Chapter Fourteen.
Extra Drill.
Mr Jarman must have felt flattered at the gloomy dead silence which fell on Philosophers and Urbans alike as we looked round and saw him. It was of course impossible to believe he had found us by accident, still less that he had come with any friendly purpose.
He advanced into the middle of the Bottom, watch in hand.
“This is contrary to rules,” said he. “It is now a quarter-past six, and you are half an hour from Low Heath. In addition to which I have already said that fireworks are only to be had with leave. Tempest, you should have put an end to this. You will kindly send me in the name of every boy here. And each of you boys must attend an extra drill to-morrow and write out one hundred lines—except,” added he, catching sight of me, “except Jones iv., whom I have already had to punish, and who must write two hundred lines.”
It was a study to watch Tempest’s face during this speech. It was all he could do to wait to the end.
“It’s not fair,” said he, with pale cheeks and angry brow. “It’s a half-holiday, and boys always get half an hour’s grace.”
“That is not the rule,” said the master.
“It’s the practice, sir. Half these boys are in my house, and I have given them leave to stay. I also allowed the fireworks.”
“Tempest, we will speak of this presently—”
“No, sir,” blurted out Tempest, “the fellows have done nothing wrong; and if they have, I’m responsible to Dr England about it.”
Mr Jarman was not the man to give himself away in a public discussion, and coolly walked off, observing—
“I shall expect the list of names to-night, Tempest.”
Tempest’s reply was a short, defiant laugh, which made the master turn a moment, as if about to notice it. But he departed silently, and left us to recover as well as we could from the surprise of the whole scene.
The general opinion was that the policeman had met his match at last in Tempest; and the more enthusiastic of us tried to express our feelings in words. But Tempest was by no means inclined to discuss the situation.
“Shut up,” he replied angrily, when I ventured to applaud his courage. “Cut back to school at once, and don’t speak to me.”
This was a blow to some of the party, who had calculated on a general revolt, to be headed by the rock of Sharpe’s house in person, and celebrated by general orgies on the spot.
“I sha’n’t do my lines, shall you?” said Dicky, as we trotted down to the boats.
“Rather not. And I don’t think our chaps will turn up for extra drill.”
“Just like old Tempest,” said Brown. “He enjoys a row of this kind.”
“He didn’t look as if he did,” remarked I. “Perhaps that was because such a lot of day chaps are mixed up in it.”
Brown looked a little glum at this.
“He needn’t bother about us unless he likes,” said he. “We can take care of ourselves, I fancy.”
Luckily at this stage we reached the boats, and further discussion was interrupted.
The voyage home was comparatively uneventful. It was of course enlivened by a desultory race with the Urbans all the way, in which, I regret to say, Mr Jorrocks’s boats received a few scratches, owing to the desire of each boat to take the water of its opponent before it was clear ahead. The town-boys unrighteously claimed in the end to have won by a quarter of a length, but as in passing our leader they had pulled away one of our bow oars and further turned the nose of the Sarah into the bank, we stoutly resisted their claim, and a very lively argument ensued, in which Mr Jorrocks lost a good deal of varnish, and most of the combatants became rather wet. However, we were back in school within half an hour of embarking, which on the whole was not a bad record.
Curiosity to know what Tempest would do prevented us from so much as thinking of our “lines.” I took an early opportunity of presenting myself in Pridgin’s study, feeling sure I should be likely to hear something of the matter there.
As it happened, Tempest and Wales were there too, in deep confabulation.
“Look here, old chap,” Pridgin was saying, “don’t spoil your term for a parcel of yelping young puppies like this kid here and his lot. They’re not worth it.”
“For all that,” said Wales, “it’s a question of whether the cock of a house is to be allowed his rights or not.”
“It’s more a question whether Jarman is to be allowed his rights,” said Tempest. “I quite agree that these young muffs are a nuisance, and it’s all the more aggravating to be dragged into a mess by them. But he’d no right to interfere.”
“Strictly speaking, I suppose he was right,” said Pridgin. “There is a rule about juniors being in by 6:30; although every one knows half an hour’s grace is given on half-holidays. And I suppose he’s right about the fireworks.”
“You think I ought to cave in?” asked Tempest.
“I don’t say that. But I’d let the matter alone.”
