Burr Junior Part 1

Burr Junior.

by G. Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

"There'll be such a game directly. Just listen to old d.i.c.ksee."

I was very low-spirited, but, as the bright, good-looking lad at my side nudged me with his elbow, I turned from casting my eyes round the great bare oak-panelled room, with its long desks, to the kind of pulpit at the lower end, facing a bigger and more important-looking erection at the upper end, standing upon a broad dais raised a foot above the rest of the room. For this had been the banqueting hall of Meade Place, in the good old times of James the First, when its owner little thought it would ever be the schoolroom of Dr Browne's "Boarding Establishment for Gentlemen's Sons." In fact, there was a broad opening now, with a sliding door, right through the thick wall into the kitchen, so my companion told me, and that I should see the shoulders of mutton slip through there at dinner-time.

So I looked at the lower pulpit, in which sat Mr Rebble, one of the ushers, a lank, pale-faced, haggard man, with a dotting of freckles, light eyebrows, and pale red hair which stood up straight like that upon a clothes-brush.

He was resting his elbows on the desk and wiping his hands one over the other, as if the air was water and he had a piece of soap between his palms. By him was a boy with a book, reading in a highly-pitched voice which did not seem to fit him, being, like his clothes, too small for such a big fellow, with his broad face and forehead all wrinkled up into puckers with the exertion of reading.

"Tchish! tchish! Silence!" said Mr Rebble, giving three stamps on the floor. "Now go on, d.i.c.ksee."

"I say, do listen," said the boy by my side. "He isn't well, and I gave him a dose this morning."

"You did?" I said. "You hit him?"

"No, no," said the boy, laughing. "I often do though--a miserable sneak. I gave him a dose of medicine. He had been eating too many of Polly Hopley's cakes. My father is a doctor!" he added importantly.

"Oh!" I said.

"I say, do listen. Did you ever hear such a whine?"

As he spoke, I heard the big, stoutly-built boy give a tremendous sniff, and then go on reading.

"I love Penny Lope--Penny Lope is loved by me."

"Pen-el-o-pe!" cried the usher angrily, as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the book from the boy's hands, closed it, and boxed his ears with it, right and left, over and over again. "You _dumkopf_!" he shouted; "you muddy-brained a.s.s!

you'll never learn anything. You're more trouble than all the rest of the boys put together. There, be off to your seat, and write that piece out twenty-five times, and then learn it by heart."

"Ow, ow, ow! sniff, sniff, snork!"

"Silence, sir, or I'll make the imposition fifty times!"

The howl subsided into a series of subdued sniffs as the big fellow went back to his place, amidst the humming noise made by some fifty boys, who, under the pretence of studying their lessons, kept up conversations, played at odd or even for marbles, or flicked peas at each other across the school.

"Old Reb wouldn't dare to hit him like that if the Doctor was here."

"Your father?" I said.

"No, no--old Swish! Doctor Browne."

_Flick-tip_.

A pea struck my companion on the ear, and dropped on the floor.

"All right, Burr," said my neighbour; "did that with a pea-shooter. I owe you one."

"I didn't do it!" I whispered eagerly.

"Of course you didn't. It was that long, thin boy yonder. His name's Burr too. He'll be Burr major now, and you'll be Burr junior."

"Oh!" I said, feeling much relieved.

"You'll have to lick him. Regular old bully. Your name's Frank, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"His name's Eliezer. We call him Eely, because he's such a lanky, thin, snaky chap. I say, his father's a tailor in Cork Street, he's got such lots of clothes in his box. He has a bob-tail coat and black kersey sit-upon-'ems, and a vesky with gla.s.s b.u.t.tons, and all covered with embroidery. Such a dandy!--What's your father?"

I did not answer for a few moments, and he looked at me sharply.

"Dead," I said in a low voice.

"Oh!" said my companion softly too. "I didn't know."

"He was shot--out in India--Chillianwallah," I said.--"Died of his wounds."

"Oh, I am sorry! I wish my father had been there."

"Why?"

"He'd have cured him. There's n.o.body like him for wounds. But, I say, Chillian what's its name?"

"Chillianwallah," I said.

"Why, what a game! That's where old Lomax was. I remember now."

"Is Lomax one of the boys," I asked wonderingly.

"Yah! no. You saw him last night, when you came in the fly. That big chap who lives at the lodge, and helped lift down your box. He had a shot through him, and nearly had his head cut off with a tully something. He'll tell you. He has a pension, and is our drill-master, and teaches boys riding."

This was interesting, and I felt a desire to know old Lomax.

"What's your mother?" said my companion, breaking in upon my musing.

"A lady," I said proudly.

"So's mine. She's the nicest and best and--" At that moment I heard a loud, deep-throated cough, which was followed by a shuffling and stamping, as I saw all the boys rise in their places.

"Get up--get up," whispered my neighbour. "The Doctor."

I rose in my place, and saw the tall, stout, clerical-looking gentleman I had seen when I reached Meade Place on the previous night, enter by the middle door, and look gravely and smilingly round.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "Good morning, Mr Rebble;" and then he marched solemnly to the pulpit on the dais, took his place, waved his hand, there was a repet.i.tion of the rustling and shuffling as the boys reseated themselves, and then the humming murmur of the school recommenced.