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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Twelve.</h3> <h4>The Moderns on Strike.</h4> In the festivities with which the glorious victory of the School against Rendlesham was celebrated Yorke took no part. The captain was very decidedly down in the mouth. This was the end of his endeavour to administer rule with a perfectly even hand, and give no ground for a whisper of anything like unfair play to the opposition! This was what his popularity and authority were valued at! For the first time in her annals, Fellsgarth fellows had mutinied on the field of battle and to their captain’s face. Had it been Dangle only, it would have mattered less. His feud with Rollitt was notorious, and would account for any ebullition of bad temper. But when Clapperton not only patronised the mutiny but joined in it, things were come to a crisis which it required all Yorke’s courage and coolness to cope with. It might have solaced him if he could have heard a discussion which was taking place in the rebels’ quarters. “It served them precious well right,” said Clapperton, trying to justify what, to say the least of it, wanted some excuse. “We’d stood it long enough.” “It’s bad enough,” said Dangle, “to have the fifteen packed with Classic fellows; but when they take to attacking us before the whole field, it’s time something was done. I’m as certain as possible that Rollitt deliberately knocked me over that time.” “It was rather warm measures, though,” said Brinkman, “to walk off the field. We might have got licked.” “I’m not at all sure if it wouldn’t have been a very good thing if we had,” said Clapperton. “At any rate, it will be a lesson to them what it might come to.” “Nothing like scuttling a ship in mid-ocean if you want to be attended to. The only awkward thing is, you are apt to go down with it,” said Fullerton. “Do shut up, and don’t try to be funny,” said Clapperton. “Of course no one wants to wreck the clubs. We shall play up hard next time, and then they’ll see it’s worth their while to be civil to us.” “Yes,” said Brinkman, “it won’t do to let them say we aren’t the friends of the School.” “There’s not the least fear of any one thinking that now,” gibed Fullerton. “Well,” said Dangle, “as we are to play the return with Rendlesham this day week, we shall have a chance of letting them see what we can do. Only if that cad Rollitt plays, it won’t be easy to be civil.” These patriotic young gentlemen were a good deal disconcerted next morning to find that they had been reckoning without their host. The captain had posted up the fifteen to play next week. The list contained the names of Fullerton, Brinkman, and two others on the Modern side, but omitted those of Clapperton and Dangle. In their wildest dreams the malcontents had never reckoned on the captain taking such a step as this. They knew that they were necessary to the efficiency of any team, and that without them, especially against Rendlesham, it would be almost a farce to go into the field at all. At first they were disposed to laugh and sneer; then to bluster. Then it dawned on them gradually that for once in their lives they had made a mistake. They had not even the credit of refusing to play, but had been ignominiously kicked out. A council of war was held, in which mutual recriminations, assisted by Fullerton’s candid reflections on the situation, occupied a considerable share of the time. The result of their deliberations was that Clapperton and Dangle went over in no very amiable frame of mind to the captain. Yorke, as it happened, was having an uneasy conference with his own side at the time. Delighted as the Classics were at the blow which had been struck at the mutineers, the prospect of almost certain defeat next Saturday made them anxious for compromise. “If I were you,” said Fisher major, “I’d give them a chance of explaining and apologising.” “There can be no apology,” said Yorke. “You are quite right in theory,” said Denton; “but wouldn’t it be rather a crow for them to see that we are licked without them?” “We mustn’t be licked,” said the captain. “We held our own without them yesterday.” “Yes; but we were on our own ground, and had a goal to the good before they struck.” “I think old Yorke is quite right,” said Ranger. “We may be licked, and if we are they’ll crow. On the other hand, if we let them play now they’ll crow worse. I think we’d better be beaten by Rendlesham