Chapter Twenty Six.
Things go well with Mr Bickers.
It is not to be wondered at if the proceedings at the remarkable masters’ session just reported leaked out somehow, and became the talk of Grandcourt. It was rarely that anything the masters did or said in their solemn conclaves made much impression on the complacency of their boys; but on the present occasion it was other wise.
Rumour had already been active as to the feud between Mr Bickers and the Master of the Shell, and not a few of the better-informed boys had heard that it was connected with the outrage last term, and that Mr Bickers’s intention was to bring that crime home, in some manner best known to himself, to Mr Railsford.
The idea was generally pooh-poohed as a piece of vindictive folly. For all that, there was a good deal of speculation as to the proceedings at the masters’ session, and, when it was over, curiosity to learn the result. The hurried summons to the doctor during the evening had not passed unnoted; the general opinion was that the “row” had come suddenly and acutely to a head.
When two superior officers fly at one another’s throats the spectacle may be interesting, and even amusing, to the onlooker; but I never heard of it doing anything towards the promotion of discipline or the encouragement of good tone among the rank and file. The quarrel of the two masters at Grandcourt certainly failed to do any good to the school, and if it did less mischief than might have been expected, it was because up till now the parties principally concerned had had their own reasons for keeping it private.
Felgate was naturally anxious to hear the result of an entertainment to which he had, as he imagined, made so valuable a contribution. He therefore ventured to call on Mr Bickers the following morning for a little friendly chat.
His reception did not quite come up to his expectations.
“So, sir,” exclaimed Mr Bickers, meeting him at the door, “you have thought me a fitting subject for one of your jokes, have you? What have you to say for yourself?”
Felgate looked at him in amazement.
“I really don’t understand,” said he. “What joke?”
“You wish to keep it up, do you? Very well, sir!” and Mr Bickers took down a cane. “You have thought fit to amuse yourself at my expense,” said Mr Bickers. “I intend to repay myself at yours! Hold out your hand!”
“You are not going to punish me for—”
“Hold out your hand, sir!”
“Really, I acted for the best. If it was a mistake, I—”
“Do you hear me, sir? Hold out your hand at once!”
Felgate sullenly obeyed, and Mr Bickers there and then discharged his little debt, adding interest.
“Now go away, and don’t dare to come near me again! Stay, take with you these tokens of your ill-timed humour; they may serve to amuse someone else. Begone!” and he thrust into his hands the unlucky parcel and closed the door in his face.
Felgate, smarting and bewildered, walked back to his house with the parcel under his arm, furious with Mr Bickers, and as eager now for revenge on him as yesterday he had been for revenge on Railsford.
What could have happened to make all his carefully laid scheme fall through, and set Mr Bickers, whom he had counted upon as an ally, thus suddenly against him? Had Railsford met him with some counter-charge, or turned the tables by some unexpected move in the face of his accusers?
That could not be, for already the rumour had spread through the house that Mr Railsford had resigned his post.
What did Mr Bickers mean by talking of a joke, and thrusting back upon him the very proofs which but yesterday had been objects of such anxious care and solicitude to them both?
Felgate flung the unlucky parcel down on the table, and called himself a fool for ever having meddled with it.
Was it possible he himself had been made a fool of, and that these precious proofs had after all been trumped up by that young scapegrace, Herapath, to hoodwink him?
At any rate, Arthur might have his property back now, and much good might it do him. He should—
Felgate started as he suddenly caught sight of what looked like a blade of grass protruding from a rent in the brown paper.
He looked again. It was not one blade only, but two or three. With an exclamation of consternation he tore off the covering and disclosed—the turf!
A joke? No wonder Mr Bickers’s manner had been a trifle stiff that morning.
However had it got there? It was like a conjurer’s trick. No one had seen or touched the parcel but himself. He had himself placed it in Mr Bickers’s hands. Indeed, from the time he had taken the things from Herapath’s cupboard till the moment of parting with them, he had scarcely had his eyes off it.
Stay! That evening he was at the Forum, he had left it for an hour unguardedly in his room. Yet, even then, he could almost have sworn the parcel had been untouched in his absence. Besides, the letter was there still, directed in his own hand.
He picked up the envelope, to satisfy himself it was the same. Of course it was; and he had explained in his letter what the articles were.
