Dr. Jolliffe's Boys Part 2

"Yes, he ought to be hooded, you know. Hateful times we live in, don't we! How jolly it must have been when education meant learning to ride, fly a hawk, train a hound, shoot with the bow, and use the sword and buckler, instead of mugging at abominable lessons."

"Right you are, sir," said Mr Slam; "why, even when I was a lad a fight or a bit of c.o.c.king could be brought off without much trouble, but nowadays the beaks and perlice are that prying and interfering there's no chance hardly. And as for them times Mr Perry was speaking of, why, I've heard tell that the princes and all the n.o.bs used to go to see a prize-fight in a big building all comfortable, just as they goes now to a theayter. And every parish had to find a bull or a bear to be bated every Sunday. Ah! them was the good old times, them was."

Edwards did not find his cigar very nice. The smoke got down his throat and made him cough till his eyes watered, and the taste was not so pleasant as the smell. However, Saurin seemed to like it, so there must be some pleasure about it if he only persevered.

He laboured under a delusion here, for Saurin would rather not have smoked, as a matter of fact, though he had a great object in view, the colouring of his pipe, which supported him. His real motive in this, as in all other matters, was vanity. Other boys would admire him for smoking like a full-grown man, and so he smoked. He would never have done it alone, without anyone to see him, being too fond of himself to persevere in anything he did not like, out of whim, or for the sake of some possible future gratification, of the reality of which he was not very well a.s.sured.

"Did you ever play at quoits, Edwards?" asked Saurin presently.

"Yes, I have played at home; we have some."

"Suppose we have a game, then. Why, hulloa, how pale you look! don't smoke any more of that cigar."

"I do fee--feel a little queer," said Edwards, who certainly did not exaggerate his sensations. A cold sweat burst out on his forehead, his hands were moist and clammy, and though it was a warm evening he shivered from head to foot, while he had a violent pain in his stomach which prevented his standing upright.

"Come, man alive, don't give way. We must be getting back soon," said Saurin, who was rather dismayed at the idea of taking his friend to his tutor's in that condition, and the consequent risk of drawing suspicion on himself. "Would not a drop of brandy be a good thing, Slam?"

"Well, no, not in this here case," said Slam. "The missus shall mix him a little mustard and warm water; that's what he wants."

"You are sure it's only the cigar," groaned Edwards. "I am not poisoned or anything?"

"Poisoned! how can you be? You have taken nothing but the beer, and we have all drunk that. No, it's the tobacco; it always makes fellows rather seedy at first, and I expect you swallowed a lot of the smoke."

"I did."

"Well, then, drink this and you will be all right presently."

Edwards took the emetic, which had the effect peculiar to that description of beverage. It was not a pleasant one; indeed, he thought he was going to die; but after a while the worst symptoms pa.s.sed off, and he was able to walk home.

Saurin and Edwards lodged at the same tutors, and they went up to the room of the latter without attracting attention. Here Edwards, under the other's directions, washed his face, cleaned his teeth, changed his jacket and neck-tie, and put some scented pomatum on his hair, and then lay down on his bed till the supper-bell should ring.

"I shall not be able to eat," he remonstrated. "Do you think I need go down?"

"Oh, yes; come and have a try, or else it will excite suspicion. You would have to show at prayers directly afterwards, you know, so it will not make much difference. You have nothing to do with old Cookson between this and supper--no exercise or anything?"

"No, thank goodness!"

"That's all right. You have a good hour for a nap, and your head will be better then. I must go and sweeten myself now."

I regret to say that "old Cookson" was the shockingly disrespectful way in which this flagitious youth spoke of his reverend and learned tutor.

CHAPTER THREE.

TOM BULLER.

