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AN UNIMPORTANT BY-PRODUCT
The news, however, was not long in spreading. Robinson took care ofthat. On the way to school he overtook his friend Morrison, a younggentleman who had the unique distinction of being the rowdiest fag inWard's House, which, as any Austinian could have told you, was therowdiest house in the School.
'I say, Morrison, heard the latest?'
'No, what?'
'Chap broke into the Pav. last night.'
'Who, you?'
'No, you ass, a regular burglar. After the Sports prizes.'
'Look here, Robinson, try that on the kids.'
'Just what I am doing,' said Robinson.
This delicate reference to Morrison's tender years had the effect ofcreating a disturbance. Two School House juniors, who happened to bepassing, naturally forsook all their other aims and objects and joinedthe battle.
'What's up?' asked one of them, dusting himself hastily as they stoppedto take breath. It was always his habit to take up any business thatmight attract his attention, and ask for explanations afterwards.
'This kid--' began Morrison.
'Kid yourself, Morrison.'
'This lunatic, then.' Robinson allowed the emendation to pass. 'Thislunatic's got some yarn on about the Pav. being burgled.'
'So it is. Tell you I saw it myself.'
'Did it yourself, probably.'
'How do you know, anyway? You seem so jolly certain about it.'
'Why, there's a pane of glass cut out of the window in the First room.'
'Shouldn't wonder, you know,' said Dimsdale, one of the two SchoolHouse fags, judicially, 'if the kid wasn't telling the truth for oncein his life. Those pots must be worth something. Don't you think so,Scott?'
Scott admitted that there might be something in the idea, and that,however foreign to his usual habits, Robinson might on this occasion beconfining himself more or less to strict fact.
'There you are, then,' said Robinson, vengefully. 'Shows what a fat lotyou know what you're talking about, Morrison.'
'Morrison's a fool,' said Scott. 'Ever since he got off the bottombench in form there's been no holding him.'
'All the same,' said Morrison, feeling that matters were going againsthim, 'I shan't believe it till I see it.'
'What'll you bet?' said Robinson.
'I never bet,' replied Morrison with scorn.
'You daren't. You know you'd lose.'
'All right, then, I'll bet a penny I'm right.' He drew a deep breath,as who should say, 'It's a lot of money, but it's worth risking it.'
'You'll lose that penny, old chap,' said Robinson. 'That's to say,' headded thoughtfully, 'if you ever pay up.'
'You've got us as witnesses,' said Dimsdale. 'We'll see that he shellsout. Scott, remember you're a witness.
'Right-ho,' said Scott.
At this moment the clock struck nine, and as each of the principals inthis financial transaction, and both the witnesses, were expected to bein their places to answer their names at 8.58, they were late. And asthey had all been late the day before and the day before that, theywere presented with two hundred lines apiece. Which shows more thanever how wrong it is to bet.
The news continuing to circulate, by the end of morning school it wasgenerally known that a gang of desperadoes, numbering at least ahundred, had taken the Pavilion down, brick by brick, till only thefoundations were left standing, and had gone off with every jot andtittle of the unfortunately placed Sports prizes.
At the quarter-to-eleven interval, the School had gone _en masse_to see what it could see, and had stared at the window with much thesame interest as they were wont to use in inspecting the First Elevenpitch on the morning of a match--a curious custom, by the way, but onevery generally observed.
Then the official news of the extent of the robbery was spread abroad.It appeared that the burglar had by no means done the professioncredit, for out of a vast collection of prizes ranging from the vastand silver Mile Challenge Cup to the pair of fives-gloves with whichthe 'under twelve' disciple of Deerfoot was to be rewarded, he hadselected only three. Two of these were worth having, being thechallenge cup for the quarter and the non-challenge cup for the hundredyards, both silver, but the third was a valueless flask, and thegeneral voice of the School was loud in condemning the businessabilities of one who could select his swag in so haphazard a manner. Itwas felt to detract from the merit of the performance. The knowingones, however, gave it as their opinion that the man must have beenfrightened by something, and so was unable to give the matter his bestattention and do himself justice as a connoisseur.
'We had a burglary at my place once,' began Reade, of Philpott's House.'The man--'
'That rotter, Reade,' said Barrett, also of Philpott's, 'has beentelling us that burglary chestnut of his all the morning. I wish youchaps wouldn't encourage him.'
'Why, what was it? First I've heard of it, at any rate.' Dallas andVaughan, of Ward's, added themselves to the group. 'Out with it,Reade,' said Vaughan.
'It's only a beastly reminiscence of Reade's childhood,' said Barrett.'A burglar got into the wine-cellar and collared all the coals.'
'He didn't. He was in the hall, and my pater got his revolver--'
'While you hid under the bed.'
'--and potted at him over the banisters.'
