in the Sixth and Fifth--have a study to themselves; the Shell have
studies in pairs, and the junior school-work in the common room.  But
all these points you will make yourself familiar with very shortly.  As
a house-master, you will of course be responsible for everything that
takes place in the house--the morals, work and play of the boys are
under your supervision.  You have four Sixth-form boys in the house, who
are prefects under you, and in certain matters exercise an authority of
their own without appeal to you.  But you quite understand that you must
watch that this is not abused.  The house dame, Mrs Farthing,
superintends everything connected with the boy's wardrobes, but is under
your direction in other matters.  I shall introduce you to her as we go
down.

"I refer you to the school time-table for particulars as to rising,
chapel, preparation, and lights out, and so forth.  Discipline on all
these points is essential.  Cases of difficulty may be referred to a
session of the other masters, or in extreme cases to me; but please
remember I do not invite consultation in matters of detail.  A house-
master may use the cane in special cases, which must be reported through
the masters' session to me.  So much for your house duties.

"As Master of the Shell, you preside at morning school there every day,
and, as you know, have to teach classics, English, and divinity.  In the
afternoon the boys are taken by the French, mathematical, and chemical
masters.  But you are nominally responsible for the whole, and any case
of insubordination or idleness during afternoon school will be reported
to you by the master in charge, and you must deal with it as though you
had been in charge at the time.

"Now come and make Mrs Farthing's acquaintance."

Mrs Farthing, a lean, wrathful-looking personage, stood in the midst of
a wilderness of sheets and blankets, and received her new superior with
a very bad grace.  She looked him up and looked him down, and then
sniffed.

"Very good, Mr Railsford; we shall become better acquainted, I've no
doubt."

Railsford shuddered at the prospect; and finding that his luggage was
still knocking about at the porter's lodge, he made further expedition
in search of it, and at last, with superhuman efforts, succeeded in
getting it transferred to his quarters, greatly to the disgust of Mrs
Hastings, who remarked in an audible aside to her fellow-scrubber, Mrs
Willis, that people ought to keep their dirty traps to themselves till
the place is ready for them.

After which Railsford deemed it prudent to take open-air exercise, and
await patiently the hour when his carpets should be laid and Grandcourt
should wake up into life for the new term.



CHAPTER THREE.

OPENING DAY.

The combined labours of Mesdames Farthing, Hastings, Wilson, and their
myrmidons had barely reached a successful climax that afternoon, in the
rescue of order out of the chaos which had reigned in Railsford's house,
when the first contingent of the Grandcourtiers arrived in the great
square.  Railsford, who had at last been permitted to take possession of
his rooms and to unstrap his boxes, looked down from his window with
some little curiosity at the scene below.

The solemn quadrangle, which an hour ago had looked so ghostly and
dreary, was now alive with a crowd of boys, descending headlong from the
inside and outside of four big omnibuses, hailing one another
boisterously, scrambling for their luggage, scrimmaging for the
possession of Mrs Farthing's or the porter's services, indulging in
horseplay with the drivers, singing, hooting, challenging, rejoicing,
stamping, running, jumping, kicking--anything, in fact, but standing
still.  In their own opinion, evidently, they were the lords and masters
of Grandcourt.  They strutted about with the airs of proprietors, and
Railsford began to grow half uneasy lest any of them should detect him
at the window and demand what right _he_ had there.

The scene grew more and more lively.  A new cavalcade discharged its
contents on the heels of the first, and upon them came cabs top-heavy
with luggage, and a stampede of pedestrians who had quitted the
omnibuses a mile from home and run in, and one or two on tricycles, and
one hero in great state on horseback.  Cheers, sometimes yells, greeted
each arrival; and when presently there lumbered up some staid old four-
wheeler with a luckless new boy on board, the demonstration became most
imposing.

"_See you to-morrow_!" thought Railsford to himself, as he peered down.
Suddenly an unwonted excitement manifested itself.  This was occasioned
by an impromptu race between two omnibuses and a hansom cab, which,
having been all temporarily deserted by their rightful Jehus, had been
boarded by three amateur charioteers and set in motion.  The hero in
charge of the hansom cab generously gave his more heavily-weighted
competitors a start of fifty yards; and, standing up in his perch, shook
his reins defiantly and smacked his whip, to the infinite delight of
everyone but the licenced gentleman who was the nominal proprietor of
the vehicle.  Of the omnibuses, one got speedily into difficulties,
owing to the charioteer getting the reins a trifle mixed and thereby
spinning his vehicle round in a semicircle, and bringing it up finally
in the middle of the lawn, where he abruptly vacated his post and
retired into private life.

The other omnibuses had a more glorious career.  The horses were
spirited, and entered into the fun of the thing almost as much as their
driver.  Railsford long remembered the picture which this youthful hero
presented; with his face flushed, his head bare, his sandy hair waving
in the breeze, his body laid back at an obtuse angle, as he tugged with
both hands at the reins.  The cab behind came on apace, its jaunty Jehu
flourishing his whip and shouting loudly to his opponent to keep his
right side.  The crowd forgot everything else, and flocked across the
grass with loud cheers for the champions.

"Wire in, hansom," shouted some.

"Stick to it, Dig," cried others.

How the mad career might have ended no one could tell; but at each
corner the cab closed in ominously with its clumsy competitor, whose
horses were fast getting beyond the control of their driver, while the
vehicle they were dragging rocked and yawed behind them like a tug in a
gale.  Railsford was meditating a descent on to the scene, with a view
to prevent a catastrophe, if possible, when a shout of laughter greeted
the appearance on the scene of the lawful master of the omnibus, in
headlong pursuit of his property.  By an adroit cut across the grass
this outraged gentleman succeeded in overtaking the vehicle and boarding
it by the step behind; and then, amid delighted shouts of "Whip behind,
Dig!" the spectators watched the owner skip up the steps and along the
top, just as "Dig," having received timely warning of his peril, dropped
the reins and skipped the contrary way along the top and down the back
stairs, depositing himself neatly on _terra firma_, where, with
admirable _sang-froid_, he joined the spectators and triumphed in the
final pulling up of the omnibus, and the consequent abandonment of the
race by the indignant hero of the hansom cab, who protested in mock
heroics that he was winning hand over hand, and would have licked the
'bus to fits if Dig hadn't funked it.

In the altercation which ensued the company generally took no part, and
returned, braced up and fortified by their few minutes' sport, to the
serious business of identifying and extricating their luggage from the
general _melee_, and conveying themselves and their belongings into
winter quarters.

The new master was impressed by what he had seen--not altogether
unfavourably.  True, it upset in a moment all his dreams of carrying
Grandcourt by the quiet magic of his own influence to the high level he
had arranged for it.  Still, the race had been a pretty one while it
lasted, and both competitors had handled the ribbons well.  They would
be the sort of boys to take to him--an old 'Varsity Blue; and he would
meet them half-way.  Railsford's house should get a name for pluck and
_esprit de corps_; and Railsford and his boys should show the way to
Grandcourt!  How Dr Ponsford and the "session of masters" would follow
their lead it did not at present enter into the head of the vain young
man to settle.

A knock came at his door as he stood lost in these pleasing reflections,
and Grover entered.

"Here you are, then, old man," said he--"an old stager already.  It was
a great disappointment I could not be here when you got down."

"I wish you had.  I have had not exactly a gay time of it."

And he related his experiences.  Grover laughed.

"That's Ponsford all over," said he.  "He's a fine fellow, but a bear.
How do you like your quarters?"

"I've only just got into them, and really haven't had time to look
round.  And, to tell the truth, for the last ten minutes or so I've been
so interested in the scene below that I had forgotten what I was doing.
There was a most amusing chariot race between a cab and an omnibus."

Grover looked serious.

"I know," said he.  "I'm afraid there will be trouble about that.  It's
as well, perhaps, you are not expected to know the chief offenders.  One
or two of them belong to your house."

Railsford looked uncomfortable.  It had not occurred to him till now
that the proceeding which had so moved his interest and amusement was a
breach of discipline.

"I hope I shall not be called upon to deal with it," said he.

"No.  I hear Ponsford has the matter in hand himself."

And the friends went on to talk of other matters.

After a while Grover hastened away to his own house, leaving Railsford
somewhat uneasy in his mind.

If Dr Ponsford were to question him on the subject of the chariot race,
he felt that he would be seriously compromised at the outset of his
career.  He knew at least the nickname of one of the delinquents; and
had actually, by standing and watching the contest without protest, been
an accessory to the offence.  He busied himself forthwith in his
unpacking, and studiously avoided the window until daylight departed,
and the court below became silent and deserted.

Just about four o'clock another knock sounded at his door, and Arthur
Herapath presented himself, leading by the arm the tawny-haired hero of
the chariot race.

"What cheer, Marky?" cried the brother-in-law to be.  "Here we are.  Had
a spiffing spin up from the station, hadn't we, Dig?  This it Dig, you
know, Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, M.P., A.S.S., and nobody knows what
else.  He and I have bagged Sykes' old room, just over here."

Railsford in his shirt-sleeves, and hemmed round by his luggage, looked
up rather blankly at this friendly oration.  However, his dignity came
to his rescue.

"How are you both?  I hope we're to have a good steady term, my boys.
Go to your study now--later on we must have a talk."

Arthur looked at his friend and winked; Sir Digby was visibly agitated,
and grinned vehemently at a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

"All serene," said the former.  "By the way, Daisy was all right when I
left her, and sent her love and a--"

"Do you hear me, Arthur?  Go to your study."

"Oh, all right--but there was a message from the gov.  I was to be sure
and give you directly I saw you.  He says I can have a bob a week
pocket-money, and you're to give it to me, and he'll owe it to you at
the end of the term.  I'd like the first now, please."

"Go immediately to your room," shouted Railsford, as near to losing his
temper as his future brother-in-law had ever seen him.  "How dare you
disobey me?"

"Well, but it was a message from the gov., and--I say, Dig," added he,
turning to his friend with a nudge, "you cut when Mark tells you."

Dig departed, and Railsford weakly fell in with the arrangement of the
junior, and allowed him to remain and deliver the rest of his domestic
messages.

"Now, look here, Arthur," said the master, closing the door and facing
his unabashed future kinsman, "we must come to an understanding at once.
During term time I forbid you to mention Daisy's name, either to me or
anybody else, unless I wish it--"

The boy whistled.  "What, have you had a row, then?  Is it all broken
off?  My eye, what will--"

"Rubbish!" said Mark, scarcely able to keep grave; "it's neither one nor
the other.  But I don't choose you should talk of her, and I insist on
being obeyed."

"Jolly rough not to be able to talk about one's own sister!" interposed
the innocent.

"Of course, I mean not in connection with me," said Railsford.  "And
another thing, you must not call me Mark, but Mr Railsford, while term
lasts."

"All serene, Mr Railsford, old man!  Jolly stiff, though, between
brothers, isn't it?"

"You must treat me as if I were merely your master, and no other
relative."

"How queer!  Mayn't I even be fond of you?"

"Yes, as your master.  I count on you, mind, to set a specially good
example to the other boys, and back me up in every way you can.  You
will be able to do a great deal if you only try."

"I'm game!  Am I to be made a prefect, I say, Mark--Mr Railsford, I
mean?"

"And remember," said Mark, ignoring the question, "that we are here to
work, and not to--to drive omnibuses."

Arthur brightened up suddenly.

"You saw the race, then?  Stunning spurt round the last lap, only Dig
hadn't any stay in him, and the cab had the inside berth.  I say, don't
let anybody know it was Dig, will you?  He'd get in rather a mess, and
he's going to put it on hard this term to make up."

Could anything be more hopeless than the task of impressing this simple-
minded youth with a sense of his duty and deportment towards the new
Master of the Shell?

Railsford gave the attempt up, and the school-bell happily intervened to
make a diversion.

"That's for dinner.  It's generally at two, you know; but on opening day
it's 4.30," said the boy.  "We shall have to cut, or we shall be gated,
I say."

"Well, you must show me the way," said Mark.  "I'm ready."

"You'll have to wear your cap and gown, though," replied Arthur, "or
you'll get in a row."

Railsford hastened to rectify the omission, and next moment was standing
in the great square beside his lively young pilot, amid a crowd of boys
hastening towards the school hall.

"We'd better do a trot," said the boy.

"We shall do it all right, I think," said the master, whose dignity
revolted against any motion more rapid than quick walking.  Arthur,
trotting at his side and encouraging him from time to time to "put it
on," detracted a little from the solemnity of the procession.  The bell
was just ceasing to ring as they entered the hall, and for the first
time Railsford found himself in the presence of the assembled school.

Arthur had darted off to his own table, leaving his companion to find
his way to the masters' table at the head of the hall, where all his
colleagues were already in their places, standing for grace.

Railsford, considerably flurried, slipped into the place which Grover
had reserved for him just as the head boy present began to recite the
Latin collect, and became painfully aware that his already damaged
character for punctuality was by no means enhanced in the severe eyes of
Dr Ponsford.  The new master glanced round a little nervously at his
colleagues.  Grover introduced him to a few of the nearest, some of whom
received him with a friendly greeting, others eyed him doubtfully, and
one or two bristled up grimly.  The _eclat_ of his first appearance at
Grandcourt had paled somewhat, and he was thankful to have Grover to
talk to and keep him in countenance.

"Tell me who some of these men are," he whispered.  "Which is Roe?"

"On the other side of me.  He has the house next to mine.  You, I, Roe,
and Bickers have the four sides of the Big Square."

"Which is Bickers?"

"The man with the black beard--last but one on the other side."

Railsford gave a furtive look down the table, and encountered the eyes
of Mr Bickers fixed discontentedly on him.

A lightning flash at midnight will often reveal minute details of a
scene or landscape which in the ordinary glare of day might pass
unnoticed by the observer.  So it was in this sudden chance encounter of
glances.  It lasted not a moment, but it was a declaration of war to the
knife on one side, hurled back defiantly on the other.

"Not a bad fellow if you don't stroke him the wrong way," said Grover.

"Oh," said Railsford, in a tone which made his friend start.  "Who is
beyond him?"

"Lablache, the French master; not very popular, I fancy."

And so on, one master after another was pointed out, and Railsford
formed his own opinions of each, and began to feel at home with several
of them already.  But whenever his eyes turned towards the end of the
table they invariably encountered those of Bickers.

There was not much general conversation at the masters' table.  Dr
Ponsford rarely encouraged it, and resented it when it arose without his
initiative.

The buzz and clatter at the boys' tables, however, growing occasionally
to a hubbub, amply made up for any sombreness in the meal elsewhere; and
Railsford, having exhausted his inquiries, and having failed to engage
one of his neighbours in conversation, resigned himself to the enjoyment
of the animated scene.  He was not long in discovering the whereabouts
of his youthful kinsman, whose beaming face shone out from the midst of
a bevy of particular friends, while ever and again above the turmoil,
like a banner in the breeze, waved the tawny mane of Sir Digby Oakshott.
It amused Railsford to watch the group, and when now and then they
looked his way, to speculate on what was the subject of their
conversation.  Perhaps Arthur had been telling them of the new master's
athletic achievements at Cambridge, and how he had rowed his boat to the
head of the river; or possibly he had been describing to them some of
the big football-matches which he, Mark, had taken his young friend to
see during the holidays; or maybe they were laying down some patriotic
plan for the future good of Railsford's house.  His heart warmed to the
boys as he watched them.  It was a pity, perhaps, he could not catch
their actual words.

"Seems jolly green," said Dig.

"So he is.  Blushes like a turkey-cock when you talk about spoons.
Never mind, he's bound to be civil to us this term, eh, Dig?  We've got
the whip hand of him, I guess, over that summer-house business at
Lucerne."

Here Dig laughed.

"Shut up!  He'll hear!"

"What's the joke?" demanded a bullet-headed, black-eyed boy who sat
near.

"What, didn't I tell you, Dimsdale?  Keep it close, won't you?  You see
that chap with the eyeglass next to Grover.  That's Railsford, our new
master--Marky, I call him.  He's engaged to Daisy, you know, my sister.
Regular soup-ladles they are."

Here Dig once more laughed beyond the bounds of discretion.

"What an ass you are, Dig!" expostulated Arthur; "you'll get us in no
end of a mess."

"Awfully sorry--I can't help.  Tell Dimsdale about--you know."

"Don't go spreading it, though," said Arthur, shutting his eyes to the
fact that he was confiding his secret to the greatest gossip in
Grandcourt, and that one or two other heads were also craned forward to
hear the joke.  "I caught them going it like one o'clock in the hotel
garden at Lucerne--it was the first time I twigged what was up; and what
do you think he called my sister?"

"What?" they all demanded.

"Keep it close, I say.  Ha, ha!--give you a guess all round; Dig knows."

"Pussy cat," suggested one.

"Jumbo," suggested another.

"Cherubim," suggested a third.

Arthur shook his head triumphantly.

"Out of it, all of you.  You can tell 'em, Dig."

Dig composed his features once or twice to utter the word, but as many
times broke down.  At last in high falsetto he got it out,--

"Chuckey!"

The laugh which greeted this revelation penetrated to the upper region,
and caused Dr Ponsford to rise on his seat and look in the direction of
the uproar.

