The Human Boy and the War Part 16

Well, this good and mysterious letter Tudor posted, and the very next morning, curiously enough, he entirely ceased to want to collect for the Drug Missionary. In fact, from that moment he fell back quite into his usual way of looking at things, and, by the next evening, actually said he was sorry he had given Dr. Dunston back his gla.s.ses. But he was sorrier still three days later, for then a very shattering event indeed happened to Tudor. The Doctor sent for him, and he went without the least fear, to find his anonymous letter lying on the Doctor's desk.

I heard the whole amazing story afterwards. The Doctor asked him first if he had written the letter, and, being taken utterly unawares and frightfully fluttered at the shock, almost before he knew what he was doing, you may say, Tudor confessed that he had.

Then the Doctor told him how vain it was for any boy to seek to deceive him. He said: "You see how swiftly your sin has found you out, Tudor."

And Tudor admitted it had. He was now, of course, prepared for the worst, yet, as he told me, his chief feeling at that moment was not so much terror as a frightful longing to know how the Doctor had spotted him. Of course, he couldn't dare to ask, so he merely admitted that his sin certainly had found him out quicker than he expected; and then, rather craftily, he said he was glad it had.

Well, the Doctor didn't believe this; but he was not in a particularly severe mood that evening, strange to say, and he told Tudor exactly what had happened. He said:

"It may interest you to know, misguided boy, that mentioning your anonymous letter to Mr. Brown, and informing him that I had found my lost gla.s.ses in the spot indicated, he evinced a kindly concern, and even a.s.sured me that he would probably have no great difficulty in discovering the culprit. In the brief s.p.a.ce of four-and-twenty hours he did so. Perceiving that the paper on which you wrote was obviously from a book of a certain folio, his first care was to ascertain, by comparisons of size, from what work it had come. Perceiving also that the paper was extraordinarily clean, he had no difficulty in concluding it was extracted from a new book. He then discovered that the page came from a Latin Delectus, and, on further inquiry, was able to learn that three copies of the work had recently been issued to members of the Lower Fourth. Pursuing his investigations, when the boys had retired to rest, he speedily marked down the mutilated volume in your desk, Tudor; and while I have already thanked him for his zeal and penetration, I feel little doubt that a time will come when, looking back on this dark page in your history, you will thank him also."

Well, Tudor didn't give his views about Brown, but he said the gla.s.ses had been very much on his mind, only he had not liked to return them without saying he was bitterly sorry. He told me afterwards that he was very nearly saying to Dr. Dunston that some boys would have returned the gla.s.ses without even an anonymous letter of regret; but fortunately he did not.

The Doctor then took him through the letter, and invited him to throw light upon it. He was chiefly interested in the part about revenge, and he forced Tudor to explain that the revenge was because Dr. Dunston had taken away his glazier's diamond. Dr. Dunston then said that incident was long ago closed, and that, in fact, after the pane of gla.s.s in his study had been taken out and a new one put in, he had dismissed the matter from his mind. He seemed much surprised that Tudor had not dismissed the matter from his mind also, and he told him that the revengeful spirit always came to grief in the long run. He then wound up by saying:

"You sign yourself 'The Unknown,' wretched boy, but let this be a lesson to you that henceforth you are neither unknown to your head master or your G.o.d. For the rest, since you have the grace, in this penitential though patronizing communication, to express sincere regret at your conduct, and also to record the fact that you are my 'Well-wisher,'

though that is not at all the sort of expression suitable from a Fourth Form scholar to his head master--since, I say, I find these signs of grace, I shall not inflict the extreme penalty on this occasion. For the moment I have not determined on my next step, and will thank you to wait upon me this time to-morrow. Now you may go."

And Tudor said:

"Thank you very much, sir," and went.