than by traitors.” “Shan’t you let them play at all this half?” said Fisher. “That depends on themselves,” said Yorke. “Hullo! here they come,” said Ranger. The two Moderns were a little disconcerted to find themselves confronted with the body of Classic seniors. “Oh, you’re engaged,” said Clapperton; “we’ll come again.” “No, we were talking about the team; I suppose that’s what you’ve come about.” “Yes,” said Clapperton; “we want to know what it means!” “Really I don’t see how it could have been put plainer. It means that the fifteen men named are going to play on Saturday.” “Look here, Yorke,” said Clapperton, “if you think I’ve come over here to beg you to put Dangle and me into the team, you’re mistaken—” “I don’t think it. You know it’s impossible.” “All I can say is, it’s sheer spite and nothing else. Dangle was deliberately knocked over by that cad Rollitt—” “Who is not present, and may therefore be called names with safety,” said Ranger. “Shut up, Ranger, there’s a good fellow,” said the captain. “And Dangle had a right to object,” continued Clapperton. “He had no right to play into the hands of the other side,” said Yorke. “How do you know I did?” said Dangle. “Do you mean to say you didn’t?” said Yorke. “I didn’t come here to be catechised by you. Are you going to put Clapperton and me in the fifteen or not? That’s what we came to know.” “No—certainly not,” said the captain; “and as that’s all, you may as well go.” “Very well,” sneered Clapperton, who was in a high temper, “you’ll be sorry for it. Come on, Dangle.” “There’s only one thing to be done now,” said he, when they had got back to their own side; “we must none of us play. That will bring them to reason.” Brinkman approved of the idea. “There’s more sense in that,” said he, “than you two sticking out. That will reduce the team to a Classic fifteen, and if they get licked it won’t matter.” “There’s no possible chance of their making up a fifteen without us?” asked Dangle. “None at all. They haven’t the men,” said Clapperton, brightening up. “The fact is, we have them at our mercy; and if they want us to play again they’ll have to ask us properly.” “Meanwhile Fellsgarth will get on splendidly,” said Fullerton. “Shut up. Don’t you see it will be all the better for everybody in the long run?” “I can’t say I do at present. It may come by and by—” “We must see that everybody backs up in this,” said Brinkman. “One traitor would spoil everything.” “That’s what Yorke said on Saturday, wasn’t it?” asked Fullerton innocently, “At least, he said two traitors. Yorke will not see that what’s right for one fellow is naughty for another.” “Look here, Fullerton,” said Clapperton, who was sensitive enough to feel the sting of all this, “you don’t suppose we’re doing this for fun, do you? Will you promise not to play on Saturday, even if you are asked?” “What if I don’t?” said Fullerton. “You won’t find it particularly comfortable on this side of the School, that’s all,” said Brinkman. Fullerton meditated and turned the matter over. “I think on the whole,” said he, mimicking Clapperton, “that as this is for the highest good of the School, and as everybody is to be all the better in the long run, and as we’re all going to be noble and sacrifice ourselves together, you may put me down as not playing on Saturday. Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ—I beg pardon, I’m not on the Classic side yet.” The other players named on the list consented more or less reluctantly to follow the same example. After morning school, therefore, when the fellows looked at the notice board, they saw, to their bewilderment, the names of the four Modern fellows struck out and the following note appended to the captain’s list— “Notice. “The following players protest against the exclusion of two names from the above list, and decline to play on Saturday, viz., Brinkman, Fullerton, Ramshaw major, and Smith.” Underneath this, a juvenile hand had carefully inscribed in bold characters— “Jolly good riddance of bad rubbish.” Signed, “Wheatfield, W., D’Arcy, Ashby, Fisher minor.” Fisher minor, who signed this latter manifesto by proxy had hastened to carry the news of it to his brother. “The cads!” said the junior. “We are sure to be beaten; I shall never dare to get Rollitt twice running.” “What do you mean?” asked the elder brother, turning round. “Oh, don’t tell,” said Fisher minor, “I didn’t mean to say anything; you see, I thought he wouldn’t fly out, so I