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.