At the same moment the Sixth-Form boy at the head of the table left his
place and bore down on the offenders.

"_Cave_!" muttered Arthur, purple in the face; "here's Ainger."

Instantly the party was thoroughly buried in its bread and cheese.

"Was that you, Oakshott, making that row?"

"I was only saying something to Herapath," replied the innocent; "I'm
sure _I_ didn't make a row."

"Don't tell falsehoods.  Do fifty lines, and next time you'll be sent
up."

"That's a nice lark," muttered the baronet as the senior retired.  "It
was you chaps made the row, and I get potted for it.  But I say," added
he, as if such a mishap were the most common of incidents, "that isn't a
bad joke, is it?  Fancy calling Herapath's sister--"

"_Cave_, shut up!" exclaimed Arthur, dealing his friend a ferocious kick
under the table; "they've got their eyes on us.  Don't play the fool,
Dig."

Railsford was aroused from the pleasant contemplation of this little
comedy by a general rising, in the midst of which the doctor, followed
by his staff, filed out of the hall into the governor's room adjoining,
which was ordinarily used as a masters' withdrawing-room.  Here
Railsford underwent the ordeal of a series of introductions, some of
which gave him pleasure, some disappointment, some misgivings, and one
at least roused his anger.

"Mr Bickers," said Dr Ponsford, "let me introduce Mr Railsford.  You
will be neighbours, and ought to be friends."

"I am proud to know Mr Railsford," said Mr Bickers, holding out his
hand; "Grandcourt, I am sure, is fortunate."

Railsford flushed up at the tone in which this greeting was offered; and
touching the proffered hand hurriedly, said, with more point than
prudence--

"I heard of Mr Bickers from my predecessor, Mr Moss."

It was some satisfaction to see Mr Bickers flush in his turn, as he
replied, with a hardly concealed sneer--

"Ah, poor Moss!  He was a great flatterer.  You must not believe half he
says about his absent friends."

"Railsford," said Grover, taking his friend by the arm, and anxious to
interrupt what promised to be an uncomfortable dialogue, "I must
introduce you to Roe.  He had charge of the Shell for some years, and
can give you some hints which will be useful to you.  You'll like him."

Railsford did like him.  Mr Roe was one of the best masters at
Grandcourt, and his university career had been as brilliant in
athletics, and more brilliant in scholarship, than his younger
colleagues.  He had a quiet voice and manly bearing, which bespoke a
vast fund of power latent beneath the surface; and Railsford, for once
in his life, experienced the novel sensation of standing in the presence
of a superior.  Mr Roe accepted Mark's apologies for his non-appearance
the evening before with great good-humour, and invited him to his rooms
to spend an evening and talk over school-work.

"You are not likely to have much leisure at first.  I wish you had a
quieter house; but a little good government and sympathy will go a long
way towards bringing it up to the mark.  As to the Shell, you will find
that pretty easy.  It wants more management than teaching--at least, I
found so.  If once the boys can be put on the right track, they will go
pretty much of their own accord.  It's easier to guide them than drive
them; don't you think so?"

"I have no experience yet; but that is my idea, certainly."

"Then you'll succeed.  Have you been introduced to Monsieur Lablache?
This is Mr Railsford, the new Master of the Shell, monsieur."

Monsieur shrugged himself ceremoniously.  He had a big moustache, which
curled up in an enigmatical way when he smiled; and Railsford was at a
loss whether to like him or dislike him.

"We shall be friends, Meester Railsford, I hope," said the foreigner; "I
have much to do wiz ze young gentlemen of the Sell.  Helas! they try my
patience; but I like them, Meester Railsford, I like them."

"I only wish I knew whether I liked you," inwardly ejaculated the new
master, as he smiled in response to the confession.

A bell put an end to further conference, and Mark went off in a somewhat
excited state of mind to his own house.

Mr Roe's few words stuck in his mind--especially one of them.

What did he mean by classing sympathy and good government together in
the way he had?  How can you reduce a disorderly house to order by
sympathy?

However, he had no leisure for guessing riddles that night.



CHAPTER FOUR.

A FRIENDLY CHAT.

If Mark Railsford had been left with no better guide to his new duties
and responsibilities than the few hurried utterances given by Dr
Ponsford during their tour through the premises that morning, his
progress would have been very slow and unsatisfactory.  It was part of
the doctor's method never to do for anyone, colleague or boy, what they
could possibly do for themselves.  He believed in piling up difficulties
at the beginning of an enterprise, instead of making smooth the start
and saving up the hard things for later on.  If a master of his got
through his first term well, he would be pretty sure to turn out well in
future.  But meanwhile he got as little help from head-quarters as
possible, and had to make all his discoveries, arrange his own methods,
reap his own experiences for himself.

Grover had good reason to know the doctor's peculiarity in this respect,
and took care to give his friend a few hints about starting work, which
otherwise he might never have evolved out of his own consciousness.

Amongst other things he advised that he should, as soon as possible,
make the acquaintance of the head boys of his house, and try to come to
a good understanding with them as to the work and conduct of the term.
Accordingly four polite notes were that evening handed by the house-
messenger to Messrs. Ainger, Barnworth, Stafford, and Felgate,
requesting the pleasure of their company at 7.30 in the new master's
rooms.  The messenger had an easy task, for, oddly enough, he found the
four gentlemen in question assembled in Ainger's study.  They were, in
fact, discussing their new house-master when his four little missives
were placed in their hands.

"What's the joke now, Mercury?" asked Barnworth.

The messenger, who certainly was not nicknamed Mercury on account of the
rapidity of his motions or the volatility of his spirits, replied, "I
dunno; but I don't see why one letter shouldn't have done for the lot of
yer.  He's flush with his writing-paper if he isn't with his pounds,
shillings and pence!"

"Oh, he's not tipped you, then?  Never mind, I'm sure it wasn't your
fault!"

Mercury, in private, turned this little sally over in his mind, and came
to the conclusion that Mr Barnworth was not yet a finished pupil in
manners.  Meanwhile the four letters were being opened and perused
critically.

"`_Dear Ainger_'--one would think he'd known me all my life!" said
Ainger.

"`_I shall be so glad if you will look in at my rooms_,'" read
Barnworth.  "He evidently wants my opinion on his wall-paper."

"`_At 7.30, for a few minutes' chat_'--nothing about tea and toast,
though," said Stafford.

"`_Believe me, yours very truly, M.  Railsford_.'  So I do believe you,
my boy!" said Felgate.  "Are you going, you fellows?"

"Must," said Ainger; "it's a mandate, and there's no time to get a
doctor's certificate."

"What does he want to chat about, I wonder?" said Stafford.

"The weather, of course!" growled Barnworth; "what else is there?"

Stafford coloured up as usual when anyone laughed at him.

"He wants to get us to take the oath of allegiance, you fellows," said
Felgate.  "`Will you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly,'
that's what he means.  I think we'd better not go."

Ainger laughed rather spitefully.

"It strikes me he'll find us four fairly tough flies.  I mean to go.  I
want to see what he's like; I'm not at all sure that I like him."

"Poor beggar!" murmured Barnworth.  "Now my doubt is whether he likes
me.  He ought to, oughtn't he, Staff?"

"Why, yes!" replied that amiable youth; "he doesn't look as if he was
very particular."

"Oh, thanks, awfully!" replied Barnworth.

The amiable coloured up more than ever.

"I really didn't mean that," he said, horrified at his unconscious joke.
"I mean he doesn't seem strict, or as if he'd be hard to get on with."

"I hope he's not," said Ainger, with a frown.  "We had enough of that
with Moss."

"Well," said Felgate, "if you are going, I suppose I must come too; only
take my advice, and don't promise him too much."

Railsford meanwhile had transacted a good deal of business of a small
kind on his own account.  He had quelled a small riot in the junior
preparation room, and intercepted one or two deserters in the act of
quitting the house after hours.  He had also gone up to inspect the
dormitories, lavatories, and other domestic offices; and on his way down
he had made glad the hearts of his coming kinsman and the baronet by a
surprise visit in their study.  He found them actively unpacking a few
home treasures, including a small hamper full of ham, a pistol, some
boxing-gloves, and a particularly fiendish-looking bull-dog.  The last-
named luxury was the baronet's contribution to the common store, and,
having been forgotten for some hours in the bustle of arrival, was now
removed from his bandbox in a semi-comatose state.

"Hullo!" said Railsford, whose arrival coincided with the unpacking of
this natural history curiosity, "what have you got there?"

Oakshott's impulse, on hearing this challenge, had been to huddle his
unhappy booty back into the bandbox; but, on second thoughts, he set it
down on the mat, and gazing at it attentively, so as not to commit
himself to a too hasty opinion, observed submissively that it was a dog.

It is melancholy to have to record failure, in whatever sphere or form;
but truth compels us to state that at this particular moment Mark
Railsford blundered grievously.  Instead of deciding definitely there
and then on his own authority whether dogs were or were not _en regle_
in Railsford's house, he halted and hesitated.

"That's against rules, isn't it?" said he.

"Against rules!" said Arthur, crimson in the face--"against rules!  Why,
Dig and I had one a year ago, only he died, poor beast; he had a mill
with a rat, and the rat got on to his nose, and punished him before--"

"Yes," said the master; "but I shall have to see whether it's allowed to
keep a dog.  Meanwhile you must see he does not make a noise or become a
nuisance."

"All serene," replied Dig, who had already almost come to regard the new
master as a sort of brother-in-law of his own; "he's a great protection
against rats and thieves.  My mother gave him to me--didn't she,
Smiley?"

Smiley was at that moment lying on his back all of a heap, with his limp
legs lifted appealingly in the air, and too much occupied in gasping to
vouchsafe any corroboration of his young master's depositions.

Railsford departed, leaving the whole question in an unsettled
condition, and not altogether satisfied with himself.  He knew, the
moment he was outside the door, what he ought to have said; but that was
very little consolation to him.  Nor was it till he was back in his own
room that he remembered he had not taken exception to the pistol.  Of
course, having looked at it and said nothing, its owner would assume
that he did not disapprove of it.  And yet he really could not sit down
and write, "Dear Grover,--Please say by bearer if pistols and bull-dogs
are allowed?  Yours truly, M.R."  It looked too foolish.  Of course,
when he saw them written down on paper he knew they were not allowed;
and yet it would be equally foolish now to go back to the study and say
he had decided without inquiry that they were against rules.

He was still debating this knotty point when a knock at the door
apprised him that his expected guests had arrived.  Alas! blunder number
two trod hard on the heels of number one!  He had no tea or coffee, not
even a box of biscuits, to take off the edge of the interview and offer
a retreat for his own inevitable embarrassment and the possible shyness
of his visitors.  The arrangements for that reception were as formal as
the invitations had been.  Was it much wonder if the conference turned
out stiff and awkward?  In the first place, as all four entered
together, and none of them were labelled, he was quite at a loss to know
their names.  And it is a chilling beginning to a friendly chat to have
to inquire the names of your guests.  He shook hands rather nervously
all round; and then, with an heroic effort at ease and freedom, said,
singling out Felgate for the experiment--

"Let me see, you are Ainger, are you not?"

It was a most unfortunate shot; for nothing could have been less
complimentary to the jealous and quick-tempered captain of the house
than to be mistaken for his self-conceited and unstable inferior, with
whom, he was in the habit of congratulating himself, he had little or
nothing in common.

"No, sir," said Felgate, omitting, however, to confess his own name, or
point out the lawful owner of the name of Ainger.

The master tried to smile at his own dilemma, and had the presence of
mind not to plunge further into the quicksands.

"Which of you is Ainger?" he inquired.

"I am, sir," replied the captain haughtily.

"Thank you," said Mark, and could have eaten the word and his tongue
into the bargain the moment he had spoken.  This was blunder number
three, and the worst yet!  For so anxious was he to clear himself of the
reproach of abasing himself before his head boys, that his next
inquiries were made brusquely and snappishly.

"And Barnworth?"

"I am, sir."

"And Stafford?"

"I am, sir."

"And Felgate?"

"I am, sir."

That was all over.  The master smiled.  The boys looked grave.

"Won't you sit down?" said the former, drawing his own chair up to the
hearth and poking the fire.

Ainger and Felgate dropped into two seats, and Stafford, after a short
excursion to a distant corner, deposited himself on another.
Barnworth--there being no more chairs in the room--sat as gracefully as
he could on the corner of the table.

"I thought it would be well," began Railsford, still dallying with the
poker--"won't you bring your chair in nearer, Stafford?"

Stafford manoeuvred his chair in between Ainger and Felgate.

"I thought it would not be a bad thing--haven't you a chair, Barnworth?
dear me!  I'll get one out of the bedroom!"

And in his flurry he went off, poker in hand, to the cubicle.

"What a day we're having!" murmured Barnworth.

Stafford giggled just as Railsford re-entered.  It was awkward, and gave
the new master a very unfavourable impression of the most harmless boy
in his house.

"Now," said he, beginning on a new tack, "I am anxious to hear from you
something about the state of the house.  You're my police, you know," he
added with a friendly smile.

Stafford was the only one who smiled in response, and then ensued a dead
silence.

"What do you think, Ainger?  Do things seem pretty right?"

"Yes," said Ainger laconically.

"Have you noticed anything, Barnworth?"

"There's a draught in the big dormitory, sir," replied Barnworth
seriously.

"Indeed, we must have that seen to.  Of course, what I mean is as to the
conduct of the boys, and so on.  Are the rules pretty generally obeyed?"

It was Stafford's turn, and his report was disconcerting too.

"No, sir, not very much."

The new master put down the poker.

"I am sorry to hear that; for discipline must be maintained.  Can you
suggest anything to improve the state of the house?"

"No, sir," replied Felgate.

This was getting intolerable.  The new master's patience was oozing
away, and his wits, strange to say, were coming in.

"This is rather damping," he said.  "Things seem pretty right, there's a
draught in the big dormitory, the rules are not very much obeyed, and
nothing can be suggested to improve matters."

The four sat silent--the situation was quite as painful to them as to
Mark.

The latter grew desperate.

"Now," said he, raising his voice in a way which put up Ainger's back.
"You four boys are in the Sixth, and I understand that the discipline of
the house is pretty much in your hands.  I shall have to depend on you;
and if things go wrong, of course I shall naturally hold you
responsible."

Ainger flushed up at this; while Stafford, on whom the master's eyes
were fixed, vaguely nodded his head.

"I am very anxious for the house to get a good name for order, and
work--and," added he, "I hope we shall be able to do something at
sports, too."

Here, at least, the master expected he would meet with a response.  But
Ainger, the boy chiefly interested in sports, was sulking; and
Barnworth, who also was an athlete, was too absorbed in speculating what
remark was maturing itself in Felgate's mind to heed what was being
said.

"I suppose the house has an eleven--for instance?"

"Yes, generally," said Stafford.

Felgate now came in with his remark.

"Something ought to be done to prevent our house being interfered with
by Mr Bickers," said he; "there are sure to be rows while that lasts."

"Oh," said Railsford, who had heard rumours of this feud already; "how
are we interfered with?"

"Oh, every way," replied Ainger; "but we needn't trouble you about that,
sir.  We can take care of ourselves."

"But I should certainly wish to have any difficulty put right," said the
new master, "especially if it interferes with the discipline of the
house."

"It will never be right as long as Mr Bickers stays at Grandcourt,"
blurted Stafford; "he has a spite against everyone of our fellows."

"You forget you are talking of a colleague of mine, Stafford," said
Railsford, whom a sense of duty compelled to stand up even for a master
whom he felt to be an enemy.  "I can't suppose one master would
willingly do anything to injure the house of another."

Ainger smiled in a manner which offended Railsford considerably.

"I am sorry to find," he said, rather more severely, "that my head boys,
who ought to aim at the good of their house, are parties to a feud
which, I am sure, can do nobody any good.  I must say I had hoped better
things."

Ainger looked up quickly.  "I am quite willing to resign the captaincy,
sir, if you wish it."

"By no means," said Railsford, a little alarmed at the length to which
his protest had carried him, and becoming more conciliatory.  "All I
request is that you will do your best to heal the feud, so that we may
have no obstacle in the way of the order of our own house.  You may
depend on me to co-operate in whatever tends in that direction, and I
look to you to take the lead in bringing the house up to the mark and
keeping it there."

At this particular juncture further conference was entirely suspended by
a most alarming and fiendish disturbance in the room above.

It was not an earthquake, for the ground beneath them neither shook nor
trembled; it was not a dynamite explosion, for the sounds were dull and
prolonged; it was not a chimney-stack fallen, for the room above was two
storeys from the roof.  Besides, above the uproar rose now and then the
shrill yapping of a dog, and sometimes human voices mingled with the
din.

Railsford looked inquiringly at his prefects.

"What is that?" he said.

"Some one in the room above, sir," replied Barnworth.  "It was Sykes'
study last term," added he, consulting Ainger.  "Who's got it this
time?"

"Nobody said anything to me about it," said the house-captain.

"The room above this is occupied by Herapath and Oakshott," interposed
Railsford.

The captain made an exclamation.

"Did they get your leave, sir?"