He was a great deal cast down, and admitted, for once, I was right. But though his feeling for the Doctor was now, on the whole, one of patience and thankfulness, his feeling for Brown was very different, and when the wretched Brown grinned at Tudor, and rotted him in cla.s.s, and told the whole story of how he had played the beastly sleuth-hound on Tudor, and started calling him "The Unknown," Tudor took it with dignified silence, and from that instant started to plan the greatest revenge of his life.

He told me that it might not be at Merivale he would be revenged, but in the world at large, and if it was not until Brown had grown old and bald-headed, the end was bound to be just the same, and the rest of Brown's life, however long it might last, would undoubtedly be ruined by Tudor. And he also said that he was jolly glad the missionary feeling had left him, so that not a shadow of remorse might come between him and Brown when "The Day" arrived.

Well, there was only one thing more rather interesting about Tudor's revenge on the Doctor, and that was Dr. Dunston's revenge on Tudor.

Tudor went to him again at the appointed time, and, after a lot of jaw, the Doctor told Tudor that he must now write out the complete article on "Optics," in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, including all the algebra and everything. There were exactly ten huge pages of this deadly stuff, and Tudor was fairly frantic at first; but curious to relate, after he had done one page, he found it quite interesting in its way. Then it got more and more interesting, as it went on, and Tudor finally decided that there was no doubt, with his strong feeling for the science of optics, that he ought to take it up as a profession.

I asked him if he should take up microscopes or telescopes, and he said telescopes certainly, because that meant astronomy, and in time you might rise to be Astronomer Royal of Greenwich, which was something.

I said:

"It is a great thing to know the stars and comets by their names."

And he said:

"Yes, Pratt, and another great advantage of astronomy is that you may be out all night whenever you choose, and n.o.body can say a word against you."

So the extraordinary event came about that what Dr. Dunston intended as a stiff imposition and sharp punishment on Tudor, really worked in a very different manner, and instead of crushing Tudor and grinding him under the heel of Dr. Dunston, so to speak, only put into Tudor the splendid idea of mastering the heavens, and then, some day, getting the perfect freedom by night of an Astronomer Royal of Greenwich.

THE "TURBOT'S" AUNT

Of course, he was not really called "Turbot"; but just after he came to Merivale, some a.s.s in the Fifth started the silly rag of calling everybody after a fish, and pretty well every fish known to science was rung in. In fact, they just about went round. Sometimes the likeness was fairly clear and the simile was good. For instance, being head of the school, I was called "Salmon," which is the king of fish; and as I am underhung and have rather fierce eyes, there was a certain fitness in calling me "Salmon." But after I had decided that Abbott could not have his colours for "footer," being lame, there was a feeling against me among Abbott's friends, and Tracey called me "Tinned Salmon," which was merely silly and not in the least amusing. Nor was it amusing to call Maybrick "Sardine" because he kept tins of this fish in his desk; but "John Dory" was all right for Nicholas, that being the ugliest fish in the sea, and Nicholas the ugliest chap at Merivale. "Porpoise" was true for Preston, who inclines to great fatness, and blows after exertion in a very porpoise-like way; but to call Briggs "Herring" because he was a "doter on a bloater," as Tracey said, and to call Tracey himself a "Torpedo Ray" because he was always trying to give shocks, was footling without being funny. On the other hand, it was neat to call Pratt "Cuttlefish," because he was always inky to the elbows; and as far as Bradwell was concerned, the nickname of "Turbot" suited him very well, owing to his eyes, which always goggled if a master spoke to him, and also owing to his mouth, which was all lips and rather one-sided when he laughed.

Kids, of course, have a poor sense of what is really funny, owing to their general ignorance. Yet they prefer their own feeble jokes to ours.

A joke that the Sixth sees in a moment is utterly lost on them, while utter piffle, that no sane person would smile at, makes them scream.

We, for instance, called Mitch.e.l.l "Shark" because of his well-known habits over money, but this did not amuse the kids in the least; while they called Forbes minimus "Whale" because he was the smallest boy in the school; which naturally could not cause anybody but an idiot the least amus.e.m.e.nt.

