Chapter Three.
“When shall we three meet again?”
Once more Dr Plummer reserved himself for the afternoon. Perhaps it was the haunting tyranny of the defunct Hector; perhaps it was pique at being baffled, so far, in finding the culprit; whatever may have been the reason, he was in an ominously uncompromising mood when at last he returned to the fateful question.
“Come up, the first boy,” said he abruptly.
The Dux was evidently getting tired of all this business (and no wonder, it seemed to me), and obeyed the summons not in the best of humours.
“Tempest,” said the doctor, “I repeat my question of yesterday. Do you know anything whatever of this matter?”
“No, sir—I said so,” replied the Dux, in a clear voice.
Dr Plummer scowled somewhat at this tart reply. He rather liked his head boy, and was not prepared to find him, of all others, recalcitrant.
“I do not ask what you said, sir; I ask what you say,” said he.
“I said No. I’m not a liar,” replied the Dux rather fiercely.
The doctor received this rather more meekly than most of us expected, and proceeded with his next question.
“Have you the slightest reason to suspect any one of having done it, or of knowing anything about it?”
Tempest remained silent, with flushed and angry face.
“Do you hear me, sir?” asked the doctor, now thoroughly roused.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why don’t you answer at once?”
“I would not answer the question if I could,” said the Dux defiantly.
Dr Plummer stared at the boy as if he had been a wild beast.
“How dare you say such a thing to me?” he demanded. “You heard my question. Have you the slightest grounds for suspecting any one?”
The Dux bit his lips and remained silent.
“Do you hear, Tempest?”
No reply.
“Go to your seat, sir. I will speak to you presently.”
Tempest obeyed, with head erect and a red spot on either cheek.
We gazed at him in amazement. We had always given him credit for hardihood, but we had never believed him capable of mutiny of this kind; especially—
“Seems to me,” whispered Dicky, “he might as well tell right away. He’ll get expelled either way. Anyhow—”
“Brown, come forward.”
Dicky started as if he had been detected in the act of holding a pistol to Hector’s head. He was not in the least prepared to be summoned thus out of his turn; and morally he went to pieces as he rose to obey.
“Mum’s the word!” whispered I, encouragingly, as he started for the front.
The doctor was on the alert with a vengeance to-day!
“Jones, come forward too,” said he.
It was my turn to jump now.
“Now, sir, what was that you said to Brown just now?”
My back went up instinctively at his tone.
“I said, ‘Mum’s the word,’” I replied as doggedly as I could.
The doctor changed colour. This was getting serious. He had no precedents for such a case at Dangerfield, and for a moment was evidently at a loss how to proceed.
Perhaps he regretted for once in a way the policy of believing a boy guilty till he can prove himself innocent. Whether he did or no, it was too late to surrender it now.
“Go to your seat, Jones; I shall deal with you presently.”
I marched off, with all the blood of the Joneses tingling in my veins. The ingenuous Dicky was left to his ordeal single-handed.
“Now, Brown,” said the doctor, “you have heard the question, to which I mean to have an answer—and I caution you before I repeat it, to be careful—I shall know what interpretation to put on any attempt to prevaricate. Tell me, Brown, do you know anything at all of this matter, or have you grounds for suspecting any one of being concerned in it?”
Dicky shut his mouth with a snap, and looked as if he wished devoutly some one could turn a key on it and keep it so.
“Speak, sir,” said the doctor, coming down from his desk.
By one of those strange freaks of perversity which are so hard to account for, Dicky’s spirits went up higher every moment, and when the doctor stood over him and repeated the question a third time, he almost, I believe, enjoyed himself. He had never imagined courage was so easy.
To his surprise Dr Plummer did not strike, but returned quietly to his desk.
“Brown,” said he, “you may go. Tell the housekeeper to pack your box in time for the early train to-morrow.”
“What!” exclaimed poor old Dick, fairly electrified into speech; “am I expelled, sir?”
“You will be unless you speak at once. I give you a last chance.”
Dicky looked up at the doctor, then down at the floor. I knew the struggle in his mind: the thought of his people at home, of the disgrace of being expelled, of the suspicions he would leave behind. Then I could see him steal a doubtful glance at the Dux and at me, and then pass his eye along the rows of faces eagerly waiting for his decision.
Then he held up his head, and I knew dear old Dicky was as sound as a bell. No one had the right to make him turn sneak—and no one should do it! “I’ll go and pack,” said he quietly, and turned to the door.
Neither the Dux nor I saw the last of poor Dicky Brown at Dangerfield. We were otherwise engaged when he departed home in a four-wheeled cab in charge of Mr Ramsbottom that evening. We were, in point of fact, in durance vile ourselves, with every prospect of speedily requiring the services of two more four-wheeled cabmen on our own accounts.
