Chapter Sixteen.
The Testimonial.
As the reader may suppose, the sympathetic soul of Miss Daisy Herapath was considerably moved by the contents of her brother’s letter, which we gave in the last chapter. She naturally took an interest in the welfare and doings of Railsford’s house; and as she heard quite as often from the master as she did from his pupil, she was able to form a pretty good, all-round opinion on school politics.
Arthur’s lively account of the House sports had delighted her. Not that she understood all the obscure terms which embellished it; but it was quite enough for her that the house had risen above its tribulations and rewarded its master and itself by these brilliant exploits in the fields. But when Arthur passed from public to personal matters, his sister felt rather less at ease. She much disliked the barefaced proposal for the testimonial, and had told her brother as much more than once. On the whole, she decided to send Arthur’s letter and its enclosure to Railsford, and confide her perplexities to him.
Railsford perused the “dear boy’s” florid effusion with considerable interest, particularly, I grieve to say, certain portions of it, which if Daisy had been as wise as she was affectionate, she would have kept to herself. When people put notes into circulation, it’s not the fault of those into whose hands they come if they discover in them beauties unsuspected by the person for whose benefit they were issued. Railsford saw a great deal more in Arthur’s letter than Daisy had even suspected. A certain passage, which had seemed mere mysterious jargon to her, had a pretty plain meaning for him, especially after the interview last Sunday with Mr Bickers.
“It’s a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did. ... Nobody wants to find the chap out now, so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don’t mean to drip and spoil his game.”
What could this mean except that Arthur, somehow or other, knew a secret respecting the Bickers affair which he was keeping to himself, presumably in the interests of Railsford? Could this mysterious hint have any connection with the false rumour which had reached Bickers and magnified itself in his mind to such an uncomfortable extent? Railsford resolved to delight the heart of his young relative by a friendly visit, and make a reconnaissance of the position. He had a very good pretext in the anxious solicitude expressed in Daisy’s letter for the health and appetite of her love-tossed brother. He would make it his business to inquire how the sufferer did.
Waiting, therefore, until a preternatural stillness in the room above assured him that Dig was out of the way, the Master of the Shell went up-stairs and ushered himself into Arthur’s study.
“Hard at work, I see,” said Railsford cheerily. “How are you getting on?”
“All serene, thanks,” replied Arthur. “That is, not very well.”
“Have you stuck fast in your translations? Let me look.”
“Oh no. I’m not doing my exercise,” said Arthur, in alarm. “I’m only looking up some words. Do you want to see Dig? He’s gone to Wake’s room.”
“No, I came to see you. I heard you’d been out of sorts. Are you all right now? Was it the sports knocked you up?”
“No—that is, yes, they did a bit, I think,” said Arthur. It was the sports which had done it, though not in the way “Marky” fancied.
“Well, we mustn’t have you laid up, must we? We want you for the Swift Scholarship, you know.”
“Oh, all right, sir, I’m going to mug hard for that after Easter, really.”
“Why put it off till then? You may come to my room any evening you like. I shall generally have time enough.”
This invitation did not fascinate the boy as it deserved to do.
“I fancy I’d work steadier here,” said he. “Besides, Dig and I use the same books.”
“Well, the first thing is to get yourself all right. What’s troubling you, Arthur?”
This was a startling question, and Arthur felt himself detected.
“I suppose you’ve heard. Keep it quiet, I say.”
“What is it? Keep what quiet?”
“Why, about her, you know. I say, Marky—I mean Mr Railsford—could you ever give me a leg-up with her? If you asked her to your room one day, you know I could come too, and do my work.”
Railsford laughed.
“I thought you could do your work better here; besides, you and Oakshott use the same books.”
“Oakshott be hanged! I mean—I say, Marky, do you think I’ve a chance? I know Smedley’s—”
Railsford’s experience in cases of this sort was limited, but he was philosopher enough to know that some distempers need to be taken seriously.