"Not exactly; they told me they were going to have the study this term,
and I concluded it was all right.  Is it not so?"

"They are Shell boys, and have no business on that floor.  All the Shell
boys keep on the second floor.  Of course, they'll say they've got
leave."

"I'm afraid they will think so.  Is there any other claimant to the
study?"

"No; not that I know of."

"Perhaps they had better remain for the present," said the master.  "But
I cannot imagine what the noise is about.  Will you see, Ainger, as you
go up?"

This was a broad hint that the merry party was at an end, and no one was
particularly sorry.

"Wait a second in my room, you fellows," said Ainger, on the stairs,
"while I go and shut up this row."

The mystery of this disorder was apparent as soon as he opened the door.
The double study, measuring fifteen feet by nine, was temporarily
converted into a football field.  The tables and chairs were piled on
one side "in touch"; one goal was formed by the towel-horse, the other
drawn in chalk on the door.  The ball was a disused pot-hat of the
baronet's, and the combatants were the two owners of the study _versus_
their cronies and fellow "Shell-fish"--Tilbury, of the second eleven,
and Dimsdale, the gossip.  There had been some very fine play on both
sides, and a maul in goal at the towel-horse end, in which the dog had
participated, and been for a considerable period mistaken for the ball.
_Hinc illae lacrymae_.

At the moment when Ainger looked in, Herapath's side had scored 35 goals
against their adversaries' 29.  The rules were strict Rugby, and nothing
was wanted to complete the sport but an umpire.  The captain arrived in
the nick of time.

"Offside, Dim!--wasn't he, Ainger?  That's a place-kick for us!  Hang
the dog!  Get out, Smiley; go and keep goal.  See fair play, won't you,
Ainger?"

To this impudent request Ainger replied by impounding the ball.  "Stop
this row!" he said peremptorily.  "Tilbury and Dimsdale, you get out of
here, and write fifty lines each for being off your floor after eight."

"We only came to ask Herapath what Latin we've to do this term; and
there's no preparation for to-morrow."

"Well, if this is your way of finding out about your Latin, you know
just as much up-stairs as down here.  Be off; and mind I have the lines
before dinner to-morrow."

The two champions retired disconcerted, leaving the captain to deal with
the arch offenders.

"First of all," said he, "what business have you in this study?"

"Oh, Railsford knows we're here; we told him, and he didn't object."

"Don't you know you ought to come to the prefects about it?"

Oddly enough, both the boys had completely forgotten.

"Besides," explained Dig, "as Railsford and Herapath are sort of
brother-in-laws, you know, we thought it was all right."

The reason did not appear very obvious; but the information was
interesting.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" asked the captain.  "What relation is he to
you?"

"He's spoons on my sister Daisy."

The captain laughed.

"I hope she's like her brother," said he.

The two culprits laughed vociferously.  It was worth anything to them to
get the captain in a good-humour.

"Well, if that's the case," said Ainger, "I shan't have anything to do
with you.  You've no right on this floor; you know that.  If he chooses
to let you be, he'll have to keep you in order.  I don't pity him in the
room underneath."

"I say, do you think he could hear us easily--when we were playing?"

"Oh, no, not at all," said the captain, laughing.

"Really!  I say, Ainger, perhaps we'd better have a study up-stairs,
after all."

"Thanks; not if I know it.  You might pitch over my head instead of his.
I suppose, too, he's allowed you to set up that dog?"

"Yes; it's a present from Dig's mother.  I say, he's not a bad-looking
beast, is he?"

"Who?  Dig?  Not so very," said the captain, quite relieved to be able
to wash his hands of this precious couple.

He departed, leaving the two worthies in a state of bewildered
jubilation.

"What a splendid lark!" exclaimed Arthur.  "We shall be able to do just
what we like all the term.  There! we're in luck.  Mark thinks Ainger's
looking after us; and Ainger will think Mark's looking after us; and,
Diggy, my boy, nobody will look after us except Smiley--eh, old dog?"

Smiley, who had wonderfully recovered since an hour ago, here made a
playful run at the speaker's heels under the belief that the football
had recommenced; and the heart-rending yelps which Railsford heard in
the room below a few moments later were occasioned by an endeavour to
detach the playful pet's teeth from the trouser-ends of his owner's
friend.

The Master of the Shell retired to bed that night doubtful about his
boys, and doubtful about himself.  He was excellent at shutting stable
doors after the abstraction of the horses, and could see a blunder
clearly after it had been committed.  Still, hope sprang eternal in the
breast of Mark Railsford.  He would return to the charge to-morrow, and
the next day, and the next.  Meanwhile he would go to sleep.

The discussion in the captain's room had not been unanimous.

"Well," said Felgate, when Ainger returned, "how do you like him?"

"I don't fancy I shall get on with him."

"Poor beggar!" drawled Barnworth.  "I thought he might have been a good
deal worse, myself."

"So did I," said Stafford.  "He was quite shy."

"No wonder, considering who his visitors were.  We were all shy, for the
matter of that."

"And I," said Felgate, "intend to remain shy.  I don't like the animal.
He's too fussy for me."

"Just what he ought to be, but isn't.  He'll let things go on, and make
us responsible.  Cool cheek!" said Ainger.  "However, the row overhead
will wake him up now and then.  Fancy, young Herapath, unless he's
making a joke, which isn't much in his line, says Railsford's engaged to
his sister; and on that account the young beggar and his precious chum
get leave to have Sykes' study and do what they like.  They may, for all
I shall interfere.  If it's a family affair, you don't catch me poking
my nose into it!"

"Engaged, is he?" cried Felgate, laughing.  "What a joke!"

"It's nothing to do with us," said Barnworth, "whether he is or not."

"Unless he goes in for favouritism; which it seems he is doing," said
Ainger.

"Well, even so, you've washed your hands of young Herapath, and he's a
lucky chap.  But having done so, I don't see what it matters to us how
many wives or sweethearts he has."

"It seems to me," said Ainger, who was still discontented, "we shall get
no more backing from him than we did from Moss.  I don't care twopence
about that young ass Herapath; but if the house is to go on as it was
last term, and we are to be interfered with by Bickers and nobody to
stand up for us, we may as well shut up at once, and let him appoint new
prefects."

"Yes, but are you sure he won't back us up?" drawled Barnworth.  "I'm
not a betting man, like Stafford, but I have a notion he'll come out on
our side."

Ainger grunted sceptically, and announced that he had to unpack; whereat
his comrades left him.

Few persons at Grandcourt gave the captain of Railsford's house credit
for being as honest as he was short-tempered, and as jealous for the
honour of his house as he was short-sighted as to the best means of
securing it.  And yet Ainger was all this; and when he went to bed that
night Railsford himself did not look forward more anxiously to the
opening term than did his first lieutenant.



CHAPTER FIVE.

ARTHUR AND THE BARONET SETTLE DOWN FOR THE TERM.

The reader is not to imagine that Railsford's house contained nobody but
the four prefects of the Sixth-form and the sedate tenants of the study
immediately over the master's head, who belonged to the Shell.  On the
contrary, the fifty boys who made up the little community were fully
representative of all grades and classes of Grandcourt life.  There was
a considerable substratum of "Babies" belonging to the junior forms, who
herded together noisily and buzzed like midges in every hole and corner
of the house.  Nor were Herapath and Oakshott, with their two cronies,
by any means the sole representatives of that honourable fraternity
known as the Shell, too mature for the junior school, and yet too
juvenile for the upper forms.  A score at least of Railsford's subjects
belonged to this noble army, and were ready to wage war with anybody or
anything--for a consideration.

Still ascending in the scale, came a compact phalanx of Fifth-form
heroes, counting some of the best athletes of the second eleven and
fifteen, and yet not falling in with the spirited foreign policy so
prevalent in the rest of the house.  On an emergency they could and
would turn out, and their broad backs and sturdy arms generally gave a
good account of themselves.  But as a general rule they grieved their
friends by an eccentric habit of "mugging," which, as anybody knows, is
a most uncomfortable and alarming symptom in a boy of a house such as
Railsford's.  True, there were among them a few noble spirits who never
did a stroke of work unless under compulsion; but as a rule the Fifth-
form fellows in Railsford's lay under the imputation of being studious,
and took very little trouble to clear their characters.  Only when the
school sports came round, or the house matches, their detractors used to
forgive them.

The four prefects, to whom the reader has been already introduced,
divided among them the merits and shortcomings of their juniors.  Ainger
and Felgate, though antagonistic by nature, were agreed as to an
aggressive foreign policy; while Barnworth and of course the amiable
Stafford considered there was quite enough work to do at home without
going afield.  Yet up to the present these four heroes had been popular
in their house--Barnworth was the best high jumper Grandcourt had had
for years, and Ainger was as steady as a rock at the wickets of the
first eleven, and was reported to be about to run Smedley, the school
captain, very close for the mile at the spring sports.  Stafford, dear
fellow that he was, was not a particularly "hot" man at anything, but he
would hold the coat of anyone who asked him, and backed everybody up in
turn, and always cheered the winner as heartily as he condoled with the
loser.  Felgate was one of those boys who could do better than they do,
and whose unsteadiness is no one's fault but their own.  His ways were
sometimes crooked, and his professions often exceeded his practice.  He
meant well sometimes, and did ill very often; and, in short, was just
the kind of fellow for the short-tempered, honest Ainger cordially to
dislike.

Such was the miscellaneous community which Mark Railsford found himself
called upon to govern.  It was not worse than a good many masters'
houses, and had even its good points.

And yet just now it was admitted to be in a bad way.  The doctor had his
eye on it, and there is nothing more adverse to reform than the
consciousness that one has a bad name.  The late master, Mr Moss,
moreover, had notoriously found the place too hot for him, and had given
it up.  That again tells against the reputation of a house.  And,
lastly, although it had a few good scholars and athletes, who won
laurels for the school, there seemed not enough of them to do anything
for the house, which had steadily remained at the bottom of the list for
general proficiency for several terms.

If you inquired how all this came about, you would hear all sorts of
explanations, but the one which found most favour in the delinquent
house itself was summed up in the single word "Bickers."  The origin of
the deadly feud between the boys of Railsford's and the master of the
adjoining house was a mystery passing the comprehension even of such as
professed to understand the ins and outs of juvenile human nature.  It
had grown up like a mushroom, and no one exactly remembered how it
began.  Mr Bickers, some years ago, had been a candidate for the
Mastership of the Shell, but had been passed over in favour of Mr Roe.
And ever since, so report went, he had been actuated by a fiendish
antipathy to the boys who "kept" in the house of his rival.  He had
worried Mr Moss out of the place, and the boys of the two houses, quick
to take up the feuds of their chiefs, had been in a state of war for
months.  Not that Mr Bickers was a favourite in his own house.  He was
not, any more than Mr Moss had been in his.  But any stick is good
enough to beat a dog with, and when Mr Bickers's boys had a mind to "go
for" Moss's boys, they espoused the cause of Bickers, and when Mr
Moss's boys went out to battle against those of Bickers's house, their
war-cry was "Moss."

Much legend had grown up round the feud; but if anyone had had patience
to examine it to the bottom he would probably have found the long and
short to be that Mr Bickers, being unhappily endowed with a fussy
disposition and a sour and vindictive temper, had incurred the
displeasure of the boys of his rival's house, and not being the man to
smooth away a bad impression, had aggravated it by resenting keenly what
he considered to be an unjust prejudice against himself.

This little digression may enable the reader, if he has had the patience
to wade through it, to form an idea of the state of parties in that
particular section of Grandcourt which chiefly came under Railsford's
observation.  With Roe's and Grover's houses on the other side of the
big square, his boys had comparatively little to do as a house, while
with the remote communities in the little square they had still less in
common.

But to return to our story.  The first week of the next term was one of
the busiest Mark Railsford ever spent.  His duties in the Shell began on
the second day, and the opening performance was not calculated to elate
his spirit.  The sixty or seventy prodigies of learning who assembled
there came from all houses.  A few were bent seriously on work and
promotion, the majority were equally in different about the one and the
other, and the remainder were professional idlers--most successful in
their profession.

Such were the hopeful materials which Railsford was expected to inspire
with a noble zeal in the pursuit of classics, history, and divinity.  It
would have bets as easy--at least, so it seemed to the master--to
instruct he monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens.  The few workers
(scarcely one of whom, by the way, was in his own house) formed a little
_coterie_ apart, and grabbed up whatever morsels of wisdom and learning
their master could afford to let drop in the midst of his hand-to-hand
combat with the forces of anarchy and lethargy.  But he had little to
say to them.  His appeals were addressed to the body of gaping, half-
amused, half-bored loungers in the middle of the room, who listened
pleasantly and forgot instantaneously; who never knew where to go on,
and had an inveterate knack of misunderstanding the instructions for
next day's work.  They endured their few morning hours in the Shell
patiently, resignedly, and were polite enough to yawn behind their
books.  They were rarely put out by their own mistakes, and when
occasionally the master dropped upon them with some penalty or
remonstrance, they deemed it a pity that anyone should put himself so
much about on their account.

Railsford was baffled.  There seemed more hope in the turbulent
skirmishers at the back of the room, who at least could now and then be
worked upon by thunder, and always, in theory, acknowledged that lessons
were things to be learned.  On the first day the "muggers" knew their
task well, and Railsford glowed with hope as he expressed his
approbation.  But when he came to the gapers his spirits sunk to zero.
They had unfortunately mistaken the passage, or else the page was torn
out of their book, or else they had been prevented by colds or sprained
wrists or chilblains from learning it.  When told to construe a passage
read out not two minutes before by one of the upper boys, they knew
nothing about it, and feared it was too hard for their overwrought
capacities; and when pinned down where they sat to the acquirement of
some short rule or passage, they explained sorrowfully that that had not
been Mr Moss's method.  In divinity they raised discussions on
questions of dogma, and so subtly evaded challenge on questions of Greek
Testament construction and various readings.  In history they fell back
on a few stock answers, which rarely possessed the merit of having any
connection with the questions which they pretended to satisfy.  But the
gapers were men of peace, after all.  They rarely insisted upon their
own opinion, nor did it offend them to be told they were wrong.

The noisier element were less complacent; it is true, they never did a
lesson through, or construed a sentence from one end to the other.
Still, when they took the trouble to "mug" a question up, they expected
to be believed.  It hurt them a good deal to be informed that they knew
nothing; and to detain them or set them impositions because of a
difference of opinion on an historical, classical, or theological
question seemed grossly unjust.  When, for instance, Sir Digby Oakshott,
Baronet, on an early day of the term, publicly stated that the chief
features of Cromwell's character was a large mouth and a wart on the
nose, he was both hurt and annoyed to be ordered peremptorily to remain
for an hour after class and write out pages 245 to 252, inclusive, of
the School History.  He had no objection, as he confided to his friend
and comforter, Arthur Herapath, Esquire, to the Master of the Shell
entertaining his own opinions as to the character of the personage in
question.  But he believed in the maxim "give and take," and just as he
would cheerfully have received anything Mr Railsford might have to say
on the subject, he at least expected that his own statement should be
received in an equally candid spirit, particularly (as he was anxious to
point out) since he had personally inspected a portrait of Cromwell not
long ago, and verified the existence of the two features alleged.

Sir Digby, indeed, deserved some little commiseration.  He had come up
to Grandcourt this term pledged to the hilt to work hard and live
virtuously.  He had produced and proudly hung in a conspicuous place in
his study a time-table, beautifully ruled and written in red and black
ink, showing how each hour of every day in the week was to be spent in
honest toil and well-earned sport.  He had explained to his friend the
interesting fact that a duplicate of this table had been presented to
his mother, who thereby would be able to tell at any moment how her dear
son was occupied.

"Let's see," said he, proudly, taking out his watch. "7.15.  Now what am
I doing at 7.15 on Thursdays?  French preparation.  There you are!  So
if she's thinking about me now she knows what I'm up to."

"But you're not doing French preparation," suggested Arthur.

"Of course I'm not, you ass.  How could I when I lent Dimsdale my book?
Besides, we've not started yet.  I've got about a million lines to
write.  Do you know, I'm certain it was Bickers got me into that row
about the omnibus; I saw him looking on.  I say, that was a stunning
lark, wasn't it?  I'd have won too if Riggles had kept his right side.
Look here, I say, I'd better do some lines now; lend us a hand, there's
a good chap.  Wouldn't it be a tip if old Smiley could write; we could
keep him going all day long!"

Master Oakshott had, in fact, become considerably embarrassed at the
beginning of the term by one or two accidents, which conspired to put
off the operation of the time-table for a short period.

The doctor had received information through some channel of the famous
chariot race on opening day, and had solaced the defeated champion with
a caning (which he did not mind) and five hundred lines of Virgil (which
he greatly disliked).  In addition to that, Digby had received fifty
lines from Ainger for pea-shooting, which, not being handed in by the
required time, had doubled and trebled, and bade fair to become another
five hundred before they were done.  And now he had received from
Railsford--from his beloved friend's future brother-in-law--seven pages
of School History to write out, of which he had accomplished one during
the detention hour, and had solemnly undertaken to complete the other
six before to-morrow.  It spoke a good deal for the forbearance and good
spirits of the unfortunate baronet that he was not depressed by his
misfortunes.

