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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Nineteen.</h3> <h4>Corder strikes a Blow for Liberty.</h4> The absence of the juniors had excited no curiosity in either house till evening. It was a holiday, and though the rule was that even on a holiday no boy should go “out of touch,” as it was called, that is, beyond a certain radius, without permission, it was not always enforced. The Modern seniors had every reason to guess the object of this prolonged absence. They had promised many things to the juniors when they caught them. It was not surprising, while things were as warm as they were, that the young rebels should give Fellsgarth a wide berth. As to the Classic juniors, no one was surprised at anything they did, in reason. But when “call-over” came and all nine names were returned absent (in addition to that of Rollitt and a few other habitual vagrants), fellows began to ask where they were. “Has any one seen Wally?” asked Yorke, who had just had the unusual experience of making his own tea and cooking his own eggs. “He’s probably fooling about somewhere out of bounds with my fag,” said Ranger. “He’ll have to catch it, Fisher, though he is your brother.” “Let him have it,” said Fisher. “I’d do the same to your young brother if I had the chance. But to change the subject, I’ve something to tell you fellows that’s rather awkward. That money hasn’t turned up yet.” “That is awkward,” said Yorke. “I wish I could help you out with it, but I’m cleaned out.” “Oh, that’s not it. Of course I’m responsible, and must get the governor to make it good. Dear old governor, he’ll do it, but he’ll pull a precious long face, and go round the house lowering the gas and telling every one he must economise, with two such expensive sons as me and my minor at school. It’s not that, though. Dangle came over this morning, and wanted to know what we were going to do about the accounts, now we’ve dissolved the clubs; and somehow or other he’s heard of the deficiency, and wants to know all about it.” “I hope you told him,” said Yorke. “Of course I did; but he told me a lot more than I could tell him. He thinks he knows what’s become of it.” And Fisher proceeded to narrate Dangle’s suspicions against Rollitt. The captain’s face grew very long as the story went on. Then he said— “I hope to goodness there’s nothing in it. Is it a fact about Widow Wisdom’s boat?” “Yes; my young brother was with Rollitt that day, and told me about it as a secret. But as it’s out now, there’s no good keeping it.” “Dangle has a spite against Rollitt. If any one else had told you this, there might have been something in it.” “And if it had been any one but Rollitt bought the boat, it would have been nothing. But he’s so frightfully poor. He’d no time to write home, even if he could have got money from there, and there was no one here he could borrow of. Why, he must have gone off very first thing in the morning and bought the boat.” “And are you quite certain you had all the money collected by that Saturday?” asked Yorke. “Yes; and what’s more, I’m almost certain I counted it and made it come right. That’s the last time it has come right.” The captain drummed his fingers on the table and looked very miserable. “I wish, Fisher,” said he, “I hadn’t advised you to take that treasurership. If we could only be quite sure there wasn’t some mistake in the accounts, it would be different. It would be a frightful thing to suspect Rollitt unless it was absolutely certain.” “You’re welcome to round on me,” said Fisher, looking quite as miserable as his chief. “I was a fool to take your advice. I’d much sooner make the money up myself, and not say a word about it to any one.” “You can’t do that now. You may be sure Dangle won’t let it drop.” “What shall you do?” asked Ranger. “What would you do?” said Yorke, testily. “Isn’t it bad enough to be in a fix like this without being asked hopeless questions? I’m sorry, old man, I’ve lost my temper; and as it’s not come back I vote we say no more on the subject at present.” The evening wore on, and still the truants did not return. At ten o’clock Yorke reported their absence to Mr Wakefield, and Mr Wakefield reported it to the head-master. A similar report reached him from the matron of Mr Forders house with regard to the missing ones there; and presently, further report was made that Rollitt was not in the school. No one could give any account of their probable whereabouts. Rollitt had been seen going out with a rod early in the day, but no one had seen any of the juniors since last night, when they had prematurely gone to bed in their own dormitory. A consultation was held, in which all sorts of conjectures were put forward, the most plausible of which was that the juniors had organised an expedition to Seastrand, a fashionable watering-place an hour distant on the railway, which both Wally and Lickford had separately been heard to express a desire to visit. It seemed probable that they had lost the last train back, and would literally “not come home till morning.” In which case warm things were promised to be ready for my gentlemen. As to Rollitt, his vagaries were consistent with any explanation. He may have gone to Penchurch in mistake for