“Look here, Arthur,” said he gravely, “the best thing you can do is to go straight over to Dr Ponsford’s and ask to see him, and tell him exactly how matters stand. Remind him that you’re just fifteen, and in the Shell, and that your income is a shilling a week. You need not tell him you were detained two afternoons this week, because he will probably find that out for himself by looking at monsieur’s books. If he says he will be delighted to accept your offer, then I promise to back you up. Let me see, I know the doctor’s at home this evening; it’s not 7.30 yet, so you’ll have time, if you go at once, to catch him before his tea. I’ll wait here till you come back.”
Arthur’s face underwent a wonderful change as the master quietly uttered these words. It began by lengthening, and growing a little pale; then it grew troubled, then bewildered, then scarlet, and finally, when he had ended, it relaxed into a very faint smile.
“I think I’ll wait a bit,” said he gravely.
“Very well, only let me hear the result when you do go.”
“I think I may as well start work for the Swift to-night,” said he, “if you don’t mind.”
“By all means, my boy. Come along to my room and we’ll look through the list of subjects.”
Arthur, before the task was half over, had recovered his spirits and advanced far in the esteem of his future kinsman.
“Awfully brickish of you, sir,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a bad score for our house if we got all the prizes at the exams, would it?”
“Not at all. But we mustn’t be too confident.”
“Jolly lucky we’re cut off from the rest of the chaps, isn’t it? It makes us all sit up.”
“That state of things may end any time, you know,” said the master. “But we must ‘sit up’ all the same.”
“Oh, but it won’t come out till the exams, are over, will it?”
“How do I know?”
Arthur glanced up at his kinsman, and inwardly reflected what a clever chap he was to ask such a question in such a way.
“Oh, all right. All I meant was, it wouldn’t suit our book, would it, to let it out just yet?”
“It’s not a question of what suits anyone. It’s a question of what is right. And if anybody in the house knows anything I don’t, he ought to speak, whatever it costs.”
“There’s an artful card,” thought Arthur to himself, and added aloud—
“I don’t fancy any fellow knows anything you don’t, Marky—I mean Mr Railsford. I don’t.”
“Don’t you? Do you know,” said the master, “I have sometimes had an impression you did. I am quite relieved to hear it, Arthur.”
“Oh, you needn’t be afraid of me,” said Arthur, lost in admiration for the cleverness of his future brother-in-law. “I’m safe, never you fear.”
“It’s a strange mystery,” said Railsford, “but sooner or later we shall know the meaning of it.”
“Later the better,” put in Arthur, with a wink.
“I don’t envy the feelings of the culprit, whoever he is; for he is a coward as well as a liar.”
“No, more do I, Perhaps you’re too down on him, though. Never mind, he’s safe enough, for you and me.”
“You have an odd way of talking, Arthur, which doesn’t do you justice. As I said, you have more than once made me wonder whether you were not keeping back something about this wretched affair which I ought to know.”
“Honour bright, I know a jolly lot less about it than you; so you really needn’t be afraid of me; and Dig’s safe too. Safe as a door-nail.”
Railsford was able to write home on the following Sunday that Arthur had quite recovered his appetite, and that the “low” symptoms to which Dig had darkly referred had vanished altogether. Indeed, Arthur on this occasion developed that most happy of all accomplishments, the power of utterly forgetting that he had done or said anything either strange in itself or offensive to others. He was hail-fellow-well-met with the boys he had lately kicked and made miserable; he did not know what you were talking about when you reminded him that a day or two ago he had behaved like a cad to you; and, greatest exploit of all, he had the effrontery to charge Dig with being “spoons” on Violet, and to hold him up to general ridicule in consequence!
“How much have you really got for the testimonial?” said Dig one morning.
“Eleven and six,” said Arthur dismally; “not a great lot, but enough for a silver ring.”
“Not with Daisy’s name on it.”
“No, we’ll have to drop that, unless we can scratch it on.”
“We’ll have a try. When shall we give it?”
