Chapter VIII
PREPARING FOR FLIGHT
That night Bertie Bailey dreamed a dream. In fact, he dreamed severaldreams; his slumber-time was passed in dreamland, journeying fromdream to dream.
He dreamed of the Land of Golden Dreams; of Mr. Bankes and WashingtonVilla; of a boy traversing a road which ran right around the world; oftumbling into ponds and scrambling out of them; of some mysteriouscountry, peopled by a race of giants, to which there came a boy, who,single-handed, brought them low, and claimed the country for his own,and the soil of that land consisted of gold and silver, with judiciousvariations of precious stones. In his dreams he saw weapons flashingin the air, and he heard the sound of strange instruments of music.
Just before he woke he dreamed the most vivid dream of all. A momentbefore all had been a chaos of bewilderment, but all at once he foundhimself alone, in the centre of some wild place, not quite sure whatsort of place it was, nor where, nor of anything about it, but he knewthat it was wild. A voice was heard in the air, and he knew that itwas the voice of Mr. George Washington Bankes. The voice keptrepeating, "A life of adventure's the life for me!" and every time thewords were uttered the boy's heart leapt up within him, and he wentbounding on. The one voice became several, the world was full ofvoices, yet he knew that they all belonged to the original Mr. GeorgeWashington Bankes; and over and over again they repeated the samerefrain, "A life of adventure's the life for me!" till the whole worldwas alive with it, and birds and beasts and sticks and stones caughtup the same refrain, "A life of adventure's the life for me!" and theboy's heart was filled with a great and wondrous exultation. But allat once the voices ceased; all was still; and the boy found that hewas standing in front of a mighty mountain, which filled the worldwith darkness, and barred the way in front of him. And he wasbeginning to be afraid, when out of the silence and the darkness came,in a still small whisper--which he knew to be the whisper of Mr.George Washington Bankes--the words, "A life of adventure's the lifefor me!" and they put courage into his heart, and he stretched out hisarm and touched the mountain, and, behold! at his touch it was cleftasunder, and in its bosom were all the treasures of the earth.
But it was unfortunately at this point that he awoke. It was notunnatural that for some moments he should have refused to haveacknowledged the fact--to confess that he really was awake, and thatit had been nothing but a dream.
It was broad daylight. The sun was peeping through the windows, alongthe edges of the ill-fitting blinds. It was nothing but a dream. As hebegan to realize the fact of the gleaming sunshine, even he wasobliged to admit that it had been nothing but a dream. He turned inhis bed with a dissatisfied grunt.
"I never dreamed anything like that before, nothing half so real! Itseemed as if I had only to put out my hand to touch that mountainnow."
But it only seemed, for there was no mountain there, only a coverlet,and a sheet, and a blanket or two, and a bolster, and a mattress, anda bed. Bertie lay on his back, with his eyes closed, attempting, by aneffort of his will, to bring back the vanished dream. And to someextent he succeeded, for as he lay quiescent he seemed to hear,ringing in his ears, the words he had heard in his dream--
"A life of adventure's the life for me!"
He seemed so certainly to hear them that, just as they had done in hisdream, they filled him with a sudden fire. Thoroughly aroused, he satup in bed, grasping the bedclothes with eager hands. And to himself hesaid, half beneath his breath, "A life of adventure's the life forme!"
The other boys were still asleep in the little iron bedsteads oneither side of him, but he made no attempt to recompose himself toslumber. He remained sitting up in bed, his knees huddled up to hischin, engaged in a very unwonted act for him, the act of thinking.
The events of the night before were vividly before him, butprincipally among them, a giant in the foreground, was the figure ofMr. George Washington Bankes.
"Why don't you run away?" Mr. Bankes' question rang in his ears.
"A life of adventure's the life for me!" Those other words of Mr.Bankes, which had been with him through the dream-haunted night, stilldanced before his eyes.
Than Bertie Bailey a less romantic-looking youth one could scarceconceive. But history tells us that some of the greatest heroes ofromance, real, live, flesh-and-blood heroes, who actually at some timeor other did exist, were anything but romantic in their persons.Perhaps Bailey was one of these. Anyhow, stowed away in someout-of-the-way corner of his unromantic-looking person was a vein ofromance of the most pronounced and unequivocal kind.
