Chapter Four.
How Smith and I took a breath of Fresh Air and Paid for it.
As “circumstances over which I had no control” prevented my joining my fellow troublesome and backward boys in their daily retreat to the playground for the next few days, I had only a limited opportunity of seeing how the new boy settled down to his new surroundings.
Inside Stonebridge House we were all alike, all equally subdued and “Henpecked.” The playground was really the only place where any display of character could be made; and as for three days I was a prisoner, Smith remained as much a mystery to me at the end of the week as he had been on the day of his arrival.
I could, however, guess from his looks and the looks of the others that he was having rather a bad time of it out there. Hawkesbury used to come in with such a gracious smile every afternoon that I was certain something was wrong; and Philpot’s flushed face, and Rathbone’s scowl, and Flanagan’s unusual gravity, all went to corroborate the suspicion. But Smith’s face and manner were the most tell-tale. The first day he had seemed a little doubtful, but gradually the lines of his mouth pulled tighter at the corners, and his eyes flashed oftener, and I could guess easily enough that he at least had not found his heart’s content at Stonebridge House.
My term of penal servitude expired on Sunday; and in some respects I came out of it better than I had gone in. For Mr Hashford had the charge of all detained boys, and he, good-hearted, Henniker-dreading usher that he was, had spent the three days in drilling me hard in decimal fractions; and so well too, that I actually came to enjoy the exercise, and looked upon the “repeating dot” as a positive pastime. Even Miss Henniker could not rob me of that pleasure.
“Batchelor,” whispered Flanagan to me, as we walked two and two to church behind the Henniker that Sunday, “that new fellow’s an awfully queer cove. I can’t make him out.”
“Nor can I. But how’s he been getting on the last day or two?”
“Getting on! You never knew such scenes as we’ve had. He’s afraid of nobody. He licked Philpot to fits on Thursday—smashed him, I tell you. You never saw such a demon as he is when his dander’s up. Then he walked into Rathbone; and if Rathbone hadn’t been a foot taller than him, with arms as long as windmills, he’d have smashed Rathbone.”
“Did he try it on you?” I inquired.
“No—why should he?” said the sturdy Flanagan; “time enough for that when I make a brute of myself to him. But I dare say he’d smash me too. It’s as good as a play, I tell you. That time he did for Philpot he was as quick with his right, and walked in under his man’s guard, and drove up at him, and took him on the flank just like—”
“A bad mark to Flanagan for talking, and to Batchelor for listening,” rose the voice of Miss Henniker in the street.
This public award made us both jump, and colour up too, for there were a lot of ladies and gentlemen and young ladies close at hand, all of whom must have distinctly heard the Henniker’s genial observation. However, I was most curious to hear more of Smith. Flanagan and I both had colds the rest of the way and finished our conversation behind our handkerchiefs.
“Have you heard any more about him?” asked I. “Not a word. He’s as close as an owl. Hawkesbury says Hashford told him he came here straight from another school. By the way—keep your handkerchief up, man!—by the way, when I said he’s afraid of no one, he is afraid of Hawkesbury, I fancy. I don’t know why—”
“I don’t think I like Hawkesbury, either. He’s got such an everlasting grin.”
“So will you have if you don’t talk lower, you young idiot,” said Flanagan. “Yes, it’s the grin that fetches Smith, I fancy. I grinned at him one day, meaning to be friendly, but he didn’t half like it.”
I laughed at this, greatly to Flanagan’s wrath. Luckily, however, no evil consequences happened, and we reached church without any more bad marks.
Of all days, Sunday at Stonebridge House was the most miserable and desperate. We had not even the occupation of lessons, still less the escape to the playground. After church, we were marched back to the school, and there set to read some dry task book till dinner.
And after dinner we were set to copy out a chapter of Jeremiah or some other equally suitable passage from beginning to end on ruled paper, getting bad marks as on week days for all faults. After this came tea, and after tea another dreary march forth to church. But the culminating horror of the day was yet to come. After evening church—and there really was a sense of escape and peace in the old church, even though we could not make out the sermon—after evening church, we were all taken up to Miss Henniker’s parlour, and there doomed to sit perfectly still for a whole hour, while she read aloud something by one of the very old masters. Oh, the agony of those Sunday evenings!
I have sat fascinated by that awful voice, with a cramp in my leg that I dared not stir to relieve, or a tickling in the small of my back from which there was no escape, or a cobweb on my face I had not the courage to brush away. I have felt sleep taking possession of me, yet daring neither to yawn, nor nod my head, nor wink my eyes. I have stared fixedly at the gas, or the old china ornament on the mantelpiece, till my eyes became watery with the effort and I have suffered all the tortures of a cold in the head without the possibility either of sniffing or clearing my throat!