Arthur, too, had come up with every idea of conducting himself as a
model boy, and becoming a great moral support to his future brother-in-
law.  It had pained him somewhat to find that relative was not always as
grateful for his countenance as he should have been.  Still, he bore him
no malice.  The time would come when the elder would cry aloud to the
younger for aid, and he should get it.

Meanwhile, on this particular evening, Arthur found himself too busy,
getting the new study into what he termed ship-shape order, to be able
to adopt his friend's suggestion about the lines.  His idea of ship-
shape did not in every particular correspond with the ordinary
acceptation of the term.  He had brought down in his trunk several fine
works of art, selected chiefly from the sporting papers, and
representing stirring incidents in the lives of the chief prize-
fighters.  These, after endeavouring to take out a few of the creases
contracted in the journey, he displayed over the fireplace and above the
door, attaching them to the wall by means of garden nails, which had an
awkward way of digging prodigious holes in the plaster and never
properly reaching the laths behind.  Most of the pictures consequently
required frequent re-hanging, and by the end of the evening looked as if
they, like the shady characters painted on them, had been in the wars.

Then Arthur had produced with some pride a small set of bookshelves,
which packed away into a wonderfully small space, but which, when fitted
together, were large enough to accommodate as many books as he
possessed.  The fitting together, however, was not very successful.
Some of the screws were lost, and had to be replaced by nails, and
having used the side-pieces for the shelves, and the shelves for the
sides, he and Dig had a good deal of trouble with a saw and a cunningly
constructed arrangement of strings to reduce the fabric into the
similitude of a bookcase.  When at last it was done and nailed to the
wall, it exhibited a tendency to tilt forward the moment anything
touched it, and pitch its contents on to the floor.

After much thought it occurred to Herapath that if they turned it upside
down this defect would operate in the other direction, and hold the
books securely against the wall.  So, having wrenched the nails out, and
been fortunate enough to find a space on the wall not gaping with wounds
in the plaster, they re-erected it inversely.  But, alas! although the
top shelf now tilted back at the wall, the bottom shelf swung forward an
inch or two and let its contents out behind with the same regularity and
punctuality with which it had previously ejected them in front.

Dig pronounced it a rotten concern, and voted for smashing it up; but
Herapath, more dauntless, determined on one further effort.

He began to drive a large nail vehemently into the floor immediately
under the refractory bookcase, and then, tying a string round the bottom
shelf, he hitched the other end round the nail and drew the fabric
triumphantly into the wall.  It was a complete success.  Even Dig
applauded, and cried out to his friend that another inch would make a
job of it.

Another inch did make a job of it, for just as the bottom shelf closed
in the top gave a spring forward, pulling the nail along with it, and
burying the two mechanics under a cascade of books, plaster, and
shattered timber.  Arthur and Dig sat on the floor and surveyed the ruin
stolidly, while Smiley, evidently under the delusion that the whole
entertainment had been got up for his amusement, barked vociferously,
and, seizing a _Student's Gibbon_ in his teeth, worried it, in the
lightness of his heart, like a rat.  At this juncture the door opened,
and Railsford, with alarm in his face, entered.

"Whatever _is_ the matter?" he exclaimed.

It was an excellent cue for the two boys, who forthwith began to rub
their arms and shoulders, and make a demonstration of quiet suffering.

"This horrid bookcase won't stick up!" said Arthur.  "We were trying to
put the things tidy, and it came down."

"It's a pretty good weight on a fellow's arm!" said the baronet, rubbing
his limb, which had really been grazed in the downfall.

"It is a very great noise on the top of my head," said the master.  "I
dare say it was an accident, but you two will have to be a great deal
quieter up here, or I shall have to interfere."

"We really couldn't help it, Mark--I mean Rails--I mean Mr Railsford,"
said Arthur, in an injured tone.  "There's Dig will get into no end of a
row, as it is.  He was writing out that imposition for you, and now he's
hurt his arm through helping me--brick that he is!  I suppose you won't
mind if I finish the lines for him?"

Arthur was staking high, and would have been sadly disconcerted had his
kinsman taken him at his word.

"Is your arm really hurt, Oakshott?" inquired the master.

"Oh no; not much," said Digby, wincing dramatically, and putting on an
air of determined defiance to an inward agony.  "I dare say I can
manage, after a rest.  We had taken some of the books out, so I only had
the bookcase and three shelf-loads of books on the top of me!  That
wasn't so much!"

"How much have you written?" demanded the master.

"Two pages, please, sir."

"This time I will let that do."

"Thanks, awfully!" broke in Arthur; "you're a brick!  Dig'll never do it
again, will you, Dig?"

"I could do it, you know, if you really wanted," said Dig, feeling up
and down his wounded limb.

"That will do!" said Mark, who had already begun to have a suspicion
that he had been "done."  "Clear up this mess, and don't let me hear any
more noise overhead."

When he had gone, the friends embraced in a gust of jubilation.

"No end of a notion of yours!" said Dig.  "That leaves the lines for the
doctor and the others for Ainger.  He'll keep.  We'll have him in to tea
and dose him with marmalade, and square him up.  But, there, I must do
the doctor's lines, or I shall catch it!"

And so, despite his wounded arm, he set to work, aided by his friend,
and worked off about half the penalty, by which time his arm and elbow
were very sore indeed.  Dimsdale, who came in later, was bribed with an
invitation to jam breakfast in the morning, to help with the remainder,
and the same inducement prevailed upon Tilbury.  So that by a fine co-
operative effort Dig stood clear with the doctor before night was over,
and considered himself entitled to a little rest, which he forthwith
proceeded to take.

The breakfast-party next morning was a great success on the whole.  It
was a little marred by the fact that whereas covers were laid for four,
just fourteen guests turned up.  This was partly Arthur's fault, for,
having sallied forth with an invitation in his pocket to anyone who
would help his friend out with a few lines, he had dropped them about in
a good many other quarters.  He had secured the attendance of Simson and
Maple of the Shell, and of Bateson and Jukes of the Babies, and, with a
view to ingratiate himself with some of his neighbours on the first
floor, he had bidden to the banquet Wake, Ranger, Wignet, and Sherriff
of the Fifth, and actually prevailed upon Stafford to lend the dignity
of a Sixth-form patronage to the _reunion_.

These heroes were naturally a little disgusted on turning up at the
rendezvous to find the room crowded, with scarcely standing space to
space, by a troop of hungry and noisy juniors.  The good hosts perspired
with the heat of the room, and, as guest after guest crowded in, began
to look a little anxious at the modest fare on the table, and speculate
mentally on how far one loaf, one pot of jam, four pats of butter, a
pint coffee-pot, and three-and-a-half tea-cups would go round the lot.
At length, when Stafford arrived, and could not get in at the door for
the crush, despair seized them.

"You kids had better hook it," said Arthur, to half a dozen of the
juniors, who had squeezed themselves into a front rank near the table.
"There's not room to-day.  Come to-morrow."

Loud were the complaints, not unmingled with threatenings and gibes, of
these disappointed Babies.

"What a horrible shame!" exclaimed Jukes, in a very audible voice.  "We
were here first."

"Do you hear?--cut!" repeated the host.

"Come, along," said Bateson; "what's the use of bothering about a crumb
and a half a-piece?  I never saw such a skinny spread in all my days."

And in the ten years which comprehended Master Bateson's "days" he had
had a little experience of that sort of thing.

The company being now reduced to eight, to wit, Stafford, the four
Fifth-form boys, the two hosts, and Dimsdale, assumed more manageable
proportions.  There was room at least to move an arm or a leg, and even
to shut the door.  But when it came to taking seats, it still became
evident that the table could by no possibility hold more than six.
Another crisis thereupon arose.  Dimsdale was regretfully dismissed, and
departed scarlet in the face, promising, as he slammed the door, to show
"up" his hosts.  These amiable worthies, much distressed, and not a whit
cooler that the room was now comparatively empty, smiled feebly at this
threat, and arranged to sit on one another's laps, so as to bring the
company finally down to the capabilities of the table.  But at this
juncture Stafford, who had grown tired of waiting, and evidently saw
little prospect of conviviality in the entertainment, remembered that he
had some work to do before morning school, and rose to leave.

"Why, we've not begun yet," gasped his hosts.

"I really must go.  Thanks for asking me.  I've enjoyed it so much,"
said the amiable prefect, departing.

"Look here, I say," expostulated Arthur, "you might stay.  I'll get some
eggs, or a herring, if you'll stop."

But the guest of the morning was beyond reach of these blandishments,
and with muttered reflections on human depravity generally, the hosts
took a seat at each end of the festive board, and bade the four Fifth-
form fellows fall to.

They had already done so.  One had cut the loaf, another had meted out
the jam, another had poured out the coffee, and another had distributed
the butter.

"Have some coffee?" said Wake, pleasantly, to Dig; "very good stuff."

"Thanks," said Dig, trying to look grateful.  "I'll wait till there's a
cup to spare."

"If you're putting on the eggs," said Ranger, confidentially, to Arthur,
"keep mine on an extra fifteen seconds, please.  I like them a little
hardish."

"Awfully sorry," said Arthur, with a quaver in his voice; "jolly
unlucky, but we're out of eggs.  Got none in the place."

"Oh, never mind," said Ranger, reassuringly.  "The herrings will do
quite as well.  Stafford may not fancy them, but we do, don't we, you
chaps?"

"Rather," said Sheriff, thoughtfully scooping out the last remnants of
the jam from the pot.

Arthur looked at the baronet and the baronet looked at Arthur.  Things
were growing desperate, and at all risks a diversion must be made.  What
could they do?  Dig had a vague idea of creating a scare that Smiley had
gone mad; but as the animal in question was at that moment peacefully
reposing on the hearth, there seemed little probability of this panic
"taking."  Then he calculated the possibilities of secretly cutting away
one leg of the table, and so covering the defects of the meal by an
unavoidable catastrophe.  But he had not his penknife about him, and the
two table-knives were in use.

Arthur at this point came gallantly and desperately to the rescue.

"I say, you fellows," began he, ignoring the hint about the herrings,
"do you want to know a regular lark?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Oakshott, not having the least idea what his friend
was going to say, but anxious to impress upon his guests that the joke
was to be a good one.

"What is it?" asked Wignet, who never believed in anyone else's
capacities for story-telling.

"Why," said Arthur, getting up a boisterous giggle, "you know Railsford,
the new master?"

"Of course.  What about him?"

"Well--keep it dark, you know.  Shut up, Dig, and don't make me laugh, I
say--there's such a grand joke about him."

"Out with it," said the guests, who were beginning to think again about
the herrings.

"Well, this fellow--I call him Marky, you know--Mark's engaged to my
sister, and--"

"Ha ha ha!" chimed in Dig.

"And--he calls her `_Chuckey_,' I heard him.  Oh, my wig!"

This last exclamation was caused by his looking up and catching sight of
Railsford standing at the door.

The Master of the Shell had in fact called up in a friendly way to ask
how Sir Digby Oakshott's arm was after the accident of the previous
night.



CHAPTER SIX.

WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY.

If Railsford had entertained any lurking hope that his private affairs
were sacred in the hands of his prospective kinsman, the little incident
recorded at the close of the last chapter did away with the last remnant
of any such delusion.  He did not say anything about it.  He was
punctilious to a degree in anything which affected his honour; and as
what he had overheard on the occasion in question had been part of a
private conversation not intended for his ears, he felt himself unable
to take any notice of it.  Still, it was impossible for him to regard
the faithless Arthur with quite as brotherly an eye as before; and the
manner in which that young gentleman avoided him for the next few days,
and hung out signals of distress in his presence, showed pretty plainly
that these silent reproaches were not being thrown away.

Of course Arthur did every imaginable thing to make matters worse in the
house, by way of proving his contrition.  He besought Wake not to let
the story go about, greatly to the amusement of that young humourist,
who had already heard it from half a dozen sources since the beginning
of the term.  He threatened Dimsdale with all sorts of penalties if he
spread the secret any further.  Dimsdale, who had long ago informed
everyone of his acquaintance, cheerfully promised it should go no
further.  So anxious was Arthur to make up for his offence, that when
one or two fellows spoke to him about it, and asked him if it was true
that Railsford and his sister were going to be married, he prevaricated
and hedged till he got hopelessly out of his depth.

"Married!" he would reply, scornfully, "fiddlesticks!  I tell you
there's nothing in it--all jaw!  Who told you they were going to be
married?"

From utterances like these an impression got abroad in some quarters
that Railsford wanted to marry "Chuckey," but "Chuckey" wouldn't have
him.  So the last end of the story was worse than the first.

Railsford, however, did not hear this latest version of his own romance;
and, indeed, had plenty of other things just, at this time to occupy his
attention.

Much to his own satisfaction, he received a polite note from Smedley,
the captain of the school, to inform him that he had been elected a
vice-president of the Athletic Union, and expressing a hope that he
would favour the treasurer with the annual subscription now due, and
attend a committee on Saturday evening in Mr Roe's house to arrange
about the spring sports.

Both requests he gladly complied with.  Previous to the meeting he had
been present as umpire at a football-match in the meadows between the
first twelve against the next twenty.  It was a finely-contested battle,
and his opinion of Grandcourt rose as he stood and looked on.

It had not occurred to him till he was about to start that his two
principal prefects would of course be members of the committee in whose
deliberations he was to take part.  But he considered he might safely
leave the control of the house during his short absence to the keeping
of Stafford and Felgate, who, though neither of them the kind of boy to
inspire much confidence, had at least the title to be considered equal
to the task.  After all, it was only for an hour.  Possibly no one would
know of his absence, and on this the first occasion of his being present
at a meeting in whose objects he had so much interest, he felt that his
duty to the school had as much claim on him as his duty to his house.
So he ran the risk, and went quietly out at the appointed time, in the
comfortable assurance that his house was absorbed in preparation, and
would never miss him.

The meeting came up to his expectations.  He was the only master
present, and as such was voted to the chair.  He made a little speech he
had got ready in case of need, lauding up athletics to the skies, and
confessing his own sympathy and enthusiasm for whatever tended towards
the physical improvement of Grandcourt.  The boys cheered him at every
sentence, and when Smedley afterwards welcomed him in the name of the
boys, and said they were all proud to have an old "Blue" among their
masters, he received quite a small ovation.  Then the meeting went
heartily to work over the business of the sports.

After an hour and a half's steady work the programme was arranged, the
date was fixed, the expenses were estimated, and the vote of thanks was
given to the chairman.

"Would you mind umpiring again next Saturday, sir?" asked Smedley, as
they parted.

"With all the pleasure in the world--any time," said the master, only
wishing he could play in the fifteen himself.

Railsford's house, meanwhile, had celebrated the temporary absence of
its ruler in strictly orthodox fashion.  Scarcely had he departed,
flattering himself that the deluded mice were still under the spell of
the cat's presence in their neighbourhood, when the word went round like
wildfire, "Coast's clear!"  Arthur and the baronet heard it in their
study, and flung their books to the four winds and rushed howling down
to the common room.  The Babies heard it, and kicked over their forms,
and executed war-dances in the passages.  The Fifth-form "muggers" heard
it, and barricaded their doors and put cotton-wool in their ears.
Stafford and Felgate heard it, and shrugged their shoulders and wondered
when the other prefects would be back.

"There's nobody about.  Come on.  We can kick up as much row as we
like!" shouted the high-principled Arthur.  "Who cares for my spooney
old brother-in-law, Marky?"

The shout of laughter which followed this noble appeal suddenly dropped
into a deadly silence as the lank form of Mr Bickers appeared in the
doorway.  Arthur rapidly lost himself in the crowd.  The two prefects,
with flushed faces, elbowed their way into the room as though just
arrived to quell the uproar.  A few boys snatched up books and flopped
down at their desks.  But Mr Bickers had too keen an eye to let himself
be imposed upon.  He had witnessed the scene from a window in his own
house, and surmising by the noise that no authority was present to deal
with the disorder, had taken upon himself to look in in a friendly way
and set things right.

"Silence!" he cried, closing the door behind him, and walking two steps
into the room.  "Where is Mr Railsford?"

"Out, sir," said Stafford.

"And the prefects?"

"Felgate and I are prefects, sir.  The other two are out."

"And you two have allowed this noise and disorder to go on for half an
hour?"

"We were going to stop it," said Felgate, faltering.

"By looking on and applauding?" responded the master.  "You forget that
from one of my windows everything that goes on here is plainly visible,
including those who stand at the door and look on when they ought to
know better.  Go to your rooms, you two."

"We are in charge of the house, sir," mildly protested Felgate.

"_I_ am in charge of the house," thundered Mr Bickers.  "Obey me, and
go."

They withdrew, chafing, crestfallen, and very uncomfortable.

"Now," said Mr Bickers, when the door was again closed, "Arthur
Herapath, come here."

Mr Bickers's knowledge of the names of the boys in other houses was
quite phenomenal.  Arthur, with hanging head and thumping heart, slunk
forward.

"So, sir," said Mr Bickers, fixing him with his eye, "you are the model
boy whom I heard proclaiming as I came in that you could make as much
noise as you liked, and called your absent master by an insulting name."