The Dux’s fury at Dicky’s summary expulsion had been quite a surprise even to me.
“It’s a shame,” he had shouted as the door closed; “a caddish shame!”
“Who said that?” asked Dr Plummer.
“I did. I say it’s a caddish shame!”
“So do I!” yelled I at the top of my voice, and quite carried away by the occasion.
This was getting very embarrassing for Plummer. Perhaps he behaved in the best way open to him under the circumstances. He ignored us both, and proceeded to call up Faulkner to answer his precious questions.
Much depended on Faulkner then. If he had refused to answer, as the Dux had done, and Brown had done, and others were prepared to do, Plummer might have seen that his case was hopeless, and have given it up. Faulkner was nothing like such a favourite with the head master as Tempest, nor had he such a following among the boys. Still, he led his party, and if he chose now to leave us in the lurch Plummer was saved and we were lost.
“I know nothing of the matter, sir,” said Faulkner, “and I have no reason at all to suspect any one.”
It sounded a simple answer, but it was rank treason. For it was as good as saying Plummer had a right to ask these questions, and that he, Faulkner, would inform if he only knew who the culprit was.
After that it was evident the game, the Dux’s game and mine, was up. Boy after boy was called up and interrogated, and one by one they followed Faulkner in his submission. A few—like Graham junior—attempted to hold out, but broke down under pressure. A few feebly compromised by explaining that had they known the culprit they would not have answered; but as they did not they saw no reason for not saying so.
“It comes to this, then,” said the doctor: “that out of the entire school, three boys, and three only, are silent. The only conclusion I can draw from their conduct is that they dare not deny that they know something of this shameful outrage. Tempest, you are the head boy. I have always looked on you as a credit to the school, and a good example to your youngers. You see your present behaviour involves trouble to others than yourself. I do not wish to be hasty in this matter, and am willing to give you one more opportunity of answering my question. Do you know anything of this affair, or have you any grounds for suspecting any one of being connected with it?”
The Dux flushed with indignation, glared straight at the head master by way of reply, and closed his lips.
“Very well, sir. Jones, I now repeat the question to you. You are a little boy, and there is more excuse for you, as you were led astray by the bad example of a senior. I caution you now to do as the others have done, and give me a plain answer to a plain question. Otherwise you must take the consequences.”
I am afraid I blushed and looked far less determined than I would have liked. But I did my best to glare back and tighten my lips like the Dux.
“Very well. Tempest and Jones, go to my study and remain there till I come.”
We had not long to wait for our doom. The doctor was in the study almost as soon as we.
We stood there while he wrote some letters and put away some books on the shelves. Then he rang the bell, and handed the letters to the servant to post. After that he sat in his chair for a quarter of an hour in silence, evidently ruminating.
At last he deigned to notice our presence.
“Tempest,” he said, “I am very grieved at this. I had hoped better things of you. You know what the consequence must be to you?”
“I’m to be expelled, I know,” said the Dux. “The sooner the better.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. There was no dealing with a reprobate like this.
“I have written to your grandfather to say you will return home to-morrow.”
“I’m sorry it’s not to-night,” said the Dux.
“And you, Jones,” said the doctor to me, not heeding the last speech,—“I am more sorry for you. You are a foolish, misguided boy. Even now, if you atone for your fault by replying to my questions, I am willing to spare your mother the misery you seem bent on bringing upon her.”
This was a cruel thrust. The thought of my mother had crossed my mind once or twice already, and almost brought the tears to my eyes. It would be hard to explain all to her—and yet, and yet, anything was better than turning sneak.
“I won’t answer,” said I. “I’d sooner be expelled.”
“Your desire shall be gratified,” said the doctor drily; “to-morrow you will go too.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Tempest, you will remain here for the rest of the day—Jones, you will go to the dormitory and remain there. I forbid you, either of you, to hold any communication with your late schoolfellows while you remain here.”
Next morning after breakfast we were finally brought up before the whole school and harangued publicly by the head master. Our punishment, he told us, we had deliberately brought on our own heads. Aggravated insubordination like ours was not to be tolerated in any school. He was sure we should soon regret and be ashamed of our conduct, if we were not so already. For his own part he would try to forget the unfortunate affair, and to think kindly of us both. Mr Ramsbottom would see Tempest to the station, and the matron would escort me.
“Good-bye, Tempest,” said he, holding out his hand.
“Good-bye,” said the Dux, not heeding the hand, and walking to the door.
“Good-bye, Jones.”
I shook hands. After all, Plummer, I thought, meant to be kind, though he took an odd way of showing it. I was thankful when the ceremony was over, and the Dux and I found ourselves with our luggage in the hall waiting for our cabs.
All at once the old school we were leaving seemed to become dearer than I had thought.