Fellsgarth, and curled himself up in the church porch, mistaking it for his bed. In any case the general impression was that nothing could be done till morning, and that the juniors at least were making themselves pretty comfortable, wherever they might be. Still, Fisher major felt a vague uneasiness. Had he been quite sure his brother was in the capable company of his fellow-fags, he would have been comparatively comfortable. But the possibility of the feckless youngster wandering about benighted somewhere on his own account added a new weight to the burden which already lay on the spirit of the luckless treasurer of the School clubs. “I’ve a good mind to turn out and look for my minor,” said he to Denton. “What could you do? He’s all right. You couldn’t do anything in the dark, and on a night like this. I’m game to turn out any hour you like in the morning, if he’s not come by then. I bet you the four young scamps will all stroll in for call-over, and wonder whatever the fuss was about.” There was nothing to be done, and Fisher lay awake all night, listening to every sound, and reproaching himself over and over again (as one will do when everything goes wrong) that he had made such a mess of everything this term. About daybreak there came a ring at the school-bell, and half the school jumped to its feet. Fisher was down on the Green among the first, in slippers and ulster. Five shivering youngsters were standing inside the gate, with dripping garments and chattering teeth and white faces—D’Arcy, Lickford, Ramshaw, Cottle, and Cash—but no Fisher minor. “Where’s my minor?” asked the senior. “What! hasn’t he turned up?” said D’Arcy. “Haven’t Wally and Percy and Ashby turned up? We got lost on Hawk’s Pike. I’m awfully hungry, I say.” “No one’s turned up. Do you mean to say he’s out on the hill a night like this?” “He was behind—he and Ashby. He was a lame duck, you know. The others were in front.” “Were they together?” “Who? Young Fisher minor and Ashby? I don’t think so.” “Ashby yelled to see if we knew where he was, and must have gone to look for him. We made sure they’d be back long ago, didn’t we, you chaps?” Here the doctor and several of the prefects came on the scene. The truants were ordered to the hot bath and bed at once, and a council was held as to what should be done. Fisher major did not wait to take part in it. He rushed to his room, flung on his clothes and boots, and started off, accompanied by Denton, at full speed, in the direction of the mountain. Neither spoke a word. As they passed Widow Wisdom’s, Denton darted in. “Have your fire alight and some food ready. Some of our youngsters have been all night on the mountain. We’re going to look for them.” Half-way to the lake, they were pulled up by a shout from across the stream. It was Percy Wheatfield, dead beat, sitting on a log, as white and miserable as a ghost. “I say, have you chaps seen Wally?” he called. “No; we’re off to look. Some of them have turned up. Can you get as far as Widow Wisdom’s? There’s a roaring fire and some grub waiting there. We’ll see after Wally.” Percy staggered to his feet. He had been wandering, he could not say where, all night. The very mention of the words “fire” and “food” revived him. “Get up to school as soon as you can and get to bed. You can’t be any use looking for the rest. There’s plenty of us to do that. Good-bye.” It was half-past seven when they reached the lake and turned up the mountain path. The mist had vanished, and the late autumn sun was shining brightly on the hill-side. The distant barking of a dog above apprised them that some one was abroad already, and the hopes of the searchers rose within them as they struck up the steep slope. Half-way up they stood and shouted; but no reply came except the far-away barking of the shepherd’s dogs. “We shall be able to see a good way all round when we get on to the ridge,” said Denton. Almost as he spoke, a shout close by startled them. Looking up they perceived emerging from behind some boulders a little procession. Fisher major’s blood ran cold as he saw it. For at the head stalked a stalwart guide, who carried in his arms one small boy, while in the rear followed a form which they recognised as Rollitt’s carrying on his back another. Between the two tramped a third junior, hanging on to the arm of another guide. What terrified Fisher major more than anything was to see that the head of the boy on Rollitt’s back had fallen helplessly forward on the shoulder of his porter. With a groan the elder brother bounded to the spot. The history of years flashed through his mind as he did so. He saw the people at home and heard their voices. He seemed to be in the nursery, hectoring it, as big brothers will, among the little ones, amongst whom was a little boy with curly hair and a shrill piping voice. He called to mind the first-night of this term, and the vision of his young brother breaking down with his new-boy troubles next morning. All this and more fleeted through his mind as he bounded to where Rollitt stood. “Hush!” said the latter, almost gruffly. “Asleep.” So he was. It had scarcely roused him when Rollitt had picked him up two hours ago from his roost under the rocking-stone. And having once been perched on his preserver’s back his