by F. Anstey
10. _The Complete Letter-Writer_
"Accelerated by ignominious shovings--nay, as it is written, by smitings, twitchings, spurnings _a posteriori_ not to be named." --_French Revolution._
"This letter being so excellently ignorant will breed no terror in the youth."--_Twelfth Night._
Mr. Bultitude had meant to achieve a double stroke of diplomacy--toundeceive Dulcie and conciliate the lovesick Tipping. But whatever hissuccess may have been in the former respect, the latter object failedconspicuously.
"You shan't get off by a shabby trick like that," said Tipping,exasperated by the sight of Dulcie's emotion; "you've made her cry now,and you shall smart for it. So, now, are you going to stand up to melike a man, or will you take a licking?"
"I'm not going to help you to commit a breach of the peace," said Paulwith great dignity. "Go away, you quarrelsome young ruffian! Get one ofyour schoolfellows to fight you, if you must fight. I don't want to bemixed up with you in any way."
But at this Tipping, whose blood was evidently at boiling point, cameprancing down on him in a Zulu-like fashion, swinging his long arms likea windmill, and finding that his enemy made no attempt at receiving him,but only moved away apprehensively, he seized him by the collar as aprelude to dealing him a series of kicks behind.
Although Mr. Bultitude, as we have seen, was opposed to fighting as asystem he could not submit to this sort of thing without at least someattempt to defend himself; and judging it of the highest importance todisable his adversary in the most effectual manner before the latter hadtime to carry out his offensive designs, he turned sharply round and hithim a very severe blow in the lower part of his waistcoat.
The result fulfilled his highest expectations. Tipping collapsed like apocket-rule, and staggered away speechless, and purple with pain, whilePaul stood calm and triumphant. He had shown these fellows that hewasn't going to stand any nonsense. They would leave him alone afterthis, perhaps.
But once more there were cries and murmurs of "Shame!" "No hitting belowthe belt!" "Cad--coward!"
It appeared that, somehow, he had managed to offend their prejudiceseven in this. "It's very odd," he thought; "when I didn't fight theycalled me a coward, and now, when I do, I don't seem to have pleasedthem much. I don't care, though. I've settled _him_."
But after a season of protracted writhing by the parallel bars, Tippingcame out, still gasping and deadly pale, leaning on Biddlecomb'sshoulder, and was met with universal sympathy and condolence.
"Thanks!" he said with considerable effort. "Of course--I'm notgoing--to fight him after a low trick like that; but perhaps you fellowswill see that he doesn't escape quite as easily as he fancies?"
There was a general shout. "No; he shall pay for it! We'll teach him tofight fair! We'll see if he tries that on again!"
Paul heard it with much uneasiness. What new devilry were they about topractise upon him? He was not left long in doubt.
"I vote," suggested Biddlecomb, as if he were proposing a testimonial,"we make him run the gauntlet. Grim won't come out and catch us. I sawhim go out for a drive an hour ago." And the idea was very favourablyentertained.
Paul had heard of "running the gauntlet," and dimly suspected that itwas not an experience he was likely to enjoy, particularly when he saweveryone busying himself with tying the end of his pocket-handkerchiefinto a hard knot. He tried in vain to excuse himself, declaring againand again that he had never meant to injure the boy. He had onlydefended himself, and was under the impression that he was at perfectliberty to hit him wherever he could, and so on. But they were in nomood for excuses.
With a stern magisterial formality worthy of a Vehm-Gericht, they formedin two long lines down the centre of the playground; and while Paul wasstill staring in wonder at what this strange manoeuvre might mean,somebody pounced upon him and carried him up to one end of the ranks,where Tipping had by this time sufficiently recovered to be able to "sethim going," as he chose to call it, with a fairly effective kick.
After that he had a confused sense of flying madly along the double lineof avengers under a hail of blows which caught him on every part of hishead, shoulders, and back till he reached the end, where he wasdexterously turned and sent spinning up to Tipping again, who in histurn headed him back on his arrival, and forced him to brave theterrible lane once more.
Never before had Mr. Bultitude felt so sore and insulted. But they keptit up long after the thing had lost its first freshness--until at lastexhaustion made them lean to mercy, and they cuffed him ignominiouslyinto a corner, and left him to lament his ill-treatment there till thebell rang for dinner, for which, contrary to precedent, his recentviolent exercise had excited little appetite.
"I shall be killed soon if I stay here," he moaned; "I know I shall.These young brigands would murder me cheerfully, if they were notafraid of being caned for it. I'm a miserable man, and I wish I wasdead!"
Although that afternoon, being Saturday, was a half-holiday, Mr.Bultitude was spared the ordeal of another game at football; for a smartstorm of rain and sleet coming on about three o'clock kept theschool--not altogether unwilling prisoners--within doors for the day.
