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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Seven.</h3> <h4>Trial by Jury.</h4> Fisher minor’s hopes rose high within him as he stalked his debtor across the School Green. Three times already he had encountered him, but fate had stepped in to prevent the collection of his dues. Now— He had arrived at this stage when a voice at his side sent a cold shiver down his back. “Hullo, kid, got you at last, then? That’s what you call waiting where I left you, do you?” “I didn’t promise to wait,” said Fisher. “You told me to.” “It’s the same thing. Now you’ll come along with me, my beauty.” Had Fisher minor been anything but a raw hand, it might have occurred to him that it would take Percy Wheatfield all his time to convey a boy his, Fisher’s, size against his will into Forder’s house. But such is the force of innocence on one side, and authority on the other, that the new boy laid down his arms, and followed his captor meekly into the enemy’s citadel. Just as they were entering, a posse of the enemy appeared on the scene, consisting, among other supporters of the Modern cause, of Ramshaw, Cottle, Lickford, and Cash. “Here’s a game, Rammy,” cried Percy. “Got him at last! This is the villain, this is the murdering, highway forger. Come on, you kid; you’re in for it.” It did occur to Fisher minor at this juncture that a change of air might be refreshing. But it was too late now. The enemy had him fast. There was no getting out of the “warm weather” which had been promised him. “Come on—we’ll have a regular Old Bailey of it,” cried Percy. “Go and tell the fellows, and collar some witnesses, do you hear; and tell the hangman he’ll be wanted in half an hour.” This promise of judicial dispatch was not consoling to the prisoner, who had grave doubts as to the impartiality of the tribunal before which he was to be arraigned. He wondered if Ashby, or D’Arcy, or any of his friends would appear among the witnesses. The trial took place in the room jointly owned by Percy, Ramshaw, Cottle, and Lickford. A chair was planted on the bed for the accommodation of the judge. The fender was brought out in front of the chest of drawers for a witness-box; while Rix minimus, who officiated as jury, sat on a footstool on the table. As for the prisoner, a dock was provided for him in the form of a wash-stand, out of which the basin had been removed to make room for his uneasy person in the vacant hole. “Now, you chaps,” said Percy, who had naturally appointed himself, in addition to his other offices, “usher of the court”, “no larks. Shut up. This is a big job. This young cad cheated at Elections.” Here the door opened, and Dangle looked in. “What on earth is all this row?” he said. “A trial. I say, Dangle, will you be judge? It’s a Classic kid that cheated at Elections.” “No, really, I didn’t,” said Fisher, painfully aware that so far, the trial was going against him. Dangle, who fancied something might come of this, was condescending enough to say he didn’t mind playing at judge, if they liked. Whereat, amid cheers, he was voted to the chair on the bed, where he sat rather precariously, and ordered silence in the court. “Who is the prisoner?” “Go on, kid, tell ’em your name,” said Percy, encouragingly. “Fisher minor—really I didn’t do anything,” said the prisoner. “What’s the charge?” said the judge. “You see, it’s this way,” said Percy, forgetting to go inside the fender—“Bam, and Cot, and Lick and I were having a ripping eight-handed mill in here the other day—” The prisoner thought over all his crimes, and could recall nothing that was even remotely connected with an eight-handed mill. “Cot and Lick had got gloves with no horse-hair in them, you know, so they lammed it pretty hard; but Ram and I were just scrunching them up—” “Crams! You never got near us. My nose wasn’t hit once,” said Cottle. “No; but we had you in the ribs.” “Under the belt,” ejaculated Lickford. “No, it wasn’t—I say, Dangle,” said the witness, “it was just on his waistcoat pocket, and he says that’s below the belt. If he likes to wear his belt round his neck, of course he gets hit under.” “And if you wear yours round your ankle, there’s not much room for your bread-basket,” retorted Cottle. “And where does Fisher minor come in?” asked the judge; “was he in the middle of the mill?” “No. You see, we were just in the middle of it, and these jolly cheats were beginning to cave in—” “Ho, ho!