Well, Bradwell was far from interesting from a mental point of view, having, as our master, Mr. Fortescue, said, apparently outgrown his brains. He was just at his seventeenth birthday when these remarkable events happened; but at first glance, and, in fact, until you talked to him, you would at once have said he was grown up. He was in the Lower Fifth, and it really looked as though a master was in the Lower Fifth rather than a pupil. And he was only there because it would have been a burlesque to put him any lower, though in strict justice, as far as his knowledge was concerned, he would have been in his right place in the Upper Third. But he had to stop in the Lower Fifth, and even there was an absurd sight, being six feet high and very large in every way, and having a distinct moustache, which, owing to its being black, could not be hidden. What a scissors could do he did; but it was there, and grew by night, and could not be concealed. He was a very finely made chap, and had magnificent muscles; but such was his awkwardness and stupidity that he couldn't even use these muscles properly, and he was no earthly good even in the gym. At games he failed utterly, though he tried hard; but he was too slow even for a full-back at "footer," and couldn't get down quick enough for a "goaley"; in fact, rapid movement seemed utterly beyond his power. At cricket he was also an object of utter scorn, for despite his hands, which were huge, he couldn't hold the simplest catch; and despite his reach, which was that of a six-foot chap, he had not the humblest idea of timing a ball, or the vaguest notion of how to play a stroke. In fact, such was his unworthiness that he could only have played in the third eleven, and as that was naturally composed of kids of eleven and twelve, it would have been an outrage to see him in it.

Bradwell meant well, but he was rather barred, not from dislike, but simply because he had, as it were, grown up before his time, and had a kid's mind in a man's body. In fact, he fell between two stools, in a manner of speaking, because, to the Sixth and the masters, he was a thing of nought, while to those who had a mind like his own, he was grown up and no use in any way.

I was the only one at Merivale who understood his weird case, and when he first came, I let him f.a.g for me; but he was awful as a f.a.g, and such was his over-anxiety to please and shine that he never did either. I had, in fact, to chuck him. At sixteen years and eleven months of age he led rather a lonely life; but when the War broke out, he said he was very interested in it, and asked me sometimes if I would be so good as to explain military matters to him. Which I did in the simplest words possible, as anything like regular military terms would have been far beyond him. On hearing that aeroplanes have great difficulty in descending by night, he invented a scheme of stretching strong nets with a big mesh on poles ten feet above the ground, spread over half a mile of landing-place, to catch them. This showed mind in a way; but he never appeared to have any real martial instinct, and when once a girl in Merivale handed him a white feather, he stopped and took off his hat and said:

"I quite understand what you mean, but I shan't be seventeen for a fortnight yet."

This the girl naturally refused to believe, and the "Turbot" came to me and complained about it.

As a matter of fact, I rather backed up the girl--not for giving "Turbot" a white feather, which is a vulgar and silly thing to give anybody, because you never know, as the great case of Fortescue showed--but because she didn't believe "Turbot" when he said he was only just about to be seventeen. To look at him, he might easily have been married, which shows appearances are very deceptive. But, anyway, I said:

"You can't blame a flapper for thinking you are of age to join the Army, Bradwell. Anybody would think so, and lots of younger-looking chaps than you have said they were eighteen, and been pa.s.sed without a murmur, though their birth certificates would have given them away. But anybody six feet high and with a clearly visible black moustache, and with your muscles, would pa.s.s the authorities, and you may bet that many have."

He merely goggled, and said no doubt I was right.

I must tell you that "Turbot" had no father or mother, and, in fact, n.o.body but a single, oldish aunt who lived at Plymouth. But he had a guardian, who sent him to Merivale when his family unfortunately died; and at first he stopped at Merivale in the holidays. But once the aunt took him for a fortnight at Easter; and she appeared to like him, for, after that, he always went to her. The guardian did not, however, like "Turbot," and "Turbot" would have been quite content to stop at Merivale in the holidays, rather than spend his time with the guardian, who had no friendly feeling for him. In fact, you may say that "Turbot" was a duty rather than a pleasure to the guardian.

