The Master of the Shell Part 30

"Later the better," put in Arthur, with a wink.

"I don't envy the feelings of the culprit, whoever he is; for he is a coward as well as a liar."

"No, more do I, Perhaps you're too down on him, though. Never mind, he's safe enough, for you and me."

"You have an odd way of talking, Arthur, which doesn't do you justice.

As I said, you have more than once made me wonder whether you were not keeping back something about this wretched affair which I ought to know."

"Honour bright, I know a jolly lot less about it than you; so you really needn't be afraid of me; and Dig's safe too. Safe as a door-nail."

Railsford was able to write home on the following Sunday that Arthur had quite recovered his appet.i.te, and that the "low" symptoms to which Dig had darkly referred had vanished altogether. Indeed, Arthur on this occasion developed that most happy of all accomplishments, the power of utterly forgetting that he had done or said anything either strange in itself or offensive to others. He was hail-fellow-well-met with the boys he had lately kicked and made miserable; he did not know what you were talking about when you reminded him that a day or two ago he had behaved like a cad to you; and, greatest exploit of all, he had the effrontery to charge Dig with being "spoons" on Violet, and to hold him up to general ridicule in consequence!

"How much have you really got for the testimonial?" said Dig one morning.

"Eleven and six," said Arthur dismally; "not a great lot, but enough for a silver ring."

"Not with Daisy's name on it."

"No, we'll have to drop that, unless we can scratch it on."

"We'll have a try. When shall we give it?"

"To-morrow's Rag Sunday, isn't it? Let's give it him to-night--after tea. I'll write out a list of the chaps, and you can get up an address, unless Felgate will come and give him a speech."

"Think he will? All serene. We'll give the fellows the tip, and do the thing in style. Hadn't you better cut and get the ring, I say?"

Arthur cut, armed with an _exeat_, and made the momentous purchase. The fancy stationer of whom he bought the ring a.s.sured him it was solid silver, and worth a good deal more than the 10 shillings 6 pence he asked. The other shilling Arthur invested in a box wherein to put it, and returned to school very well satisfied with his bargain. He and Dig spent an anxious hour trying to scratch the letters with a pin on the inner surface; and to Arthur belonged the credit of the delicate suggestion that instead of writing the term of endearment in vulgar English they should engrave it in Cla.s.sic Greek, thus: _chuki_. The result was on the whole satisfactory; and when the list of contributors was emblazoned on a sheet of school paper, and Sir Digby Oakshott's address (for Felgate declined the invitation to make a speech) had been finally revised and corrected, the prospects of the ceremonial seemed very encouraging.

Arthur and Dig, once more completely reconciled, went through the farce of house tea that evening in the common room with considerable trepidation. They had a big job on hand, in which they were to be the princ.i.p.al actors, and when the critical time comes at last, we all know how devoutly we wish it had forgotten us! But everything had been carefully arranged, and everyone had been told what to expect. It was therefore impossible to back out, and highly desirable, as they _were_ in for it, to do it in good style.

As the clock pointed to the fatal hour, Dig sharply rattled his spoon against the side of his empty cup. At the expected signal, about a dozen boys, the contributors to the testimonial, rose to their feet, and turned their eyes on Arthur. Railsford, at the head of the table, mistook the demonstration for a lapse of good manners, and was about to reprimand the offenders, when by a concerted movement the deputation stepped over their forms and advanced on the master in a compact phalanx. Arthur and Dig, both a little pale and dry about the lips, marched at their head. "What is all this?" inquired Railsford. Arthur and Dig replied by a rather ceremonious bow, in which the deputation followed them; and then the latter carefully cleared his throat.

"We, the undersigned, boys in your house," he began, reading from the paper before him in a somewhat breathless way, "beg to present you with a small token of our esteem--[Go on, hand it up, Arthur], and hope you will like it, and that it will fit, and trust that the name graven within will suggest pleasant memories in which we all join. The letters are in the Greek character. We hope we shall all enjoy our holidays, and come back better in mind and body. You may rely on us to back you up, and to keep dark things you would not like to have mentioned.-- Signed, with kind regards, Daisy Herapath (a most particular friend), J.

Felgate (prefect), Arthur Herapath (treasurer), Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet (secretary), Bateson and Jukes (Babies), Maple, Simson, Tilbury, and Dimsdale (Sh.e.l.l), Munger (Fifth), Snape (Baby in Bickers's house)."

It spoke a good deal for Mark Railsford that under the first shock of this startling interview, he did not bowl over the whole deputation like so many ninepins and explode before the a.s.sembled house. As it was he was too much taken aback to realise the position for a minute or so; and by that time the baronet's address was half read. He grimly waited for the end of it, studiously ignoring the box which Arthur held out, opened, to fascinate him with its charms.

