There was a general shout of assent, with here and there a wondering glance at the vacant seat of Jabez, who, having his wounds washed and bound up, had not sat down with them, but had a sort of complimentary breakfast with the servants in the kitchen.
“And I daresay you would like to see the thief, and know how he was caught.”
There was another general “Ay, ay, sir!”
“Well, here he is,” (and he held the snake aloft); “but I don’t think any of you will be thrashed on his account again. Jabez Clegg, here” (and he pulled the reluctant boy forward by the shoulder), “caught the sly robber drinking the milk, and, with nothing but this whip and a fearless resolute arm, put a stop to his depredations, and restored the lost character of the school.”
There was a loud hurrah for Jabez Clegg, who, for the time being was a hero. Then, the snake being carried to the school-room, the Rev. John Gresswell improved the occasion by a lesson on snakes in general, and that one in particular. But when he dissipated the popular belief that all snakes were venomous, and assured the boys that the bite of this was innocuous, more than one of the Blue-coated lads thought Jabez was not such a hero after all.
The heads of the College thought otherwise. The snake, and whip also, were placed high up against a wall in the College museum, close beside the “woman’s clog which was split by a thunderbolt, and hoo wasn’t hurt.” They made part of the catalogue of the Blue-coat guides—nay, even Jabez may have run the rapid chronicle from the reel himself; but the pain and shock of having wilfully killed a living creature neutralised and prevented the harm which might have followed self-glorification.
The long unknown secret spoiler of the dairy had been such a blemish on the spotless character of the Chetham Hospital—such a scandal in its little world—that its capture became of sufficient importance for Dr. Thomas Stone to communicate to the Reverend Joshua Brookes on his next visit to the library, Jabez being considered a sort of protege of his.
Before the day was out the parson found his cough troublesome, and of course went to Mrs. Clowes for horehound-drops.
“Well, what do you think of young Cheat-the-fishes now?” came raspily from his lips, as he leaned on the counter, evidently prepared for a gossip, shop-chairs being unheard-of superfluities in those days.