Chapter Twenty Three.
Pretty warm all round.
“Dicky, old chap, I’m in a howling mess.”
“The same old one, or a new one?”
“It’s about those blessed bills of Tempest’s—I wish I’d let them alone. You see, it was this way. How was I to know? I’m sure I never meant to do anything shady.”
“I dare say not, but what are you talking about?”
“Why, I’ve been regularly let in. You see, I—”
“Look here, old chap, let’s hear what it is,” said the practical Dicky.
“Why, the fact is, most of the chaps wanted to stand me something when I squared up with them, and Crofter tries to make out I’m a thief, and he’s going to show me up to Tempest.”
“But you didn’t let them?”
“Well, yes, one or two. You see, Marple gave me a pencil-sharpener, and Rammage a strawberry ice, and Ringstead a net-bag and spikes—jolly bad ones too, they all came out in a week.”
“And does Crofter say you swindled him or Tempest?”
“I didn’t think I was swindling anybody,” said I evasively.
“You made a pretty good thing out of it, though.”
“I know. I say, Dicky, what’s to be done? I thought I was going to pull round all square this term—really I did—and now I’m in a regular fix.”
Dicky pondered.
“It was a bit shady,” said he, with his refreshing candour; “the sort of thing Ananias and—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Dicky, if that’s all you’ve got to say—”
“It’s not. I think you’d best make it good somehow. Can’t you give them back?”
“How can I give back the strawberry ice?”
This was a poser, certainly, and set Dicky thinking again.
“Have you got the other things?” asked he.
“No; the pencil-sharpener smashed first time I used it, and the net-bag got lost at home.”
“Awkward. You’ll have to buy new ones.”
“Who for?”
“Tempest, of course. They were his bills.”
“But it was Crofter’s money.”
“But Tempest has paid him back.”
The result of this conversation was, that instead of practising for the Quarter-mile that afternoon I went down town with a bag, and expended five shillings of my term’s pocket-money in the purchase of a pencil-sharpener, a strawberry ice, a net-bag, and a set of patent screw spikes.
Dicky, like a brick, undertook to convey these to Tempest, with the following letter, which I wrote at his suggestion.
“Dear Tempest,—I send you back the change I got out of the bills I got last term. I’m sorrier than I can say, and hope you won’t hate me more than you do. Dicky will tell you how jolly blue I am, and how we all hope you’ll win the Mile. We aren’t backing up Crofter, and hope you’ll soon be captain again. Please excuse me writing, but I don’t like to come and tell you this, as you’re so down on me.
“Yours truly,—
“T. Jones iv.”
I also penned a further letter for Crofter:—
“Dear Crofter,—You needn’t mind telling Tempest, as I’ve done so and paid him back. With thanks all the same,—
“Yours truly,—
“T.J. iv.”
I felt vastly easier in my mind when this polite letter was at an end, and when I saw the faithful Dicky depart to execute his brotherly mission. My one fear was lest the strawberry ice should get warm before it reached its destination.
I waited in vain for any sign of response from Tempest. The Philosophers went down during the afternoon to watch him training for his race; but he vouchsafed us no regard, and, for all I knew, still put me down as a thief and a sharper. Dicky, whom I met later on, explained that he had failed to catch Tempest in his study, but had deposited the articles along with the letter on his table, so that, if he did not know of them yet, he soon would.
My anxiety was not at all allayed by a casual encounter with Crofter in the evening. He summoned me into his study, where I saw my billet-doux lying on the table.
“I suppose you wrote this?” said he.
“Yes.”
“And you think everything’s clear now, do you?”
“Isn’t it?” said I.
“I dare say Dr England will be able to tell you. By the way, why did you only give me 2 shillings 6 pence change instead of 3 shillings 6 pence?”
“There was only 2 shillings 6 pence to give.”
“Really? I thought so too till your clever management of the tips tempted me to look over the bills again. I see that what you paid only came to £4 16 shillings 6 pence, instead of £4 17 shillings 6 pence. I don’t want the other shilling, but hope you bought yourself something nice with it. You must consider it a present from Tempest, not me.”
I timed red and white in the sudden confusion of that announcement. I was positively certain 2 shillings 6 pence had been the change, and that if there was any mistake it must be on the part of the tradesmen, not me. But how was I likely to convince Crofter, or, for the matter of that, Tempest, that such was the case?
“I promise you,” said I, “I only had 2 shillings 6 pence change. Really, Crofter, do believe me.”
