The Triple Alliance, Its Trials and Triumphs

by Harold Avery

  E-text prepared by Lionel G. Sear of Truro, Cornwall, England, anddedicated to the memory of R. F. Mudie, who won the book used as thesource for this e-text as Form II First Prize for the Summer Term in1901 at the Seafield House Preparatory School, Broughty Ferry, Scotland

  THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE

  ITS TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS

  By HAROLD AVERY

  CONTENTS.

  Chapter.

  I. A NEW BOY,

  II. THE PHILISTINES,

  III. DISCOMFITURE OF THE PHILISTINES,

  IV. THE SUPPER CLUB,

  V. CATCHING A TARTAR,

  VI. GUNPOWDER PLOT,

  VII. RONLEIGH COLLEGE,

  VIII. THIRD FORM ORATORY,

  IX. A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE,

  X. A SCREW LOOSE IN THE SIXTH,

  XI. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS,

  XII. THE WRAXBY MATCH,

  XIII. THE ELECTIONS,

  XIV. A PASSAGE OF ARMS,

  XV. THE READING-ROOM RIOT,

  XVI. THE CIPHER LETTER,

  XVII. DIGGORY READS THE CIPHER,

  XVIII. A SECRET SOCIETY,

  XIX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS,

  XX. SOWING THE WIND,

  XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND,

  XXII. WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?

  CHAPTER I.

  A NEW BOY.

  "What's your name?"

  "Diggory Trevanock."

  The whole class exploded.

  "Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broadgrin on his own face--"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.--Lookhere," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"

  Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of hisclass-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, andimmediately rattled out a semi-humorous reply to the master'squestion,--

  "D I G, dig; G O R Y, gory--Diggory: T R E, tre; VAN, van; O C K,ock--Trevanock." Then turning round, he smiled complacently at theoccupants of the desks behind, as much as to say: "There, I've doneall I can to amuse you, and I hope you're satisfied."

  This incident, one of the little pleasantries occasionally permitted bya class master, and which, like a judge's jokes in court, are alwayswelcomed as a momentary relief from the depressing monotony of theserious business in hand--this little incident, I say, happened in thesecond class of a small preparatory school, situated on the outskirts ofthe market town of Chatford, and intended, according to the wording of astanding advertisement in the _Denfordshire Chronicle_, "for the sons ofgentlemen."

  This establishment, which bore the somewhat suggestive name of "TheBirches," was owned and presided over by Mr. Welsby, who, with anunmarried daughter, Miss Eleanor, acting as housekeeper, and hisnephew, Mr. Blake, performing the duties of assistant-master, undertookthe preliminary education of about a dozen juveniles whose ages rangedbetween ten and fourteen.

  On the previous evening, returning from the Christmas holidays, exactlytwelve had mustered round the big table in the dining-room; no newfaces had appeared, and Fred Acton, a big, strong youngster of fourteenand a half, was undisputed cock of the walk.

  The school was divided into two classes. The first, containing the fiveelder scholars, went to sit at the feet of Mr. Welsby himself; while thesecond remained behind in what was known as the schoolroom, and receivedinstruction from Mr. Blake.

  It was while thus occupied on the first morning of the term that thelower division were surprised by the sudden appearance of a new boy.Miss Eleanor brought him into the room, and after a few moments'whispered conversation with her cousin, smiled round the class and thenwithdrew. Every one worshipped Miss Eleanor; but that's neither herenor there. A moment later Mr. Blake put the question which standsat the commencement of this chapter.

  The new-comer's answer made a favourable impression on the minds of hiscompanions, and as soon as the morning's work was over, they set aboutthe task of mutual introduction in a far more friendly manner than wascustomary on these occasions. He was a wiry little chap, with brighteyes, for ever on the twinkle, and black hair pasted down upon his head,so as not to show the slightest vestige of curl, while the sharp,mischievous look on his face, and the quick, comical movements of hisbody, suggested something between a terrier and a monkey.