When the reading was done, he wheeled round abruptly in his chair, in a manner which made the deputation stagger back a pace; and said--

"You mean it kindly, no doubt; but I don't want a present and can't take one. It was foolish of you to think of such a thing. Don't let it occur again. I'm vexed with you, and shall have to speak to some of you privately about it. Go to your rooms."

"What's to become of the ring!" said Dig disconsolately, as he and Arthur sat and cooled themselves in their study. "Mr Trinket won't take it back. He'd no business to cut up rough like that."

"Fact is," replied Arthur, "Marky's got to draw the line somewhere. He knows he's in a jolly row about that business, you know, and he doesn't want a testimonial for it. I don't blame him. I'll get Daisy to buy the ring in the holidays, and we can have the fellows to a blow-out next term with the money."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE SECRET OUT.

"If you please, sir, would you mind coming to see one of the young gentlemen in our house before you start? He don't seem himself."

The speaker was Mrs Phillips, the dame of Bickers's house, and the individual she addressed was Mark Railsford, who, with his portmanteau on the steps beside him, was impatiently awaiting the cab which should take him from Grandcourt for the Easter holidays. The place was as empty and deserted as on that well-remembered day when he came down-- could it be only the beginning of this present term?--to enter upon his new duties at the school. The boys, as was their wont, had almost without exception left by the eight o'clock train, Arthur and Dig being among the foremost. The few who had remained to finish their packing had followed by the ten o'clock. The doctor and his niece had left for town last night; the other masters had made an early start that morning; and Railsford, junior master, and consequently officer of the guard for the day, imagined himself, as he stood there with his portmanteau about two o'clock, the "last of the Mohicans."

"Who is it?" he said, as the cab rumbled through the gateway.

"It's Mr Brans...o...b.., sir. He overslep' hisself, as the way of speaking is, and as there was no call-over, and all the young gentlemen were in a rush, n.o.body noticed it. But when I went to make the beds, I finds him still in 'is, and don't like the looks of 'im. Anyhow, sir, if you'd come and take a look at him--"

Railsford looked up at the school clock. He could catch the 2.30 train if he left in five minutes. If he lost that train he would have to wait till six. He told the cabman to put the portmanteau on the top, and wait for him at the door of Bickers's house, and then walked after Mrs Phillips, rather impatiently.

He had never set foot in Mr Bickers's house before, and experienced a curious sensation as he crossed the threshold of his enemy's citadel.

Suppose Mr Bickers should return and find him there--what a pretty situation!

"Up-stairs, sir, this way," said Mrs Phillips, leading him up to the prefects' cubicles. She opened the door at the end, and ushered him into the house-captain's study.

On his low narrow camp bed lay Brans...o...b.., flushed, with eyes closed, tossing and moaning, and now and then talking to himself, Railsford started as his eyes fell on him.

"He's ill!" he whispered to Mrs Phillips.

"That's what I thought," observed the sagacious dame.

Railsford knew little enough about medicine, and had never been ill himself in his life. But as he lifted the hot hand which lay on the coverlet, and marked the dry parched lips, and listened to the laboured breathing, he knew that he was in the presence of a grave illness of some kind.

"Go and fetch Dr Clarke at once, Mrs Phillips," said he, "and tell the cabman on your way down not to wait."

Brans...o...b.. opened his eyes and clutched greedily at the tumbler Railsford offered. But his throat was too sore to allow him to drain it, and he gave it back with a moan. Then he dozed off fitfully, and recommenced his tossing.

"Where are they all?" he asked, again opening his eyes.

He scarcely seemed to take in who Railsford was.

"They went by the ten o'clock train," said Railsford.

"Why didn't they call me? Where's Clipstone?"

"You weren't very well. You had better lie quiet a little," said Railsford.

The invalid made no attempt to get up, but lay back on the pillow and moaned.

"Open the window," said he, "the room's so hot."

Railsford made believe to obey him, and waited anxiously for the doctor.

It seemed as if he would never arrive.

It was a strange position for the Master of the Sh.e.l.l, here at the bedside of the captain of his rival's house, the only occupant with him of the great deserted school. He had reckoned on spending a very different day. He was to have seen Daisy once more that afternoon, and the foolish young couple had been actually counting the minutes till the happy meeting came round. By this time he would have been in the train whizzing towards her, with all the troubles of the term behind him, and all the solaces of the vacation ahead. To-morrow, moreover, was the day of the University Boat-Race, and he, an old "Blue," had in his pocket at that moment a ticket for the steamer which was to follow the race. He was to have met scores of friends and fought again scores of old battles, and to have dined with the crews in the evening!

What was to become of all these plans now? He was absolutely a prisoner at this poor fellow's bedside. He did not know his address at home, or where to send for help. Besides, even if he could discover it, it would be twenty-four hours at least before he could hand over his charge into other hands.