"Please, sir," pleaded the unlucky Arthur, "I didn't mean it to be
insulting.  I only called him Marky, because he's my brother-in-law--I
mean he's going to be."

"That's right, Mr Bickers," said the baronet, nobly backing up his
friend; "he's spoo-- I mean he's engaged to Daisy, Herapath's sister."

"Silence, sir," said the master with a curl of his lips.  "Herapath,
come here, and hold out your hand."

So saying, he took up a ruler from a desk close at hand.

"Please, sir," expostulated Arthur--he didn't mind a cane, but had a
rooted objection to rulers--"I really didn't--"

"Hold out your hand, sir!"

There was no denying Mr Bickers.  Arthur held out his hand, and was
there and then, before half his house, admonished six times
consecutively, with an emphasis which brought the tears fairly into his
hardened eyes.

"Now go, all of you, to your studies, and continue your preparation.  I
shall remain in the house till Mr Railsford returns, and report what
has occurred to him."

When half an hour later the Master of the Shell, full of his athletic
prospects, returned to his quarters, he was gratified as well as
surprised by the dead silence which reigned, His astonishment was by no
means diminished when on entering the common room he encountered Mr
Bickers pacing up and down the floor amidst the scared juniors there
assembled.

Railsford, with all his follies, was a man of quick perception, and took
in the whole situation at a glance.  He understood why Mr Bickers was
there, and why the place was so silent.  Still more, he perceived that
his own authority in the house had suffered a shock, and that a lesson
was being read him by the man whom, of all his colleagues, he disliked
the most.

"Good-evening," said Mr Bickers, with a show of friendliness.

Mark nodded.

"I am glad to be able to render up your house to you in rather better
order than I found it.  If you'll take my advice, Railsford, you will
not venture out, in the evening specially, leaving no one in authority.
It is sure to be taken advantage of."

Railsford bit his lips.

"I ought to be much obliged to you," said he coldly.  "As it happens, I
did not venture out without leaving anyone in authority."

"If you mean Stafford and--what is his name?--Felgate--I can't
congratulate you on your deputies.  They were, in fact, aiding and
abetting the disorder, and I have sent them to their rooms as
incompetent.  I would advise you to relieve them of their office as soon
as you can."

"Thank you for your advice," said Railsford, whose blood was getting up.
"I will make my own arrangements in my own house."

"Of course, my dear fellow," replied Bickers, blandly, "but you should
really find two better men than those.  There was no attempt to stop the
disorder (which had been going on for half an hour) when I arrived.  I
had to castigate one of the ringleaders myself--Herapath by name,
claiming kinship with you, by the way.  I'm not sure that you ought not
to report him to Dr Ponsford."

It was all Railsford could do to listen quietly to this speech, drawled
out slowly and cuttingly by his rival.  He made a desperate effort to
control himself, as he replied--

"Don't you think, Mr Bickers, you might with advantage go and see how
your own house is getting on in your absence?"

Mr Bickers smiled.

"Happily, I have responsible prefects.  However, now you are back--and
if you are not going out again--I will say good-night."

Railsford said "Good-night," and disregarding the proffered hand of his
colleague, walked moodily up to his own room.

He may be excused if he was put out and miserable.  He was in the wrong,
and he knew it.  And yet the manner in which the rebuke had been
administered was such as no man of spirit could cheerfully endure.  The
one idea in his mind was, not how to punish the house for its disorder,
but how to settle scores with Bickers for restoring order; not how to
admonish the incompetent prefects, but how to justify them against their
accuser.

He sent for the four prefects to his room before bed hour.  Ainger and
Barnworth, it was plain to see, had been informed of all that had
happened, and were in a more warlike mood even than their two
companions.

"I hear," said Railsford, "that there was a disturbance in the house
while I was away for a short time this evening.  Ainger and Barnworth of
course were out too, but I should like to hear from you, Stafford and
Felgate, what it was all about."

Stafford allowed Felgate to give his version; which was, like most of
Felgate's versions, decidedly apocryphal.

"There was rather a row, sir," said he, "among some of the juniors.
Some of them were wrestling, I fancy.  As soon as we saw what was going
on, Stafford and I came to stop it, when Mr Bickers turned up and sent
us to our rooms.  We told him we had been left in charge by you, but he
would not listen."

"Very annoying!" said the master.

"It's rather humiliating to our house, sir," said Ainger, "if our
prefects are not to be allowed to deal with our own fellows."

"I agree with you," said Mark, warmly.  "I have no reason whatever for
doubting that they can and will do their duty when--"

He had intended to say "when they are not interfered with," but deemed
it more prudent to say, "when occasion requires."

"We could easily have stopped the row, sir," said Stafford, "if we had
been allowed to do so."

"I have no doubt of it," said the master.  "I am glad to have had this
little explanation.  The honour of our house is of common interest to
all of us."

A week ago this speech would have seemed a mere commonplace exhortation,
but under present circumstances it had a double meaning for those
present.

"He's a brick," said Ainger, as they returned to their studies.  "He
means to back us up, after all, and pay Bickers out."

"What surprises me," said Barnworth, "is that Stafford, the bull-dog,
did not invite the intruder out into the square and impress the honour
of our house with two black marks on each of his eyes."

"I'm just as glad," said Felgate, "it's all happened.  We shouldn't have
got Railsford with us if--"

"If you'd done your duty, and stopped the row the moment it began," said
Ainger; who, with all his jealousy for his house, had no toleration for
humbug, even in a prefect whose cause he espoused.  So Railsford's house
went to bed that night in a warlike mood.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE SESSION OF MASTERS AND AN OUTRAGE.

It is to be feared that Mark Railsford, Moral Science man though he was,
had yet to learn the art of applying his philosophy to his own
circumstances, or he would never have committed the serious error, on
the day following the event recorded in the last chapter, of writing the
following foolish note to Mr Bickers:--

"_February_ 1.

"Sir,--Referring to the unpleasant topic of our conversation last night,
I have since consulted my prefects on the matter, and made other
inquiries as to what took place here during my temporary absence at the
athletic meeting.  The report I have received, and which I am disposed
to credit, differs materially from your own version.  In any case, allow
me to say that I require no assistance in the management of my house.
When I do, I shall ask for it.  Meanwhile I shall continue to consider
the interference of anyone, whatever his motives, as an impertinence
which I, although the junior master at Grandcourt, shall have no
hesitation in resenting to the utmost of my power.  I trust these few
lines may obviate any future misunderstanding on a point about which I
feel very strongly.

"Yours, etcetera,

"M.  Railsford."

Mr Bickers was hardly the man to neglect the opportunity afforded by
this letter for a crushing reply; and accordingly he spend a pleasant
hour that same afternoon in concocting the following polite rejoinder:--

"_February_ 1.

"Dear Railsford,--Many thanks for your note just to hand.  I can quite
believe that the version of yesterday's proceedings which you are
disposed to credit, given by your prefects (two of whom were absent, and
the other two participators in the disturbance), differs materially from
my own.  Such diversities of opinion are not uncommon in my experience.
As to the management of your house, I assure you in what I did yesterday
I had no intention of assisting you.  In fact, you were not there to
assist.  It was because you were not, that my duty to the school
suggested that I should attempt to do what you would have done
infinitely better, I am aware, had you been on the spot.  Under similar
circumstances I should do the same again, in face of the uncomfortable
knowledge that thereby I should be guilty of an impertinence to the
junior master at Grandcourt.  It is kind of you to take steps to make
your meaning quite clear on this matter.

May I suggest that we refer the matter to the session of masters, or, if
you prefer it, to Dr Ponsford?  I believe the masters meet to-night.
Unless I hear from you, I shall conclude you are as anxious as I am to
have the matter thoroughly gone into by a competent tribunal, to obviate
any future misunderstanding on a point on which you naturally feel
strongly.

"Believe me, my dear Railsford,

"Yours, very truly,

"T.  Bickers."

Mark was entertaining company when this uncomfortable letter arrived, in
the person of Monsieur Lablache, the French master.  It would be
difficult to say what there was in the unpopular foreigner which
attracted the Master of the Shell.  It may have been a touch of Quixotic
chivalry which led him to defy all the traditions of the place and offer
his friendship to the best-hated person in Grandcourt; or it may have
been a feeling that monsieur was hardly judged by his colleagues and
pupils.  However it was, during the short time the term had run, the two
men had struck up an acquaintance which perplexed a great many
spectators and displeased a great many more.

"I think you should be careful with Lablache," said Grover to his
friend.  "Not that I know anything against him, but his reputation in
the school is rather doubtful."

"I suppose the reputation of all detention masters is doubtful," said
Railsford, laughing; "yours or mine would be if we had his work to do.
But a man is innocent till he is proved guilty in England, isn't he?"

"Quite so," said Grover.  "I don't want to set you against him, for, as
I say, I know nothing of him.  All I mean, is, that you must be prepared
to share a little of his unpopularity if you take up with him.  That's
all."

"I'll take my chance of that," said Railsford.

The first time Monsieur Lablache appeared in Railsford's house, in
response to an invitation from the new master to come and take coffee,
there was considerable excitement in the house.  The juniors considered
their liberty was at stake, and hissed their master's guest down the
corridors.  The Shell boys presumed still further, and raised a cry of
"Turn him out!" and some even attempted to hustle him and trip him upon
the stairs.

But the most curious incident of that untriumphal progress was when
Munger, the cad of the Fifth, confronted monsieur in the lobby outside
Railsford's room with the shout, "He's going to raise money on his old
clothes at last!"  The brutal words (for monsieur was very shabbily
attired) were scarcely uttered when Railsford's door suddenly opened and
Munger was sent reeling across the lobby under a blow which echoed
through the house.  The Master of the Shell, white with rage, stood
there with a look on his face which sent the few loiterers packing to
their dens, and made Munger only sorry the wall against which he
staggered did not open and let him through.

"Come here, you--you boy!"

Munger advanced, scarcely less pale than his master.

"Apologise to Monsieur Lablache--here, down on your knees--for behaving
like a blackguard, and saying what you did!"

"No, it is no matter," began monsieur, with a shrug, when Mark checked
him by a gesture almost as intimidating as that by which he had just
summoned the offender.

"You hear me?" he said to the boy.

Munger went down on his knees and repeated whatever he was told; and
would have called himself by still worse names, had he been requested.
It didn't matter much to Munger!

"Now tell me your name?"

"Munger."

"Your form?"

"Fifth."

The master turned on his heel and ushered his guest into the room,
leaving Munger to rub his cheek, and wonder to himself how he ever came
to stand being knocked about in the way he had been that afternoon.

This had happened a day or two ago.  Since then, whatever the house
thought, no one was bold enough to molest the French master publicly in
Railsford's, unless it was perfectly certain Mr Railsford was out of
the way.

It would be a mistake to say the two masters had become devoted friends.
Monsieur Lablache's chief attraction in Railsford's eyes was that he
was looked down upon by the other masters, and persecuted by the boys;
while the French master was so unused to notice of any kind, that he
felt a trifle suspicious that the kindness of his new acquaintance might
be in some way a snare.  However, a little mutual mistrust sometimes
paves the way to a good deal of mutual confidence; and after a few days
the two men had risen considerably in one another's esteem.  When
Railsford, on the evening in question, crushed Mr Bickers's note up in
his hand, with an angry exclamation, monsieur said--

"_Voila, mon cher_ Railsford, you do not get always _billets-doux_?"

Monsieur had heard, of course, as everyone else had, of the new master's
matrimonial prospects.

"No," said Railsford, gloomily; "not always," and he pitched Mr
Bickers's letter into the grate as he spoke.

"Perhaps," said monsieur, "you do not always write them.  I advise you
to not answer that letter."

"Why?" said Railsford, "how do you know what that letter is?"

"I do not know; but I think that it does need no answer."

Railsford laughed.  "You are setting up as a soothsayer, monsieur.
Suppose I tell you that letter does need an answer, quickly?"

"Then, I say, somebody else will answer it better than you will."

Railsford picked the crushed-up letter off the coals just in time to
save it from the flames.

"How should you answer it, monsieur?"

Monsieur slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.

"Meester Beekaire!" said he, with a twist of his moustache, as he
recognised the writing.  "You mean that I read it?"

"Certainly, if you like."

The Frenchman read the document through, and then pitched it back into
the fire.

"Well?" said Railsford.

"Well, my good friend, it seems you do not know Meester Beekaire as well
as others."

"Is that all?" said Railsford, a little nettled.

"The masters' meeting is to-night, is it not?"

"So he says."

"You shall go?"

"Of course."

"It will not be pleasant times for you, for you will need to make
speeches, my good friend."

"Look here," said Railsford, who was getting a little impatient of these
enigmatical utterances, "I fancied you could give me some advice; if you
can't, let us talk about something more pleasant."

"I do give you advice.  I say to you, go to the meeting, and say you did
wrong, and will not do it again--"

"What!" thundered Mark, in a voice which made Arthur and the baronet in
the room overhead jump out of their chairs.

"My kind Railsford, it is only my advice.  You have been in the wrong.
I say to you, as a brave man, do not make yourself more wrong.  Meester
Beekaire would help you very much to make yourself more wrong.  Do not
let him help you, I say."

Unpalatable as it was, there was some force in his visitor's advice,
which Railsford was bound to admit.  Poor monsieur was not a shining
example of successful dealing with his fellow-masters.  Still, out of
the mouth of the simple one may sometimes hear a home truth.

The masters' session was a periodical conference of the Grandcourt
masters, half social, half business, for the purpose of talking over
matters of common school interest, discussing points of management, and
generally exchanging ideas on what was passing in the little world of
which they were the controllers.  Dr Ponsford rarely, if ever, put in
an appearance on such occasions; he had the greatest faith in holding
himself aloof from detail, and not making himself too accessible either
to master or boy.  Only when the boys could not settle a matter for
themselves, or the masters could not settle it for them, he interfered
and settled it without argument and without appeal.  It was never
pleasant when the doctor had to be called in, and the feeling against
such a step contributed very largely to the success of the school's
self-government.

Railsford by this time knew most of his fellow-masters to speak to, but
this was the first occasion on which he had met them in their corporate
capacity, and had he not been personally interested in the proceedings
he would felt a pleasant curiosity in the deliberations of this august
body.

Mr Bickers was already there, and nodded in a most friendly way to the
Master of the Shell on his arrival.  Grover and Mr Roe welcomed their
new colleague warmly, and began at once to compare notes as to school-
work.  A few minutes later Monsieur Lablache, a little smarter than
usual, came in, and having bowed to the company generally--a salute
which no one seemed to observe--subsided on a retired seat.  Railsford,
to the regret perhaps of some of his friends, presently walked across
and took a seat beside him, and the meeting began.

"Before we come to business," began Mr Roe, who by virtue of his
seniority occupied the chair, "I am sure the meeting would wish me to
express their pleasure at seeing Mr Railsford among us for the first
time, and to offer him a hearty welcome to Grandcourt."

"Hear, hear," said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers's voice
was conspicuous.

Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice,
and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman.

"They do not know of your scrape," said monsieur, cheerfully.  "I would
tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his
little speech."

Railsford glared round at his companion, and felt his heart thumping at
the prospect of the task before him.

"There are one or two matters," began Mr Roe, "to bring before--"

Railsford rose to his feet and said, "Mr Roe, and gentlemen--"

There was a dead silence at this unexpected interruption, broken only by
an encouraging cheer from Mr Bickers.

Supposing the new master was about to acknowledge the compliment just
paid him by a set speech, Mr Roe put down his agenda paper and said,
"Mr Railsford."

"If you will allow me," began Mark, rather breathlessly, "I would like
to refer to a matter which personally concerns myself.  I should not
venture to do it in this way, immediately after your kind welcome, if I
did not feel it to be my duty.  Yesterday, gentlemen, an unfortunate
incident occurred in my house--(`Hear, hear,' and a smile from Mr
Bickers).  I went--"

"Excuse me," said the chairman, "may I explain to Mr Railsford, as he
is a new member here, that our practice is invariably to take up any
questions in order of the seniority of the masters present.  Mr Smith,
I believe, has a motion on the paper--"

Poor Railsford subsided, full of confusion, stripped of his good
resolutions, abusing himself for his folly, and wishing Monsieur
Lablache and his advice at the bottom of the sea.

What Mr Smith and the other masters who followed had to say he neither
heard nor cared.  His determination to admit his own error had oozed
away, and he resolved that if his story was to be kept waiting, it
should be none the sweeter, when it did come, for the delay.

Several topics were discussed pleasantly, with a view to elicit the
opinion of the meeting on small questions of policy and discipline.

Presently Mr Roe turned to Bickers.  "I think you said you had some
question to ask, Mr Bickers?"

"Oh, well, yes.  Mine's quite a hypothetical point, though," began Mr
Bickers, airily.  "I just wanted to ask, supposing one of us becomes
aware of a riot in a neighbouring house, during the absence of the
master of that house, and ascertains, moreover, that the prefects on
duty, so far from making any attempt to control the disorder, are
participating in it, I presume there can be no question that it would be
the duty of anyone of us to interfere in such a case?  It's quite a
hypothetical case, mind, but it might occur."