  There was never very much going on in the way of regular sports orpastimes at The Birches; the smallness of numbers made it difficult toattempt proper games of cricket or football, and the boys were forced tocontent themselves with such substitutes as prisoner's base, cross tag,etc., or in carrying out the projects of Fred Acton, who was constantlymaking suggestions for the employment of their time, and compellingeverybody to conform to his wishes.

  Mr. Welsby had been a widower for many years; he was a grave, scholarlyman, who spent most of his spare time in his own library. Mr. Blake wassupposed to take charge out of school hours; he was, as every one said,"a jolly fellow," and the fact that his popularity extended far and wideamong a large circle of friends and acquaintances, caused him to have agood many irons in the fire of one sort and another. During their hoursof leisure, therefore, the Birchites were left pretty much to their owndevices, or more often to those of Master Fred Acton, who liked, as hasalready been stated, to assume the office of bellwether to the littleflock.

  At the time when our story commences the ground was covered with snow;but Acton was equal to the occasion, and as soon as dinner was over,ordered all hands to come outside and make a slide.

  The garden was on a steep slope, along the bottom of which ran the brickwall bounding one side of the playground; a straight, steep path laybetween this and the house, and the youthful dux, with his usualdisregard of life and limb, insisted on choosing this as the scene ofoperations.

  "What!" he cried, in answer to a feeble protest on the part of Mugford,"make it on level ground? Of course not, when we've got this jolly hillto go down; not if I know it. We'll open the door at the bottom, and goright on into the playground."

  "But how if any one goes a bit crooked, and runs up against the bricks?"

  "Well, they'll get pretty well smashed, or he will. You must gostraight; that's half the fun of the thing--it'll make it all the moreexciting. Come on and begin to tread down the snow."

  Without daring to show any outward signs of reluctance, but withfeelings very much akin to those of men digging their own graves beforebeing shot, the company set about putting this fearful project intoexecution. In about half an hour the slide was in good working order,and then the fun began.

  Mugford, and one or two others whose prudence exceeded their valour,made a point of sitting down before they had gone many yards, preferringto take the fall in a milder form than it would have assumed at a laterperiod in the journey. To the bolder spirits, however, every trip waslike leading a forlorn hope, none expecting to return from theenterprise unscathed. The pace was terrific: on nearing the playgroundwall, all the events of a lifetime might have flashed across the memoryas at the last gasp of a drowning man; and if fortunate enough to whizthrough the doorway, and pull up "all standing" on the level stretchbeyond, it was to draw a deep breath, and regard the successfulperformance of the feat as an escape from catastrophe which was nothingshort of miraculous. The unevenness of the ground made it almostimpossible to steer a straight course. A boy might be half-way down thepath, when suddenly he felt himself beginning to turn round; an agonizedlook spread over his face; he made one frantic attempt to keep, as itwere, "head to the sea;" there was an awful moment when house, garden,sky, and playground wall spun round and round; and then the little groupof onlooker
s, their hearts hardened by their own sufferings, burst intoa roar of laughter; while Acton slapped his leg, crying, "He's over!What a stunning lark! Who's next?"

  At the end of an hour and a half most of the company were temporarilydisabled, and even their chief had not escaped scot free.

  "Now then for a regular spanker!" he cried, rushing at the slide.A "spanker" it certainly was: six yards from the commencement his legsflew from under him, he soared into the air like a bird, and did nottouch the ground again until he sat down heavily within twenty paces ofthe bottom of the slope.

  One might have supposed that this catastrophe would have somewhat dampedthe sufferer's ardour; but instead of that he only seemed fired with afresh desire to break his neck.

  He hobbled up the hill, and pausing for a moment at the top to takebreath, suddenly exclaimed, "Look here, I'm going down it on skates."

  Every one stood aghast at this rash determination; but Acton hurried offinto the house, and soon returned with the skates. He sat down on abank, and was proceeding to put them on, when he discovered that,by some oversight, he had brought out the wrong pair. "Bother it! thesearen't mine, they're too short; whose are they?"

  "I think they're mine," faltered Mugford.