“I believe every word you say,” said Crofter, with a smile. “I have every reason to, haven’t I?”
“But, really and truly—”
“What’s the use of saying any more? Of course, it’s all really and truly. I’ve no doubt Tempest believes it too.”
“Please let me see the bills,” pleaded I; “I’ll show you I’m right.”
“Unfortunately Tempest has them. I dare say he will be delighted.”
“You haven’t told him about this, have you?” I gasped, in helpless misery.
“I’m going to; it’s too good a joke to be kept to myself; I don’t suppose he’ll mind. Certainly he won’t be surprised.”
“Oh, Crofter, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell him this!” said I, blundering on into an appearance of guiltiness of which I was quite innocent. “I’m wanting so awfully to be friends with him again. I’ve given him back all I got out of the shops; and it will spoil everything if you tell him this, really—it isn’t true either.”
Crofter laughed pleasantly.
“It’s rather likely I should shield you, isn’t it? when all this term you and your friends have been insulting and defying me, and setting yourself to upset my authority as captain of the house.”
“Oh, but we aren’t!”
“What does this precious thing mean?” demanded he, producing the famous round-robin; “it’s meant to be all politeness, I suppose.”
“It only means,” faltered I, “that we are sorry Tempest is not captain.”
“Naturally. It’s nice to have a captain one can swindle and rob, isn’t it?”
I groaned miserably—it seemed no use trying to put myself right.
“If you chose to be civil and back me up, it would be different,” said Crofter.
“But we are—we’re going as steady as anything,” said I.
“What do you mean by going to Pridgin and Wales and Tempest for exeats and special leave instead of to me?” he demanded.
This was a point I was unprepared for. It was true that the Philosophers, in their desire not to be interfered with by the new captain, had made a point of applying, as they were entitled to do, to any of the other prefects of the house in preference to Crofter for exeats and occasional leave to go without bounds. It had always been considered the prerogative of the captain of the house to grant these; but, strictly speaking, the other prefects had the right too. I tried to explain as much.
“Of course,” said he, “it is a very neat way of ignoring my authority. I expect you to come to me. I shall not refuse any reasonable request, but I’m not going to be insulted in my own house.”
“But—” said I.
“There is no ‘but’ about it. If you want to prevent your being shown up to your friend as an amiable young swindler, you can stop it by undertaking that you and your lot will do what I tell you. If not, it is your own look-out, that’s all.”
Luckily the school bell enabled me to get away without giving any pledge. Fool as I was, I knew what all this meant. It was an attempt to buy us all over at the cost of that unlucky shilling, and with it to secure Crofter in the authority which he so dearly coveted, but so far so imperfectly enjoyed.
The Philosophers, as might be expected, waxed very indignant when I made a clean breast of the whole matter. With their usual frankness they quite admitted that I might have pilfered the shilling. That sort of thing, they remarked, was quite in my line, and in keeping with my character generally; and they hoped to live to see me hung. But as to caving in to Crofter as the cost of my shelter, they drew the line at that. He had no right to impose new rules, or take away the immemorial privileges of the “Sharpers.” Besides, if they gave in on this point, they would immediately have to go and ask his leave to practise for the Sports in Callow Meadow, which was just out of bounds, and where, in strict seclusion, diligent practice had been going on for a week, with most promising results.
I was thereupon ordered to write a laconic rejoinder to the tempting offer, the Philosophers promising to back me up in the matter of the shilling and see me through it.
With a heavy heart, therefore, I sat down and penned the following brief epistle, which was approved by the faggery and ordered to be laid on Crofter’s table before bed-time.
“Dear Crofter,—We all think it’s not good enough. It’s all a lie about the shilling. Yours sincerely, T.J. iv.”
Some of the Philosophers demurred to the sentence about the shilling, which appeared to commit them to an opinion they did not hold. But I had my way for once, and retired to bed, when all was done, wondering whenever peace would come, and I and my friend should rejoice to see one another again as of old.
I do not know how soon I fell asleep. It must have been pretty soon; for I can remember seeing Crofter come into the dormitory and turn out the gas; and I can remember in the general stillness hearing voices and the noise of poking the fire in Mr Sharpe’s room downstairs. After that I forgot everything, until suddenly I discovered myself awake again.
