CHAPTER VII
A BAD COMMENCEMENT FOR THE TERM
No need to tell Harry to hurry up. He was as anxious to introducehimself to the porter as Plunger could have been. So, running forward,he quickly gained the porter's side, and brought his hand down twice,vigorously, upon that worthy's shoulder, and, before Bax had recoveredfrom his astonishment, dug the forefinger of his right hand sharply intohis side, exclaiming:
"How do you do, Mr. Bax? Age, twelve--just turned; weight, five stoneten; biceps, eight inches; chest, twenty-eight; vaccinated, threeplaces!"
The little porter grew purple in the face. He gasped for breath. When hehad recovered, he returned the vigorous slaps he had received upon theback by a still more vigorous slap upon the head of Harry.
"Vaccinated in three places, are you, young gent. That will vaccinateyou in four. Don't get practising any of your larks on Bax. He's not theone to stand it, young gent."
And, so saying, the porter strutted indignantly off. Harry had reeledunder the vigorous blow of the porter; but just before he recovered, ahand came down on his top-hat, and crushed it over his ears, while avoice cried, amid roars of laughter, "Vaccinated in four places!"
As Harry with difficulty drew himself from under the crushed hat, hefound himself confronted by the boy who had crushed it. It was RobertNewall--the boy who had taunted the hunchback. He was a big,strong-looking fellow, with sandy hair, prominent nose, prominent teeth,and bold, self-confident face.
"Vaccinated in four places!" repeated Newall, with a mocking laugh."What asylum have you escaped from, kiddie?"
"Who are you? What did you do that for?" gasped Harry indignantly,smoothing out his hat, and looking round helplessly for his friendPlunger. But now that one of the Senior Form had taken up the baiting,Plunger had been compelled to give way to him. He was only a cipher inthe mob of laughing, jeering boys who had gathered round Harry.
"Chest, twenty-eight inches. What a Samson it is!" jeered Newall. "Allyour own?" He tapped Harry smartly on the chest with his knuckles, asthough he were testing it. "Yes, genuine article. You're a wonder--aperfect wonder! And what's the biceps! Eight inches! Why, it's a regularHercules! It isn't every day that a marvel like you comes to Garside; sowalk round and show your muscle, kid."
Harry now saw that they were poking fun at him. His face was scarlet; hewas quivering with indignation. He was choking. The tears seemed verynear the floodgates. It was only with a strong effort he kept them back.He did not answer his tormentor, but stared at him blank-eyed.
"Did you hear what I said?" went on Newall. "Come, wake up--walk!"
With a flip of his hand he sent the hat which Harry had been trying tosmooth out whirling amongst the throng of boys. There was a shriek oflaughter as the hat was caught, and sent whirling in turn to anotherpart of the throng. This was the finishing stroke to Harry. He burstinto a flood of passionate tears. The public school boy holds incontempt the boy who cries. He regards it as girlish, unmanly.
"Oh, the fresher's a soft!" came from one in the throng.
"A soft, a soft!" passed from lip to lip. Plunger alone was dumb. He hadnot wished that the joke which he had begun at Harry's expense should goso far; but now that it had been taken from his hands he was powerlessto stop it.
"Oh, it's a squealer--a dear little squealer! Has it brought its bib andtuck and feeding-bottle?" went on Newall, amid the laughter of hiscompanions.
Harry tried to choke back the scalding tears, which were coursing downhis cheeks.
"You're--you're a cruel brute!" came bursting from his lips.
"Oh, the little squealer's got a tongue, and it can speak! Come, come,walk!"
Harry did not stir. So Newall gave him a push which sent him over to oneside of the throng, where another push sent him quickly back again. Thesport was only at its commencement, when it was suddenly checked byStanley Moncrief forcing his way through the throng, closely followed byPaul Percival.
They had been in the fives court while Plunger and Harry had been insidethe schoolhouse, and it was not till their return to the ground thatthey caught sight of the throng of boys, of which Harry was the centre.On making their way towards it, Paul soon saw what was happening.
"They're baiting a fresher!" he exclaimed.
"And it's my young cousin!" cried Stanley.
He had no objection to a little fun at Harry's expense. Indeed, it wasthe ordeal which every new-comer to Garside had to go through in someform or other. But this seemed more than fun--more than a joke.Otherwise, his cousin would not be in tears. And it was not only thesight of his cousin in tears--it was the sight of his tormentor--Newall,whom he cordially disliked.
"Stop that!" he cried, with flashing eyes and clenched fists, as hereached the centre of the throng. "He's my cousin!"
"Oh, your cousin, Moncrief!" answered Newall, resenting this intrusionon Stanley's part. "Nice little girl, isn't she? Heard her squeal?"
At a gesture from him, Viner--one of the boys who belonged to thedormitory in which Harry had been placed--stooped down at the back ofthe unsuspecting lad. Newall gave him a sudden push, with the result, ofcourse, that he came to the ground over Viner's back. Unfortunately hishead struck on the gravel, and when he scrambled to his feet againblood was flowing freely from a cut in his head.
Stanley Moncrief was a quick, hot-tempered lad, and his temper was nowthoroughly aroused. Before Paul could check him, he sprang at Newall,when he saw what had happened to his cousin. The two wrestled for amoment, then separated.
Paul stepped in to stop fighting, but before he could do so Stanley hadshot out his arm blindly. It passed over Paul's shoulder, caught Newallon the mouth, and sent him reeling to the ground.