“We shall never stop Jarman at that rate,” said Wales. “I should say fight it out.”
“All very well for you and me,” said Pridgin, “who are comfortably out of it. But it means a big job for old Tempest. He’ll have to bear the brunt of it.”
“I can’t well drop it when he’s told me to give him a list of the youngsters present,” said Tempest.
“You certainly are not called upon to give him a list of the day boys.”
“Well, as I only know one of them, it wouldn’t be easy. If he’d only lagged me, and given me extra drill and lines, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was playing it low down to—”
Here came a knock at the door, and the school messenger entered with a letter.
“No answer,” said he, handing it to Tempest.
It was plain to see by the flush on Tempest’s face as he read it that it contained anything but pleasant news.
“It’s from Jarman,” said he, throwing it down on the table.
Wales took it up and read it.
“Mr Jarman informs Tempest that the list of names required in connection with this afternoon’s incident will not be required, as Mr Jarman already has it. Tempest will please attend the extra drill with the other boys of his house to-morrow, as his conduct this afternoon was neither respectful nor a good example to others.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Pridgin, rising, for a wonder, out of his chair; “that’s a nasty one, if you like. He’s taken you at your word, old man. Who’s given the list of names? Did you, you young sweep?” he demanded of me.
“Oh no,” said I, glad to be recognised under any term of endearment. “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. But I’ll tell you what I think.”
“Really, Jones iv., it’s nice to know you do think; but, if you don’t mind, we would rather not hear. If you know anything, let us hear it, but spare us your thoughts.”
Pridgin was rather crushing sometimes.
“I meant we were marked off by the porter at the lodge as we came in,” said I. “Perhaps that’s how he’s got the names.”
“Evidently,” said Pridgin, “he’s had you for once. Tempest. He guessed there’d be a bother about the list, and he has taken the wind out of your sails. You’ll attend extra drill, of course.”
“Certainly.”
“So that,” said Wales, “all you will score by the affair will be a public disgrace before the juniors.”
Tempest’s half dismal, half wrathful face was answer enough.
“We sha’n’t consider it a disgrace,” said I.
“Thank you very much, Jones iv. If that is so, we shall feel it was worth living for to have your approbation. Now you had better go and write out your lines.”
“What?” said I. “I thought we were none of us going to do that.”
“I have warned you once against the perils of thinking. It’s a bad habit for little boys. Off you go, or you won’t get your poena done in time.”
“What am I to tell the others?” I inquired.
“You may tell them it’s a fine evening. Cut—do you hear?”
It was a great come-down. The Philosophers thought so when I reported the case. Some were inclined to be angry with Tempest, others to pity him; and every one was unanimous, I do not know why, in expressing a burning desire to kick me.
The expectation of a general revolt, headed by Tempest in person, and reinforced by the Urbans, faded dismally away as the company saw itself going down to “knock off” Mr Jarman’s lines.
“This comes,” said Langrish, rather illogically, I thought, “of getting mixed up with the day-boy cads. I knew it would land us in a mess, and so it has.”
“Anyway, they’re in the mess too,” said Trimble.
“It’s a little rough on Tempest having to show up for them as well as for us,” said I.
“Shut up, and let a fellow write his lines, can’t you?” growled Coxhead. “When we want Sarah’s advice we’ll ask for it.”
The reader will gather from this that the Philosophers were in bad tempers, and that their president was in imminent danger of losing his.
At noon next day, when most of the school was turning out after morning class into the fields, a melancholy band might have been seen dropping in, in irregular order, at the door of the school gymnasium. All except one were juniors. Some looked as if they were used to the thing, other betrayed the shy and self-conscious embarrassment of the first delinquents. None looked cheerful, not a few looked savage. The exception in point of age was a well set-up, square-shouldered, proud-faced senior, who entered with an air of reckless disgust which was not comfortable to look at, and might be dangerous if provoked. None of us spoke to Tempest, and he vouchsafed no sign of recognition of us.
A squad of the school volunteers, chiefly composed of smart boys from Mr Selkirk’s house, were concluding drill as we entered, and of course took stock of our dejected looks and of Tempest’s unwonted appearance as they filed out.
“A row on, eh?” whispered one, as he passed us.
“It doesn’t look like fun, does it?” snarled Langrish.