—It would take a lot more than you to make us—” “Order in the court—go on, Wheatfield.” “There you are—shut up, you chaps—beginning to cave in, when Clapperton yelled for me, and I had to go.” “Lucky job for you,” growled Cottle. “You wouldn’t have been able to go at all five minutes later.” Whereupon Percy appealed to the court to keep order. “Fire away,” said the judge, “that’s nothing to do with the prisoner.” “Oh, hasn’t it!—You see, Clapperton wanted me to take a letter to Yorke. It must have been a screamer, for Yorke yelled when he read it. I wanted him to let me finish our mill first, but—” “Who, Yorke?” “No, Clapperton. If there’d been time for another round—” “Now, then, don’t let’s have any more of that mill,” said the judge. “That’s just what they felt at the time, wasn’t it, Lick?” ejaculated Cottle. “Did we?—wait till you see, my beauty,” said the witness. “I wish you wouldn’t interrupt. Oh, so I had to go, and this kid came and caught me a jolly crack in the stomach.” “Which side of your belt?” inquired Lickford. “The side you’ll get it hot, my boy, next time I catch you,” retorted Percy. “That’ll be under, you bet,” said Lickford. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said the prisoner, who began to hope that the charge against him was to prove much less serious than he had at first feared, “I apologise.” “Shut up, don’t talk to me—talk to the jury.” As the jury at this moment was struggling manfully to protect his hassock from the depredations of Cash, who was anxious to investigate its interior, it was not much use addressing him; so Fisher subsided, and wished the hole of Percy’s wash-stand had been at least so much easier in diameter as to allow him room to sigh. “Fire away,” said the judge, “we shall be all night at this.” “Well, you see,” continued Percy, “it’s this way. I’ve got a brother, you know, called Wally, a seedy Classic chap, and up to no end of low tricks.” “We know him,” echoed the court generally. “Not got such a rummy-shaped waist as his brother, though,” whispered Cottle. “All right, young Cottle, I’ll take it out of you, you’ll see.” “What’ll you take! I keep mine outside,” replied Cottle. “Order in the court. Forge away, Wheatfield.” “I should like to know how I’m to forge away, with these two asses fooling about down here? Why can’t you raise them to the bench to keep them quiet? Oh yes—well, you see, this kid, being new, and green, and about as high old an idiot as they make them—did you fellows see him on first-night? I say! oh my—” “Look here, Wheatfield,” said the judge, sternly, “if you aren’t done in three minutes, I’ll call the next witness.” “He wouldn’t know anything about it, bless you,” said Percy. “You see, it was like this—this kid thought I was Wally—what do you think of that?” “Cheek. Jolly rough on Wally,” remarked Cash. The witness looked at the interrupter, and tried to make out whether his remark was a compliment or the reverse. He decided that, as he had only three minutes left, he had better defer thinking the question out till afterwards. “So, of course, he began to swagger about his big brother—” “No, you asked me—” began the prisoner. “Shut up,” cried Percy, sternly, “how am I to get done in three minutes if—” “Only two left now,” said Ramshaw. “Go on, Ram, I’ve not been a minute yet.” “Yes, you have—sixty-five seconds,” said Ramshaw, who held his watch in his hand. “I never did believe in those Waterbury turnips, they always stop when you—oh yes!