He took out the letter and glanced at it; and as he did so the blood rushed to his face, and he knew at last that he had been made a fool of.
It needed no great penetration to guess who it was to whom he owed his humiliation. So he armed himself with a ruler in one hand and the parcel in the other, and walked over to Herapath’s study.
The proprietors were at home, and had apparently expected the visit, for an elaborate barricade had been drawn across the door by means of the table, bedstead, and other furniture, so that Felgate, when he looked in, could barely see more than the heads of his young friends.
“Let me in,” he said, trying to push the door open.
“Awfully sorry; can’t come in,” said Dig cheerfully. “Herapath and I are having a scrub up. Come again presently.”
“Do you hear me, you two? Let me in at once.”
“Don’t you hear, we’re doing the place up?” said Arthur. “Go to some of the other chaps if you want a job done.”
“I want you two; and if you don’t let me in at once, I’ll force my way in.”
“Say what you want there; we can hear,” said Arthur.
Felgate made a violent effort to effect an entrance, but without avail. The stout iron bedsteads held their own, and the wedge inserted under the door prevented it from opening farther than to allow the invader’s head to peep in.
“I shall report you for this,” said Felgate.
“Ha! ha! ha! you’re not a monitor, my boy. Go and do it. We’ll report you for invading our privacy. Say what you want there, can’t you?”
“You know what I want well enough,” said Felgate, forced at last to recognise that entrance was hopeless.
“What’s the good of coming to tell us, then?” responded Dig.
“What business had you to go to my room the other evening?”
“Went to return your call,” said Arthur. “Sorry we weren’t at home when you called on us, and thought we’d do the polite and look you up. That makes us square, doesn’t it?”
“Do you know I could get you expelled for coming and taking things out of my room?” said Felgate.
“Ha! ha! Do it! look sharp. We’ll all go home together.”
“I want the things you took away; do you hear? One of the masters has sent for them; they are to be given up immediately.”
“Are they? Tell one of the masters, if he wants them he’d better go up the chimney after them.”
“I shan’t waste my time here any more. You’ll be sorry for it, both of you, when I catch you.”
“All right, wait till then. I say, you haven’t seen a lump of turf about, have you? There’s one missing.”
“Ha! ha!” chimed in Dig. “How did you like the writing of the letter? Jolly hand our chaps write in the Shell, don’t they?”
Felgate had not remained to hear these last two genial inquiries, but had returned, storming and raving, to his room.
The only game left him now was revenge. He would be very much surprised if that did not come off a little better than the last!
Arthur and Dig, meanwhile, were by no means in the elated spirits which their successful resistance to the siege might have warranted. Not that they were affected by the bully’s retreating threat; they had heard that sort of thing from one or two fellows in their day, and their bones were still unbroken.
No; what afflicted them, and plunged them into a sea of wrath and misery, was the report circulated that morning and confirmed by reliable testimony, that Marky was going to leave Grandcourt.
At first they could not credit it. But when Ainger himself, with a long face, confirmed it, they were forced to believe their ears.
“Why?” they asked.
But Ainger had nothing to tell them on that score.
They therefore took the bold step of waiting upon the Master of the Shell himself.
“Marky,” said Arthur, “it’s not true you’re leaving, is it?”
The misery of the boy’s tone went to Railsford’s heart.
“I am afraid it is true, Arthur. How did you hear?”
“Everybody knows. But, I say, why?”
“I have resigned.”
“You resigned—of your own accord? Haven’t you been kicked out, then? Aren’t you obliged to go?”
“I am obliged to go, that’s why I have resigned. You’ll know all about it some day.”
“But, I say, can’t you withdraw your resignation and stay? Oh, I say, Marky, we shall be awfully up a tree without you here. Why ever are you going? Can’t it all be squared?”
“No, old fellow, I fear not. But I am not going for a week yet. Let’s make the most of the time, and get ahead with our work; for, remember, you’ve that Swift Exhibition coming near ahead.”
“Work!” exclaimed Arthur, in disgust. “I’ll not do a stroke of work more. I tell you what, if you leave, Marky, I shall leave too, and so will Dig, there!”
“My dear old fellow,” said Railsford kindly, “you are talking like a little donkey. If you want to help me, you’ll just determine to work all the harder now.”