The boys sat in their places in their schoolroom, amusing themselvesafter their several fashions--some reading, some making libellous copiesof drawings that took their fancy in the illustrated papers, someplaying games; others, too listless to play and too dull to findpleasure in the simplest books, filled up the time as well as they couldby quarrelling and getting into various depths of hot water. Paul sat ina corner pretending to read a story relating the experiences of certaininfants of phenomenal courage and coolness in the Arctic regions. Theykilled bears and tamed walruses all through the book; but for the firsttime, perhaps, since their appearance in print their exploits fell flat.Not, however, that this reflected any discredit upon the author'spowers, which are justly admired by all healthy-minded boys; but it wasbeyond the power of literature just then to charm Mr. Bultitude'sthoughts from the recollection of his misfortunes.
As he took in all the details of his surroundings--the warm close room;the raw-toned desks and tables at which a rabble of unsympathetic boyswere noisily whispering and chattering, with occasional glances in hisdirection, from which, taught by experience, he augured no good; thehigh uncurtained windows, blurred with little stars of half-frozen rain,and the bare, bleak branches of the trees outside tossing drearilyagainst a low leaden sky--he tried in vain to cheat himself into adreamy persuasion that all this misery could not be real, but would fadeaway as suddenly and mysteriously as it had stolen upon him.
Towards the close of the afternoon the Doctor came in and took hisplace at the writing-table, where he was apparently very busy with thecomposition of some sort of document, which he finished at last withevident satisfaction at the result of his labour. Then he observed that,according to their custom of a Saturday afternoon, the hour beforetea-time should be devoted to "writing home."
So the books, chess-boards, and dominoes were all put away, and a newsteel pen and a sheet of notepaper, neatly embossed with the heading"Crichton House School" in old English letters, having been served outto everyone, each boy prepared himself to write down such things asfilial affection, strict truthfulness, and the desire of impartinginformation might inspire between them.
Paul felt, as he clutched his writing materials, much as a shipwreckedmariner might be expected to do at finding on his desolate island agood-sized flag and a case of rockets. His hopes revived once more; heforgot the smarts left by the knots in the handkerchiefs, he had a wholehour before him--it was possible to set several wires in motion for hisrelease in an hour.
Yes, he must write several letters. First, one to his solicitordetailing, as calmly and concisely as his feelings would allow, theshameful way in which he had been treated, and imploring him to takemeasures of some sort for getting him out of his false and awkwardposition; one to his head clerk, to press upon him the necessi
ty ofprudence and caution in dealing with the impostor; notes to Bangle andFishwick putting them off--they should not be outraged by anintroduction to a vulgar pantomime clown under his roof; and lastly(this was an outburst he could not deny himself), a solemn impressiveappeal to the common humanity, if not to the ordinary filial instincts,of his undutiful son.
His fingers tingled to begin. Sentences of burning, indignant eloquencecrowded confusedly into his head--he would write such letters as wouldcarry instant conviction to the most practical and matter-of-factminds. The pathos and dignity of his remonstrances should melt evenDick's selfish, callous heart.
Perhaps he overrated the power of his pen--perhaps it would haverequired more than mere ink to persuade his friends to disbelieve theirown senses, and see a portly citizen of over fifty packed into the frameof a chubby urchin of fourteen. But, at all events, no one's faith wasput to so hard a test--those letters were never written.
"Don't begin to write yet, any of you," said the Doctor; "I have a fewwords to say to you first. In most cases, and as a general rule, I thinkit wisest to let every boy commit to paper whatever his feelings maydictate to him. I wish to claim no censorship over the style and dictionof your letters. But there have been so many complaints lately from theparents of some of the less advanced of you, that I find myself obligedto make a change. Your father particularly, Richard Bultitude," headded, turning suddenly upon the unlucky Paul, "has complained bitterlyof the slovenly tone and phrasing of your correspondence; he said veryjustly that they would disgrace a stable-boy, and unless I could induceyou to improve them, he begged he might not be annoyed by them infuture."
It was by no means the least galling part of Mr. Bultitude's trials,that former forgotten words and deeds of his in his original conditionwere constantly turning up at critical seasons, and plunging him deeperinto the morass just when he saw some prospect of gaining firm ground.
So, on this occasion, he did remember that, being in a more than usuallybad temper one day last year, he had, on receiving a sprawling,ill-spelt application from Dick for more pocket-money, to buy fireworksfor the 5th of November, written to make some such complaint to theschoolmaster. He waited anxiously for the Doctor's next words; he mightwant to read the letters before they were sent off, in which case Paulwould not be displeased, for it would be an easier and less dangerousway of putting the Doctor in possession of the facts.