asked him last time.” “You! What do you know of Rollitt? Why should he play to oblige you?” Fisher minor, wishing he had not mentioned Rollitt’s name, related, somewhat apologetically, the story of the adventure on the Shayle. “Why,” said the elder brother, “you saved his life, young ’un. No wonder he’s civil to you!” “Oh, please don’t tell him I told you.” “All right; but what about the boat? It must have been smashed to bits. What did Mrs Wisdom say?” “Oh, Rollitt was very honourable and bought her another. She told me so—and I’ve seen the new boat.” “Rollitt bought it! Why, he’s as poor as a church mouse. How could he get the money, I’d like to know?” “He got it the very next day,” said Fisher minor. “I suppose he had some; but promise you won’t say anything.” “What’s the use of making a secret of it? I won’t say anything unless you like. But I must go to Yorke.” The captain was quite prepared for the action of the Moderns. “They’ve struck,” said he. “Now the question is, shall we play on Saturday, or scratch the match?” The unanimous verdict was in favour of playing, whatever the result. “Of course we are never sure of Rollitt until we’ve got him,” said he, “so we may have to play without him.” “Would Stratton play for us?” asked some one. “No, don’t let’s go outside and ask masters. We’re in for a licking; but we’ll make the best fight we can.” So yet another notice appeared on the board before nightfall. “The School team on Saturday will consist of the following.” (Here followed the names, all, of course, on the Classical side.) “A meeting of the clubs is summoned for October 3, at four p.m., in Hall.” Of these two announcements the first amused, the second perplexed the good young men of the Modern side. The new fifteen consisted half of raw outsiders who had never played in a first-class match before, and were utterly unknown to fame on the football field. But the summons for October 3 was puzzling. Did it mean a general row, or was the captain going to resign, or was an attempt to be made to expel the mutineers? Clapperton did not like it. He had expected Yorke would have come to terms before now, and it disconcerted him to see that, on the contrary, the captain seemed determined to carry the thing through. The only thing, of course, was for the Moderns to abstain in a body from the meeting. But could they depend on their forces to obey their leaders? It was all very well to compel four players to refuse to act; but to constrain 120 boys to do the same was a less easy task. It seemed to Clapperton that he would do best to strike the iron while hot; and for that purpose he made a descent next morning into the quarters of his fag. If he could secure the juniors, it would be something. He found Percy there alone, diligently working. That young gentleman had in fact been reminded in pretty forcible terms by Mr Forder that he had not yet handed in his Latin letter of apology ordered a week ago. Percy had hoped if he forgot it long enough Mr Forder would forget it too, and it had startled and grieved him very much to-day to receive notice that unless he brought his poena in an hour he would be sent up to the doctor. Consequently, while his comrades were out enjoying themselves, he was here in a shocking bad temper, with a Latin Dictionary in front of him, trying to express his contrition for having used bad language in class a week ago. He had got a little way. Latin prose for a Modern junior is a trifle thorny; but Percy had a rough and ready way with him which, if it did not emulate Cicero, at least made his meaning tolerably clear. “Care Magistere Fordere, Ego sum excessivé tristis ut ego usebam malam linguam in classem alteram diem. Ego apologizo, et ego non facerebo illud iterum. Ego spero ut vos voluntas prodonnere,” (it took him some time to arrive at this classical term for “you will forgive”) “me hanc tempus.” This was all very well, but it only took up about six lines out of ten, and he was in despair how to continue. His ideas, his temper, and his Latin had all evaporated. When Clapperton entered, he did not even look up. “Cut, whoever you are, and hang yourself,” said he. “Hullo, Percy! What’s the row with you?” “Don’t talk to me,” said Percy. “It’s that beast Forder.” “Where are the others? I want to talk to you youngsters.” “How do I know where every ass in the place is? What do you want?” The tone in which the inquiry was made was not encouraging. “It’s about the meeting next