—swaggered about his big brother and all those fellows over there, and blabbed out there’d been a regular plant among ’em to rig the Elections, and he and a lot of ’em had been out canvassing and bagged a lot of our kids and locked them out, and if it hadn’t been for that, Brinkman would have pulled off the treasurership, and if it hadn’t been for me getting wind of it, and going and fetching them out and bringing them into Hall in the nick of time, Ranger would have got the secretaryship, and our side would have been jolly well out of it, and I mean to say it’s a howling swindle—and—hope—there’ll—be—a—jolly—good—row kicked—up—and—you—needn’t—say—I—let—out—about it—because—Wally—asked—me—to—keep—it—mum—and I—said—” “Time’s up,” said Ramshaw. “No side?” Whereupon the witness stopped short triumphantly, like an athlete who has just won his race by a neck. “Come,” said the judge, “this is getting interesting. Who’s the next witness? Are any of our fellows who were collared here?” “Rather—young Rix is one.” “Please, Dangle,” said the prisoner, “I didn’t touch anybody. I was—that is—” “Don’t tell crams,” said Percy, “it’s a bad habit.” “Rix had better go into the witness-box,” said the judge. “What about the jury?” asked that functionary. “Oh, I’d keep the place warm,” volunteered Percy. Whereupon Rix quitted his hassock, and entered the fender. “I and Slingsby got nailed by a Classic cad outside our form door. I kicked him on the shins, though,” said he. “What Classic cad!” “Oh, I don’t know; a new kid with sandy hair, a horrid lout. It was Wally’s room we were taken to, and they fooled us about high tea and that sort of thing. The place was swarming with our chaps who had been collared.” “How many?” asked the judge. “Fifty?” “Not quite so many; there were four or five.” “Next witness.” Another of the captives gave similar evidence. After which, Lickford deposed that he had seen the troop come in to Elections just in time to vote for Dangle. “Yes; and who tried to keep us out, I’d like to know?” said Percy. “There you are, it was you!” “I thought you were on the other side.” “Did you? I’m very glad Wally gave you a welting for it. I wish he’d do it again.” “He hits above the belt, that’s how I know him from you,” retorted Lickford. “Order—what’s the prisoner got to say!” “Crams,” said Percy, “it’s no use asking him.” “Wait a bit,” said the judge. “Fisher minor, how many of our chaps did you collar?” “None, really,” said the prisoner. “I waited by the gymnasium.” “Oh. What for?” “Well, I was canvassing.” “What did you wait at the gymnasium for?” This was awkward. Fisher minor found himself getting into a tight corner, tighter even than the wash-stand. “I was told to.” “Who by? your brother, I suppose.” “Oh no. My brother wouldn’t do such a thing.” “What sort of thing?” “Why, try to collar fellows off the other side.” “Oh, that was your little game, was it? Whose idea was it? Yorke’s?” “Oh no. It was D’Arcy spoke to me.” “Oh, D’Arcy. And who spoke to him? Whose fag is he?” “Ridgway’s.” “And what did Ridgway tell him?” “I don’t think Ridgway told him anything. The only one I heard speak to him was Wally.” “Wretched young sneak!” said Percy. “I’ll let Wally know that.” “Wally, he’s Yorke’s fag. Who else was there?” “Only me and Ashby.” “Who does Ashby fag for?” “My brother, Fisher major.” “I thought you said just now your brother wasn’t in it. You’d better be careful, youngster.” For the life of him, Fisher minor, in his bewildered state, could not make out how Ridgway, and Yorke, and Fisher major all seemed to have got mixed up in the affair. “You mean to say,” said the judge, “you don’t know what the orders to the fags were?” “No, really—I only heard of it from D’Arcy.” “Your brother never said anything to you direct!” “Oh no.” “Has he said anything since?” “Oh no; that is, he only said it was a pity Ranger got beaten.” “Did he say how it happened?” “He said if the five Modern chaps hadn’t turned up at the last moment, he’d have won.” “Was he angry about it?” “He was rather in a wax.” “Did he tell you you were an ass?” “Not that time.” “Another time?” “Yes, once or twice.” “’Cute chap, your brother,” said Percy, aside. “Shut up, Wheatfield. Now tell me this, young Fisher major,” said Dangle, with an air of importance which intimidated the prisoner; “what was it your brother said about the election?” “It wasn’t to me, it was to Ranger, my senior. He said it was a regular sell, and he’d have given a lot to see you beaten, because he knew you couldn’t play fair at anything, even if you tried.” Some of the court were rude enough to laugh at this very candid confession; but the judge himself failed to see any humour in it. “Oh, that’s what he said? And yet you mean to tell me, after