"Certainly, I should say, if you were quite sure the proper house
authorities were not there to enforce order," said Mr Roe.

"Of course," said Grover; "but it's rather an unlikely case, isn't it?"

"It occurred in my house last night," broke in Railsford, hotly.  "I was
at the Athletic Union, and two of my prefects; the other two were left
in charge.  Mr Bickers took upon himself to interfere in my absence,
and I have written to tell him that I consider his action impertinent,
and resent it.  In reply, he writes--"

"A _private_ letter," interposed Mr Bickers hurriedly, evidently not
relishing the prospect of having his effusion read.

"It was not marked `private,' but I can quite understand the writer
would not like to hear it read aloud here.  All I wish to say is that
his hypothetical case is no more hypothetical than his interference was
in the affairs of my house; and that if he asks my opinion on the
matter, I shall tell him he would do better to mind his own business!"

Railsford sat down, very hot, and painfully conscious that he had not
exhibited the moderation and temper which he had promised himself to
observe.

An embarrassed silence ensued.  Mr Roe, a man of peace, frowned, and
turned inquiringly to Bickers.

Bickers stroked his beard and smiled, and said nothing.

"Do you wish to say anything?" asked the chairman.

"By no means.  Mr Railsford has said all I could wish said far more
eloquently than I could.  Shall we go on to the next business, Mr
Chairman?"

As for Railsford, the further proceeding had no interest for him, and he
vanished the moment the meeting was over, without speaking to anyone.

As Mr Bickers walked off towards his house, he really felt a little
sorry for his fellow-master, who had let himself down by so paltry an
exhibition of temper thus early in his career.  However, no doubt he
would take to heart to-night's lesson, and do himself more justice in
future.  Mr Bickers, in the fulness of his heart, took a little round
of the big square on his way home, with the double intent of giving
himself the air, and perchance intercepting, for the good of the school,
one or more youthful night-birds in their truant excursions.  This was a
kind of sport in which Mr Bickers was particularly successful, and
which, therefore (as became a successful sportsman), he rather enjoyed.
To his credit be it said, he was strictly impartial in his dealings;
whether the culprit belonged to his own house (as often happened) or to
another's, he was equally down upon him, and was never known to relax
his penalties for the most plausible excuse set up by his ingenious
victims.

To-night it seemed as if he would return without a "bag" at all, and he
was about to resign himself to his disappointment, when his quick eyes
detected in the darkness a hovering shadow moving ahead of him in the
direction of Railsford's house.  It vanished almost immediately, but not
before the master had caught a faintly uttered "Hist!" which betrayed
that he had to deal with more than one truant.  He quickened his pace a
little, and came once more in view of the phantom slinking along by the
wall at a pace which was not quite a run.  Rather to Mr Bickers's
surprise the fugitive passed the door of Railsford's, and made straight
on towards the chapel, slackening pace as he did so.

"A decoy," said the knowing master to himself.  "Employed to draw me on
while the rest make good their retreat.  There is a touch of generosity
in the decoy which one is bound to admire; but on this occasion, my
young friend, you are dealing with rather too aged a bird to be
caught--"

At this moment he had come up to the door of Railsford's, and before his
soliloquy had been able to advance by another word he seemed to see
sparks before his eyes, while at the same moment his feet went from
under him, and something was drawn over his head.  The bag, or whatever
it was, was capacious; for the neck of it descended to his waist, and
closed by the magic of a slip-knot round his mouth and elbows before he
had the presence of mind to shout or throw out his arms.  To complete
his misfortune, as he tried to raise himself, another noose was snugly
cast around his feet, and thus gagged and pinioned, silently, rapidly,
and dexterously, Mr Bickers found himself in a situation in which, he
could positively aver, he had never stood--or lain--before.

The thought did flash through his sack-enveloped head, that his
assailants, whoever they were, must have rehearsed this little comedy
carefully and diligently for a day or two, in order to arrive at the
perfection displayed in the present performance.  He also made a mental
calculation that three, possibly four, fellow-beings were engaged on the
job, of whom two were strong, and two were small; one of the latter
possibly being the decoy whom he had so lately apostrophised.

Not a syllable was uttered during the ceremony; and the victim
recognising his position, had the good sense to remain cool and not
waste his time and dignity in a fruitless struggle.

The pinioning being complete, and a small hole being considerately
opened in the sack in the region of the nose for purposes of
respiration, he was hauled up one or two steps, dragged one or two feet,
deposited on the board floor of the shoe-cupboard, and, after a few mild
and irresolute kicks, left to his own meditations, the last sound which
penetrated into the sack being the sharp turning of a key on the outside
of his dungeon door.

"So," soliloquised Mr Bickers, after discovering that he was unhurt,
though uncomfortably cramped, "our friend Railsford is having one lodger
more than the regulation number to-night.  This will make another
hypothetical case for the next session of masters!"



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE DOCTOR HAS A WORD OR TWO WITH RAILSFORD'S HOUSE.

Railsford's house was not famous for early risers.  The chapel-bell in
winter began to ring at 7.30, and "call-over" was at 7.45.  Between
these two periods, but chiefly at the 7.45 end, most of the rising in
the house was accomplished.  Master Simson, the Shell-fish, was in for
the hundred yards under fourteen at the sports; and being a shy youth
who did not like to practise in public, he had determined to rise before
the lark and take a furtive spin round the school track while his
schoolfellows and enemies slept.  It was a cold, raw morning, and before
he was fully arrayed in his flannels he had had more than one serious
idea of relapsing into bed.  Be it said to his credit, he resisted the
temptation, and gallantly finished his toilet, putting on an extra
"sweater" and pea-jacket to boot--for he had seven pounds to run off
between now and the sports.  He peered out of the window; it was dark,
but a patter on the panes showed him that a light sleet was falling
outside.  If so, being of a frugal mind, he would not run in his new
shoes, but in his old boots.

Now, his old boots were in the cupboard under the staircase by the front
door.  And the reader understands at last why it is I have taken so much
trouble to describe Master Simson's movements on this particular
morning.

It was so rare an event for any boy to be up at six o'clock on a winter
morning in Railsford's, that no one had ever thought about making a rule
to prevent the early birds leaving the house at that hour, if they could
succeed in getting out.  Simson, who had interest with the cook,
believed he could get an _exeat_ through the kitchen window; meanwhile
he must get his boots.  He armed himself with a match--the last one in
the box--and quietly felt his way along the corridor and down the
stairs.  There was a glimmer of light from under the maids' door as he
passed, which told him they were up and that he would not have long to
wait downstairs.  At the foot of the stairs he turned sharp round, and
following the wall with his hand, came at length on the familiar handle
of the "boot-box."  To his surprise the door was locked, but the key was
on the outside.

"A sell if I hadn't been able to get in," said he to himself, opening
the door.

Now Simson, like a cautious youth, aware of the frailty of matches,
wisely resolved to penetrate as far as possible into the interior of the
cupboard, in the direction in which he knew his particular boots to be,
before striking a light.

But at the first step he tripped on something and fell prostrate over a
human carcase, which emitted a muffled gasp and moved heavily as he
tumbled upon it.  Then there went up a yell such as curdled the blood of
half Railsford's as they lay in their beds, and made the domestics up-
stairs cling to one another in terror, as if their last moment had come.

Simson, with every hair on his head erect, made a frantic dive out of
that awful den, banging the door and locking it behind him in a frenzy
of fright.  Then he dashed up-stairs, and plunged, as white as his
shirt, into the dormitory.

Another yell signalised his arrival.  Not his, this time, but the joint
performance of the other occupants of the room, who, sitting up with
their chins on their knees, half petrified by the horror of the first
shriek, now gave themselves up for lost when the door broke open in the
dark, and a gasping something staggered into the room.

"There's some--bo--dy been mur--dered," gasped Simson, "in the bo--ot-
box!"

Everybody was on his feet in a moment.

"Murdered?"

"Yes," said Simson, wonderfully comforted by the noise and general
panic.  "I got up early, you know, to have a grind on the track, and
went to get my boots, and--I--I fell over it!"

"Over what?"

"The bo--od--y," whispered Simson.

"Has anybody got a light?" shouted Arthur.

But at that moment a light appeared at the door, and Ainger came in.

"What's all this row--what's the matter?"

"Simson says somebody's been murdered in the boot-box," replied Arthur.
"I say, hadn't we better go and see?"

It was a practical suggestion.  The corridor was already full of half-
dressed inquirers, and a moment later Mr Railsford's door opened.  The
story was repeated to him.

"Come with me, Ainger," said he, quietly; "the rest of you return to
your dormitories, and remain there."

Arthur, seized by a noble desire not to leave his future kinsman
unprotected in such an hour of peril, elected to disregard this last
order, and, accompanied by his henchman, followed the candle at a
respectful distance down the stairs.

"There's no blood on the stairs," observed the baronet, in a whisper.

"They've left the key in the door," muttered Arthur.

"Hold the light," said Railsford, turning the key, and entering.

Prostrate on the ground, bound hand and foot, and enveloped down to the
waist in a sack, lay the figure of a man, motionless, but certainly not
dead, for sounds proceeded from the depths of the canvas.  In a moment
Railsford had knelt and cut the cords round the prisoner's feet and
hands, while Ainger drew the sack from the head.

Arthur gave a whistle of consternation as the features of Mr Bickers
came to light, pale and stern.  The sudden sight of Medusa's head could
hardly have had a more petrifying effect.  The victim himself was the
first to recover.  Stretching his arms and legs in relief, he sat up,
and coolly said,--

"Thank you."

"Whatever does all this mean?" exclaimed Railsford, helping him to rise,
for he was very stiff and cramped.

"That I cannot say.  Kindly reach my hat, Ainger."

"Who has done this?"

"That, too, I cannot say.  I can walk, thank you."

"Won't you come to my room and have something?  You really must," said
Railsford, taking his arm.

Mr Bickers disengaged his arm, and said coldly, "Thank you, no; I will
go to my own, if you will open the door."

Arthur at this moment came up officiously with a glass of water, which
Mr Bickers drank eagerly, and then, declining one last offer of
assistance, went slowly out towards his own house.

Railsford retired to his room and threw himself into his chair in a
state of profound dejection.  Mysterious as the whole affair was, one or
two things were clear.  The one was that his house was disgraced by this
criminal and cowardly outrage, the other was that the situation was made
ten times more difficult on account of the already notorious feud
between himself and the injured master.  His high hopes were once more
dashed to the ground, and this time, it almost seemed, finally.

Mark Railsford was no coward, yet for half an hour that morning he
wished he might be well out of Grandcourt for ever.  Then, having
admitted cooler counsels, he dressed and went to the captain's study.

"Call the other prefects here, Ainger.  I want to talk to you."

The seniors were not far off, and speedily assembled.

"First of all," said the master, who perceived at a glance that it was
not necessary for him to explain the gravity of the situation, "can any
of you give me any information about this disgraceful affair?"

"None, sir," said Ainger, a little nettled at the master's tone; "we
have talked it over, and, as far as we are concerned, it's a complete
mystery."

"Have you any reason to suspect anybody?"

"None at all, sir."

"You know, all of you, I needn't tell you, that the credit of the house
is at stake--in fact, it's gone till we find the offenders.  Mr Bickers
will naturally report the matter to Dr Ponsford, and I am going to the
doctor for the same purpose.  I wished to consult you before taking any
step, because this is a matter in which we must work together."

"Certainly, sir," said Ainger, speaking for the rest.

"What I mean is, that no personal feeling must come between us and the
duty we all owe to Grandcourt to see this wrong put right; you
understand me?"

"Yes," said the downright Ainger; "we none of us like Mr Bickers, but
we must find out the fellows who scragged him, all the same."

"Exactly; and I am glad to hear you say that.  There is one other
matter.  Two of you, Stafford and Felgate, recently felt specially
aggrieved by something which Mr Bickers said to you.  You must forget
all that now, and remember only that your duty to the whole school
requires that you should do everything in your power to help to put an
end to this scandal."

"Of course we shall," said Felgate, curtly, in a tone which Railsford
did not consider particularly encouraging.

However, having opened his mind to his lieutenants, he went away
straight to the doctor's.  Mr Bickers was leaving just as he entered,
and Railsford read in his looks, as he brushed past, no great
encouragement to hope that things would soon be made right.

"Mr Bickers," said he, advancing almost in front of his colleague, "I
_must_ tell you how distressed I am at what has occurred.  I--"

"Yes, it _is_ trying for you," said the injured master, drily.  "Excuse
me, though; I want my breakfast."

It was not easy to feel cordial sympathy with a man like this.  However,
there was nothing for it but to go and lay his case before the doctor,
and Railsford entered accordingly.

Dr Ponsford was at breakfast, and asked his visitor to take a seat.

"You have come to tell me that Mr Bickers's assailants are discovered?"
said he.

"I wish I could," said Railsford.  "I have only had time to speak to my
prefects."

"Two of whom are not to be trusted, and profess a personal spite against
Mr Bickers."

This was just like the doctor.  He gave other people information and
never wanted any himself.

"I know, of course, what you refer to.  I have not myself found any
reason to consider Felgate or Stafford untrustworthy.  Mr Bickers
says--"

"I know what Mr Bickers says; but what do you say?"

"Well, sir, frankly, I do not feel quite sure of Felgate; and Stafford
is too amiable to say `no' to anybody."

"Now let me hear about the affair this morning."

Railsford gave a careful account of the discovery of Mr Bickers in the
boot-box, and was conscious that the doctor, although he gave little
sign of it, was not quite blind to the unfortunate position in which he,
as the new master of the offending house, was placed.

"Have a call-over of your house at ten o'clock, Mr Railsford.  I will
come."

This announcement was about as cheerful a one in Grandcourt as an
appointment made by the Court of the Inquisition would have been, once
upon a time, in Spain, Railsford rose to go.

"You had better stop and have breakfast here," said the doctor, ringing
the bell for another cup.  During the meal no further reference was made
to the event of the morning, but Railsford was drawn out as to his work
and the condition of his house generally, and was painfully aware that
the doctor was making the best of his time to reckon him up.  He only
wished he could guess the verdict.  But on this point he received no
light, and went off presently charged with the unpleasant task of
summoning his house to answer for themselves at the bar of the head-
master.

It was a curious spectacle, the crowd of boys which assembled in the
common room that morning at Railsford's.  Some were sulky, and resented
this jumbling of the innocent and guilty.  Some were so anxious to
appear guileless and gay, that they overdid it and compromised
themselves in consequence.  Some were a little frightened lest an all-
round flogging should be proposed.  Some whispered mysteriously, and
looked askance at one or two fellows who had been "mentioned" as
possibly implicated.  Some, like Arthur and the baronet, with Simson
squeezed in between them, looked knowing and important, as though horses
and chariots would not drag their secret out of them.  Ainger looked
pale, and his big chest went up and down in a manner which those who
knew him felt to be ominous.  Stafford looked alternately solemn and
sneering, according as he turned to the captain or Felgate.  And
Barnworth alone looked comfortable, and, apparently, had not an idea
what all the excitement was about.

At ten o'clock Railsford entered in his cap and gown, and Ainger
immediately began to call over the roll.  Every one answered to his name
except Maple of the Shell, who was away at his father's funeral, and
Tomkins the Baby, who had been so scared by the whole affair, that he
had turned sick during breakfast, and retired--with the dame's
permission--to bed.

During the call-over the doctor had entered and seated himself at the
master's desk.  His quick eye took in each boy as he uttered his
"Adsum," dwelling longer on some than on others, and now and then
turning his glance to the master and senior prefect.  When it was all
over and Ainger had handed in the list, the head-master took his
eyeglass from his eye, laid the list on the desk before him, and said--

"Boys, this is an unusual and unpleasant visit.  You know the object of
it; you know the discredit which at present lies on your house and on
Grandcourt, and you know what your duty is in the matter.  If any boy
here does not know what I mean, let him stand up."

It was as much as the life of anybody present was worth to respond to
this challenge.  One or two who could never hear a good story too often
would not have objected if somebody else had demanded further
information.  But for their own part, their discretion outdid their
curiosity, and they retained their seats amidst a dead silence.

"Very well.  Now I will put a question to you as a body.  It is a very
serious question, and one which no honest boy here, if he is able to
answer it, can afford to evade.  A great deal more depends on your
answer than the mere expulsion of one or more wrong-doers.  You boys are
the guardians of the honour of your house.  The only honourable thing at
a time like this is to speak the truth, whatever the consequences.  The
question I ask is this-- Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on
Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was?  I will wait for two minutes,
that you may understand the importance of the question, before I call
for an answer."

Dead silence.  The boys for the most part looked straight before them
with heightened colour, and watched the slow progress of the minute-hand
of the clock.

"I repeat the question now," said the doctor, when the allotted time had
run--"Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does
any boy know who was?  If so, let him stand up."

The silence which followed was broken to some by the thumping of their
own hearts.  But no one rose; and a sense of relief came to all but
Railsford, who felt his spirits sink as the prospect of a near end to
his trouble receded.

"Every boy here," said the doctor, slowly, "denies all knowledge of the
affair?"

Silence gave consent.