Things seemed strange as I slowly turned my head on the pillow and blinked up with half-opened eyes. The dormitory seemed hot and stuffy; somebody or something was making a noise, and I wished they would stop. I could see nothing, except the hazy outline of my shirt hanging on the back of the chair, and even that seemed to come and go as I watched it. I was indisposed to move, and my mind was half asleep still. The one thing I did long for was for the noise to stop and some one to open a window. It was simply choking; I could hardly breathe, and—
Suddenly my shirt seemed to turn red, and by the lurid light it emitted I could see smoke coming over the top of the door. Then the side of the room grew red too, and seemed to close in on me, getting redder and redder as it did so, till finally by a frantic effort I raised myself in my bed and yelled—
“Fire!”
The answer was a great volume of smoke, which leapt out at me like a savage beast and sent me back on to the pillow; a deafening roar outside, and a sudden blaze, which half-blinded me and stifled the cry that was on my lips.
That is all I can remember distinctly. I was vaguely conscious of hearing my name called, of seeing my door move, of everything whirling round and round, and finally of falling, or getting, or being dragged out of bed.
The next thing I was aware of was that I was lying in a strange bed, with a headache, but otherwise tolerably comfortable, though awfully thirsty, and as weak as a mouse.
“Water, please,” I remarked at large.
Instantly a face bent over me—a strangely familiar face, which after a moment’s reflection I told myself was my mother’s.
It was such a surprise that I forgot about the water, and took a nap instead.
In due time I must have woke again, this time by candlelight.
“Mother, are you there?”
“Yes, darling; what is it?”
“My shirt caught fire, and—”
“Hush, dear. Don’t try to talk.”
I didn’t quite see why. I was really curious about several things. In fact, I thirsted for information.
“Why mayn’t I talk, mother?”
“Because you’ve been ill.”
“Did I get doctor’s leave?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Mother?”
“Well, sonny darling.”
“How did you get here?”
“They sent and told me you—”
“You didn’t believe about that shilling? Really there was only 2 shillings 6 pence change.”
“Yes, yes, dear. Hush now, there’s a good boy.”
“Mother?”
“Well, Tommy dear.”
“Was there a fire last night?”
“It was a week ago, sonny.”
“Who was the fellow called me? Was he riled at me for not answering?”
“Oh no—you were almost suffocated.”
“Where shall I sleep now? Have they mended my cubicle?”
“You’ll sleep here, dear. All the boys are over here.”
“Was all the dormitory on fire, then?”
“Yes; but thank God every one was saved.”
“Is Langrish all right?”
“Oh yes, all of them are.”
“Will he be game for the High Jump?”
“Surely, surely—but you’re talking too much, sonny.”
“Mother?”
“What is it, darling?”
“Does Tempest know I’ve been ill?”
“Yes,” and her eyes seemed to fill with tears as she bent over me.
“Will you tell him about the shilling?”
“Yes, if you like.”
“Mother, why are you crying? Is Tempest ill too?”
“No, dear—but—”
“Tell us, mother.”
“If it had not been for Tempest,” said she, “I should have had no boy to-day.”
“Did he get me out, then?” said I, getting thoroughly aroused.
“Yes, Heaven bless him for it!” she replied, kissing my forehead.
“That’ll be a score for him,” said I; “I’m so glad.”
My mother evidently did not quite understand this point of view, and concluded I had been talking more than was good for me, and once more implored me to be silent.
But I had no notion of giving up my inquiries at this stage.
“Did he get hurt doing it?” I asked.
“Only his hand a little.”
“How did he get at me?”
“Every one thought you were safe out of the burning room with the others. When it was found you were not, Tempest rushed back before any one could stop him, and carried you out. He had not got outside with you more than a second or two when the roof and staircase and all fell in.”
Here she shuddered as once more she bent over me and kissed me.
This was all I wanted to hear at present, and I closed my eyes in order to think it over the better.
My chief sensation was one of exultation that Tempest should risk his life for me. It meant that I had won him back in spite of myself. Then when I recalled the frightful blaze and noise of that night, I began to realise what my rescue must have meant to any one. No one but a fellow utterly scornful of danger, and utterly determined to save a life in peril at all cost, could have ventured into that place. He would have done it for any one, I knew; but to come deliberately after me, who had ruined his chances last term, and whom he despised as a pilferer and a sneak—this was an act of heroism which it baffled me to contemplate, and in the contemplation of which consequently I succumbed once more to sleep and forgot everything.