The hall where we stood was full of the memory of jolly comings and goings. The field out there seemed to echo with the whizzing of balls and the war-whoops of combatants. The very schoolroom we had just left, from which even now came the hum of work in which we were no more to join, had its pleasant associations of battles fought, friends gained, difficulties mastered. How I would have liked to run down to get a last look at the pond, or upstairs for a farewell glance round the dormitory! But now we were out of it—Dux and I. The place belonged to us no more. We were outsiders, visitors whose time was up, and whose cabs were due at the front door at any moment.
And what was it all for?
“If it hadn’t been for that beast Hector,” said the Dux rather dismally, “we shouldn’t have been out here, Tommy.”
He rarely called me by my Christian name. It was always a sign he was out of sorts.
“I do wish you’d missed him,” said I.
“Missed him! What on earth do you mean?”
“Not made such a good shot—that’s what I mean.”
“Shot! Young Brown, are you crazy?”
“Most likely,” said I, beginning to get hot and cold at the same time. “Why, do you mean to say you didn’t, then?”
“Didn’t what?”
“Shoot him.”
“Shoot him? Me shoot? I no more shot the beast than you did.”
The perspiration started to my forehead.
“But the pistol. Dux?”
“What pistol?”
“The one I found in your locker, when I went to get your book, you know.”
“That thing? It’s been there all the term. It hasn’t even got a trigger!”
“It’s not there now. It’s at the bottom of the pond.”
The Dux looked at me as if he were about to eat me up, I looked back as if I were ready for it.
“You didn’t shoot Hector, then?” I faltered.
“What do you take me for, you young ass? Of course not.”
“Then Brown and I have both—”
“Brown? What about him? He didn’t think I’d done it?”
“He wouldn’t have been expelled if he hadn’t.”
The Dux gave a whistle of mingled dismay and fury.
“You know,” said I, “I saw you come in that night, just after I’d heard the shot, and made sure—”
“Oh, you—you beauty!” cried the Dux, with a bitter laugh. “Why, I’d just gone down for my watch, which I’d left in my blazer, so as to wind it up—and you—you actually go and set me down as a murderer!”
“Oh, Dux, I’m so awfully sorry! Let me go and tell Plummer.”
“If you do, I’ll wring your neck. I wouldn’t stay in this hole another day if he came on his knees and asked me. What right has he to want to make sneaks of us? Do you mean to say you and young Brown thought all along I had done it, and that I was telling lies when I said I didn’t?”
“I thought perhaps you’d done it in your sleep, and didn’t know.”
He laughed scornfully.
“That’s why you two were mum?” asked he. “Didn’t want to let out on me?”
“Well, yes, partly. I’m awfully sorry, Dux. Will you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you, kid! If I’d time I’d thrash you within an inch of your life for being such a fool, and then I’d thank you for being such a trump—you and Brown too.”
“Is it too late to do anything now?” asked I again.
“Not for me—nothing would keep me here. But I don’t see why you should be expelled. I’ll tell Plummer it was a mistake.”
“No, you won’t,” said I, catching his arm. “I wouldn’t stay here now for worlds.”
“It’s rough all round,” said Tempest, looking profoundly miserable, as the rumble of a cab came up to the hall door.
“What will your mater say, kid?”
“She’ll understand. I hope she won’t send me back though.”
“Get her to send you to Low Heath.”
“She couldn’t afford it. You’ll write to me, Dux?”
“Most likely. Tell Brown how sorry I am.”
“Now, Tempest, ready?” said Mr Ramsbottom.
“Good-bye, kid. I sha’n’t forget you.”
Next minute he was off, and I was left alone.
I do not deny that for a moment or two I found it convenient to rub my eyes. It was a hot day, and the light through the window was dazzling, I think.
Then to my relief up came my cab, and under the stalwart escort of Mrs Potts, the matron, I quitted Dangerfield for good.
My journey home was, as may be imagined, not a festive one. What would my mother say, or my guardian? What version of the story had Plummer given them? It consoled me to work myself up into a fury as I sat in the corner of the railway carriage, and prepare an indictment of his conduct which should make my conduct appear not only justifiable, but heroic.
Alas! heroism can rarely endure the rattle of a long railway journey. Long before we reached Fallowfield my heart was in my boots, and my fierceness had all evaporated.
But a year ago my father had died, leaving me, his only child, to be the comfort and support of my mother. What message of comfort or support was I carrying home to-day? What would my guardian, who had given me such yards of stern advice about honouring my betters, say when he heard? Should I be sent to an office to run errands, or passed on to a school for troublesome boys, or left to knock about with no one to care what became of me?
With such pleasant misgivings in my mind I reached Fallowfield, and braced myself up for the interview before me.