by Ellen Wood
“What time was this?” interrupted the master.
“’Twas twilight, sir; close upon dark, as one may say. I didn’t go into my lodge again, but just shut the door, and went to do the bishop’s bidding. I went straight through the cloisters, left the packet and the message at the deanery, and come straight back again. The first thing I saw when I opened the door was, that the bag was gone. Clean gone, sir; bag and money, and string and all.”
“Was the money in the bag or out of it?”
“In, sir. The string even was round the neck of the bag. I had untied it, but hadn’t unrolled it — and I’m not sure as it was quite untied; for sometimes I ties it in a knot afore I makes the bow, and I’d only just pulled the string o’ the bow when I went out to the bishop. Somebody bad been into my lodge and took the bag off, that’s certain.”
“But why should you suspect the college boys?”
“I’m sure it was one of ‘em, sir, for two or three reasons. An hour or more afore that, as I was a sitting at my tea, some of ’em trooped past, after five o’clock school, and one pitches a book right on to my table, ‘Take care o’ that, old Dade,’ says he; for it’s scant ceremony as they uses with me, I can assure you, sir. And there the book lay; and when I went out I left it there, side by side with my canvas bag. When I got back, sir, the book was gone; gone like the bag. In course, sir, ’tis but natural to infer that him as took the one took the other. My argument is, that the boy had come back for his book, and, seeing my bag, cribbed that too.”
The master’s face looked stem and flushed. He was jealous of the honour of the school, and the affair certainly did not show out very clear.
“What boy was this?” he asked.
“Don’t know, sir. I had got my back to the door when he flung the book in, so didn’t see.”
“Do the boys often leave their books in your room?”
“Often! I should just think so. Sometimes there’s a pile that high,” stretching out his hand. “They put ’em there for safety while they play. But catch me letting ’em ever do it again, after this.”
The head master turned his eyes upon the room. “Which of you flung this book into Dade’s room last evening?”
There was a dead silence. Not one made any reply, or seemed likely to make any. The porter continued, “As I was going through the cloisters to the deanery, I met one of ‘em. It was Master Ord. I knew him by his way of walking, for it was too dark to see his face. When I came back I saw him leaning against the wall at the corner of the alley, right in view of my lodge; he did not wait till I got up to him, but walked away towards the town. Now I don’t suspect him; he’s not one, as I fancy, to do such a thing; and I’m next to sure it was not him as pitched the book in, for he’s not so boisterous.”
The master brought his spectacles to bear upon William. “Was it you, Ord, who flung this book into the lodge !”
“No, sir,” was the dear, steady answer, as he turned his truthful eyes fearlessly on the master. “I did not go home that way after evening school; I went home past the deanery.”
“I can’t fancy it was Ord, I say,” struck in the porter; “but what I was going to observe was this, that if he had stood there against that wall from the time he passed me in the cloisters, he most likely saw the boy fetch his book, and would know him. Did you, sir?”
The question was put to William abruptly, and he coloured to the very roots of his hair. He shook his head by way of denial “You did not go into my lodge yourself at that time, sir?” resumed the porter.
“No, that I did not,” was the ready reply.
“What were you doing round there, Ord, at that time of evening?” demanded the master.
“Nothing particular, sir; I was walking about and thinking. I had got my lessons forward for this morning, so went out for a stroll.”
The boys smiled. “Walking about and thinking!” That was so like Ord.
“Now, sir,” said the porter to Mr. Harkaway, “I can see you don’t like my coming here with this suspicion against the college boys; but what else am I to think, and what am I to do? It’s a loss that I can’t afford. I don’t get no more money till October, and how am I to live till then? What I was thinking, sir, was this: that most likely the one as took my bag has got it in his pocket still, or at all events the money, if you just order them to be searched. Or, if any young gent took it for a lark, to play me a trick — for they are up to everything — and will give it back, I’ll thank him with all my heart.”
The master’s face brightened up. “ That must have been it, Dade; they must have run away with it for a lark,” he cried. “Come, boys, confess; I daresay several of you were in it.”
But there was no confession and no word spoken. Mr. Harkaway grew angry. “If you do not speak, you will provoke me to order your pockets to be searched.”
No answer.
“Have you any objection to be searched?”
One and all, from the biggest to the least, declared eagerly that they had no objection — courted it, in fact.
“Durham,” said the master to the senior boy, “are you cognizant of this business in any way?”
“I am not, sir. This is the first I have heard of it. I don’t believe there’s a boy in the school would touch the money; unless, as Dade suggests, they did it for a lark.”
“Turn out your pockets, boys!”
Such a collection! Handkerchiefs all the shades of the rainbow, dirt prevailing; string, wood, tops, marbles, Jew’s harps, toffy, fruit, nuts, pens, pencils, chalk, fishing lines, peashooters, squirts, maggots, cribs, matches, and short pipes, were amongst the items. Master Trail had a packet of love letters tied up with blue ribbon, and a junior produced a dead bird. The master coughed a good deal, but the boys fancied he was laughing; he took no notice of the collection except the pipes; those he sternly took possession of — there were five of them — and read their owners (all in the first class) a sharp lecture about the pernicious effects of learning to smoke as boys; they’d be old men, he said, before they were young ones. And he said true. I’d rather see a boy learn to walk on his head, than take to smoking.