  "Well, put 'em on."

  "But I don't want to."

  "But I say you must!"

  "Oh! please, Acton, I really can't, I--"

  "Shut up! Look here, some one's got to go down that slide on skates, sojust put 'em on."

  It was at this moment that Diggory Trevanock stepped forward, andremarked in a casual manner that if Mugford didn't wish to do it, butwould lend him the skates, he himself would go down the slide.

  His companions stared at him in astonishment, coupled with which was afeeling of regret: he was a nice little chap, and they had already begunto like him, and did not wish to see him dashed to pieces against theplayground wall before their very eyes. Acton, however, had decreedthat "some one had got to go down that slide on skates," and it seemedonly meet and right that if a victim had to be sacrificed it should be anew boy rather than an old stager.

  "Bravo!" cried the dux; "here's one chap at least who's no funk.Put 'em on sharp; the bell 'll ring in a minute."

  Several willing hands were stretched out to assist in arming Diggory forthe enterprise, and in a few moments he was assisted to the top of theslide.

  "All right," he said; "let go!"

  The spectators held their breath, hardly daring to watch what wouldhappen. But fortune favours the brave. The adventurous juvenile rusheddown the path, shot like an arrow through the doorway, and the nextinstant was seen ploughing up the snow in the playground, and eventuallydisappearing head first into the middle of a big drift.

  His companions all rushed down in a body to haul him out of the snow.Acton smacked him on the back, and called him a trump; while Jack Vancepresented him on the spot with a mince-pie, which had been slightlydamaged in one of the donor's many tumbles, but was, as he remarked,"just as good as new for eating."

  From that moment until the day he left there was never a more popularboy at The Birches than Diggory Trevanock.

  "I say," remarked Mugford, as they met a short time later in thecloak-room, "that was awfully good of you to go down the slide insteadof me; what ever made you do it?"

  "Well," answered the other calmly, "I thought it would save me a lot ofbother if I showed you fellows at once that I wasn't a muff. I don'tmind telling you I was in rather a funk when it came to the start; butI'd said I'd do it, and of course I couldn't draw back."

  The numerous stirring events which happened at The Birches during thenext three terms, and which it will be my pleasing duty to chronicle insubsequent chapters, gave the boys plenty of opportunity of testing thecharacter of their new companion, or, in plainer English, of finding outthe stuff he was made of; and whatever his other faults may have been,this at least is certain, that no one ever found occasion to chargeDiggory Trevanock with being either a muff or a coward.

  One might have thought that the slide episode would have affordedexcitement enough for a new boy's first day at school; yet before itclosed he was destined to be mixed up in an adventure of a stillmore thrilling character.

  The Birches was an old house, and though its outward appearance wasmodern enough, the interior impressed even youthful minds with a feelingof reverence for its age. The heavy timbers, the queer shape of some ofthe bedrooms and attics, the narrow, crooked passages, and the littleunexpected flights of stairs, were all things belonging to a bygone age,of which the pupils were secretly proud, and which caused them toremember the place, and think of it at the time, as being in some waydifferent from an ordinary school.

  "I say, Diggy," exclaimed Jack Vance, addressing the new boy by thefriendly abbreviation, which seemed by mutual consent to have beenbestowed upon him in recognition of his daring exploit--"I say, Diggy,you're in my bedroom: there's you, and me, and Mugford. Mug's an awfulchump, but he's a good-natured old duffer, and you and I'll do thefighting."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why, sometimes when Blake is out spending the evening, and old Welsbyis shut up in his library, the different rooms make raids on oneanother. It began the term before last. Blake had been teaching us allabout how the Crusaders used to go out every now and then and make warin Palestine, and so the fellows on the west side of the house calledthemselves the Crusaders, and we were Infidels, and they'd come over andrag us, and we should drive them back. Miss Eleanor came up one night,and caught us in the middle of a battle. O Diggy, she is a trump!Blake asked her next day before us all which boys had been out on thelanding, because he meant to punish them; and she laughed, and said:'I'm sure I can't tell you. Why, when I saw they were all in theirnight-shirts, I shut my eyes at once!' Of course it was all an excusefor not giving us away. She doesn't mind seeing chaps in theirnight-shirts when they're ill, we all know that; and once or twicewhen for some reason or other she told us on the quiet that theremustn't be any disturbance that evening, no one ever went crusading--Acton would have licked them if they had. Acton's going to propose toMiss Eleanor some day, he told us so, and--"

  "But what about the bedrooms?" interrupted Diggory; "have you given uphaving crusades?"