Weston College was a polishing-up establishment. Boys were not admitted under the age of fourteen, or unless they showed a certain proficiency in Greek and Latin, in the first book of Euclid, in arithmetic and algebra up to simple equations. And the entrance examination, mind you, was no farce. If a candidate was not well grounded they would not have him; and it was necessary to be particular, because the first or lowest form a.s.sumed a certain amount of knowledge in the commencement of that course which proposed to land the neophyte in the Indian Civil Service, the army, or a good scholarship at one of the universities.

Though fourteen was the age of possible admission, very few boys were qualified until they were at least a year older, and consequently there was no organised system of f.a.gging, and flogging was a very rare and extreme measure; but otherwise the system somewhat resembled that of the large public schools. The head-master and three other masters each had a house full of boarders, whose preparation of lessons on certain subjects he superintended; and every boy had a separate apartment, which was his study and bedroom.

It was an expensive school, and the discipline of Dr Jolliffe was more lax than many parents and guardians quite liked; and yet few of the boys who went there were rich. It was very rarely, that is, that one of them had not to make his own way in the world. And the number, which was limited, was always complete. For results speak for themselves, and the examination lists showed triumphant successes for Weston. It is true that if they only took boys of considerable proficiency, and got rid of all who made no progress, they might be expected to show a good average; but then, on the other hand, there was no cramming, and every encouragement was given to healthy athletic exercise. Three or four years were taken to do the work which is too often jammed into a few months. That was the secret; and, though of course there were failures, it answered well on the whole.

This is an explanatory digression, just to let you know what sort of stage our characters are acting upon.

It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and a half-holiday, and there was only one boy left in Dr Jolliffe's house. His name was Buller, and he was neither sick nor under punishment. His window was wide open, for it was very hot and stuffy in his little room, into which the sun poured, and on the other side of a lane which ran underneath was the cricket-field, from which the thud of b.a.l.l.s struck by the bat, voices, and laughter resounded in a way to tempt any fellow out of his hole. But there he stuck with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, forcing himself to concentrate his attention upon a book which lay open before him.

"Because _a divided by b_ equals _c divided by d_," he murmured, "the first quotients _m m_ are equal. Yes, I see that; again, since _a divided by b_ equals _m_ plus _x divided by b_, and _c divided by d_ equals _m_ plus _r divided by d_, hum, hum, why, in the name of all that's blue--oh, yes! I see. But then--oh, a thousand blisters on the idiot who invented this rot! But I won't be licked."

And he began again and again, sticking to it for another half-hour, when he suddenly cried out, "I have it! What a double-distilled a.s.s I am!

Of course it is simple enough. If _a divided by b_ equals _c divided by d_, and _a_ and _b_ be prime to each other, _c_ and _d_ are equimultiples of _a_ and _b_. Of course they are; how could they be anything else? The other fellows saw it at once, no doubt. What a lot of trouble it gives one to be a fool! Now, I'll go and practise bowling."

Buller was no fool; indeed he would not have thought himself one if he had been; but he was slow at everything--learning, games, accomplishments--though he had this compensation, no slight one either, that when he had once mastered a thing he had got it for ever. His school-fellows called him a duffer, but it did not vex him in the least, for he considered it a mere statement of a patent fact, and was no more offended than if they had said that he had two legs. But he had a strong belief that perseverance, _sticking_, he called it, could make up in a great measure for want of natural ability. The fable of the hare and tortoise had given him great encouragement, and, finding in practice that he pa.s.sed boys who had far more brilliant parts than himself, he never gave way to despair, however hopeless the task before him might seem.

His ambition--never expressed, however, to anyone--was to get into the eleven. Had it been known it would have been thought the very height of absurdity, and have become such a standing joke that its realisation would have been rendered well nigh impossible. It proved that Buller had sound sense that he was able to see this. He did not much expect to succeed, but he meant to try all he knew, ever since the day he was called "old b.u.t.ter-fingers" in a game in which he showed especial incapacity to catch the ball. He began by mastering that; whenever he could he got fellows to give him catches. He practised throwing the ball up in the air and catching it again. When he went home for the holidays he would carry a tennis-ball in his pocket, and take every opportunity of throwing it against a wall and taking it at the rebound with both hands, with the right hand, and with the left. At last he got quite dexterous--and sinistrous, too, for that matter.