But his complaints were to be honoured by a much more effectual remedy,for it naturally piqued the Doctor to be told that boys instructed underhis auspices wrote like stable-boys. "However," he went on, "I wish yourpeople at home to be assured from time to time of your welfare, and toprevent them from being shocked and distressed in future by the crudityof your communications, I have drawn up a short form of letter for theuse of the lower boys in the second form--which I shall now proceed todictate. Of course all boys in the first form, and all in the secondabove Bultitude and Jolland, will write as they please, as usual.Richard, I expect you to take particular pains to write this out neatly.Are you all ready? Very well then, ... now;" and he read out thefollowing letter, slowly--
"My dear Parents (or parent according to circumstances) comma" (all ofwhich several took down most industriously)--"You will be rejoiced tohear that, having arrived with safety at our destination, we have bythis time fully resumed our customary regular round of earnest workrelieved and sweetened by hearty play. ('Have you all got "hearty play"down?'" inquired the Doctor rather suspiciously, while Jolland observedin an undertone that it would take some time to get _that_ down.) "Ihope, I trust I may say without undue conceit, to have made considerableprogress in my school-tasks before I rejoin the family circle for theEaster vacation, as I think you will admit when I inform you of theprogramme we intend" ('D.V. in brackets and capital letters'--as before,this was taken down verbatim by Jolland, who probably knew very muchbetter), "intend to work out during the term.
"In Latin, the class of which I am a member propose to thoroughly masterthe first book of Virgil's magnificent Epic, need I say I refer to thesoul-moving story of the Pious AEneas?" (Jolland was understood by hisnear neighbours to remark that he thought the explanation distinctlyadvisable), "whilst, in Greek, we have already commenced the thrillingaccount of the 'Anabasis' of Xenophon, that master of strategy! norshall we, of course, neglect in either branch of study the syntax andconstruction of those two noble languages"--("noble languages," echoedthe writers mechanically, contriving to insinuate a touch of irony intothe words).
"In German under the able tutelage of Herr Stohwasser, who, as I maypossibly have mentioned to you in casual conversation, is a graduate ofthe University of Heidelberg" ("and a silly old hass," added Jollandparenthetically), "we have resigned ourselves to the spell of theTeutonian Shakespeare" (there was much difference of opinion as to themanner of spelling the "Teutonian Shakespeare"), "as, in my opinion,Schiller may be not inaptly termed, and our French studies comprise suchexercises, and short poems and tales, as are best calculated to affordan insight into the intricacies of the Gallic tongue.
"But I would not have you imagine, my dear parents (or parent, asbefore), that, because the claims of the intellect have been thus amplyprovided for, the requirements of the body are necessarily overlooked!
"I have no intention of becoming a mere bookworm, and, on the contrary,we have had one excessively brisk and pleasant game at football alreadythis season, and should, but for the unfortunate inclemency of theweather, have engaged again this afternoon in the mimic warfare.
"In the playground our favourite diversion is the game of 'chevy,' socalled from the engagement famed in ballad and history (I allude to thebattle of Chevy Chase), and indeed, my dear parents, in the rapidalternations of its fortunes and the diversity of its incident, the game(to my mind) bears a striking resemblance to the accounts of thatever-memorable contest.
"I fear I must now relinquish my pen, as the time allotted forcorrespondence is fast waning to its close, and tea-time is approaching.Pray give my kindest remembrance to all my numerous friends andrelatives, and accept my fondest love and affection for yourselves, andthe various other members of the family circle.
"I am, I am rejoiced to say, in the enjoyment of excellent health, andsurrounded as I am by congenial companions, and employed in interestingand agreeable pursuits, it is superfluous to add that I am happy.
"And now, my dear parents, believe me, your dutiful and affectionateson, so and so."
The Doctor finished his dictation with a roll in his voice, as much asto say, "I think that will strike your respective parents as a chasteand classical composition; I think so!"
But unexceptionable as its tone and sentiments undoubtedly were, it wasfar from expressing the feelings of Mr. Bultitude. The rest accepted itnot unwillingly as an escape from the fatigue of original composition,but to him the neat, well-balanced sentences seemed a hollow mockery. Ashe wrote down each successive phrase, he wondered what Dick would thinkof it, and when at last it was finished, the precious hour had gone foranother week!
In speechless disgust but without protest, for his spirit was too brokenby this last cruel disappointment, he had to fold, put into an envelopeand direct this most misleading letter under the Doctor's superintendingeye, which of course allowed him no chance of introducing a line or evena word to counteract the tone of self-satisfaction and contentment whichbreathed in every sentence of it.
He saw it stamped, and put into the postbag, and then his last gleam ofhope flickered out; he must give up struggling against the Inevitable;he must resign himself to be educated, and perhaps flogged here, whileDick was filling his house with clowns and pantaloons, destroying hisreputation and damaging his credit at home. Perhaps, in course of time,he would grow accustomed to it, and, meanwhile, he would be as carefulas possible to do and say nothing to make himself remarkable in any way,by which means he trusted, at least, to avoid any fresh calamity.
And with this resolution he went to bed on Saturday night, feeling thatthis was a dre
ary finish to a most unpleasant week.