  "Yes, but we have other things instead. We call our rooms by differentnames, and it's all against all; one lot come and make a raid on you,and then you go and pay them out. This term Kennedy and Jacobs sleep inthe room above ours, and next to the big attic. They're always readingsea stories, and they call their room the 'Main-top,' because it's sohigh up. Then at the end of the passage are Acton, Shaw, and Morris,and they're the 'House of Lords;' and next to them is the 'Dogs' Home,'where all the other fellows are put."

  A few hours later Diggory and his two room-mates were standing at thefoot of their beds and discussing the formation of a few simple rulesfor conducting a race in undressing, the last man to put the candle out.

  "You needn't bother to race," said Mugford; "I'll do it--I'm sure to bethe last."

  "No, you aren't," answered Vance. "We'll give you coat and waistcoatstart; it'll be good fun--"

  At this moment the door was suddenly flung open, two half-dressedfigures sprang into the room, and discharged a couple of snowballspoint-blank at its occupants. One of the missiles struck Diggory on theshoulder, and the other struck Mugford fair and square on the side ofthe head, the fragments flying all over the floor. There was a subduedyell of triumph, the door was slammed to with a bang, and the muffledsound of stockinged feet thudding up the neighbouring staircase showedthat the enemy were in full retreat.

  "It's those confounded Main-top men!" cried Jack Vance; "I will pay themout. I wonder where the fellows got the snow from?"

  "Oh, I expect they opened the window and took it off the ledge,"answered Diggory. "Look here--let's sweep it up into this piece ofpaper before it melts."

  This having been done, the three friends hastily threw off their clothesand scrambled into bed, forgetting all
about the proposed race in theireagerness to form some plan for an immediate retaliation on theoccupants of the "Main-top."

  "I wonder if they'll hear anything of the ghost again this term?" saidMugford,

  "What ghost?" asked Diggory.

  "Oh, it's nothing really," answered Vance; "only somebody said oncethat the house is haunted, and Kennedy and Jacobs say the ghost must bein the big attic next their room. They hear such queer noises sometimesthat they both go under the bed-clothes."

  "Do they always do that?"

  "Yes, so they say, whenever there is a row."

  "Well, then," said Diggory, "I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll go veryquietly up into that attic, and groan and knock on the wall until youthink they've both got their heads well under the clothes, and thenwe'll rush in and bag their pillows, or drag them out of bed, orsomething of that sort. You aren't afraid to go into the attic, areyou?" he continued, seeing that the others hesitated. "Why, of coursethere are no such things as ghosts. Or, look here, I'll go in, andyou can wait outside."

  "N--no, I don't mind," answered Vance; "and it'll be an awful larkcatching them with their heads under the clothes."

  "All right, then, let's do it; though I suppose we'd better wait tillevery one's in bed."

  The last suggestion was agreed upon, and the three friends lay talkingin an undertone until the sound of footsteps and the gleam of a candleabove the door announced the fact that Mr. Blake was retiring to rest.

  "He's always last," said Vance; "we must give him time to undress, andthen we'll start."

  A quarter of an hour later the three boys, in semi-undress, werecreeping in single file up the narrow staircase.

  "Be careful," whispered Vance; "there are several loose boards, and theycrack like anything."

  The small landing was reached in safety, and the moon, shining faintlythrough a little skylight formed of a single pane of glass, enabled themto distinguish the outline of two doors.