But the mere fact of being able to manipulate the ball smartly, though it is of supreme importance in cricket, would never gain him admission into the eleven of his house, let alone that of the school. For that, as he well knew, he must cultivate a speciality, and he decided upon bowling. Wicket-keeping could only be practised in a regular game, and no side would agree to let him fill the post--it was not likely.

Batting everyone wanted to practise, and it would be very rarely that he would be able to get a good bowler to bowl for him. There was a professional, indeed, who was always in the cricket-fields during the season, but his services were generally in request, and, besides, they were expensive, and Tom Buller had not much pocket-money. But there was almost always some fellow who was glad to get b.a.l.l.s given to him, and, if not, you can set a stump up in front of a net and bowl at that.

To have worked all this out in his mind did not look like lack of intelligence or observation, and to act upon it steadily, without saying a word about it to anybody, showed considerable steadfastness and resolution. He now put his algebra and papers into his bureau, took out his cricket-ball and ran down-stairs and round to the fields. At first it seemed as if he would be obliged to have recourse to his solitary stump, for, it being the Sat.u.r.day half-holiday, there were two matches going on, and those present not taking part in them were playing lawn- tennis. But presently he espied Robarts, who had been in and out again in the game he was engaged in, and was now waiting for the innings of his side to be over, standing in front of a net, bat in hand, with two boys bowling to him.

"May I give you a ball, Robarts?" he asked.

"Of course you may, Buller; the more the merrier," was the reply; "only, if you are so wide as to miss the net, you must go after the ball yourself." And Robarts raised his bat, prepared for a good swipe if the ball came within reach, which he did not much expect.

Buller measured his distance, took a short run, and sent the ball in with the energy begotten of long mugging at algebra on a fine afternoon.

Every muscle in his body seemed to long for violent exertion; the pent- up strength in him, like steam, demanded an outlet, and, with his hand rather higher than the shoulder, he sent the ball in with a will.

"By Jove! that was straight enough, and a hot one too!" exclaimed Robarts, who had only just managed to block it. "It made my hands tingle."

The two others delivered their b.a.l.l.s, which were hit away right and left, and then Buller came again with another which had to be blocked.

The other bowlers who had been playing, and were going in again presently, were glad to stop and leave Buller to work away alone, which he did in a deliberate, determined manner, proving that his first attempts were not chance shots. Twice he sent the wickets down, and once, when the ball was driven back to him, he caught it with the left hand, high up.

"Well," said Robarts when he was called away to go and field, "and you are the fellow they called a duffer! Why, it is like magic! Were you playing dark last year, or what?"

"No; but I have been practising."

"You have practised to some purpose, then. If you could only vary your bowling a little more you would be very dangerous. You see, if you always send the same sort of ball, a fellow knows how to meet it after a bit."

Robarts as an all-round player was only reckoned inferior to Crawley, and his words of approval were very gratifying to Buller, who felt himself a step nearer one particular goal. He did not indulge in daydreams, however, not being of an imaginative disposition. The actual difficulty which he had to master at the time took up all his thoughts and energies, and the distant object to be attained, though never absolutely lost sight of, was never dwelt upon or brooded over.

He at once looked about for someone else to bowl for, and found his particular chum, Penryhn, who, after f.a.gging out through the heat of the day, had gone to the wicket with the sun in his eyes, and been clean bowled the first ball.

"Will you really bowl for me?" he said eagerly in reply to Buller's offer. "What a good fellow you are!"

"Why? for doing what I want? That is laying in a stock of good works cheap. You won't mind a few wides, I hope; Robarts says there is too great a sameness about my bowling, so I want to practise twisters and shooters. You won't mind if I bowl at your legs?"

"Not a bit; _ignis via_--fire away."