His range of reading was not wide, yet he had his heroes of fictionnone the less. They were rather a motley crew, and if he had beenasked the question, say in an examination paper, "Who is yourfavourite hero? give a short sketch of his life," he would havehesitated once or twice before he would have written Dick Turpin,Robin Hood, Robinson Crusoe, or Jack the Giant-Killer. Perhaps hewould have hesitated still longer before he had attempted to sketchthe life of any one of them. Yet, had he told the truth, the gentlemanselected would have been one of these.
Possibly in the act of selection his greatest difficulty would havelain. He never could quite make up his mind which of the fourgentlemen named above he liked the best. There were points about DickTurpin which struck his fancy. He would rather have ridden that rideto York than have had ten thousand pounds. It would have been worthhis while to have been Dick Turpin if only to possess that horse ofhorses, Black Bess, the coal-black steed of his heart's desire, thoughit may be mentioned in passing that up to the present moment BertieBailey had never figured upon a horse's back. He had once ridden adonkey from Ramsgate to Pegwell Bay, but a donkey was not Black Bess.
On the other hand, there was no part of England with which he wasbetter acquainted--theoretically--than the glades of Sherwood Forest.To have lived in those glades with Robin Hood, Bailey would heave agreat sigh at the prospect; ah, that he only could! Yet certainly onehad only to speak of the desert island, and of Robinson Crusoe on itslonely shore, for Bertie to feel a wild longing to plough the distantmain, a longing which was scarcely consistent with his desire for theglades of Sherwood Forest. It is the fashion to sneer at fairy tales,and to speak of them as though they were beneath the supposititiousdignity of the common noun boy, and certainly the marvellous historyand adventures of Jack the Giant-Killer belong to the domain of thefairies. Possibly Bertie would have been himself ashamed to own hispartiality for that hero of the nursery; and yet, to have had Jack'scourage and strength and skill, to have slaughtered giants and takencastles and rescued maidens--Bertie sometimes dreamt of himself asanother Jack, and then always with a rapture too deep for words.
Perhaps his real, ideal, and favourite hero would have consisted of ajudicious combination of the four--something of Dick Turpin, andsomething of Robin Hood, and something of Robinson Crusoe, andsomething of Jack the Giant-Killer. Take all these somethings and mixthem well together, and you would have had the man for Bailey.Emphatically, although almost unconsciously, in all his waking dreams,a life of adventure had been the life for him.
Mr. George Washington Bankes had applied the match to the powder. Ashe thought of all that gentleman had said, even in the cool of themorning, all his soul was on fire. Seeing him in his nightshirt ofdoubtful cleanliness, and with his touzled hair, you might not havesupposed that there was fire in his soul, but there was. Run away! Hehad heard of boys running away from school before to-day.
Boys had run away from Mecklemburg House, and there were stories ofone who, within quite recent times, had made a dash for liberty. Somesaid he had got as far as Windsor, some said Dorking, before he hadchanged his mind and decided to come back again. But he had come backagain. Bailey made up his mind that when he ran away he would nevercome back again; never! or, at any rate, not till he had traversed theworld in several different directions, as Mr. George Washington Bankeshad done.
It had already become a question of _when_ he
ran away. With thatquickness in arriving at a decision which, so some tell us, is thesure sign of a commanding intellect, he had already decided that hewould; there only remained the question of time and opportunity.
"Why don't you run away?" Mr. Bankes had asked. Yes, why, indeed?especially if one had only to run away to step at once into the Landof Golden Dreams!
When the boys took their places in the schoolroom after breakfast,prepared for morning school, a startling announcement was made to themby Mr. Fletcher. Bailey and his friends had expected that somethingwould be said to them on the subject of their escapade of the nightbefore; but so far, so far as those in authority were concerned, theirexpectations had been disappointed. They had been sufficientlycross-examined by their fellow-pupils, and in spite of a slightsuggestive foreboding of something unpleasant to come, when theyperceived how their proceedings appeared in the eyes of theircolleagues, they were almost inclined to look upon themselves somewhatin the light of heroes. Griffin, indeed, had not heard the last of thepond, and it was not of the tragic side of his misadventure that heheard the most. There were some disagreeable remarks made by personalfriends who would not see that he had run imminent risk of beingdrowned. He almost began to wish that he had been.
