Chapter Three.
My Chum.
Of course, as you may suppose, I offered no reply to this characteristic introductory address of Dr Hellyer, although the allusion he made to Aunt Matilda’s treachery in trying to prejudice him against me—an attempt which, apparently, was as successful as it was intended to be—made me boil over with suppressed passion. It was just like her, I thought! I had hoped, on leaving Tapioca Villa, to have escaped the influence of her spiteful malignity; and yet here, at a distance, it was pursuing me still, when I really believed myself for ever beyond its reach.
The reflection so maddened me that, as I was unable at the time to give vent to my anger, my face flushed up as it always did when I was so roused by my temper getting the better of me; and I dare say I looked like a bellicose young turkey-cock.
My schoolmaster took advantage of the opportunity to “improve the occasion.”
“Ah, I see,” he went on, “your aunt was quite right in her estimate of your disposition; but, my dear excitable young friend, I must—ah—give you fair warning that if you feel inclined to be rude at any time, you’d better not be rude here, and if you are bold—ah—you’ll get bowled out! Ah—that was an unintentional pun, Leigh, but I don’t think you’ll find me joking when I have to come to the point. Mind, I never flog a boy under any circumstances, but I’ve got an equally efficacious way of my own for making my pupils obey me, which never fails, and you’ll probably have an early chance of getting familiar with it! Oh no, I never flog, but I’ve a way of my own, Master Leigh, a way of my own—ah!”
The infinite relish and gusto with which he repeated these last words of his are utterly indescribable; while the grin that overspread his fat countenance, wrinkling up its fleshy folds, can only be compared to the expression one sees carved out on those hideous gargoyles with which the architects of former days decorated the odd corners of our cathedrals.
I couldn’t help shivering in my shoes; and Dr Hellyer, noticing this, evidently thought that he had made sufficient impression for a start, for, dropping his terrible, rolling, ponderous voice, he spoke to me more amiably.
“Now, leave your box here and it shall be taken up presently to the dormitory. Come along with me and I’ll introduce you—ah—to your schoolfellows.”
To hear was to obey; so, deserting my hitherto keenly-watched little property with many misgivings as to the chances of my ever setting eyes on it again, I followed Dr Hellyer out of the room and along a narrow passage that led directly to the back of the house. Throwing open a door at the further end, a flight of short stone steps was disclosed, descending to a wide yard or garden—that is, if one solitary tree in a remote corner supplied sufficient vegetation to give the place such a name—where I could see a lot of boys of all ages and sizes jumping about and otherwise diverting themselves.
“Ah—this is our—ah—playground, Leigh,” explained the master, with a comprehensive wave of his arm; and, then, the chorus of yells, shouts, screams, and stray laughter that at first echoed through my ears, like the din of Pandemonium, having ceased as soon as the Doctor’s presence in their midst was perceived by the boys, that worthy very briefly introduced me.
“Here’s a new boy—ah—make friends with him; but, ah—no fighting!”
Having thus done as much as he thought necessary, the master withdrew, shutting the door that communicated with the house behind him; and I, going down the steps, with some little hesitation in the face of all the mass of boys who were now staring at me, with, it seemed to me, the concentrated look of one, found myself in a minute surrounded by them.
I was just like a solitary pigeon amongst a flock of rooks, for all, as if with a single voice, began eagerly shouting out a series of the most personal questions, without giving me time to answer them individually.
After a bit, the clamour somewhat ceased, and then a tall, slenderly-built chap, who appeared to be the cock of the school, came up to me, while the others formed a circle around us two, waiting for the upshot of their leader’s action. It was enough to make one feel nervous, for they all became suddenly silent, although I could see one or two nudging each other and grinning gleefully, as if some highly interesting episode was expected at my expense.
“What is your name?” said the tall one.
“Martin Leigh,” I replied, civilly, seeing no harm in the question.
“Oh, that’s a fine name,” observed my interlocutor, sneeringly; “I suppose you’re the son of a duke, and a nobleman in disguise?”
“No,” said I, calmly, put on my mettle by hearing the others sniggering at their leader’s wit, as they thought it—“my father was an officer.”
“That’s a good one!” said the tall chap, with a stagey laugh; “I think he must have belonged to the Horse Marines—didn’t he?”
At this there was a chorus of chuckles from the surrounding boys, with cries of “Go it, Slodgers!” and other impertinent interruptions, causing my quick temper to fire up.
“You’re wrong again, ‘Mr Sharp,’” I said, angrily. “He was an officer in the navy, and a gentleman—more than yours was, I should think.”
“You impudent young beggar, what do you mean?” retorted the tall boy, taking a step nearer me, and raising his hand as if to give me a slap on the face; “your father was a sweep, you hound!”
