He thrust the hand which still held the one and fivepence into his trousers pocket, and turning on his heel marched with an air of great deliberation to the door. At the door he turned, and again addressed the usher.
"If I were you, old Shane, I'd go to Fletcher, and I'd say, 'Fork up, Fletcher, or I'll give you one in the eye;' and then if he didn't fork up I'd give him a couple of good fine black ones. He'd look nice with a couple of black eyes, would Fletcher; and, if you like, I'll come with you now and see you do it."
He paused; but seeing that Mr. Shane gave no immediate signs of acting on this useful hint he went on,--
"You haven't got the spirit of an old dead donkey. You'd let anybody have a kick at you. You're a regular all-round Molly, Shane."
With this frank expression of heart-felt sympathy for Mr. Shane's distress he left the room, and banged the door behind him. His enterprise, though displaying boldness, had been a failure; he had not succeeded in adding to his capital. As he walked away from the schoolroom he meditated upon the matter.
"One and fivepence isn't much--not to run away with--but Mr. Bankes said he'd only ninepence-halfpenny; I'm better than that. Still, I'd like another shilling or two; one and fivepence doesn't go far, stretch it how you will. But if I can't get more I'll make it do, somehow. If Mr. Bankes managed with ninepence-halfpenny I don't see why I shouldn't do with one and fivepence. Something is sure to turn up directly I am off."
It occurred to him that perhaps Mr. Bankes might have had something else besides his ninepence-halfpenny--something in the shape of food, valuables, or extra clothing, or some other unconsidered trifle of that kind. Bertie perceived that if he put into execution his plan of immediate flight he would have to go as he was, with his one and fivepence and nothing else. He had a misty recollection of having read somewhere of a young gentleman, just such another hero as himself, who started on his exploration of the world with baggage in the shape of a red cotton handkerchief, which contained a clean shirt, some bread and cheese, and, if his memory served him, a pair of socks which his little sister had neatly darned for him on the night before his setting out.
Bertie would have to start without even this amount of luggage. Nor could he understand that he would be much worse off on that account; the bread and cheese might be useful--if he remembered rightly, the young gentleman referred to had eaten his bread and cheese about ten minutes after starting--but for the shirt and socks he could perceive no use whatever. He had a sort of idea that either those sort of things would not be required, or else that they could be had for asking when he was once out in the world.
But his chief fear was, and it kept him on tenter hooks throughout the day, that his grand exploit would be nipped in the bud, altogether frustrated, by his being prematurely fetched home. He lived at Upton, a little town in Berkshire, not twenty miles away. It would not take long for Mr. Fletcher's communication to reach his home, and it was quite within the range of possibility that a messenger would be immediately despatched to fetch him. In that case he would sleep that night in a paternal bed, and farewell to the Land of Golden Dreams.
The flitting had already commenced. By the afternoon some of the boys, who lived close by, had already gone. The packing progressed briskly. He had seen with his own eyes his boxes locked and corded. It was with very mixed sensations that he had himself assisted at the process. Within those well-worn receptacles was he locking and cording the Land of Golden Dreams! At the mere thought of such a thing he could have shed unheroic tears. At any moment he might be called, he might be greeted by a familiar face, he might be whirled away in a cab at the rate of four or five miles an hour, with his luggage on the roof of the vehicle, and then--farewell to the Land of Golden Dreams.