“Where does Tempest come in?” persisted the inquirer.
“By the door; and the sooner you get out by it the better.”
“Ha, ha!—poor little naughty boys. An extra drill will do you good. Come on, you chaps. Let’s leave them to enjoy themselves. They’ll get used to it in time. Ho, ho!”
“Fall in!” called Mr Jarman.
And painfully conscious not only that a few of the volunteers were hanging about to look on, but that the school porter was at the moment conducting a party of visitors through the building, we obeyed listlessly and dismally. Tempest taking his place at the end of the line.
“Are these some of the volunteers?” we heard one of the lady spectators ask.
“No, madam. This is an extra drill for breach of rules,” replied the official.
“Number from the right,” cried Mr Jarman.
We numbered.
“Answer to your names,” said the discipline master, producing a paper. We could not help noticing that Tempest’s name was mixed in along with ours, and that no difference was made on account of his age or status. We were then formed into double rank, and fours, and open order, and put through a hideous series of extension exercises, irksome enough at any time, but under present circumstances specially so. I heard Dicky Brown beside me groan as he stood leaning over with his left knee bent, his right leg stretched out behind, and his two arms doubled up at his side.
“I wonder they don’t all kick,” he whispered.
“Not easy like this,” said I.
“How Tempest must be enjoying it!” Dick murmured.
“Poor beggar! it’s a nasty dose for him.”
But if Mr Jarman counted on any protest or resistance from his senior victim, he was disappointed. Tempest went patiently and impassively through the drill with the rest of us; but, as we could see, with a blazing eye fixed all the while on the master. But I could guess the struggle that was going on in my friend’s breast. Mr Jarman may have flattered himself he was “taking it out of him”, Dicky and I knew better.
We all took our cue from Tempest that morning, and any inclination to rebel or mutiny was suppressed. We contented ourselves with glaring at our tormentor, and denying him the excuse he probably desired of prolonging the agony. My impression is that Mr Jarman was never so happy as when he realised that he was absolute master of the situation. The Roman emperors were not in it with him.
“Attention! Front!” said he at last, when the proceedings were becoming dull even to him. “Stand at ease! Attention! Stand at ease! Attention! Left turn! Dismiss! As you were! Dismiss!”
It was a prolonged insult, and we knew it. But Tempest stood it, and so, consequently, did we. But as we filed from the place we felt that Mr Jarman’s turn would come some day.
Tempest, contrary to general expectation, evinced no haste to leave the scene of his tribulation. There was yet a quarter of an hour to next bell, and this he evidently decided to spend, as he had the right to do, where he was. Mr Jarman was evidently annoyed to find, not only that the senior was apparently unaffected by the humiliation through which he had passed, but that now the drill was over he evinced an entire unconcern in the master’s presence.
Tempest was one of the best gymnasts in the school, and it was always worth while to watch him on the trapeze and horizontal bar. So the Philosophers and Urbans, by one consent, trooped back into the gymnasium to look on, and (what must have been particularly annoying to the master, because he had no authority to stop it) to cheer. How we did cheer, and what good it did us! Had Tempest been the meanest of performers, and done nothing but swing with his legs doubled up under him from one ring to the next, we should have applauded. But to-day his flights were terrific. No fellow was less given to show off, and he probably objected to our applause as much as Mr Jarman. But he was bound to relieve his feelings somehow, and the trapeze was just what he wanted.
When finally the bell rang, and we were hoarse with cheering (which was our way of relieving our feelings) he came to earth decidedly better for his exercise.
Mr Jarman evidently was impressed, and, to our surprise, even ventured on a compliment.
“You did that well, Tempest.”
Tempest’s reply was to walk away, putting on his coat as he went.
It was plain to see by the angry twitch of Mr Jarman’s mouth that the shaft of this public snub had gone home, and we who looked on and witnessed it all had little need to tell ourselves that civil war had already been declared.
It is hardly necessary to state that the extraordinary meeting of the Conversation Club that evening was lively, and that there was no lack of a topic. Besides our own contingent, a few of the outsiders, including Muskett and Corderoy from Selkirk’s house, and a few of the “paupers,” dropped in. As the faggery would only conveniently hold six persons, and as at least twenty were present, it was considered advisable to adjourn to the shoe-room, where, in the dim light of a small candle, several particularly revolutionary motions were discussed, the company sitting on the floor for the purpose.