“I say,” said Dig, shirking the question, “have you got into a row, Mr Railsford? Is it anything about—you know what?”
“You really mustn’t ask me, boys; it’s sufficient that I have to go, and I don’t think you two will believe it is because I have done anything wrong.”
“Rather not,” said Arthur warmly. “But, I say, Marky, just tell us this—it wasn’t us got you into the row, was it? It was awfully low of me to let it out to Felgate; but we bowled him out in time, just when he was going to send those things to Bickers. Did you see the nice trick we played him? He won’t be able to do it again, for we burned the things. Such a flare-up! It isn’t our fault you’re going, is it?”
“No, not a bit,” said Railsford. “Now you had better go.”
They went and proclaimed their master’s wrongs through the length and breadth of the house. The Shell took up the matter specially, and convened an informal meeting to consult as to what was to be done.
“Let’s send him a round robin, and ask him not to go,” suggested Maple.
“Let’s get our governors to write to the doctor,” said another.
“Let’s all leave if he does; that’s bound to make him stay,” said a third.
Arthur, however, had a more practical proposal.
“What we’d better do is to get up a whacking petition to Pony,” said he. “We’ve got a right to do it; and if all the fellows will sign it, he can’t well let him go.”
The question arose, Who was to write the petition? And after some discussion it was resolved to call the amiable Stafford into their councils. He at once suggested that if the petition was to be of any weight it should come from the entire house, with the captain’s name at the head of the list; and a deputation was told off forthwith to wait upon Ainger.
He was not very encouraging, but said there would be no harm in trying, and undertook to draw up the petition and sign his name first underneath.
The petition was short and business-like:
“To Dr Ponsford. Sir,—We, the boys of Mr Railsford’s house, have heard with great sorrow that he is to leave Grandcourt. We consider he has done more for our house than any other master, and feel it would be the greatest loss to all of us if he were to go. He does not know we are sending this. We hope it will have your favourable consideration, and make it possible for him to stay among us.”
In two days this document received the signature of every boy in the house except Felgate and Munger, who contrived to evade it. Ainger took no trouble to press them for their signatures, and indeed stated, not in a whisper, that the petition would carry more weight without these two particular names than with them. Whereat Felgate and Munger felt rather sorry they had not signed.
A deputation was then appointed, consisting of the head boy in each form represented in the house, to convey the petition to the doctor. Arthur, not being the head Shell boy in the house, felt very sore to be left out, and prophesied all sorts of failure to the undertaking in consequence.
However, he was consoled vastly by a fight with Tilbury that same afternoon. Tilbury, though a signatory to the petition, was unlucky enough to brag, in the hearing of his comrade, that one reason he had signed it was because he believed Railsford had had something to do with the paying-out of Mr Bickers last term, and was a friend to the house in consequence. Whereupon Arthur, crimson in the face, requested him to step outside and receive the biggest hiding he had ever had in his life.
Tilbury obeyed, and although the combat was not quite so decided as Arthur had boasted, it disposed of the libel which had originated it, and made it clear to the house that those who knew best, at any rate, were now as firmly resolved to defend their master’s innocence as last term they had been to glory in his guilt.
The doctor received the deputation politely, and allowed Ainger to read the petition and list of names without interruption.
When the ceremony was over, he said, quietly—
“The only fault I have to find with you is that you have presented your petition to me instead of to Mr Railsford. It is perfectly open for Mr Railsford to with draw his resignation. In that case it would fall to me to settle the question of his remaining here; and that would be the time for you to present your petition.”
This was not very consoling; and the doctor’s manner discouraged any further explanation.
Ainger therefore left the petition lying on the table, and withdrew his men to report the doubtful success of their mission to their comrades.
The week wore on, and in two days Railsford’s short reprieve would be up.
He had already begun to get together some of his things preparatory to packing up, and had written out a careful paper of memoranda for the use of his successor. He had allowed the work of the house to be as little as possible disturbed by the coming event, and had even hurt monsieur’s feelings by the peremptory manner in which he discouraged any representation being made by the masters with a view to avert his departure.
He had of course sent a plain, unvarnished account of his position to his “special correspondent,” which happily reached her at the same time as a highly-coloured and decidedly alarming communication on the same subject from Miss Daisy’s brother.