It made no difference to Miss Henniker that she was reading aloud. She had her eye on every one of us the whole time, nay, more than ever; and many a bad mark was sprinkled up with her readings.
“Once more, dearly beloved—Batchelor, a bad mark,” became to me quite a familiar sound before I had been many Sundays at Stonebridge House.
This particular Sunday evening I thought I should go mad, at least, during the first part of the performance. I couldn’t sit still, and the more I tried the more restless I became. At last, however, some chance directed my eyes to where the new boy was sitting in a distant corner of the room, and from that moment, I can’t tell why, I became a model of quiet sitting. I found myself forgetting all about the cobwebs, and Mrs Hudson, and the china ornament, and the small of my back, and thinking of nothing but this solemn, queer boy, with his big eyes, and black hair, and troubled face. The more I looked at him the more sorry I felt for him, and the more I wished to be his friend. I would—
“Batchelor, repeat the last words I read,” broke in Miss Henniker.
She thought she had me, but no! Far away as my thoughts had been, my ears had mechanically retained those last melodious strains, and I answered, promptly, “Latitudinarianism of an unintelligent emotionalism!”
One to me! And I returned to my brown study triumphant, and pretty secure against further molestation.
I made up my mind, come what would, I would speak to the new boy and let him see I was not against him.
Some one will smile, of course, and say, sarcastically, “What a treat for the new boy!” But if he only knew with what fear and trembling I made that resolution, he would acquit Fred Batchelor of any very great self-importance in the matter.
Bedtime came at last, and, thankful to have the day over, we crawled away to our roosts. The new boy’s bed, as I have said, was next mine, and I conceived the determination, if I could only keep awake, of speaking to him after every one was asleep.
It was hard work that keeping awake; but I managed it. Gradually, one after another dropped off, and the padding footsteps overhead and the voices below died away till nothing was heard but the angry tick of the clock outside and the regular breathing of the sleepers on every hand.
Then I softly slid out of bed and crawled on my hands and knees to Smith’s bed. It was an anxious moment for me. He might be asleep, and wake up in a fright to find some one near him; or he might be awake and resent my intrusion. Still I determined I would go to him, and I was rewarded.
“Is that Batchelor?” I heard him whisper as I approached his bed.
“Yes,” I answered, joyfully, and feeling half the battle over.
“Come in,” said he, moving to make room for me.
“Oh no!” I said, in terror at the very idea. “Suppose I fell asleep. I’ll kneel here, and then if any one comes I can crawl back.”
“What is it?” Smith said, presently, after a long and awkward pause.
I was thankful that he broke the ice.
“Oh,” I whispered, “aren’t you jolly miserable here, I say?”
“Pretty!” said he. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes! But the fellows are all so unkind to you.”
Smith gave a little bitter laugh. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Doesn’t it? I wish I was bigger, I’d back you up—and so will Flanagan, if you let him.”
“Thanks, old man!” said the new boy, putting his hand on my arm. “It’s not the fellows I mind, it’s—” and here he pulled up.
“Old Henniker,” I put in, in accents of smothered rage.
“Ugh!” said Smith; “she’s awful!”
But somehow it occurred to me the Henniker was not what Smith was going to say when he pulled up so suddenly just before. I felt certain there was something mysterious about him, and of course, being a boy, I burned to know.
However, he showed no signs of getting back to that subject, and we talked about a lot of things, thankful to have scope for once for our pent-up feelings. It was one of the happiest times I had known for years, as I knelt there on the hard carpetless floor and found my heart going out to the heart of a friend. What we talked about was of little moment; it was probably merely about boys’ trifles, such as any boy might tell another. What was of moment was that there, in dreary, cheerless Stonebridge House, we had found some interest in common, and some object for our spiritless lives.
I told him all about home and my uncle, in hopes that he would be equally communicative, but here he disappointed me.
“Are your father and mother dead too?” I said.
“Not both,” he replied.
It was spoken in a tone half nervous, half vexed, so I did not try to pursue the subject.
Presently he changed the subject and said, “How do you like that fellow Hawkesbury?”
“Not much; though I don’t know why.”
Smith put out his hand and pulled my face close to his as he whispered, “I hate him!”
“Has he been bullying you?” I inquired.