“You lie!” I yelled out, in a white heat with passion; and, without waiting for him to give me the first blow, I sprang up and planted my fist between his eyes, knocking him back so suddenly that he would have fallen but for the others advancing closer and shoring him up, as it were, by their pressure, so that he couldn’t tumble down.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said my opponent, recovering himself at once quickly; and, before I could put up my hands, he had dealt me two swinging blows right and left, making my nose bleed and bringing me in a heap on to the ground.
I was not beaten, however, for I was on my feet again in a second, dashing in madly at him; and, but for the intervention of another boy, not quite so tall as my antagonist, but with much broader shoulders and of heavier weight, who got in between us and prevented further hostilities, I should probably have come to sad grief.
“Let him alone, Slodgers; he’s only a new boy, remember,” said this peacemaker, warning me off with one outstretched arm while he pushed back my antagonist with the other, as he was making for me again.
“I know he’s a new boy; but the cheeky young beggar has given me a black eye, confound him! and the Doctor is safe to see it when we go in. I must pay him out for it, Larkyns; move away, and I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life!”
With these words, the tall boy, or Slodgers, as he was called, made another rush at me; but the other interposed once more, and this time more forcibly.
“No, I tell you,” said he, “let him alone, or I’ll have to make you,” and he gave Slodgers a quiet sort of tap on the chest that had the effect of at once stopping his advance, the bully and coward, as he seemed to me to be, retiring sulkily to the corner of the yard under the tree, accompanied by two of his select cronies, grumbling in an undertone about “somebody’s” meddlesomeness in interfering with “other people’s business,” although he did not take any further notice of the stalwart Samaritan who had thus come so opportunely to my aid, baulking the summary vengeance he had intended taking on my unhappy head.
The other boys, too, were just as disgusted at the turn events had taken, for they had looked for rare sport in seeing me mauled by their champion. They also now went off in a body, leaving my protector and myself alone together, close to the steps where the little fracas had occurred.
“You are a plucky fellow,” said my new friend, confidentially, as soon as the rest were out of hearing. “I don’t think Master Slodgers has had such a prompt lesson before to correct that nasty way he has of frightening every new boy that comes here; but I tell you what, though, you mustn’t go hitting out at big chaps like that, you know! Slodgers would have pounded you into a jelly if I hadn’t interfered.”
“I dare say he would,” I replied, passionately, not having yet quite calmed down—the sight of the blood dropping from my poor nose adding to instead of abating from my courage. “But, I would have made him feel something first! I don’t care if he had killed me! I would do the same again if he made fun of my father. He said I told lies when I was telling the truth.”
“Well, well, that’s all right,” said my rescuer, soothingly. “I’ve no doubt I should have struck him, too, if I had been in your place. I like you for standing up to him so bravely, and that’s the reason I took your part, independently of my always trying to stop his bullying. Slodgers is a cur at heart, and I dare say you would lick him in the end if you could hold out long enough, although I wouldn’t advise you to tackle him until you know how to use your fists better, if I am not by! I think you said your name was Martin Leigh, to change the subject from the brute, eh?”
“Yes,” I answered, readily; “and I must now thank you for your kindness in coming to my help.”
“Oh, stow all that! May I call you Martin?”
“By all means,” said I, gladly; “there’s nothing I should like better.”
“All right then, that’s agreed. My name is Tom Larkyns, and you may call me Tom, if you like.”
“May I?” I asked, deferentially, proud of his condescending to be on such cordial terms with me. “Won’t it sound too familiar?”
“Nonsense,” said he, laughing cheerily. “We’ll swear a bond of eternal friendship, like Damon and Pythias,” and he squeezed my hand in his strong grip, as if he meant it.
Tears came into my eyes; but not with pain. It was at the happy consciousness that at last I had come across some one who really cared for me personally. Uncle George’s scanty amount of affection for me was due to the fact of my being his brother’s child, while Molly, the maid-servant, the only one else who had ever evinced any kindly feeling towards me, had been actuated by pity for my forlorn and neglected condition amongst my own kindred; but Tom was my very own friend, mine by choice and selection. Had he not singled me out and taken my part, besides asking me to be his comrade? That alone would have made me his staunch ally, even without the proffer of his friendship; so, needless to say, I vowed there and then my fealty as his chum through thick and thin!
Presently, Tom took me round to a side door of the house, through which admittance was gained to the kitchen, where, procuring some water, he helped me to stop the bleeding from my nose, caused by Slodgers’ blow, and otherwise wash away the traces of the combat. We subsequently returned to the “playground,” Tom saying that we could remain there if we liked until the tea-bell rang, as it was a half-holiday, and there were no more lessons for the day.
The other boys had mostly gone in by this time, disappearing in batches of twos and threes, tired of being out in the bare yard, and having exhausted all attempts at amusing themselves. We remained here over an hour longer, walking up and down, exchanging confidences and forming the most wonderful plans of what we would do together bye-and-bye, not only while at school, but when we grew up and went into the world. I, of course, told him all about my cruel bringing-up under Aunt Matilda’s auspices, and he imparted the information that he was almost an orphan like myself; his father, who was a clergyman, having died early and left his widowed mother with a large number of children to support on a scanty income; whence the fact of his being at such a poor second-rate school as Dr Hellyer’s, about which Tom then proceeded to unfold the most wonderful revelations.
