Having, as I may term it, shaken down in my uniform, I asked Smart one day if he would come down with me to Hostler’s. The reason proposed for this trip was to see one or two of our schoolfellows; but in my heart the reason was to show myself off in uniform before those boys who had looked down upon me when I was at Hostler’s cram-school; and I also suspect that the same reasons induced Smart to accompany me.
“We shall just find the boys going out,” said Smart, “and it will be great fun to see what they will say to you. What a sell it will be for Tomkins and Hurst—your passing—for I hear, now so many have failed, Hostler won’t let them come up for a year, so you will be an old cadet when they are second-half fellows, and will be able to fag them. Walkwell declares it was your drawing that got you into the Academy, and takes great credit to himself for having taught you.”
We arrived at Mr Hostler’s and entered the well-remembered playground, where we found the boys assembling previous to an afternoon walk. We were both welcomed with enthusiasm, whilst we were stared at as objects of wonder and admiration. In those days the difference between a cadet and a schoolboy was very great, and the cadet was looked up to as so far above the schoolboy, that the latter scarcely liked to speak to the former, for fear of meeting a rebuff. Cadets, too, very often cut their old schoolfellows, as they could not speak to anything so low. Our condescension in coming down to Hostler’s was therefore fully appreciated, whilst the reception I met from many of my old companions, caused me to believe I had been most prejudiced as regards them. There was Smith, who used to make faces at me, and who used to call me a “Hampshire hog” and “Tomfool” when I was at Hostler’s, now came with a deprecating smile on his face and shook hands with me, whilst he intimated he was awfully jolly that I had passed.
There was Bones, as we used to call him, Fraser’s great chum, who hated me after my victory over Fraser, and who used to spread false reports in the school to my detriment, now came up with “Hullo, Shepard, old fellow! You are a swell now! I’m so glad you’re a cadet?”
As I stood surrounded by an admiring group of boys I heard the well-known voice of Hostler, and somehow the old influence came over me, and for an instant I had the fear of three cuts on the hand. Hostler had seen us in the school-yard, and came down to speak to us, but I must confess the style of his address entirely took me aback. Hostler was too clever for me.
“Ah, Shepard,” he said, shaking hands, “glad to see you! Well, so my good groundwork of mathematics and Euclid passed you. I thought it would. And I told Mr Rouse you only wanted a final polish, which I hadn’t time to give you here with so many boys on hand, to give you a fair chance. Then, you see, the fact of your having been here was known at the Academy, and no doubt that helped you on. I feel much flattered at your having passed, for it shows my system is a sound one.”
I was utterly taken aback at this speech of Hostler’s after what had happened; I almost expected he would have apologised to me for his behaviour. I forgot he did not know I had overheard his conversation with reference to my not being sent up, and I could almost swear that no communication whatever had taken place between him and Mr Rouse.
Thinking I would make an awkward remark for him I said, “I’m sorry Fraser and the others didn’t pass.”
“I never thought they would, Shepard,” replied Hostler, who never moved a muscle of his face as he uttered this lie. “Fraser was idle and careless, and his friends would have him pushed on too rapidly, and so he wasn’t sound. I protested against this, but it was no use, so I foolishly gave way.”
Now it happened that Fraser had been four years at Mr Hostler’s, and had been over and over again the coarse that he had to be examined in; and when I was at Hostler’s he was held up to me as one of the most promising boys, who was to bring honour to the establishment at which he had been prepared, and who was considered very likely to pass at the head of his batch.