“No,” said Smith. “But he’s—ugh—I don’t know any more than you do why I hate him. I say, shall you be out in the playground to-morrow?”
“Yes, unless I get four bad marks before. I’ve two against me already.”
“Oh, don’t get any more. I want to go for a walk.”
“A walk!” I exclaimed. “You’ll never be allowed!”
“But we might slip out just for a few minutes; it’s awful never to get out.”
It was awful; but the risk. However, I had promised to back him up, and so I said where he went I would go.
“If it was only to climb one tree, or see just one bird on the bushes,” he said, almost pathetically. “But I say, ain’t you getting cold?”
I was not, I protested, and for a long time more we continued talking. Then at last the creaking of a board, or the noise of a mouse, startled us in earnest, and in a moment I had darted back to my bed. All was quiet again.
“Good-night, old boy,” I whispered.
“Good-night, old man. Awfully good of you,” he replied. “I’ll come to you to-morrow.”
And not long after we were both sound asleep.
I managed to keep down my bad marks below four next day, so that I was able once more to take my walks abroad in the playground.
It was with a little feeling of misgiving that I sallied forth, for Smith was at my side, reminding me of our resolution to escape, if only for a few minutes, to the free country outside. I would greatly have preferred not trying it, but Smith was set on it, and I had not the face to leave him in the lurch.
The far end of the playground, beyond the swings, broke into a patch of tangled thicket, beyond which again a little ditch separated the grounds of Stonebridge House from the country outside.
To this thicket, therefore, we wandered, after “showing ourselves” on the swings for a few minutes, for the sake of allaying suspicions. The other fellows were most of them loafing about on the far side of the gravel yard, where the marble holes were; so we managed to make our escape pretty easily, and found ourselves at length standing on the breezy heath. Once there, Smith’s whole manner changed to one of wild delight. The sense of freedom seemed to intoxicate him, and the infection seized me too. We scampered about in a perfectly ridiculous manner; up hills and down hollows, leaping over bushes, chasing one another, and, in fact, behaving exactly like two kids (as we were), suddenly let loose from confinement.
“I say,” said I, all out of breath, “suppose we run clean away, Smith?”
Smith pulled up in the middle of a scamper, and looked up and down on every side. Then the old solemn look came as he replied, “Where to, that’s it?”
“Oh, Brownstroke, if you like; or your home. Let’s turn up, you know, and give them a jolly surprise.”
Smith’s face clouded over as he said, hurriedly, “I say, it’s time to be going back, or we shall get caught.”
This was an effectual damper to any idea of flight, and we quickly turned back once more to Stonebridge House.
We found our gap all right, and strolled back past the swings and up the gravel walk as unconcernedly as possible, fully believing no one had been witness of our escapade. We were wrong.
Hawkesbury came up to us as we neared the house, with the usual smile on his face.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?” he said. “You know it’s against rules to go out of bounds, and I thought—”
“What! who’s been out of bounds?” said the voice of the Henniker at that moment.
Hawkesbury looked dejected.
“Who did you say, Hawkesbury, had been out of bounds?”
“I’d rather not tell tales,” said Hawkesbury, sweetly.
“I’ve been out of bounds,” blurted out Smith, “and so has Batchelor. I asked him to come, and Hawkesbury has been spying and—”
“Silence,” cried Miss Henniker. “Smith and Batchelor, follow me.”
We followed duly to Mr Ladislaw’s study, where we were arraigned. Hawkesbury was sent for as evidence. He came smiling, and declared he may have been mistaken, perhaps it was two other boys; he hoped we should not be punished, etcetera. Smith was nearly breaking out once or twice during this, and it was all I could do to keep him in. Hawkesbury was thanked and dismissed, and then, with the assistance of Miss Henniker, Mr Hashford, and Mr Ladislaw, Smith and I were birched, and forbidden the playground for a fortnight, during which period we were required to observe absolute silence.
So ended our little adventure out for a puff of free air! Among our fellows we gained little enough sympathy for our misfortunes. Flanagan was the only fellow who seemed really sorry. The rest of the ill-conditioned lot saw in the affair only a good opportunity of crowing over their ill-starred adversary, and telling me it served me right for chumming up to such a one.
One day, greatly to my surprise, when the Henniker was away superintending the flogging of Flanagan for some offence or other, Hawkesbury came over and sat beside me.
“Oh,” said he, softly, “Batchelor, I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am I helped get you into your scrape. I didn’t mean—I was only anxious for you to know the rule. I hope you’ll forgive me?” and he held out his hand.