Angry passions thus roused, it is impossible to say how the quarrelwould have ended; but Mr. Weevil appeared on the scene, just as Newallhad leapt to his feet, eager to return the blow Stanley had given him.
"What does this mean?" he demanded sternly. "Fighting?"
Not a word fell from the boys. The tumult had ceased as by magic.
"Do you hear me? I will stand no trifling! A nice commencement of theterm. Taking advantage of the absence of Dr. Colville, eh?" came thestern voice of the science master, as his eyes went round the group. Dr.Colville, the Head of Garfield, had been taken ill during the vacation,and had been ordered complete rest from his duties for another month orso by his medical adviser. In his absence the reins of government hadfallen into the hands of Mr. Weevil, as second in command.
Still no answer from the boys. They were as silent as before. It seemedas though they had been smitten with sudden dumbness.
"Lost your tongues, eh? They were going briskly enough a minute since!"went on the master grimly. Then he paused, and fixed his eyes uponStanley. "Moncrief major! It was you who started this disturbance. Youstruck Newall!"
"Yes, sir, I struck Newall," assented Stanley.
"Why?"
"Ask Newall, sir."
"I am asking you, sir!" came the sharp retort. "Why did you strikeNewall? Quick, your answer!"
Stanley waited for Newall to speak; but Newall's lips, bleeding andswollen from the blow, were tightly compressed. He scarcely heard themaster's words. He could only think of the blow he had received. It wasrankling in his mind, and turning to bitter hate the ill-feeling thatalready existed between him and Stanley. It was the first seed of hatethat in the time to come was to bring forth a bitter harvest of tares.Ah, boys, beware of the first seeds of hate! Pluck them from you, as youwould your hand from the fire. Otherwise they will spring up so quicklythat they will wind themselves, like poisonous weeds, round every fibreof your being, blighting and strangling all the better impulses of yournature, killing, above all, the choicest blossom that comes to us fromthe Divine garden--the blossom of love. Where hate flourishes, lovecannot be. There is no room for the two. Never since the world beganhave they ever flourished side by side--never since the seeds of hatewere planted by the serpent in the first garden, the Garden of Eden.Beware, then, o
f the seeds of hate!
From a fine sense of honour, Stanley remained silent. Now that he hadstruck Newall he had no wish to implicate him. He began to feel somepity for him as he saw the blood slowly trickling from his mouth.
"Am I to understand that you refuse to speak, Moncrief?" demanded Mr.Weevil angrily. Stanley remained obstinately silent.
"Perhaps you will allow me to explain, sir!" began Paul.
Instantly Mr. Weevil swung round to him.
"Not a word, sir! Have the goodness to speak when you're spoken to. Theexplanation must first come from Moncrief. If he has not yet learned thelesson of obedience, he must begin to learn it. When he has given me hisexplanation, I shall be quite willing to hear whatever else has to besaid. Now, Moncrief, I am waiting. It is your last chance."
He waited, but Stanley remained obstinately silent. Mr. Weevil's sallowface darkened.
"Very well; I'm very sorry, but I must teach you that I'm not to bedefied simply because Dr. Colville is away. I must teach you that Imean to be obeyed during his absence. Perhaps a few hours in Dormitory Xwill bring you to your senses."
Dormitory X--a shortened form for "Extra Dormitory"--was a dormitoryapart from all the rest in which, on rare occasions, a pupil wasconfined. It was not, as Mr. Weevil had said, a very good commencementfor the term; but Stanley saw that it was useless rebelling, so hesubmitted to his fate as cheerfully as he could.
"You haven't acted very well over this matter," said Paul, crossing overto where Newall was standing, as Stanley walked away a prisoner.
"Acted very well!" exclaimed Newall, all the passion that had beenrankling within him surging up. "How do you mean?"
"You ought to have spoken up. Moncrief was waiting for you to speak."
"Speak!" cried Newall contemptuously. "Why should I have spoken? Ididn't want to speak. All I wanted was to get that blow back thatMoncrief gave me; and I'll have it back yet, if--if I die for it!"
He turned on his heel and walked away. There was so much passion andhatred in the words that even the lightest-hearted amongst the boys wereimpressed by them.
"Newall's got his dander up," said Sedgefield, a rather good-looking,fair boy, another of the occupants of Harry's dormitory. "And Weevillooked as though he meant business. What a start for the term!"
They strayed away one by one. Paul, turning over in his mind what hadhappened, thought he was alone. But presently he was conscious that someone was standing by his side. It was Harry Moncrief.
"Have you forgotten me, Percival?" the boy asked timidly, for hisconfidence in himself had been shaken by the events of the lasthalf-hour.
"Oh, no; I beg pardon for not speaking to you. I'm glad to see you atGarside."
"And I--I'm beginning to be very sorry that I ever came here. I've madean ass of myself, and got Stan into a mess in the bargain. What's to bedone?"
"Nothing--just yet. It won't hurt Stanley to be by himself a littlewhile. I'm as much to blame as anybody, perhaps, as I ought to have putyou on your guard against Plunger. But it's bad form here to spoil thefun of any one, and that is why I was silent. We shall all survive it.It doesn't hurt us to be laughed at sometimes. Most of us have had ourturn at it; so don't be down in the mouth."
He linked his arm in Harry's, and under the influence of Paul's cheerfultalk the younger boy threw off the depression that had begun to stealover him, and was more cheerful. And all the time he was speaking astrong resolve was silently forming in Paul's breast. Whatever happenedhe would visit Stanley in Dormitory X that night!
The Hero of Garside School Page 8