"You wouldn't have laughed at it then," he said. But they laughed atit now.
But neither from Mr. Till, nor from Mr. Shane, nor from Mr. Fletcher,nor from the far more terrible Mrs. Fletcher, had either of the younggentlemen heard a word.
And just when they were preparing for morning school Mr. Fletcher madehis startling announcement.
At first the quartett thought, not unreasonably, that his remarks weregoing to have particular reference to them and to their misdoings, butthey were wrong. The headmaster was seated at his desk, in a seeminglymore than usually preoccupied mood; but he too often was preoccupiedin school, so they paid no heed, and got out their books and slates,and other implements of study, with the ordinary din and clatter.Suddenly he spoke.
"Boys, I want to speak to you."
The boys looked at him, and the quartett looked at each other. Mr.Fletcher did not raise his head, but with his eyes fixed on the deskin front of him continued to speak as though he found considerabledifficulty in saying what he had to say.
"I have had heavy losses lately in carrying on the school. Some of youknow that the number of boys has grown smaller by degrees andbeautifully less."
There was a faint smile about Mr. Fletcher's mouth which did not quitebetoken mirth.
"But I do not complain. I should not have mentioned it, only"--hepaused, raised his head, and looked round the room, his eyes restingfor a moment on each of the boys as they passed--"only when one has noboys one can keep no school. I have found, very certainly, thatwithout boys school cannot keep me--my wife and I. Our wants are notlarge--they have grown even smaller of recent years--but to satisfythe most modest wants something is required, and we have nothing."
Again he paused, and again something like the ghost of a smile flittedacross his face. By this time the boys were listening with their eyesand ears, and Mr. Shane and Mr. Till listened with the rest.
"I am a ruined schoolmaster. I should not have told you this--it isnot a pleasant thing to have to tell--only my ruin is so complete, andso near. It will necessitate your returning home at once. MecklemburgHouse will no longer be able to offer shelter to either you or I, andI--I was born here; you will perhaps be able to go with lighterhearts. I have communicated with your parents. You must pack yourthings at once; some of you will, perhaps, be fetched in an hour ortwo. I have advised your parents that you had better be all of youremoved by to-morrow morning at the latest. Under these circumstancesthere will, of course, be no morning school; nor, indeed, inMecklemburg House any more school at any time."
Perhaps, in that schoolroom, the silence had never been so marked asit was when Mr. Fletcher ceased. The boys looked at each other, and attheir master, scarcely understanding what it was that he had said, andby no means certain that they were entitled to believe their ears. Nomorning school! Mecklemburg House ceased to exist! Pack up! Going homeat once! These things were marvellous in their eyes. There were thoseamong them who had not failed to see the way in which things weretending, who knew that Mecklemburg House was very far from being whatit was, that the glory was departed; but for such a thunderclap asthis they were wholly unprepared. Pack up! Going home at once! Theboys could do nothing else but stare.
"You will disperse now, and go into the playground. Put your booksaway quietly You will be called in as you are wanted to assist inpacking."
They put their books away. It was unnecessary to bid them do itquietly; their demeanour had never been so decorous. Then they filedout silently, one after the other, and the headmaster and his usherswere left alone.
One boy there was who walked out of that schoolroom as though he werewalking in a dream. This was Bailey. It was all wonderful to him. Hewas watching for an opportunity to fly--he knew not why, he knew notwhere; but that is by the way. He had only begun to watch an hour ortwo ago, and here was the opportunity thrust into his hand. He neverdoubted for an instant that here was the opportunity thrust into hishand.
It was now or never. He had reasons of his own for knowing that whenhe had left Mecklemburg House he had left boarding-school for ever. Hemight have a term or two at a day-school, but what was the use ofrunning away from a school of that description? It was heroic to runaway from boarding-school, but from day-school--where was the heroicquantity in that? No, it was now or never, and Bertie Bailey resolvedit should be now. So in a secluded corner of the playground he maturedhis adventurous scheme; for even he was not prepared to rush throughthe playground gate and dash into the world upon the spot.
"I must get some money."
So much he decided. It may be mentioned that he arrived at thisdecision first of all. It may be added that his consciousness of thedesirability of getting money was not lessened by the fact that hepossessed none now; no, not so much as a specimen of the smallestcopper coinage of the realm.