He received an answer full of courage, which helped him greatly. Yet as the day drew near he felt himself clinging desperately to his post, and hoping against hope, even at the eleventh hour, to see some daylight through his great difficulty.
Had he known that on that very last day but one Mr Bickers had received by the post a certain letter, he might have felt tempted to delay till to-morrow the final strapping-up of his portmanteau.
For Mr Bickers’s letter was from Branscombe; and was as follows:—
“Sir,—I have been expecting to return to Grandcourt all this term, but I am sorry to say I have been ill again, and the doctor says I shall have to go abroad for some months. Before I go, I feel I must make a confession which will surprise you as much to read as it pains me to write it. I was the ringleader in the attack upon you last term at the door of Mr Railsford’s house. I was very angry at the time at having been punished by you before all my house. But I am very sorry now for what happened, and hope you will in time forgive me. I know what trouble my conduct has caused, not only to you, but to Mr Railsford, whose house has been unjustly punished for what was my offence. There were three of us in it. One was another boy of your house, and the other was in Mr Railsford’s house, only all he did was to show us the cupboard in which we put you. I should be glad to think, before I go away, that things are put right at Grandcourt by this confession. Please forgive me for my revengeful act, and, believe me, sir, yours truly,—
“S. Branscombe.
“P.S.—Please show this letter to Dr Ponsford and Mr Railsford.”
This startling letter Mr Bickers read over several times, with great amazement and no less vexation. He was angry, not at the injury which had been done to himself, but because this letter had come just when it did.
To-morrow, in all probability, his enemy would have left Grandcourt, and then it would be less matter. For even if the truth were then made known, Railsford’s offence in shielding the evil-doer would remain the same. But now this letter might spoil everything. It would, at any rate, postpone Railsford’s departure, and might give him an opportunity of reinstating himself for good at Grandcourt.
Mr Bickers was in a quandary. He was by nature a vindictive, jealous, and fussy man, with a low opinion of everybody, and an extreme obstinacy in his own opinion. But he was not naturally a dishonest man. It was only when his other passions rushed out strongly in one direction, and his integrity stood on the other side, that his honour suffered shipwreck and went by the board.
It did so now, for Mr Bickers, having thought over the situation, deliberately put the letter into his pocket, and went about his usual avocations as if nothing had happened.
Any amount of excuses rushed in to his assistance. After all, there had been three culprits, and one of them belonged to the accused house. Railsford, no doubt, was shielding his own boy, and Branscombe’s confession affected in no way his offence or the penalty attached to it.
On the whole, there was nothing to make Mr Bickers uncomfortable, and it was observed in the masters’ hall that evening that he made himself quite agreeable, and even nodded in a half-friendly way to Railsford on the occasion of his last appearance at school-dinner.
After the Master of the Shell had retired to his house the doctor asked his other lieutenants to remain a few moments, as he had a statement to make to them.
Every one knew what that statement was to be.
“It is only right that I should inform you,” said Dr Ponsford, “that I have considered it my duty to accept Mr Railsford’s resignation, and that he leaves Grandcourt to-morrow. I confess that I do this with great pain and regret, for I have the highest opinion of Mr Railsford’s abilities and character. But discipline must be maintained in a school like ours. I have no doubt that in acting as he has done Mr Railsford considers that he is acting honourably. I do not wish to impugn his motives, mistaken as I suppose them. But the fact remains that he virtually admits his knowledge of the offender last term, and at the same time refuses to give him up to justice. Under those circumstances I had no choice but to accept his resignation.”
For a moment Branscombe’s letter burned uncomfortably in Mr Bickers’s pocket while the doctor was speaking. But it cooled again, and when Mr Grover said,—
“I am sure, sir, you will not misunderstand me when I say that your statement has caused some of us the deepest pain,” he felt himself able to join in the universal “Hear, hear,” with quiet fervour.
“We fully recognise,” continued Mr Grover, “that under the circumstances you had only this one course left open to you. At the same time, we who know and esteem our colleague, feel that his removal will be a distinct loss to Grandcourt, and would like to add our own opinion to yours, that in the course he has considered it right to take, he has been actuated by conscientious and honourable motives.”
Mr Bickers having said, “Hear, hear” once, did not feel called upon to repeat it at the end of this short speech, and was, indeed, rather glad to hurry back to his own house.
He had an idea that this time to-morrow he should feel considerably more comfortable.