week. We don’t mean to attend it.” “Don’t you? Our lot does. We’re going. Rather.” “It’s a dodge of the other side. They’re going to get the clubs into their own hands, and we’ve decided none of our fellows shall go. Then they can’t do anything.” “Can’t they? You don’t know my young brother Wally as well as I do. He’ll do something, bless you; but I rather fancy they won’t have it all to themselves. We’ll put a spoke in their wheels.” “Look here, young Wheatfield,” said Clapperton, put out by the obtuseness of his fag, “the long and short of it is you’re not to go. You know what’s happened. Our side has been snubbed and cut out of the games by those fellows; and now they want to get us to come to their precious meeting to help them collar the clubs.” “That’s just why I and my chaps are going to turn up,” said Percy. “We’ll let them know!” “Do you hear what I say? You’re not to go, you or any of them. If you can’t understand the reason, I dare say you’ll understand a thrashing. You’ll get it unless you stand out like the rest of us.” “I say, what’s the Latin for ‘wrong,’ Clapperton?” “Do you hear what I say?” “Yes, yes—is it ‘malus,’ or ‘unrectus,’ or what?” “Are you going to do what I tell you?” “How can I say what the chaps’ll do?” “You must tell them; you’re fags’ captain. They must do what you tell them.” “I’d jolly well like to catch them not,” said Percy, tossing his head: “I’d teach ’em. I say, do you think ‘unrectus’ will do?” “Remember, you’ll get it pretty hot if you disobey in this, I promise you.” “Perhaps ‘malus’ is better form,” suggested the junior. Clapperton left in despair. “What a fearful ass I was,” said Percy when he had gone, “not to make him write my impot! Just like me. Catch our lot not going to that meeting! We aint going to skulk. Whew! there goes the quarter to! I shall never get done this brutal thing.” “Id est malus non facere quad magister dicit. Vos voluntas laetus audire ut Fellsgarthus liquebat Rendleshamus ad pedemballum super Saturdaium durare,” (Saturday last). “Nos obtenebanus unum goalum ad nil quod non erat malum. Ego debeo nunc concludere. Ego sum vestrum fideliter Perceius Granum agrum.” (Percy flattered himself he knew the correct Latin for his own name.) He had a rush to get this work of art over to Mr Forder in time, and was considerably mortified to observe that the master did not seem at all gratified by the performance. Just like Forder! the more you laid yourself out to please him, the worse he was. “Leave it, sir. I’ll speak to you to-morrow.” “That means a licking,” said Percy to himself. “I can see it in his eye. All serene. That’s his way of showing his gratitude.” And he went back in a very bad temper to his own room, where his comrades had arrived to greet him. “Why ever can’t you chaps be in the way when you’re wanted?” prowled Percy. “There was Clapperton in here just now talking rot about the meeting next week. What do you think? He says we’re not to go to it.” “Why not?” Percy in his lucid manner tried to explain. “All gammon,” said Lickford. “If we’re to be stopped going to Hall, we shall be stopped grub next.” This was an argument that went home. “If Clapperton had made it worth our while, you know,” said Cottle, “it might have been different. I don’t care much about the meeting; but if I stop away for him, I’ll get something for it.” This mercenary view of the subject was new to Percy, but he frankly accepted it. “I tell you what,” said he; “here, give us a pen; we’ll just draw up a few conditions. If he accepts them we’ll stay away; if he don’t, he may hang himself before we sit out.” After much deliberation, the following charter of six points was drawn up and laid on Clapperton’s table. “On the following conditions the undersigned will stop out of Hall on October 3,—namely, to wit, viz., i.e.:— “1. No more fagging. “2. Don’t go to bed till 9:30. “3. A study a-piece. “4. The prefects shall be abolished. Any prefect reporting to Forder to be kicked. “5. Except between 9:30 p.m. and 7:30 a.m. we do as we like. “6. That the four following Classic cads get their noses pulled; namely Wheatfield, W., D’Arcy, Ashby, and Fisher minor. “If these are agreed to, we won’t go to the meeting.” <blockquote> (Signed by) Wheatfield, P., M.P. Cottle, Major-General. Lickford, D.D. Ramshaw minor, F.S.A. Cash, LL.D., etcetera, etcetera. </blockquote> <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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