Then, at the beginning of the autumn term, in the first year of the War, "Turbot's" aunt wrote to Dr. Dunston and asked if "Turbot" might spend Sat.u.r.day till Monday with her, because it was going to be his birthday; and the Doctor gave permission.

So "Turbot" went, and naturally was not missed in any way till Monday morning. Then at roll-call before chapel, the "Turbot's" well-known bleat was not heard, and it was soon perceived that he'd done something very much out of the common.

Nothing had been heard from his aunt, apparently, and so a telegram was dispatched to her, and, as no reply came to it, Dr. Dunston began to worry. He then sent off a telegram to the guardian, and the excitement decidedly thickened. After dinner the Doctor sent for me, as head boy, and told me that the guardian had heard nothing whatever about "Turbot."

"I may tell you, Travers," he said, "though there is no reason to repeat it, that Bradwell is not _persona grata_ with the gentleman who stands to him _in loco parentis_. That is unfortunate for Bradwell, because he may lack friends in the future, being a boy without any mental ability, or that charm and power to please we occasionally find in the stupid lad. His guardian, however, evinces no uneasiness at the disappearance of Bradwell, and my knowledge of human nature inclines me to doubt if the individual in question will much care whether Bradwell returns or does not. I speak, of course, in confidence. But he is a busy man, and has a large family of his own, with its concomitant anxieties. He sends his own boys to Harrow, and it is not for us to judge his motives in so doing, or whether they are guided by disinterested desire for the future welfare of an obscure attorney's sons, or influenced by that spirit of sn.o.bbishness from which few Englishmen are entirely free.

"Now, I shall ask you this afternoon, Travers, to undertake a little mission which I can safely trust to you. We are, as you know, very short-handed, and to spare a master is almost impossible. I will therefore invite you to go as far as Plymouth, call at No. 10 Mutley Plain Villas, and ask to see Miss Mason, the maternal aunt of Bradwell, and his sole surviving relative. It is a somewhat delicate duty, and you must regard it as a compliment that I seek your aid. Here is half a crown for your return railway fare. You will alight at Mutley Station, and should catch the five-thirty train back to Merivale. The lady has not responded to my telegram, hence my desire, before putting the matter in the hands of the police, to learn all she may be able to tell us.

Present my card, and she will see you at once if at home. If not, wait until she returns."

It was rather a responsible thing, and a great compliment to me. So I went, first putting on my best clothes and a new pair of gloves.

Arrived at Plymouth, I got out at Mutley, and easily found Mutley Plain Villas, which were only a quarter of a mile from the railway. The house was small, but very neat in appearance, and the door-knocker, which was of highly polished bra.s.s, gave a loud tapping sound into the hall.

There was no sign of the "Turbot."

A servant of considerable age answered my knock, and when I asked her if Miss Mason was at home, she replied that she was. She told me to walk in, which I did. I then gave her Dr. Dunston's card, and was shown into a neat drawing-room, which had a piano in it, and a pile of khaki wool on a sofa. There was also an ill.u.s.trated newspaper in the room, and I sat down on a chair and read the ill.u.s.trated newspaper until Miss Mason arrived.

Presently she came, and proved younger than her servant, though still not in reality young. She was unlike Bradwell in every way. Even her eyes did not resemble his, being black and small--you might say beady--and her mouth had thin lips, which revealed l.u.s.trous teeth, which might have been false ones, though, on the other hand, they might not.

"Curiously enough," she said, "I was just writing a letter to Dr.

Dunston when you arrived. Now I can send a message by you instead. Are you his son?"

"No, Miss Mason," I answered. "I am Travers, the head boy at Merivale School."

"How interesting!" she said. "And what are you going to do in the world, Travers?"

"I leave next term--this is my last term, in fact--and I am then going to try for Woolwich," I said.