With regard to money, very little was produced, and the pockets were all visited by Durham to make sure of fair play. Some had none, some a few halfpence, some a sixpence, some of the elder boys as much as three or four shillings. The only one who showed gold was William Ord: half a sovereign. Nobody had a canvas bag.
“You can account for the possession of this?” said the master to William.
“Oh, yes, sir; if necessary.”
“Ord had not got a sixpence in his pocket yesterday,” spoke up a voice from the midst of the throng. “He never does have any.” The voice was Henley’s.
“Quite true,” said William, “I had none. This halfsovereign was given to me late last evening.” But he thought the master’s eyes were fixed keenly and doubtingly upon him. He could not tell it out in the school how the half-sovereign came to be his; they would not have understood the motives — high and good motives — which induced him to accept it. They would have called him pitiful; mean; snobbish; anything but a gentleman: therefore he was compelled to silence.
“It appears we cannot help you at present, Dade,” said the master; “but I will endeavour to find out who it was that threw the book in.”
“Thank you, sir. It lies among ‘em.” And, making his military salute, the porter departed.
What a row there was, after school! The boys stopped in the cloisters to talk it out, making more noise than the rooks outside. The head master was hastening home to breakfast, and had reached his own door, which was within view of the cloisters, when he heard somebody following him. He turned and saw Ord.
“Could you let me speak with you for a minute, if you please, sir?”
The master took him into an unoccupied room. “What is it?”
“I did not choose to speak before the school, sir; but I should like to tell you how I got the half-sovereign. I don’t fear that
you could suspect me capable of taking it,” he ingenuously added; “but I daresay it did look odd, my having gold in my pocket, when the rest had none.”
The master listened to his tale, comprehending accurately the motives which induced William to accept the money, and also those which caused him to observe a reticence to the boys: his countenance spoke quite as eloquently as his words, and the master, with whom he was a favourite, felt pleased.
“I hope you will apply to Hopley, sir, for a confirmation of what I say; and then perhaps you would be so kind as mention to Dade that I have satisfied you as to the possession of the half-sovereign.”
Mr. Harkaway nodded. “But, the proving this halfsovereign could not have been Dade’s, does not bring us any nearer the ascertaining where his money went,” he observed. “Ord, when the man asked you whether you saw any boy go in last night, you changed countenance like a girl; and, instead of giving him a straightforward denial, merely shook your head. Now, it strikes me that you saw more than you would tell.”
Ord turned red again, like a girl, as the master said.
“I am sure of it,” observed Mr. Harkaway, eyeing him keenly. “What did you see?”
“Do not ask me if you please, sir.”
“Nonsense! I ask to know.”
“You know the customs of the school, sir,” he replied in a low tone: “no boy must tell of another in a case like this. If the whole school, sir, knew which boy did it, they would never betray him to you: or, if any one did, he must leave the school, for it would grow too hot to hold him.”
Mr. Harkaway was puzzled, for William only spoke to what he knew to be facts: and yet he wanted to unearth the culprit. “Ord,” he said, “I command you to answer me. I shall use my own discretion as to making public what you say, but I shall not suffer blame to fall upon you. Did you see any boy go into Dade’s lodge last night, as you stood there?”
There was no escape when it came to this, and William most reluctantly answered. He had seen a boy coming up, he said, dash into the lodge and dash out again, a book in his hand. He did not believe he had stayed long enough to pick up anything but the book.
“Who was it?”
“I am glad, sir, not to be able to tell you that,” he said with a broad smile of satisfaction. “It was too dusk to distinguish his features: but for his college cap, I might not have known that he was one of us.”
“Did no suspicion cross your mind as to who it was? Was there nothing in his appearance by which you might recognise him to be one boy more than another? — or half recognise him?”
William struggled for a moment with himself: should it be truth or evasion? “I’ll speak the truth,” he bravely said. “I did think he looked like one particular boy; but I assure you, upon my honour, sir, that I was not, and am not, certain that it was he. Please not to press me, as to who I fancied he was like, sir, for indeed I cannot tell you. It would be most unjust were I to do so, and cast suspicion upon perhaps an innocent boy.”
“It was not your protégé, Stephens?”
William laughed. “Oh no, sir; a much bigger fellow.”
“Big Jones, perhaps?”
“No, sir: not so big as Jones.”
“You will not tell me?”
“Indeed I can’t, sir; it would be very wrong. I would rather leave the school than tell.”
“After that, the best thing you can do is to go home to breakfast,” said the master, but he did not speak as if he were angry, or in a cross tone. Truth to say, he admired William for his firmness.
As he passed the cloister gate again, some of the boys were but just emerging from it. The first and second classes of the upper school; and a few little ones, who were hanging on, and listening deferentially.
“I say, Orel,” called out Henley, “it’s deuced odd that you should have that half sov in your pocket, when you know you never possess an earthly sixpence to bless yourself with.”
“Don’t put yourself in a fantique, Henley. I got it all fair and straight.”