The meeting opened by my calling on Langrish to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.
“The inaugural picnic of the Ph.C.C. was held the other day. Present, all the usual lot and seven paupers. The president had chartered the Sarah and Firefly, two of the vilest crocks at Jorrocks’s.”
“He said they were the best they had got,” I explained.
“Shut up, or you’ll be kicked out, young Sarah.”
“I’ve a right to speak.”
“No, you haven’t—unless you hold your tongue.”
“If I held my tongue, I couldn’t possibly speak,” I explained.
“Turn him out!” cried the paupers. Whereat I subsided.
“The paupers,” continued the minutes, “had beastly little go in them, and ought to have had a meal of hay before starting (interruption), and will be badly kicked if they don’t shut up. The Firefly had the best of the race up.” (Here there were most indignant protests from the crew of the gallant Sarah; and the question was argued out with some energy on the floor of the shoe-room before Langrish could proceed.)
“Nature was dressed in her most pristine colours, and the incandescent hues of the autumn leaves brought cries of enjoyment out of the mouths of the Ph.C.C, except the paupers, whose mouths were too full for utterance.”
This paragraph was not likely to pass unchallenged. Coxhead impeached its grammar, Trimble its taste, and the paupers its accuracy, and a very heated argument ensued, at the end of which it was agreed to let the door stand open a few minutes to get rid of the dust.
“Arrived at Camp Hill, a flock of jibbering apes were discovered, headed by the president’s arch-enemy. Brown iii.”
“No, he’s not my enemy,” protested I. “I never said so.”
“The minutes say so. They’re more likely to be right than you.”
“But I like Dicky Brown,” said I.
“That sounds like poetry,” said Warminster, “ho, ho!
“I like Dicky Brown,
His cheek is so cool,
And if I don’t kick him
You call me a fool.”
“I can do that whether you kick him or not,” said I, quite unmoved by this brilliant impromptu.
Here I was compelled to vacate the chair for a few moments, in order to discuss the matter further with Warminster. On order being restored, the minutes proceeded—
“The Philosophers soon made it too hot for these mules, and they were only allowed to stay on the ground as it amused us to see their idiotic sniggers. The paper on ‘Beauty’ was rot, and invoked well-deserved hisses.”
“Say that again,” ejaculated the outraged Trimble.
“That! there you are,” said Langrish hurriedly. But Trimble had more to say on the subject, and once again the meeting became warm and dusty.
“Order, please; let’s hear the rest,” said I, when both had been brushed down by their friends.
“As for Sarah’s speech in reply, it was the drivellingest balderdash you ever heard. It made the club blush.”
“That speaks well for it,” I suggested mildly.
The meeting did not seem to know how exactly to take this, but concluded it was meant to be complimentary, and contented themselves with ordering me to “shut up” if I didn’t want to be kicked out.
“Tempest (loud cheers) turned up presently and backed us up (cheers). The baboons weren’t in it in the sports. We pulled off the tug of war on our heads (cheers), and their speeches were even drivellinger than Trim’s and Sarah’s. (Interruption.) Just at the end a howling sneak and cad and outsider called Jarman came, and lagged us all, including Tempest. (Groans.) Our president behaved like a mutton-head throughout. Going home, the Philosophers led by several miles. The meeting then adjourned for extra drill in the gym. to-day, and mean to pay Jarman out.” (Cheers.)
The patriotic sentiment with which the minutes concluded did away with any little difference arising earlier is the evening, and they were carried unanimously.
It was then moved, seconded, thirded, fourthed, and fifthed, “that Jarman be, and is hereby, hung, and ought to be kicked.”
It was further agreed, “that Tempest be elected an Honorary Philosopher, and be let off entrance fee.”
Also, “that the town cads are about the biggest outsiders going.”
Also, “that Trimble be requested to wash his face.”
This last was not carried without some opposition, Trimble’s amendment, “that you be hung,” being lost only by a narrow minority. Finally it was resolved unanimously—
“That the Philosophers’ Conversation Club make it hot all round for any one who doesn’t want to kick Jarman or back up Tempest.”
With which highly satisfactory piece of business accomplished, we adjourned to our own studies, and finally to bed.