"Then," continued the head-master, more severely, putting up his
eyeglass, and handing the list to Ainger, "I shall put the question to
each boy separately.  Call over the list, and let each boy come up and
answer."

Ainger began by calling out his own name, and forthwith walked up to the
master's desk.

"Do you know anything whatever of this affair?" asked the doctor,
looking him full in the face.

"No, sir," said Ainger, returning the look, after his fashion, half
defiantly.

The next name was called, and its owner marched up to the desk and
uttered his denial.  Railsford, as he stood scanning keenly the face of
each boy in turn, felt that he was watching the action of some strange
machine.  First Ainger's clear voice.  Then the short "Adsum," and the
footsteps up to the desk.  Then the doctor's stern question.  Then the
quick look-up and the half-defiant "No, sir," (for they all caught up
the captain's tone).  And, finally, the retreating footsteps, and the
silence preceding the next name.

There was no sign of faltering; and, wherever the secret lurked,
Railsford saw little chance of it leaking out.  A few boys, indeed, as
was natural, gave their replies after their own fashion.  Barnworth
looked bored, and answered as though the whole performance was a waste
of time.  Arthur Herapath was particularly knowing in his tone, and
accompanied his disclaimer with an embarrassing half-wink at his future
kinsman.  Felgate said "No" without the "sir," and swaggered back to his
place with an ostentatious indifference which did not go unnoted.  The
baronet, who was nothing if not original, said nothing, but shook his
head.

"Reply to the question, sir!" thundered the doctor, ominously.

Whereat Sir Digby, losing his head, said, "No, thank you, sir," and
retired, amid some confusion.

Simson, when interrogated, mildly added to his "No, sir" the explanatory
sentence, "except finding him there when I went for my boots"; and
Munger, the cad, added to his answer, "but I'll try to find out," with a
leer and an oily smile, which Ainger felt strongly tempted to
acknowledge by a kick as he passed back to his place.  Stafford,
painfully aware that he was one of the "mentioned" ones, looked horribly
confused and red as he answered to his name, and satisfied several of
the inexpert ones present that it was hardly necessary to look further
for one of the culprits.

So the call-over passed, and when once more Ainger handed in the list
Railsford seemed further than ever from seeing light through the cloud
which enveloped it.  The doctor's brow darkened as he took once more his
glass from his eye.

"This is very serious," said he, slowly.  "When I came here it was with
the painful feeling that the house contained boys so cowardly and
unprincipled as to waylay a defenceless man in the dark, and to treat
him as Mr Bickers has been treated.  But it is tenfold worse to believe
that it contains boys cowardly enough to involve the whole house in
their own disgrace and punishment.  (Sensation.)  I will not mince
matters.  Your house is deeply disgraced, and cannot pretend to rank any
longer with the other houses, who at least have a good name, until you
have yourselves made this matter right.  It rests with you to retrieve
your credit.  Meanwhile--"

Everybody took a long breath.  The occasion was as when the judge puts
on the black cap before passing sentence of death.

"Meanwhile the house will cease to dine in Hall, but will dine in this
room at one o'clock daily; and on Saturdays, instead of taking the half-
holiday in the afternoon, you will take it in the morning, and assemble
for school at twelve o'clock.  I still trust that there may be
sufficient self-respect among you to make this change only of slight
duration; or that," and here the doctor's tone grew bitter, and his
mouth gathered sarcastically--"at least self-interest may come to your
assistance, and make it possible to return to the old order."

And he stalked from the room.

"Let us off easy, eh?" said the baronet.

"Easy?" fumed Arthur; "he might as well have given us a bit of rope a-
piece and told us to go and hang ourselves!  Look at Ainger; do you
suppose _he_ thinks we've been let off easy?"

The captain's face left no doubt on that question.



CHAPTER NINE.

AINGER HAS A CRUMPET FOR TEA, AND SMEDLEY SINGS A SONG.

Railsford for a brief moment had shared the opinion of his distinguished
pupil, that the doctor had let the house off easily.  But two minutes'
reflection sufficed to undeceive him.  The house was to dine daily at
one o'clock in Railsford's.  That meant that they were to be cut off
from all association with the rest of the school out of school hours,
and that just when all the rest turned out into the playing-fields they
were to sit down at their disgraced board.  The half-holiday regulation
was still worse.  For that meant nothing short of the compulsory
retirement of his boys from all the clubs, and, as far as athletics
went, their total exclusion from every match or contest open to the
whole school.

The house was slower at taking in the situation of affairs than the
master.  With the exception of Ainger, on whom the full significance of
the doctor's sentence had flashed from the first, there was a general
feeling of surprise that so big a "row" should be followed by so
insignificant a retribution.

"Who cares what time we have dinner," said Munger to some of his
admirers, "as long as we get it after all?  Now if old Punch (this was
an irreverent corruption of the head-master's name current in certain
sets at Grandcourt)--if old Punch had stopped our grub one day a week--"

"Besides," broke in another, "we'll get things hotter than when we dined
in hall."

"A precious sight hotter," said Arthur, wrathfully.  "What are we to do
at beagle-time to-morrow?  Just when the hounds start we've got to turn
in to dinner.  Bah!"

This was the first practical illustration of the inconvenience of the
new _regime_, and it instantly suggested others.

"We'll be stumped," said Tilbury, "if this goes on after cricket
starts--it'll be all up with any of us getting into one of the School
matches."

"I suppose," said Ranger of the Fifth, "this will knock all of us out of
the sports, too?"

Fellows looked blank at the suggestion.  Yet a moment's reflection
showed that Ranger was right.  One o'clock was the daily training hour
in the playing-fields, and Saturday afternoon four weeks hence was the
date fixed for the School sports.

It took some days for Railsford's house to accommodate itself to the new
order of things imposed upon it.  Indeed, it took twenty-four hours for
Grandcourt generally to comprehend the calamity which had befallen the
disgraced house.  When one o'clock arrived on the first afternoon, and
neither Ainger, Wake, Wignet, Tilbury, Herapath, nor the other familiar
frequenters of the playing-field, put in an appearance, speculation
began to pass about as to the cause of their absence.  Some of Bickers's
boys knew there had been a "howling shine" about something.  But it was
not till Smedley, impatient to settle some question relating to the
sports, sent his fag to fetch Ainger that it became generally known what
had happened.  The fag returned with an important face.

"Such a go!" said he, in reply to his chief's inquiry; "there's a feast
going on at Railsford's!  Smelt fine!  I saw them through the door, but
couldn't go in, because Railsford was there.  Ainger and all the lot
were tucking in.  The beef was just going in, so they've only just
started."

"Jolly shame!" said someone who overheard this announcement; "we never
get feasts in our house!  I suppose Railsford thinks he'll get his chaps
in a good-humour by it.  It's not fair unless everybody does it."

"It'll be hall-time before they've done.  We'd better not wait," said
one of the Sixth.  "I wonder what it all means?"

"I heard Ponsford had been down rowing them about something this
morning--something some of them had been doing to Bickers, I believe."

"Very likely; Bickers looked as green as a toad this morning, didn't he,
Branscombe?"

"He did look fishy," said Branscombe, shortly, "but I say, Smedley,
hadn't we better measure off without Ainger, and get him to see if he
approves afterwards?"

So the work went on without the representatives of Railsford's house,
and the bell rang for school-dinner before any of the missing ones had
put in an appearance.

The mystery was heightened when in Hall the fifty seats usually occupied
by Railsford's boys stood empty; and no inquiry was made from the
masters' table as to the cause of the defection.  It was noticed that
Mr Railsford himself was not present, and that Mr Bickers still looked
upset and out of sorts.

"Have you any idea what the row is?" said Smedley to Branscombe as the
company stood round the tables, waiting for the doctor.

"How should I know?  You'd better go and ask up there."

Smedley did.  As the doctor entered, he marched up to meet him, and
said,--

"None of Mr Railsford's house are here yet, sir."

"Quite right.  Call silence for grace and begin," said the doctor,
slowly.

For the rest of the day Railsford's seemed to be playing hide and seek
with the rest of the school, and it was not till late in the evening
that the mystery was cleared up.

"Come and let's see what it's all about," said Smedley to Branscombe.

Both the seniors had been fretting all the afternoon with a sense of
something gone wrong at Grandcourt, the former with just a little
indignation that he, the captain of the school, should be kept in the
dark, along with everybody else, on the subject.

"I ought to work," said Branscombe; "you go and _tell_ me what's up."

"Why, I thought you were as anxious as anyone to know?"

"So I am," said Branscombe, who to do him justice looked thoroughly
worried; "but you know while there's this row on between the two houses
I--I don't care to go over there without being asked."

"_I_ asked you, didn't I?" said Smedley.  "You're not afraid of being
eaten up, are you?  Never mind.  I'll brave the wild beasts myself, and
let you know how I get on."

It was the rule at Grandcourt that after dark no boy from one house
might enter another without permission.  Smedley therefore went straight
to Railsford.

"May I go and see Ainger, please, sir?"

"Certainly.  And, Smedley," said the master, as the captain retired,
"look in here for a moment as you go out.  I want to see you about the
sports."

Smedley found Ainger alone, and heard from him a full, true, and
particular account of the day's events.

The captain's wrath was unbounded.

"What!" he exclaimed, "cut all of you out of the sports and everything!
I say, Ainger, it must be stopped, I tell you.  I'll go to the doctor."

"Might as well go to the unicorn over the gate," said Ainger.

"Can't you find the fellows?"

"That's just it.  There's not even a fellow in the house I can suspect
so far."

"You feel sure it's one of your fellows?"

"It couldn't be anyone else.  Roe's and Grover's fellows never come over
our side, and never have anything to do with Bickers.  And it's hardly
likely any of Bickers's fellows would have done it.  In fact, ever since
Bickers came in here the other night and thrashed one of our fellows,
the two houses have been at daggers drawn."

"So Branscombe said.  He didn't seem to care about coming in with me.  I
asked him."

"I don't wonder.  Some of the young fools down there would give him a
hot reception for no other reason than that he belongs to Bickers's
house."

"I don't fancy he's proud of that distinction," said Smedley, laughing.
"But, I say, can't anything be done?"

"Nothing; unless Railsford can do anything."

"Railsford asked me to go in and see him.  Come, too, old man."

But Railsford had nothing to suggest.  He explained dejectedly the
effect of the doctor's sentence.  It meant that his house was out of
everything in the playing-fields; and that, as for himself, he was as
much excluded as his boys.  And he confirmed Ainger's opinion that it
was utterly useless to appeal further to the doctor.

"It would be only fair, sir," said Smedley, "for you to take back the
prize and subscription you offered for the sports."

"Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the master.  "If I cannot take
part in the sports in person, at least I would like to have some finger
in the pie."

That was all that passed.

"I like Railsford," said Smedley; "he's genuinely cut up."

"It's awfully rough on him," replied Ainger.

The two friends said good-bye.

"By the way, Smedley," said Ainger, calling the captain back, "I may as
well tell you, we are going to have our revenge for all this."

"What!" said Smedley, rather alarmed.  "Surely you're not going to--"

"To roast the doctor?  No.  But we're going to make this the crack house
of the school in spite of him."

Smedley laughed.

"Good!  You've a busy time before you, old man.  I'll promise to keep it
dark--ha! ha!"

"You may think it a joke, dear old chap," said Ainger, standing at the
door and watching his retreating figure, "but even the captain of
Grandcourt will have to sit up by-and-by."

Smedley, the brave and impetuous, walked straight from Railsford's to
the doctor's.  He knew his was a useless mission, but he wasn't going to
shirk it.  The doctor would snub him and tell him to mind his own
affairs; "but"--so said the hero to himself--"what do I care?  I'll tell
him a piece of my mind, and if he like to tell me a piece of his, that's
only fair.  Here goes!"

The doctor was engaged in his study, said the servant; but if Mr
Smedley would step into the drawing-room he would come in a few minutes.
Smedley stepped into the dimly-lighted drawing-room accordingly, which,
to his consternation, he found already had an occupant.  The doctor's
niece was at the piano.

Smedley, for once in a way, behaved like a coward, and having advanced a
step or two into the room, suddenly turned tail and retreated.

"Don't go, Mr Smedley," said a pleasant voice behind him.  "Uncle will
be here in a minute."

"Oh, I--good-evening, Miss Violet.  I'm afraid of--"

"Not of me, are you?  I'll go if you like," said she, laughing, "and
then you'll have the room to yourself."

"Oh no, please.  I didn't mean that.  Won't you play or sing something,
Miss Violet?"

So Miss Violet sang "Cherry Ripe," and then, the doctor not having yet
put in an appearance, Smedley asked if she would mind playing the
accompaniment of "Down among the Dead Men," as he would like to try it
over.

The young lady cheerfully complied, and when presently the head-master
stalked into the room he was startled, and possibly a little amused, to
be met with the defiant shout of his head boy,--

  "And he that will this health deny,
  Down among the dead men--down among the--"

He was shaking his fist above his head, after the fashion of the song at
the school suppers, when he suddenly stopped short at the sight of the
doctor, and realised the horror of the situation.

"Go on, Mr Smedley," said Miss Violet, "finish the verse.  We shan't be
a moment, uncle."

But Smedley could as soon have finished that verse as fly up the
chimney.  So the doctor's niece finished it for him, and then, with a
"Good-night, Mr Smedley; thank you very much for the song," she tripped
out of the room, leaving the hero to his fate.

It was not a very terrible fate after all.

"You and my niece have been having quite a concert," said the doctor.

"I hope I did not disturb you, sir.  Miss Violet was so kind as to play
some accompaniments for me while I was waiting for you."

"You want to see me.  What is it, Smedley?"

Smedley till this moment had forgotten the object of his delicate
mission, and now, suddenly recalled to business, felt less taste than
ever for his task.  Still he must go through with it.

"It was about Mr Railsford's house, sir."

"That, Smedley, is not a subject for discussion."

"I know, sir.  All I mean is that the whole school will suffer."

"That increases the responsibility of those who can rectify all by
owning their misconduct."

"Won't it be possible to make some exceptions, sir?  Our School sports
will go all to pieces without Ainger and Barnworth and some of their
fellows."

"You must see they do not go to pieces, Smedley," said the doctor; "it
would be unworthy of the school if they did.  As for Mr Railsford's
boys, I have said what I had to say to them, and have nothing more to
add."

"But Mr Railsford himself, sir," began the captain, desperately playing
his last card; "we hoped he--"

"It is a most unfortunate thing for everyone," said the doctor--"I
include myself and you and Mr Railsford.  We are called upon to make a
sacrifice, and there should be no question about our being willing, all
of us, to make it for the good of the school.  Good-night, Smedley,
good-night."

Smedley walked back, humming "Cherry Ripe" to himself, and feeling
decidedly depressed about things in general.



CHAPTER TEN.

ARTHUR PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER.

Sir Digby Oakshott, of Oakshott Park, Baronet, was down on his luck.
His heart had been set on saving his house single-handed by a brilliant
discovery of the miscreants to whom it owed its present disgrace.

It had been a busy week for him.  He had had three or four fights a day
with outraged suspects, and had not invariably got the best of them.
Besides, in his devotion to the public service his private duties had
been neglected, and the pile of impositions had grown with compound
interest.  Worst of all, his own familiar friend had lifted up his heel
against him, and had openly gibed at his efforts.  This was "the most
unkindest cut of all," and Sir Digby felt it deeply.

"What's the use of going on fooling?" said Arthur, one evening, when the
tension was becoming acute.  "Why can't you shut up making an ass of
yourself?"

"Look here, Arthur, old man," said the baronet deprecatingly, "I don't
want to be jawed by you.  It's no business of yours."

"What I can't make out," pursued his friend sarcastically, "is why you
haven't tried to smell the chaps out by means of Smiley.  Now, if you
let Smiley have a good sniff of that bit of rope on your watch-chain,
and then turn him out into the square, he'd ferret them out for you."

"I tell you what, old man, if it's coming to a regular row between us
two, hadn't you better say so at once, and get done with it?"

"Who says anything about a row?  All I say is, you're in a precious good
way of getting yourself kicked round the house, the way you're going on;
and I don't much mind if I'm asked to lead off."

"You'd better try to kick me, that's all," said Dig.

"I'll see what I can do for you some day.  But, I say, Dig, can't you
see what a howling ass you're making of yourself?"

"No, I don't know so much about asses as you do," responded Dig.

"Daresay not.  If you were in the company of one all day long, as I am,
you'd soon throw it up.  I tell you, my--"

Here the speaker suddenly broke off and looked affectionately at the
troubled face of his old chum.

"Look here, Dig, old man, I don't want to have a row with you, no more
do you.  I vote we don't."

"Hang a row," said Dig.  "But it seems to me, Arthur, you don't care
twopence whether the chap's found out or not."

Arthur's face clouded over.

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't.  I don't see we're called upon to show
them up."

"But look what a mess the house is in till they're bowled out.  We'll
never get hold of a bat all the season."

"Jolly bad luck, I know, but we must lump it, Dig.  You must drop
fooling about with your clues.  Don't get in a wax, now.  I've got my
reasons."

"Whatever do you mean?  Do you know who it was, then?  Come in!  Who's
there?"

The intruder was the Baby Jukes, who carried half a dozen letters in his
hand, one of which he presented to the two chums.