head fell forward again, and there it had lain ever since. How Rollitt had carried him so far, resting only now and then, and that in a way not to disturb his burden, only those who knew the huge strength of the Fellsgarth giant could understand. “Hullo,” said Wally, greeting the new-comers in a limp, sleepy way, “have you seen my young brother Percy? He was—” “Yes—Percy’s all right; so are all the rest.” “I’m all right,” sang out Ashby from the front. “This chap wanted to carry me, so I let him.” “Jolly glad you were to get the lift,” said Wally. “You new kids oughtn’t to have come. Twenty-four hours on the hills is nothing when you get used to—” Here Wally (who had had twenty-six hours) suddenly collapsed and tumbled over from sheer fatigue on the grass. Fisher and Denton made a chair of their hands for him, and so the procession went on. A cart was in waiting at the foot of the slope, filled with warm wraps and other restoratives, and in less than two hours the whole party was safe inside the walls of Fellsgarth. Hot baths, blankets, food, and a little physic, succeeded in a very few days in restoring the invalided truants to their sorrowing class-mates. Fisher minor was the only member of the party about whom any serious uneasiness existed, and he, thanks to a wiry constitution and a rooted dislike to do what nobody else did, got off with a bad cold, which detained him in his house for a fortnight. Rollitt, as might have been expected, vanished to his own quarters as soon as he had deposited his precious burden into Mr Wakefield’s charge. No one heard of his having been to the top. To Fisher’s thanks he returned a grumpy “Not at all.” And the curious inquiries of others he met by shutting his door and saying “Get out” to any one who entered. As might be expected also, the Modern seniors were baulked, after all, of their promised vengeance on the rebels. On the contrary, while the fags were making merry on chicken and toasting their toes at the roaring fire in the sanatorium, Clapperton, Brinkman, and Dangle were hauled up into the presence of the head-master, and there seriously reprimanded for the damage done to one of the doors in Mr Forder’s house, and cautioned not to let such a breach of discipline happen again, under a pain of severer penalties. “If you are unable to keep order in your own house,” said the doctor cuttingly, “your duty is to report the matter to me, and I will deal with it. Remember that another time.” This incident did not tend to smooth the ruffled plumes of the discomfited heroes. Still less did another little rebuff, which happened a few days later. Corder had taken advantage of the general excitement attending the escapade of the juniors to return to his own quarters and attempt once more to resume the privileges of ordinary civilised life. He only partially succeeded. Two or three boys, among whom was Fullerton, who were getting sick of the present state of affairs and longing for football once more, had begun seriously to doubt what advantage was coming to themselves or any one else by the strike. Among these Corder found a temporary shelter. But the authority of the seniors still controlled the general public opinion of the house, and the life of the boycotted boy was still only half tolerable. At the first attempt at violence, however, Corder walked across to his Classic allies, and took up his quarters in their study, where he remained all day. At bedtime he declined to return to his own house; particularly when a summons to that effect was sent across by Clapperton, who by this time had a very good idea of the rebel’s whereabouts. “I’m not going over,” said Corder. “But you can’t stay here all night,” said Denton. “What shall you do—turn me out?” asked the fugitive. “No. But you’d better go, and if you don’t like the look of things out there, you’d better speak to Forder.” “No. I’d sooner stop,” said Corder, doggedly. “I’m sorry to put you fellows about after your being so kind, but I’m not going over there.” Yorke was consulted, and took upon himself the responsibility of detaining the refugee for the night. “All right, thanks,” said Corder, and turned in. Next morning word came from Mr Forder requiring that the truant should answer for his absence. Corder obeyed, with some misgivings, and explained briefly that he had been bullied and did not want to stand it. Mr Forder, who had a peculiar faculty for saddling the wrong horse, was not satisfied with this explanation, and chose to suspect some other. Corder had never been a satisfactory boy. He had probably been making himself objectionable, and had been glad of an excuse to break rules. The master did not demand particulars. He gave the culprit an imposition, and ordered him to obey the rules of his house; and another time, if he had any grievance, to come with it to him instead of taking the law into his own hands. Whereupon Corder departed in high dudgeon. It was no use holding out now. He had better give in, and own himself beaten. It would be so much easier than resisting any longer. For an hour of two he was permitted to go in and out unmolested. But after morning school, he was going out to solace himself with some solitary kicks at the football, when just on the steps of the house Brinkman pounced