A Dog with a Bad Name Part 13

"Never mind his name; that is, I told you once, you should remember,"

stammered the hapless usher.

"I remember it. Jeffreys, wasn't it, Mr Jeffreys?" said one boy triumphantly.

"He condemned more than--"

"Who, Jeffreys?"

What was the use of keeping it up?

"Yes; this wicked judge, Jeffreys, condemned more than three hundred people to death, just because they had helped Monmouth."

There was a low whistle of horror, as every eye transfixed the speaker.

"Did he repent?" asked one.

"It doesn't say so," said the wretched Jeffreys, turning over to the next page in a miserable attempt to appear as if he was not involved in the inquiry.

"How dreadful!" said another.

"Besides this, 849 people were transported."

"By Jeffreys, sir?"

"Yes," replied the owner of the name, finally throwing off all disguise and giving himself up to his fate, "by this wicked Jeffreys."

"Yes, sir; and what else did he do?"

Trimble, as he looked every now and then down the room, was astonished to notice the quiet which prevailed in the lower cla.s.s, and the interest with which every boy was listening to the new master.

He did not like it. He couldn't manage to interest his cla.s.s, and it didn't please him at all that this casual newcomer should come and cut him out before his face.

After a while he walked down the room and approached the a.s.sistant's desk.

He was convinced this, unwonted order could not result from any legitimate cause.

"You don't seem to be doing much work here, I must say," said he. "Give me the book, Mr Jeffreys: I want to see what they know of the lesson.

Where's the place?"

Jeffreys handed the book, putting his finger on the place.

Trimble glanced through a paragraph or two, and then pointing to a boy, one of the least sharp in the cla.s.s, said,--

"Now, Walker, what happened after Monmouth's death?"

"Oh, if you please, sir, a cruel judge, called Jeffreys, condemned--"

"That will do. You, Rosher, how many people did he condemn to death?"

"More than three hundred, sir," answered Freddy promptly.

"What for, Bacon?"

"Because they helped Monmouth."

Trimble felt perplexed. He never had a cla.s.s that answered like this.

He tried once more.

"Pridger, what else did he do?"

"He had 849 transported, sir."

Trimble shut the book. It was beyond him. If Pridger had said 848 or 850, he could have made something of it. But it floored him completely to find the second cla.s.s knowing the exact number of convicts in one given year of English history.

"Don't let me catch any of you wasting your time," he said. "Farrar, what do you mean by looking about you, sir? Stand on the form for half an hour."

"Farrar has been very quiet and attentive all the afternoon," said Jeffreys.

"Stand on the form an hour, Farrar," said Trimble, with a scowl.

Jeffreys' brow darkened as he watched the little tyrant strut off to his cla.s.s. How long would he be able to keep hands off him?

The rest of the afternoon pa.s.sed uneventfully. An unconscious bond of sympathy had arisen between the new master and his pupils. His historical importance invested him with a glamour which was nearly heroic; and his kind word on Farrar's behalf had won him an amount of confidence which was quick in showing itself. "We like you better than Fison, though he was nice," said Bacon, as the cla.s.s was about to separate.

"I hope Trimble won't send you away," said another.

"I wish you'd condemn young Trimble to death, or transport him, Mr Jeffreys," said a third confidentially.

"Good-bye, Mr Jeffreys," said Freddy, with all the confidence of an old friend. "Did you like that parliament cake?"

"Awfully," said Jeffreys. "Good-bye."

Every one insisted on shaking hands with him, greatly to his embarra.s.sment; and a few minutes later the school was scattered, and Jeffreys was left to go over in his mind his first day's experience.

On the whole he was cheerful. His heart warmed to these simple little fellows, who thought none the worse of him for being ugly and clumsy.

With Mrs Trimble, too, he antic.i.p.ated not much difficulty. Young Trimble was a rock ahead undoubtedly, but Jeffreys would stand him as long as he could, and not antic.i.p.ate the day, which he felt to be inevitable, when he would be able to stand him no longer.

"Well, Mr Jeffreys," said Mrs Trimble, as the dame and her two a.s.sistants sat down to tea, "how do you manage?"

"Pretty well, thank you, ma'am," replied Jeffreys; "they are a nice lot of little boys, and I found them very good and quiet."

"Of course you would, if you let them do as they like," said Jonah.

"You'll have to keep them in, I can tell you, if you expect to keep order."

It did occur to Jeffreys that if they were good without being kept in, Jonah ought to be satisfied, but he was too wise to embark on a discussion with his colleague, and confined his attentions to Mrs Trimble.

The meal being ended, he said--