What could I do? Perhaps he was telling the truth after all, and we had thought too badly of him. And when a big boy comes and asks pardon of a small one, it is always embarrassing for the latter. So I gave him my hand, and told him I was sure he did not mean it, and that it did not matter at all.
“Thanks, Batchelor,” he said, smiling quite gratefully. “It’s a relief to me.”
Then I watched him go on what I knew was a similar errand to Smith, but, as I expected, his reception in that quarter was not quite so flattering as it had been in my case. I could see my chum’s eyes fire up as he saw the elder boy approach, and a flush come over his pale cheeks. I watched Hawkesbury blandly repeating his apology, and then suddenly, to my astonishment and consternation, I saw Smith rise in his seat and throw himself furiously upon his enemy. Hawkesbury was standing near a low form, and in the sudden surprise caused by this attack he tripped over it and fell prone on the floor, just as Miss Henniker re-entered.
There was a brief pause of universal astonishment, then the Henniker demanded, “What is this? Tell me. What is all this, Hawkesbury?”
Hawkesbury had risen to his feet, smiling as ever, and brushing the dust from his coat, replied softly, “Nothing, really nothing, ma’am. I fell down, that’s all.”
“I knocked you down!” shouted Smith, panting like a steam-engine, and trembling with excitement.
“Oh,” said Hawkesbury, kindly, though not quite liking the downright way in which the adventure had been summed up. “It was only play, Miss Henniker. My fault as much as Smith’s. He never meant to be so rough. Really.”
“Silence, both!” said Miss Henniker. “Smith, follow me!”
“Oh, Miss Henniker, please don’t punish him,” said Hawkesbury.
“Silence,” replied the Henniker, icily. “Come, Smith.”
Miss Henniker had the wonderful art of knowing by instinct who was the culprit in cases like this. She was never troubled with a doubt as to her verdict being a right one; and really it saved her a great deal of trouble.
Smith was haled away to justice, where, in addition to a flogging and further term of imprisonment, he was reduced for a given period to a bread-and-water diet, and required publicly to beg Hawkesbury’s pardon.
That there might be no delay about the execution of the last part of the sentence, the culprit was conducted back forthwith to the schoolroom, accompanied by Miss Henniker and Mr Ladislaw.
“Hawkesbury,” said the latter, addressing the injured boy, “I have desired Smith to beg your pardon here and now for his conduct to you. Smith, do as you have been told.”
Smith remained silent, and I who watched him could see that his mind was made up.
“Do you hear Mr Ladislaw, Smith?” demanded the Henniker; “do as you are bid, at once.”
“Please, sir,” began Hawkesbury, with his pleasant smile.
“Silence, Hawkesbury,” said the Henniker. “Now, Smith.”
But she might have been addressing a log of wood.
“Do you hear what I say to you?” once more she exclaimed.
Smith only glared at her with his big eyes, and resolutely held his tongue.
“Then,” said Mr Ladislaw, “Smith must be publicly punished.”
Smith was punished publicly; and a more repulsive spectacle I never wish to witness. A public punishment at Stonebridge House meant a flogging administered to one helpless boy by the whole body of his schoolfellows, two of whom firmly held the victim, while each of the others in turn flogged him. In the case of an unpopular boy like Smith, this punishment was specially severe, and I turned actually sick as each of the cowardly louts stepped up and vented their baffled wrath upon him. Hawkesbury, of course, only made the slightest pretence of touching him; but this of all his punishment seemed to be the part Smith could bear least. At last, when it was all over, the bruised boy slunk back to his desk, and class proceeded.
That night, as I knelt beside my poor chum’s bed, he said, “We’ve paid pretty dear for our run on the heath, Fred.”
“You have, old man,” I replied.
Smith lay still for some time musing, then he said, “Whatever do they mean by forgiving enemies, Fred?”
Smith didn’t often get on these topics, and I was a little nervous as I replied, “What it says, I suppose.”
“Does it mean fellows like Hawkesbury?”
“I should say so,” said I, almost doubtful, from the way in which he spoke, whether after all I might not be mistaken.
“Queer,” was all he replied, musingly.
I tried hard to change the subject.
“Are you awfully sore, Jack?” I said. “Have one of my pillows.”
“Oh no, thanks. But I say, Fred, don’t you think it’s queer?”
“What, about forgiving your enemies? Well, yes it is, rather. But, I say, it’s time I cut back. Good-night, old man.”
And I crept back to bed, and lay awake half the night listening to him as he turned from side to side in his sleep, and feeling that everything and everybody was queer, especially my friend Smith.