that, that your brother had nothing to do with trying to get Ranger elected instead of me?” “I suppose he had; but I’m sure he didn’t mean to do anything fishy, any more than I did. I thought it was only a joke.” “You’ve a nice notion of a joke. That’ll do, you can cut.” “What!” exclaimed Percy, aghast, “aren’t you going to hang him?” “No, I must go. You can finish the trial yourselves.” As soon as the judge had quitted the bench, Percy mounted it, and proceeded to sum up. “You’re a nice article, you are,” said he, addressing the prisoner—“what do you mean by sneaking on my young brother, Wally, eh? You’ll get it hot for that, I can tell you. You’re to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; then you’re to be kicked all round our side; then you’re to be ducked in the river; then you’re to kneel down and lick every chap’s boots; then you’re to be executed; then you’re to be burnt alive; then you’re to write out fifty Greek verbs; then you’re— Hallo, who’s there? Come in! what do you want?” This abrupt curtailment of the prisoner’s doom was occasioned by a modest tap at the door; probably some belated witness come to add his evidence to the rest, “Come in, can’t you?” repeated Percy. Whereupon the door opened with a swing, and in rushed Wally, D’Arcy, Ashby, and three or four other Classic fags. How they had got wind of the capture of their man it would be hard to say; but now they had come to fetch him. The only thing visible in Percy’s room for several minutes was dust—out of which proceeded yells, and howls, and recriminations which would have done credit to Pandemonium. As the cloud rolled by, the Classics might be seen in a firm phalanx, with their man in the middle, backing on to the door. Signs of carnage lay all around. Lickford was struggling, head downward, in the wash-stand. Cash was leaning up in a corner, with his hand modestly placed over his nose. Ramshaw and Cottle were engaged in deadly strife on the floor, each under the fond delusion that the other was a Classic; while the twin brothers, armed with the better pair of boxing-gloves, were having a friendly spar in the middle. It was a victory all along the line for the invaders, and when, a moment afterwards, they stampeded in a body, and marched with shouts of victory down the passage, carrying the late prisoner among them, there was no mistake about the ignominious defeat of the besieged garrison. That evening Fisher major received a polite note from his colleague, the secretary. “Dear Fisher,—It is only right to tell you, that we have discovered that five of our fellows were prevented from voting at Elections by boys of your side, apparently acting under orders from their seniors. We don’t profess to know who were at the bottom of it, but it is a fact that the election for treasurer would have gone differently but for this very shady trick. Clapperton and most of us are not disposed to claim a new election, now everything is settled, and you have already got in most of the subscriptions. But it makes us think that even the virtuous Classics at Fellsgarth are not absolutely perfect even yet—which is a pity. “Yours truly,— “R. Dangle.” This pleasant letter, Fisher major, raging, carried to the captain. Yorke pulled a long face when he read it. “There’s no truth in it, surely?” said he. “I can’t answer for any foolery the juniors have been up to; but apart from that, it’s a sheer lie, and the fellows deserve to be kicked.” “Much better offer them a new election,” said the captain. “What! They’ll get their man in.” “My dear fellow, suppose they do. You’ll still belong to Fellsgarth. They mustn’t have a chance of saying they don’t get fair play.” “Well, perhaps you’re right. I don’t care twopence about the treasurership, but I wouldn’t like to be beaten by Brinkman.” “I hope you won’t be, old man,” said the captain. Next morning, when fellows got up, they found the following notice on the boards: “Elections. “A protest having been handed in against the recent election for treasurer, notice is given that a fresh election will be held for this office on Friday next at 3. “C.Y., Captain.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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