'The last time but three you told the story, your pater fired throughthe keyhole of the dining-room.'
'You idiot, that was afterwards.'
'Oh, well, what does it matter? Tell us something fresh.'
'It's my opinion,' said Dallas, 'that Ward did it. A man of the vilestantecedents. He's capable of anything from burglary--'
'To attempted poisoning. You should see what we get to eat in Ward'sHouse,' said Vaughan.
'Ward's the worst type of beak. He simply lives for the sake of bookingchaps. If he books a chap out of bounds it keeps him happy for a week.'
'A man like that's bound to be a criminal of sorts in his spare time.It's action and reaction,' said Vaughan.
Mr Ward happening to pass at this moment, the speaker went on to askDallas audibly if life was worth living, and Dallas replied that undercertain conditions and in some Houses it was not.
Dallas and Vaughan did not like Mr Ward. Mr Ward was not the sort ofman who inspires affection. He had an unpleasant habit of 'jarring', asit was called. That is to say, his conversation was shaped to onesingle end, that of trying to make the person to whom he talked feeluncomfortable. Many of his jars had become part of the School history.There was a legend that on one occasion he had invited his prefects tosupper, and regaled them with sausages. There was still one prefectunhelped. To him he addressed himself.
'A sausage, Jones?'
'If you please, sir.'
'No, you won't, then, because I'm going to have half myself.'
This story may or may not be true. Suffice it to say, that Mr Ward wasnot popular.
The discussion was interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing forsecond lesson. The problem was left unsolved. It was evident that theburglar had been interrupted, but how or why nobody knew. Thesuggestion that he had heard Master R. Robinson training for hisquarter-mile, and had thought it was an earthquake, found much favourwith the junior portion of the assembly. Simpson, on whom Robinson hadbeen given start in the race, expressed an opinion that he, Robinson,ran like a cow. At which Robinson smiled darkly, and advised the otherto wait till Sports Day and then he'd see, remarking that, meanwhile,if he gave him any of his cheek he might not be well enough to run atall.
'This sort of thing,' said Barrett to Reade, as they walked to theirform-room, 'always makes me feel beastly. Once start a row like this,and all the beaks turn into regular detectives and go ferreting aboutall over the place, and it's ten to one they knock up against somethingone doesn't want them to know about.'
Reade was feeling hurt. He had objected to the way in which Barrett hadspoiled a story that might easily have been true, and really was truein parts. His
dignity was offended. He said 'Yes' to Barrett'sobservation in a tone of reserved _hauteur_. Barrett did notnotice.
'It's an awful nuisance. For one thing it makes them so jolly strictabout bounds.'
'Yes.'
'I wanted to go for a bike ride this afternoon. There's nothing on atthe School.'
'Why don't you?'
'What's the good if you can't break bounds? A ride of about a quarterof a mile's no good. There's a ripping place about ten miles down theStapleton Road. Big wood, with a ripping little hollow in the middle,all ferns and moss. I was thinking of taking a book out there for theafternoon. Only there's roll-call.'
He paused. Ordinarily, this would have been the cue for Reade to say,'Oh, I'll answer your name at roll-call.' But Reade said nothing.Barrett looked surprised and disappointed.
'I say, Reade,' he said.
'Well?'
'Would you like to answer my name at roll-call?' It was the first timehe had ever had occasion to make the request.
'No,' said Reade.
Barrett could hardly believe his ears. Did he sleep? Did he dream? Orwere visions about?
'What!' he said.
No answer.
'Do you mean to say you won't?'
'Of course I won't. Why the deuce should I do your beastly dirty workfor you?'
Barrett did not know what to make of this. Curiosity urged him to askfor explanations. Dignity threw cold water on such a scheme. In the enddignity had the best of it.
'Oh, very well,' he said, and they went on in silence. In all the threeyears of their acquaintance they had never before happened upon such acrisis.
The silence lasted until they reached the form-room. Then Barrettdetermined, in the interests of the common good--he and Reade shared astudy, and icy coolness in a small study is unpleasant--to chain upDignity for the moment, and give Curiosity a trial.
'What's up with you today?' he asked.
He could hardly have chosen a worse formula. The question has on mostpeople precisely the same effect as that which the query, 'Do you knowwhere you lost it?' has on one who is engaged in looking for mislaidproperty.
'Nothing,' said Reade. Probably at the same moment hundreds of otherpeople were making the same reply, in the same tone of voice, to thesame question.
'Oh,' said Barrett.
There was another silence.
'You might as well answer my name this afternoon,' said Barrett,tentatively.
Reade walked off without replying, and Barrett went to his placefeeling that curiosity was a fraud, and resolving to confine hisattentions for the future to dignity. This was by-product number one ofthe Pavilion burglary.
The Pothunters Page 3