“To-morrow’s Rag Sunday, isn’t it? Let’s give it him to-night—after tea. I’ll write out a list of the chaps, and you can get up an address, unless Felgate will come and give him a speech.”
“Think he will? All serene. We’ll give the fellows the tip, and do the thing in style. Hadn’t you better cut and get the ring, I say?”
Arthur cut, armed with an exeat, and made the momentous purchase. The fancy stationer of whom he bought the ring assured him it was solid silver, and worth a good deal more than the 10 shillings 6 pence he asked. The other shilling Arthur invested in a box wherein to put it, and returned to school very well satisfied with his bargain. He and Dig spent an anxious hour trying to scratch the letters with a pin on the inner surface; and to Arthur belonged the credit of the delicate suggestion that instead of writing the term of endearment in vulgar English they should engrave it in Classic Greek, thus: chuki. The result was on the whole satisfactory; and when the list of contributors was emblazoned on a sheet of school paper, and Sir Digby Oakshott’s address (for Felgate declined the invitation to make a speech) had been finally revised and corrected, the prospects of the ceremonial seemed very encouraging.
Arthur and Dig, once more completely reconciled, went through the farce of house tea that evening in the common room with considerable trepidation. They had a big job on hand, in which they were to be the principal actors, and when the critical time comes at last, we all know how devoutly we wish it had forgotten us! But everything had been carefully arranged, and everyone had been told what to expect. It was therefore impossible to back out, and highly desirable, as they were in for it, to do it in good style.
As the clock pointed to the fatal hour, Dig sharply rattled his spoon against the side of his empty cup. At the expected signal, about a dozen boys, the contributors to the testimonial, rose to their feet, and turned their eyes on Arthur. Railsford, at the head of the table, mistook the demonstration for a lapse of good manners, and was about to reprimand the offenders, when by a concerted movement the deputation stepped over their forms and advanced on the master in a compact phalanx. Arthur and Dig, both a little pale and dry about the lips, marched at their head. “What is all this?” inquired Railsford. Arthur and Dig replied by a rather ceremonious bow, in which the deputation followed them; and then the latter carefully cleared his throat.
“We, the undersigned, boys in your house,” he began, reading from the paper before him in a somewhat breathless way, “beg to present you with a small token of our esteem—(Go on, hand it up, Arthur), and hope you will like it, and that it will fit, and trust that the name graven within will suggest pleasant memories in which we all join. The letters are in the Greek character. We hope we shall all enjoy our holidays, and come back better in mind and body. You may rely on us to back you up, and to keep dark things you would not like to have mentioned.—Signed, with kind regards, Daisy Herapath (a most particular friend), J. Felgate (prefect), Arthur Herapath (treasurer), Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet (secretary), Bateson and Jukes (Babies), Maple, Simson, Tilbury, and Dimsdale (Shell), Munger (Fifth), Snape (Baby in Bickers’s house).”
It spoke a good deal for Mark Railsford that under the first shock of this startling interview, he did not bowl over the whole deputation like so many ninepins and explode before the assembled house. As it was he was too much taken aback to realise the position for a minute or so; and by that time the baronet’s address was half read. He grimly waited for the end of it, studiously ignoring the box which Arthur held out, opened, to fascinate him with its charms.
When the reading was done, he wheeled round abruptly in his chair, in a manner which made the deputation stagger back a pace; and said—
“You mean it kindly, no doubt; but I don’t want a present and can’t take one. It was foolish of you to think of such a thing. Don’t let it occur again. I’m vexed with you, and shall have to speak to some of you privately about it. Go to your rooms.”
“What’s to become of the ring!” said Dig disconsolately, as he and Arthur sat and cooled themselves in their study. “Mr Trinket won’t take it back. He’d no business to cut up rough like that.”
“Fact is,” replied Arthur, “Marky’s got to draw the line somewhere. He knows he’s in a jolly row about that business, you know, and he doesn’t want a testimonial for it. I don’t blame him. I’ll get Daisy to buy the ring in the holidays, and we can have the fellows to a blow-out next term with the money.”