As I slowly got better (and, after all, I was not much damaged, as soon as I had got over the effects of the suffocation and terror of that awful night) I heard more about the fire. Permission was given me to see one friend a day for ten minutes at a time, and the reader may imagine the wild excitement of those ten minutes.
I naturally called for Dicky Brown as my first man. He came, looking rather scared, and was evidently relieved to find I was something better than a mass of burns, and able to do my share in the conversation.
“It was a close shave for you, I can tell you,” he said. “All the other fellows hopped out long before the fire got bad, and no one fancied you weren’t out too. You must have been sleeping jolly sound. All of a sudden one of your lot yelled out that you were missing. It was so hot then the fellows were all standing back, but old Tempest, almost before the chap had shouted, nipped into the middle of it, and made a dash for your cubicle. My word! I wish I’d been there to see it! You were as good as done for when he collared you and hauled you out. He fell with you half-way down the stairs, but Sharpe and Pridgin and one or two others caught him and fished him out with you over his shoulder. He swears he’s not damaged, but he’s got his hand in a sling. I say, old chap, it’s no use blubbing; it’s all right how.”
“I wasn’t blubbing,” said I. “When you’ve got a cold in your head your eyes water sometimes, don’t they?”
“Rather, buckets,” said the magnanimous Dicky.
Langrish was my next interviewer; and his account as an eye-witness was graphic, and not calculated entirely to cure my “cold in the head.”
“You see, it’s this way,” said he. “Jarman was smoking in Sharpe’s room, and chucked his cigar into the waste-paper basket or somewhere by mistake, and while he and Sharpe toddled across the quad, the thing flared up and went up the curtains, and when old Sharpe came back the whole place was in a blaze. I twigged it pretty sharp, and so did Trim, and there was a regular stampede. No one ever supposed you’d go snoring all through it. Crofter and Wales were first outside, looking as white as milk. Bless you, it was such a rush and shindy, no one could see anybody. Of course we made sure you were all serene. Think of you sleeping through it!”
“I was in the end cubicle, you see,” said I.
“For all that, you might have stuck your head out to see what the fun was about,” said Langrish, in rather an aggrieved tone. “Sharpe turned up presently, with his face all grimy with smoke, and yelled, ‘Is every one here?’ ‘Yes,’ said Crofter—silly ass, how could he tell? Then Coxhead said to me, ‘Where’s Sarah got to?’ That made me look round, and I can tell you I was pretty sick when I couldn’t see you. Just fancy a chap sleeping away through it all! Why, the ant and the sluggard,” said Langrish, getting a little mixed in his proverbs, “weren’t in it with you. So I yelled ‘Sarah!’ with all my might. You should have seen the chaps sit up when they heard your name. Then old Tempest, with his mouth shut and looking middling pasty about the face, broke through the scrimmage and sent us right and left, and made a regular header into the place. Sharpe yelled to him to come back; some tried to yell, but couldn’t for lumps in their throats, and we all closed up. I can tell you it was a hot place. The smoke rolled out and got in our eyes, and the wood and stuff cracked and blazed, and sounded like the waves at Dover. We never expected to see him or you come back. The stairs were going to bits as fast as they could, and great bits of burning wood were tumbling off the roof. Then the smoke shifted somehow, and we heard Sharpe yell, ‘Heavens!’ Then there was a dull row like something tumbling, and Pridgin and Sharpe dashed in. We got kept back, or we’d have given you a leg-up too. Then you strolled in, fast asleep still—I never saw such a snoozer!—on Tempest’s arm. He was pretty well done, and couldn’t have pulled it off if Sharpe and Pridgin hadn’t hiked him out. Even then he couldn’t stand. So I hope you’re jolly well pleased with yourself. I hope it will be a lesson to you, young Sarah, to keep one eye open while you’re asleep. We were jolly glad you got canted out, though you are a bit of a mule. But it would have been rough on you to miss the Sports. They say Tempest’s burned his hand pretty bad, but he means to have a shot at the Mile. I say, Redwood was asking after you. Jarman’s jolly sick that it was his fault about the fire. He’s been quite civil, and been to ask about you every day. Look sharp and get right, I say, or it’ll rot the Sports if you don’t. Hullo, there comes your mater. Ta, ta, old hoss. It’s rather ripping you scraped through all right.”
He was a good sort, Langrish. He did not tell me, what I heard later, that at the time of the fire he had to be held back by main force from following Tempest in quest of me; and that he had rather a “cold in his head” when he saw me hauled out safe and sound.