The master, he said, in spite of his generally having thirty boys at least, from whom he managed to get an income of six hundred a year or so, was always in hard straits, and at his wit’s end for money; although, apparently, he could not have any great expenditure, the rent of the house or houses occupied by the school being cheap, his cost for the aid of masters not by any means excessive, and the boys’ keep not too extravagant, judging by the meals they had. Dr Hellyer was “an ignorant, uncultivated brute,” Tom averred, and his degree of “Doctor” was only derived from the fact of his having paid ten dollars to an American university to air this specious prefix to his scholastic name!
The whole school, my new friend told me, was a sham, for, instead of there being some dozen of masters, as stated in the prospectus sent to Uncle George, there were only two besides “The Doctor”—Mr Smallpage, the mathematical master, called by the boys “Smiley,” on the lucus a non lucendo principle, I suppose, because his face ever bore an expression of gravity; and Monsieur Achile Phélan, professor of foreign languages and dancing, christened by Tom Larkyns “The Cobbler,” on account of his teaching a certain number of extra-paying pupils how to “heel and toe.”
Whatever was the reason for “The Doctor’s” hardupishness, however, the fact was undeniable; and Tom said that for weeks at a time the establishment would be in a state of siege, from tradespeople coming after their “little accounts,” which the master put off settling as long as he could. The old woman who had opened the door to me, my chum stated, was popularly believed to be the principal’s maternal relative, as she kept a watchful eye upon the portal, besides presiding over the interior economy of the school. She was so sharp, Tom averred, that she could smell a “dun,” experience having so increased the natural keenness of her scent.
Sometimes, too, Tom said, when Dr Hellyer could get no credit with the butcher, they lived on Australian tinned mutton, which he got wholesale from the importers, as long as three months at a stretch; and once, he pledged me his word, when the baker likewise failed to supply any more bread by reason of that long-suffering man’s bill not having been paid for a year, Dr Hellyer, not to be beaten, went off to Portsmouth and bought a lot of condemned ship biscuits at a Government sale in the victualling yard, returning with this in triumph to the school, and serving it out to the pupils in rations, the same as if they had been at sea!
In the midst of all these interesting disclosures, a terrible drumming, buzzing noise filled the air.
“What’s that din?” I asked Tom.
“Oh, that’s the tea-gong,” he replied. “We must go in now, as we’ll get none if we are late, for the Doctor teaches punctuality by example.”
“He told me he had ‘a way of his own’ for making his pupils obey him,” said I.
“Did he? Ah, you’ll soon find out what a brute he is! Let us look at your nose, though, Martin, before you go in. You recollect what he said about not fighting, eh?”
“Yes; does it look all right now?” I asked, anxiously.
“Pretty well,” said Tom, critically examining the damaged organ. “A little bit puffy on the off side but I think it will pass muster, and you’ll escape notice if that sneak Slodgers doesn’t split about his eye—which I believe you’ve pretty nicely marked for him.”
“Do you think he’ll tell?” I whispered to Tom as we ascended the steps and he turned the handle of the door leading into the house.
“More than likely, if the Doctor pitches on to him! He will spin a fine story about your having attacked him, too, to excuse himself; for he’s a liar as well as a cur and a bully. But, come on, Martin, look sharp! There’s the second gong, and if we’re not at table in our seats before it stops, it’ll be a case of pickles!”
With these words, Tom dashed into the passage with me after him; and, after racing up a bare, carpetless flight of stairs, I found myself in a wide large room, which, the evening having closed in, was lighted up only by a single gas-burner. This made its bareness all the more apparent; for, with the exception of having a long table stretching from end to end—now covered with a semi-brownish white table-cloth, and cups and saucers and plates, not forgetting a monstrous big tin teapot like a Chinese junk, in the centre, and a couple of narrow deal forms without backs placed on either side for seats—the apartment had no other furniture, a broad shelf attached to the wall opposite the fireplace serving as a buffet, and an armchair at the head of the festal board, for the presiding master, completing its equipment.
Tom had whispered to me as we went up-stairs that either “Smiley” or “The Cobbler” would officiate at the tea-table, those two worthies taking that duty in turn; but this evening, strange to say, whether in honour of my arrival or on account of some other weighty motive, the seat of honour at the end of the table was filled by the portly form of the head of the establishment.
“By Jove!” ejaculated Tom, sliding into a vacant place along the form nearest the door, and motioning to me to follow his example, “something’s up, or he wouldn’t be here!”
Tom’s supposition proved correct.
Something was “up” with a vengeance—at least as far as I was concerned.