upon him. “I’ve got you now, have I, you cad?” said he. “You just come back with me.” “I won’t. Let go!” cried Corder, in a temporary panic, wriggling himself away and escaping a few yards. Brinkman, however, was quickly after him, determined this time to hold him fast. Corder, though a senior, was a small boy, and had never before thought of pitting, himself against the Modern bully. But once already this term he had come suddenly to realise that he could do better than he gave himself credit for. And now that matters seemed desperate, when there was no escape, and his fate stared him in the face, it occurred to Corder he would show fight. He had right on his side. He had done no harm to Brinkman or anybody else. Why shouldn’t he let out, and stand up for himself? So, to Brinkman’s utter amazement, he was met by a blow and a defiant challenge to “come on.” What Brinkman might have done is doubtful, but at that moment Yorke and Ranger strolled by. “Hullo! What’s this? A fight?” said the captain. “Rather,” said Corder, now thoroughly strung up to the point. “I say, Yorke, will you stop and see fair play?” The captain hesitated a moment. Any other fight he would have felt it his duty to stop. This fight seemed to be an exception. It would probably do more good than harm. “Yes, if you like,” said he. “I’m not going to fight a little beggar like that,” said Brinkman. “Yes, you are,” said Ranger, “and I’ll see fair play for you.” “I promise you I’ll make it so hot for him that he’ll be sorry for it.” “I don’t care,” said Corder. “If you don’t fight you’re a coward. There!” At this point Dangle came out. “Here, your man wants a second,” said Ranger; “you’ll suit him better than I.” The usual crowd collected, minus the junior faction, who complained bitterly for a year after that they had been deliberately done out of being present by the malice of the principals. One result of their absence was that the proceedings were comparatively quiet. Every one present knew what the quarrel was, and not a few, for their own sakes, hoped Corder would make a good fight of it. Dangle sneered at the whole thing, and counselled his man audibly not to be too hard on the little fool. His advice was not wanted. Corder, for a fellow of his make and inexperience, exhibited good form, and persistently walked his man round the ring, dodging his blows and getting in a knock for himself every now and then. Brinkman soon dropped the disdainful style in which he commenced proceedings, and became proportionately wild and unsteady. “Now’s your chance, young ’un; he’s lost his temper,” whispered the captain. Whereupon Corder, hardly knowing how he managed it, danced his man once more round and round, till he was out of breath, and then slipped in with a right, left—left, right, which, though they made up hardly one good blow among them, were so well planted, and followed one another so rapidly, that Brinkman lost his balance under them, and fell sprawling on the ground. At the same moment Mr Stratton came up, and the crowd dispersed as if by magic. “What is this?” said the master, appealing to the captain. “A fight, sir,” said Yorke. “A necessary one.” “Between Corder and Brinkman? Come and tell me about it, Yorke.” So while Corder, amid the jubilations of his supporters, who had grown twenty-fold since the beginning of the fight, was being escorted to his quarters, and Brinkman, crestfallen and bewildered, was being left by his disgusted backers to help himself, Yorke strolled on with Mr Stratton, and gave him, as well as he could, an account of the circumstances which for weeks had been leading up to this climax. “I think it was as well to allow it,” said the master, “but there must be no more of it. You have a hard task before you to pull things together, Yorke, but it will be work well done.” “Was it the right thing to dissolve the clubs, sir?” asked Yorke. “At the time, yes. But watch your chance of reviving them. You must have some common interest on foot, to bring the two sides together.” The captain walked back to his house in a brown study. He had half hoped Mr Stratton might offer to interpose and restore the harmony of the School. But no, the master had left it to the captain, and Yorke’s courage rose within him. God helping him, he would pull Fellsgarth together before he left. On the Green he met Fullerton. It was long since the Modern and Classic seniors had nodded as they passed, but in the curious perversity of things both did so now. “There’s been a fight, I hear?” said Fullerton. “Yes. Brinkman and Corder. Corder had the best of it.” “I’m jolly glad. Corder’s got more pluck than you’d give him credit for.” “Yes; he’s had a rough time of it in your house.” “So he has, poor beggar. It’s rather humiliating to wait till he has licked his man before one takes his side; but upon my word, I’m as sick of it all as he is.” “It is rather rough on fellows who aren’t allowed to do what they’ve a right to do,” said Yorke. “I say, have you anything special on after afternoon school?” “No, why?” “Only that I wish you’d come and have tea with me.” Fullerton laughed. “Bribery and corruption?” said he. “Anyhow, I’ll come.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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