“Well, it looks uncommon queer; taken in conjunction with your skulking round Dade’s lodge: as he vows you were.”
“Queerer still if I had happened to see the fellow go in for his book, wouldn’t it have been?” retorted William.
“We won’t stand spies in the college school. Nor thieves either.”
William faced round on Henley. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t mean much,” replied Henley. “If the cap fits anybody’s head, he may wear it; that’s all.”
“I say, though, Ord, I should have spoken out, in your place, and said where I got the money,” observed St. Aubin. “Shouldn’t you, Durham?”
“Don’t appeal to me,” was the reply of Mr. Durham.
“Durham,” cried William, approaching the senior boy, “you said yesterday that I ought to have spoken out my defence to the master, if I had any defence to speak, for not having done the punishment lesson; and I told you that I had a very good defence, and was not to blame, only I could not declare it. Well, you find, by the master’s address this morning, that I only said the truth. I now assure you, in like manner, that the half-sovereign came honestly into my possession; and though it does not suit me to proclaim to the school whence I got it, I have been to acquaint Mr. Harkaway. He knows now all about it; knows that it’s fair and right.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Ord,” returned the senior boy, lazily. “Do you suppose we want an explanation? If I thought any king’s scholar capable of fingering a poor man’s money, in the dirty manner that Dade’s seems to have been fingered, by Jove! he should go off the rolls, or I would. No college boy has done it.”
“I’ll tell you what I deem almost as much beneath a college boy,” returned William, at the top of his voice, “the insinuations Henley was giving out but now.”
“So they would be, if anybody listened to him,” replied Durham. “Henley’s tongue is too sharp for his mouth; and a sharp tongue never gets heard in the long run. Now, you young uns, shove off! What do you want near us?”
The “young uns” flew away, with a spring. Very rarely did the senior boy condescend to notice them; and they were more afraid of him than they were of the masters.
“I say, by Jove, though, wasn’t that a drop upon our pipes?” roared out Jones.
“Not worse than the exhibition of Trail’s love-letters,” said Durham, with a quiet laugh, Durham not being a smoker: it was ungentlemanly, he proclaimed. “His blushes have scarcely cooled down yet.”
“You go to Bath!” growled Trail “Fancy! if Harkaway had read them!” chuckled St. Aubin. “Tell us, Trail, were they very sweet?”
“I’ll tell you to a thrashing presently; that’ll be sweeter,” foamed Trail “By the way, Ord,” interrupted the senior boy, “ what was the mystery about your not doing that lesson yesterday?”
“That’s a secret, and not to be told, Durham. And it’s not my secret, or you might be welcome to it. I am glad the master knows it, though I could not tell him myself.”
Away went William as he spoke; it was nearly a quarter past nine, and he had his breakfast to get, and plenty of lessons to do before ten. He could not afford to be idle another minute between then and Michaelmas day. A whole evening, yesterday, and he had done nothing.
“Did you ever hear such a rum address as that which came from Harkaway this morning?” cried Jackson. “Apologizing for having flogged a boy!”
“It’s all rum together, I think,” returned Henley. “But I know who I believe forked the money.”
“Who?” was chorused out.
“Why, Ord, of course. It couldn’t go without hands; and, look at the facts. Ord acknowledges to having been sneaking round the lodge; he can’t deny it, for Dade saw him.”
“Hold your jaw, Henley,” interrupted the senior boy. “Speak fair, if you speak at all. Ord does not acknowledge to sneaking round the lodge: he acknowledges to having been walking there; but that’s a different thing. There’s not one of us
but is walking about there often enough. Ord has nothing of the sneak about him.”
“Well, to having been near the lodge, if you like it better,” resumed Henley, in some irritation: “to having been there at the very time the money seems to have vanished. And this morning he comes to school with gold in his pocket, he who never has the ghost of even a silver coin. I say the facts are suspicious.”
“No,” persisted Durham, “not if you look at them dispassionately, and remember what Ord is — honourable as the day. The only suspicious point is his having the halfsovereign, and he says he has accounted for it to the master, so there’s an end of that. I’d a thousand times rather suspect you, than suspect Ord.”
“Oh, thank you,” chafed Henley, flying into a passion. “Why don’t you accuse me? why don’t you report me to Harkaway as the thief? You are senior, you know, and will be listened to. I’d go and get a warrant from the magistrates, if I were you, and have me taken up.”
Durham laughed at him. “Go on, go on, Henley; it’s fun to see you in a tantrum. I said that not a foundation boy was guilty of it, and I am sure they are not. I don’t care where the money’s gone, or who has got it; it’s not an Elchester College boy.”
The days passed on, and nothing came to light about the loss, neither the money nor anything else. A disagreeable feeling against William grew in the school, risen in the first instance by Henley: not that Henley was actuated by malicious motives, but he had taken it into his head that William was the offender, and nothing could shake his opinion. It was a precious shame, he said, that all should lie under the ban; and he would willingly have given three months’ pocket-money to bring the thing to light. Durham retained his own opinion, and a few — not many — thought with him.
One evening, William was deep over his lessons, when a knock came to the door. The servant opened it, and he heard one of his companions ask for him in the unceremonious manner patronised by the college boys.