  Now it was a very different matter, when lying warm and snug in bed, totalk about acting the ghost, from what it was, when standing shiveringin the cold and darkness, to put the project into execution. During theperiod of waiting the conversation had turned on haunted houses, and noone seemed particularly anxious to claim as it were the post of honour,and be the first to enter the big attic.

  "Go on!" whispered Mugford, nudging Vance.

  "Go on!" repeated the latter, giving Diggory's arm a gentle push.

  The new boy had certainly undertaken to play the part of the ghost, andthere was no excuse for his backing out of it at the last moment.

  "All right," he muttered, "I'll go."

  Just then a terrible thing happened. Diggory clutched the door-knob asthough it were the handle of a galvanic battery, while Mugford and Vanceseized each other by the arm and literally gasped for breath.

  The stillness had been broken by a slight sound, as of something fallinginside the attic, and this was followed a moment later by a shrill,unearthly scream.

  For five seconds the three companions stood petrified with horror, notdaring to move; then followed another scream, if anything more horriblethan the last, and accompanied this time by the clanking rattle of achain being dragged across the floor.

  That was enough. Talk about a _sauve qui peut_! the wonder is that anyone survived the stampede which followed. The youngsters turned andflew down the stairs at break-neck speed, and hardly had they startedwhen the door of the "Main-top" was flung open, and its two occupantsrushed down after them. As though to ensure the retreat being nothingless than a regular rout, Mugford, who was leading, missed his footingon the last step, causing every one to fall over him in turn, until allfive boys were sprawling together in a mixed heap upon the floor.

  Freeing themselves with some little difficulty from the generalentanglement, they rose to their feet, and after surveying each otherfor a moment in silence, gave vent to a simultaneous ejaculation of"_The ghost_!"

  "What were you fellows doing up there?" asked Kennedy.

  "Why, we came up to have a joke with you," answered Vance; "but justwhen we got up to the landing, it--it made that noise!"

  There was the sound of the key turning in the lock of Mr. Blake's door.

  "_Cave_!" whispered Mugford.

  "Tell him about it," added Vance; and giving Diggory a push, they allthree darted into their room just as the master emerged from his,arrayed in dressing-gown and slippers.

  "Now, then," exclaimed the latter, holding his candle above his head,and peering down the passage, "what's the meaning of this disturbance?I thought the whole house was falling down.--Come here, you two, andexplain yourselves!"

  "Please, sir," answered Kennedy and Jacobs in one breath, "it's theghost!"

  "The ghost! What ghost? What d'you mean?"

  The two "Main-top" men began a hasty account of the cause of theirsudden fright, taking care, however, to make no mention of the threehostile visitors who had shared in the surprise.

  Mr. Blake listened to their story in silence, then all at once he burstout laughing, and without a word turned on his heel and went quicklyupstairs. He entered the attic, and in about half a minute they heardhim coming back.

  "Ha, ha! I've got your ghost; I've been trying to lay him for some timepast."

  The jingle of a chain was distinctly audible; Mr. Blake was evidentlybringing the spectre down in his arms! Diggory and Vance could nolonger restrain their curiosity; they hopped out of bed and glancedround the corner of the door. The master held in his hand a rusty oldgin, the iron jaws of which were tightly closed upon the body of anenormous rat.

  "There's a monster for you!" he said; "I think it's the biggest I eversaw. He'd carried the trap, chain and all, right across the room, butthat finished him; he was as dead as a stone when I picked him up.Now get back to bed; I should think you're both nearly frozen."

  Diggory and Jack Vance followed the advice given to Kennedy and Jacobs,and did so rather sheepishly. They felt they had been making tools ofthemselves; yet it would never have done to own to such a thing.

  "What a lark!" said the new boy, after a few moments' silence.

  "Wasn't it!" returned Jack Vance; "it's the best joke I've had for along time. But we didn't pay those fellows out for throwing thosesnowballs; we must do it some other night. And now we three must swearto be friends, and stand by each other against all the world, andwhatever happens. What shall we call our room?"

  "I know," answered Diggory: "we'll call it 'The Triple Alliance!'"