"I must try to borrow some from some of the chaps." He was aware thatthis was not a hopeful field. "But a fellow can't go without any moneyat all; even Mr. Bankes said he had ninepence-halfpenny." Heremembered every word which Mr. Bankes had said. "Wheeler hadsevenpence, and he promised to lend me twopence, but he's such aselfish beast I shouldn't be surprised if he's changed his mind.Besides, I ought to have more than twopence, or sevenpence, either.Perhaps he might lend me the lot; he's not a bad sort sometimes.Anyhow, I'll try."
He tried. Slipping his arm through Wheeler's he drew him on one side.He approached the matter diplomatically.
"I say, Wheeler, I know you're a trump."
This sort of diplomacy was a mistake; Wheeler was at once on thealert.
"What are you buttering me up for? Don't you think you're going to getanything out of me, because you just aren't; so now you know it."
This was abrupt, not to say a little brutal, perhaps. Bailey perceivedthe error he had made; he changed his tone with singular presence ofmind.
"Look here, Wheeler, I want you to lend me that sevenpence of yours."
"Then you'll have to want; I like your cheek!"
"Lend me sixpence."
"I won't lend you a sight of a farthing."
"You promised to lend me twopence."
"Oh, did I? Then I won't. I'm going to buy sevenpenn'orth of cocoanutcandy, and perhaps I'll give you a bit of that, though I don'tpromise, mind; and it'll only be a little bit, anyhow."
"But look here, I want it for something--I do, I really do, or else Iwouldn't ask you for it."
"What do you want it for?" asked Wheeler, struck by something in theother's tone.
"Oh! for something particular."
"What do you want it for? If you tell me, perhaps I'll lend it."
This was a bait; but Bailey did not trust his friend so completely ashe might have done. He suspected that if he told him what it reallywas wanted for, the story mi
ght be all over the playground in aminute; and it was possible that his friends might not view hisintended flight from the heroic point of view from which it appearedto him. So he temporized.
"If you'll lend me the sevenpence first, I'll tell you afterwards."
"You catch me at it! What do I want to know what you want it for? Iknow I want it myself, and that's quite enough for me."
Wheeler turned away; Bailey caught him by the arm.
"Lend me the twopence which you promised."
"I won't lend you a brass farthing."
Bertie felt the moment was not propitious. It occurred to him that hemight pick a quarrel with his friend and fight him, and that when hehad fought him long enough his friend might see things in a differentlight, and a loan might be arranged. But of this he was by no meanscertain. He was not clear in his own mind as to the amount ofhammering which would be required to bring about a conversion. He hadnever measured his strength with Wheeler; and it even occurred to himthat he might be the hammered one, and not his friend. On the whole,he thought that he had better leave that scheme untried; sevenpencemight be bought too dearly.
Baffled in one quarter he tried another. In quest of money hebuttonholed all the school. But this, again, was a mistaken step. Itsoon got about that Bailey was in search of some one to devour, and,in consequence, those who were worth devouring took the hint--they byno means showed themselves anxious to be devoured. In spite of hisrepeated efforts, he only met with one success, and that was one ofwhich he was scarcely entitled to be proud.
Willie Seymour, Bailey's cousin, has been already mentioned. He wasthe youngster who led Mr. Shane's German grammar on its final road toruin. A little pale-faced boy, certainly not more than nine years old,and without even the strength of his years.
Bertie caught him by the jacket.
"Now then, where's that money of yours?"
His temper was not improved by the want of confidence his friends hadshown, and this was not a case in which he thought delicacy wasrequired.
"What money? Bertie, don't! you're hurting my arm!"
"Yes, and I'll hurt it, too! Where's that money of yours? I knowyou've got some."
"I've only got one and fivepence. Mamma sent it me last week to buy abirthday present. It was my birthday, you know."
"Oh, was it! Then I'll buy you a birthday present--something spiffing.Fork it up!"
"But, Bertie----"
"Fork it up!"
"It's in my desk."
"Then just you let me see your desk. It's never safe to leave money inyour desk; it might get stolen."
And Bailey dragged his relative indoors. It may be mentioned thatWillie's mother (Bertie's aunt) had particularly commended her lad toBertie's care. This was the first symptom of a careful disposition hehad shown.
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