"One for you," said he.  "They're all the same.  Wake gave Bateson and
me a penny a-piece for writing them out, and we knocked off twenty.  He
says he'd have sent you one a-piece, only he knows you've not two ideas
between you.  Catch hold."

And he departed, smiling sweetly, with his tongue in his cheek, just in
time to avoid a Caesar flung by the indignant baronet at his head.

"Those kids are getting a drop too much," said Dig.  "They've no more
respect for their betters than Smiley has.  What's this precious
letter?"

The letter was addressed to "Messrs. Herapath and Oakshott," and was
signed by Wake of the Fifth, although written in the inelegant hand of
Master Jukes the Baby.

"`Central Criminal Court, Grandcourt.  The assizes will open this
evening in the forum at 6.30 sharp.  You are hereby summoned on urgent
business.  Hereof fail not at your peril.'"

"What do that mean?" again inquired Dig.  "What right has Wake to
threaten us?"

"Don't you see, Wake, whose father is a pettifogging lawyer, is going to
get up a make-believe law court--I heard him talk about it last term--
instead of the regular debating evening.  The best of it is, we kids
shall all be in it, instead of getting stuck on the back bench to clap,
as we generally are."

"He's no business to tell us to fail not at our peril," growled Dig.
"What will they do?"

"Try somebody for murder, perhaps, or--why, of course!" exclaimed
Arthur, "they'll have somebody tried for that Bickers row!"

"By the way," said Dig, returning to the great question on his mind,
"you never told me if you really knew who did it."

Arthur's face clouded again.

"How should I know?" said he shortly.  "What's the use of talking about
it?"

There was something mysterious in Herapath's manner which disturbed his
friend.  It was bad enough not to be backed up in his own schemes, but
to feel that his chum knew something that he did not, was very hard on
Sir Digby.

Now he recalled it, Arthur had all along been somewhat reserved about
the business.  He had made sport of other fellows' theories, but he had
never disclosed his own.  Yet it was evident he had his own ideas on the
subject.  Was it come to this, that after all these terms of confidence
and alliance, a petty secret was to come between them and cloud the
hitherto peaceful horizon of their fellowship?

Digby, perhaps, did not exactly put the idea into these poetical words,
but the matter troubled him quite as much.

Now, it is my intention, at this place, generously to disclose to the
reader what was hidden from Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, and from
everyone else at Grandcourt--namely, that Arthur Herapath was fully
persuaded in his own mind that he knew the name of the arch offender in
the recent outrage, and was resolved through thick and thin to shield
him from detection.  He was perfectly aware that in so doing he made
himself an accessory after the fact, but that was a risk he was prepared
to run.  Only it decided him to keep his knowledge to himself.

Arthur was not a particularly sharp boy.  His qualities were chiefly of
the bull-dog order.  He did not take things in with the rapidity of some
fellows, but when he did get his teeth into a fact he held on like grim
death.  So it was now.  In the first excitement of the discovery he had
been as much at sea and as wild in his conjectures as anybody.  But
after a little he stumbled upon a piece of evidence which gave him a
serious turn, and had kept him serious ever since.

On the morning of the discovery, Arthur, being in the neighbourhood of
the "boot-box," thought he would have a look round.  There was no fear
of his mistaking the place; he had been there before, and seen Mr
Bickers come out of the sack.  Everything was pretty much as it had been
left.  The sack lay in the corner where it had been thrown, and the
cord, all except the piece which the baronet had secured, was there too.
On the dusty floor could clearly be perceived the place where Mr
Bickers had rolled about in his uncomfortable shackles during the night,
and on the ledge of the dim window which let light into the boot-box
from the lobby still stood the tumbler which Arthur himself had
officiously fetched an hour or two ago.

One or two things occurred to Arthur which had not previously struck
him.  One was that the door of the boot-box was a very narrow one, and,
closing-to by a spring, it would either have had to be held open or
propped open while Mr Bickers was being hauled in by his captors.  He
found that to hold it open wide he would have to get behind it and shut
himself up between it and the stairs.  Most likely, all hands being
required for securing the victim, the captors would have taken the
precaution to prop the door open by some means, so as to be ready for
their deep-laid and carefully prepared scheme.

So Arthur groped about and discovered a twisted-up wedge of paper,
which, by its battered look and peculiar shape, had evidently been stuck
at some time under the door to keep it from closing-to.  He quietly
pocketed this prize, on the chance of its being useful, and after
possessing himself of the sack and cord, and two wax vestas lying on the
floor, one of which had been lit and the other had not, he prepared to
quit the scene.  As he was going up-stairs he caught sight of one other
object--not, however, on the floor, but on the ledge of the cornice
above the door.  This was a match-box of the kind usually sold by street
arabs for a halfpenny.  Arthur tried to reach it, but could not get at
it even by jumping.

"The fellow who put that there must have been over six feet," said he to
himself.

With some trouble he got a stick and tipped the box off the ledge, and
as he did so it occurred to him that, whereas the dust lay a quarter of
an inch thick on the ledge, and whereas the match-box had no similar
coating of dust, but was almost clean, it must have been put up there
recently.  He opened the box and looked inside.  It contained wax
vestas, with curiously coloured purple heads, which on examination
corresponded exactly with the matches he had picked up on the floor of
the boot-box.

"Oh," said Arthur to himself, very red in the face, "here's a go!" and
he bolted up to his room.

Dig, as it happened, was out, not altogether to his chum's regret, who
set himself, with somewhat curious agitation, to examine his booty.

First of all he examined once more the match-box, and satisfied himself
that there was no doubt about the identity of its contents with the
stray vestas he had picked up.  The result was decisive.  The box had
been placed above the door very recently by someone who, unless he stood
on a form or climbed on somebody else's back, must have been more than
six feet high.  No one puts matches above doors by accident.  Whoever
put it there must have meant it--and more than that, must have opened it
and dropped one out inside the boot-box.

"Now," considered the astute Arthur, "it was pitch dark when Bickers was
collared; lights were out, and the fellows thought they'd have a glim
handy in case of need.  They struck one and spilt one, and shoved the
box up there, in case they should want it again.  I say! what a clever
chap I am!  The tall chap this box belongs to did the job, eh?"

An expert might possibly find a flaw in this clue, but Arthur was a
little proud of himself.

Next he spread out the sack and inspected the cord.  There was not much
to help him here, one would suppose, and yet Arthur, being once on a
good tack, thought it worth his while to look closely at these two
relics.

The sack was not the ordinary type of potato-sack which most people
associate with the term, but more like a large canvas pillow-case, such
as some article of furniture might be packed in, or which might be used
to envelop a small bath and its contents on a railway journey.  Arthur
perceived that it had been turned inside out, and took the trouble to
reverse it.  It was riddled with holes, some of them to admit the
running cords which had closed round the neck and elbows of the
unfortunate Mr Bickers, and some, notably that in the region of the
nose, made hastily, with the motive of giving the captive a little
ventilation.

Arthur could not help thinking, as he turned the sack outside in, that
it would have been nicer for Mr Bickers to have the comparatively clean
side of the canvas next to his face instead of the very grimy and
travel-stained surface which had fallen to his lot.

But these speculations gave place to other emotions as he discovered two
black initials painted on the canvas, and still legible under their
covering of dirt and grease.  There was no mistaking them, and Arthur
gave vent to a whistle of consternation as he deciphered an "M.R."

Now, as Arthur and everybody else knows, "M.R." _may_ mean Midland
Railway, but the Midland Railway is not six feet two inches, and does
not carry wax vestas about him, or drop them on the floor of the boot-
box.

Arthur gaped at those initials for fully three minutes, and then
hurriedly hid the sack away in the cupboard.

He had still one more point to clear up.  He pulled the wedge of paper
out of his pocket and began nervously to unroll it.  It was frayed and
black where the door had ground it against the floor; but, on beginning
to open it, it turned out to be a portion of a torn newspaper.  It was a
_Standard_ of February 4--two days ago--and Arthur whistled again and
turned pale as he saw a stamp and a postmark on the front page, and read
a fragment of the address--"...ford, Esquire, Grandcourt."

"That settles it clean!" he muttered to himself.  "I say! who'd have
thought it!"

Then he sat down and went over the incidents of the last twenty-four
hours.

Last night--it is sad to have to record it--Arthur had been out in the
big square at half-past nine, when he should have been in bed.  He had
been over to find a ball which he had lost during the morning while
playing catch with Dig out of the window.  On his way back--he
remembered it now--he had had rather a perilous time.  First of all he
had nearly run into the arms of Branscombe, the captain of Bickers's
house, who was inconveniently prowling about at the time, probably in
search of some truant of his own house.  Then in doubling to avoid this
danger he had dimly sighted Mr Bickers himself, taking a starlight walk
on Railsford's side of the square.  Finally, in his last bolt home, he
had encountered Railsford stalking moodily under the shadow of his own
house, and too preoccupied to notice, still less to challenge, the
truant.

All this Arthur remembered now, and, carrying his mind a day or two
further back, he recalled Mr Bickers's uninvited visit to the house--
Arthur had painful cause to remember it--and Railsford's evident
resentment of the intrusion, and the threatenings of slaughter which had
been bandied about between the two houses ever since.

"Why," said Arthur to himself, "it's as clear as a pikestaff.  I see it
all now.  Bickers said it was about a quarter to ten when he was
collared.  No fellows would be about then, and certainly no one would
know that he would be passing our door, except Marky.  Marky must have
been actually hanging about for him when I passed!  What a pity I didn't
stop to see the fun!  Yes, he'd got his sack ready, and had jammed the
door open with this paper, and got his matches handy.  Bickers would
never see him till he came close up, and then Marky would have the sack
on in two twos before he could halloa.  My eye!  I would never have
believed it of Marky.  Served Bickers right, of course, and it'll be a
lesson to him; but it'll be hot for Marky if he's found out.  Bickers
says there may have been more than one fellow on the job, but I don't
fancy it.  If Mark had had anybody, he'd have got me to help him,
because it would be all in the family, and I'd be bound to keep it dark.
Wouldn't he turn green if he knew I'd twigged him!  Anyhow, I'll keep
it as close as putty now, and help him worry through.  Very knowing of
him to go with a candle and let him out this morning, and look so struck
all of a heap.  He took me in regularly."

Arthur said this to himself in a tone which implied that if Mark had
been able to take _him_ in, it was little to be wondered at that all the
rest of the house had been hoodwinked.

"Hard luck," thought he condescendingly.  "I daren't tell Dig.  He's
such a gossip, it would be all over the place in a day.  Wonder if I'd
best let Marky know I've spotted him?  Think not.  He wouldn't like it,
and as long as he's civil I'll back him up for Daisy's sake."

Then, having stumbled on to the thought of home, it occurred to him that
since the opening day, when he had sent a postcard to announce his
arrival, he had not yet troubled his relatives with a letter this term.
It was a chance, while he was in the humour, to polish them off now; so
he took up his pen, and thus discoursed to his indulgent sister:--

"Dear Da,--Mark's all right so far.  He doesn't hit it with a lot of the
chaps, and now and then we hate him, but he lets Dig and me alone, and
doesn't interfere with Smiley.  I hope you and he keep it up, because it
would make me look rather foolish if it was all off, especially as
Dimsdale and one or two of the chaps happen to have heard about it, and
have bets on that it won't last over the summer holidays.

"I'm getting on very well, and working hard at French.  _Je suis allant
a commencer translater une chose par Moliere le prochain term si je suis
bon_.  There's a howling row on in the house just now.  Bickers got
nobbled and sacked the other night, and shoved in the boot-box, and
nobody knows who did it.  I've a notion, but I'm bound to keep it dark
for the sake of a mutual friend.  It would be as rough as you like for
him if it came out.  But I believe in _assistant un boiteux chien au
travers de la stile_; so I'm keeping it all dark.  Ponsford has been
down on us like a sack of coals.  They've shoved forward our dinner-hour
to one o'clock, so we're regularly dished over the sports, especially as
Saturday afternoon has been changed into morning.  The house will go to
the dogs now, _mais que est les odds si longtemps que vous etes
heureuses_?  Dig sends his love.  He and I remember the loved ones at
home, and try to be good.  By the way, do you think pater could go
another five bob?  I'm awfully hard up, my dear Daisy, and should
greatly like not to get into evil ways and borrow from Dig.  Can you
spare me a photograph to stick up on the mantelpiece to remind me of you
always?  You needn't send a cabinet one, because they cost too much.
I'd sooner have a _carte-de-visite_ and the rest in stamps, if you don't
mind.  I'm doing my best to give Marky a leg-up.  I could get him into a
row and a half if I liked, but for your sake I'm keeping it all dark.  I
hope you'll come down soon.  It will be an awful game if you do, and
I'll promise to keep the fellows from grinning.  _Maintenant, il faut
que je close haut.  Donnez mon amour a mere et pere, et esperant que
vous etes tout droit, souvenez me votre aimant frere_, Arthur Herapath.
_Dig envoie son amour a tous_."

Daisy might have been still more affected by this brotherly effusion
than she was, had not she received a letter by the same post from Mark
himself, telling her of his later troubles, and containing a somewhat
more explicit narrative of recent events than had been afforded in the
letter of his prospective brother-in-law.

"I am, I confess, almost at a loss," said he.  "I do not like to believe
that anyone in the house can have the meanness to involve us all in this
misfortune by his own guilty silence. ...  Much depends now on the
spirit which my prefects show.  I believe, myself, that if they take a
proper view of the situation, we may weather the storm.  But the new
order of things hits them harder than anyone else, for it excludes them
from football, cricket, and the sports; and I fear it is too much to
expect that they will even try to make the best of it!  I begin to feel
that a master, after all, if he is to do any good, must be a sort of
head boy himself, and I would be thankful if my seniors let me into
their confidence, and we were not always dealing with one another at
arm's length.  All this, I fear, is uninteresting to you; but it means a
good deal to me.  The flighty Arthur does not appear to be much cast
down by our troubles.  I wish I could help him to a little of the
ballast he so greatly needs.  But, although I am the master of this
house, I seem scarcely ever to see him.  I hear him, though.  I hear him
this minute.  He and his chum occupy the room over me, and when they
execute a war dance--which occurs on an average six times a day--it
makes me tremble for my ceiling.  I have a notion Arthur spends his
weekly allowance rather recklessly, and am thinking of suggesting to
your father that a reduction might be judicious," etcetera, etcetera.

Had Railsford guessed, as he wrote these rather despondent lines, that
his youthful kinsman in the room above was hugging himself for his own
astuteness in tracking out his (Railsford's) villainy, he might perhaps
have regarded the situation of affairs as still less cheerful.  As it
was, after the first discovery, the hope had begun to dawn upon the
Master of the Shell, as it had already dawned on Barnworth, that some
good might even result from the present misfortunes of the house.  And
as the days passed, he became still more confirmed in the hope, and,
with his usual sanguine temper, thought he could see already Railsford's
house starting on a new career and turning its troubles to credit.

Alas!  Mark Railsford had rough waters still to pass through.  And the
house, before it was to start on its new career, had several little
affairs to wind up and dispose of.

Among others, the Central Criminal Court Assizes were coming on, and the
boys were summoned, "at their peril," not to fail in appearing on the
occasion.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A "CAUSE CELEBRE."

Wake, of the Fifth, was one of those restless, vivacious spirits who,
with no spare time on their hands, contrive to accomplish as much as any
ordinary half-dozen people put together.  He formed part of the much-
despised band of fellows in his form contemptuously termed "muggers."
In other words, he read hard, and took no part in the desultory
amusements which consumed the odd moments of so many in the house.  And
yet he was an excellent cricketer and runner, as the school was bound to
acknowledge whenever it called out its champions to do battle for it in
the playing-fields.

More than that, if anyone wanted anything doing in the way of literary
sport--in the concoction of a squib or the sketching of a caricature--
Wake was always ready to take the work upon himself, and let who liked
take the credit.  He had a mania for verses and epigrams; he was reputed
a bit of a conjuror, and no one ever brought a new puzzle to Grandcourt
which Wake, of Railsford's, could not, sooner or later, find out.

Among other occupations, Wake had for some time past acted as secretary
for the House Discussion Society--an old institution which for years had
droned along to the well-known tunes--"That Wellington was a greater man
than Napoleon," "That Shakespeare was a greater poet than Homer," "That
women's rights are not desirable," "That the execution of Charles the
First was unjustifiable," etcetera, etcetera.  But when, six months ago,
Trill, of the Sixth, the old secretary, left Grandcourt, and Wake, at
the solicitation of the prefects (who lacked the energy to undertake the
work themselves), consented to act as secretary, the society entered
upon a new career.  The new secretary alarmed his patrons by his
versatility and energy.  The old humdrum questions vanished almost
completely from the programme, and were replaced by such interesting
conundrums as "Is life worth living?"  "Ought the _Daily News_ to be
taken in at the school library?"  "What is a lie?" and so on.  Beyond
that, he boldly appropriated evenings for other purposes than the
traditional debate.  On one occasion he organised a highly successful
reading of _Coriolanus_, in which the juniors, to their vast delight,
were admitted to shout as citizens.  Another evening w

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