CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
GUINEA-PIGS AND TADPOLES ON STRIKE.
If anything had been required to make the "strike" of the Guinea-pigsand Tadpoles a serious matter, the "affair of Greenfield senior's rightfoot" undoubtedly had that effect. The _eclat_ which that heroicexploit lent to the mutiny was simply marvellous. The story was toldwith fifty exaggerations all over the school. One report said that thewhole body of the monitors had besieged the Fourth Junior door, and hadbeen repulsed with heavy slaughter. Another declared that Oliver hadbeen captured by the fags, and branded on the soles of his feet with a Gand a T, to commemorate the emancipation of the Guinea-pigs andTadpoles; and a third veracious narrative went so far as to say that theUpper Fifth and several members of the Sixth had humbly come and beggedforgiveness for their past misdeeds, and were henceforth to become thefags of their late victims.
True or untrue as these stories were, any amount of glory accompaniedthe beginning of the strike, and there was sufficient sense of commondanger to unite the youngsters in very close bonds. You rarely caught aGuinea-pig or a Tadpole alone now; they walked about in dozens, and werevery wide awake. They assembled on every possible occasion in theirroom, and fortified their door with chairs and desks, and their zealwith fiery orations and excited conjurations. One wretched youth whothe first evening had been weak enough to poke his master's fire, wasexpelled ignominiously from the community, and for a week afterwardslived the life of an outcast in Saint Dominic's. The youngsters were inearnest, and no mistake. Stephen Greenfield, as was only natural, didnot altogether find cause for exultation over the event which led to thestrike. For a whole day he was very angry on his brother's account, andthreatened to stand aloof from the revolution altogether; but when itwas explained to him this would lead to a general "smash-up" of thestrike, and when it was further explained that the fellows who caughthold of his big brother's right foot couldn't possibly be expected toknow to whom that foot belonged, he relented, and entered asenthusiastically as any one into the business. Indeed, if all therebels had been like Stephen, the fags at Saint Dominic's would be onstrike to this day. He contemplated martyrdom with the utmostequanimity, and the Inquisition itself never saw a more determinedvictim.
The morning after the famous "cricket feast" gave him his firstopportunity of sacrificing himself for the good of his country. Lomanmet him in the passage after first-class.
"Why didn't you turn up and get my breakfast, you idle young vagabond?"inquired the Sixth Form boy, half good-humouredly, and little guessingwhat was in the wind. "I'm not idle," said Stephen.
"Then what do you mean by not doing your work?"
"It's not my work."
Loman opened his eyes in amazement, and stared at this bold young heroas if he had dropped from the clouds. "What!" he cried; "what do yousay?"
"It's not my work," repeated Stephen, blushing, but very determined.
"Look here, young fellow," said Loman, when he was sure that he hadreally heard correctly, "don't you play any of your little games withme, or you'll be sorry for it."
Stephen said nothing, and waited with a tremor for what was to follow.
Loman was hardly a bully naturally. It was always easier for him to becivil than to be angry, especially with small boys, but this cooldefiance on the part of his fag was too much for any one's civility, andLoman began to be angry.
"What do you mean by it?" he said, catching the boy by the arm.
Stephen wrenched away his arm and stood dogged and silent.
Nothing could have irritated Loman more. To be defied and resisted by ayoungster like this was an experience quite new to him.
"Just come to my room," said he, gripping his fag angrily by theshoulder. "We'll see who's master of us two!"
Stephen was forced to submit, and allowed himself to be dragged to thestudy.
"Now!" said Loman shutting the door.
"Now!" said Stephen, as boldly as he could, and wondering what on earthwas to become of him.
"Are you going to do what you're told, or not?" demanded Loman.
"Not what _you_ tell me," replied Stephen, promptly, but not exactlycheerfully.
"Oh!" said Loman, his face becoming crimson, "you're quite sure?"
"Yes," said Stephen.
"Then take that!" said Loman.
It was a sharp box on the ears, suddenly administered. Stephen recoileda moment, but only a moment. He had expected something a good dealworse. If that was all, he would brave it out yet.
"Don't you hit me!" he said, defiantly.
Loman could not stand to be defied. His vanity was his weak point, andnothing offended his vanity so much as to find any one as determined ashimself.
He took up a ruler, and in his passion flung it at the lucklessStephen's head. It struck him hard on the cheek. The blood flushed tothe boy's face as he stood a moment half-stunned and smarting with thepain, confronting his adversary. Then he rushed blindly in and flunghimself upon the bully.
Of course it was no match. The small boy was at the mercy of the bigone. The latter was indeed taken aback for a moment at the fury of hisyoung assailant, impotent as it was, but that was all. He might havedefended himself with a single hand; he might have carried the boy underone arm out into the passage. But the evil spirit had been rousedwithin him, and that spirit knew no mercy. He struck out and fought hislittle foeman as if he had been one of his own size and strength. Forevery wild, feeble blow Stephen aimed, Loman aimed a hard and straightblow back. If Stephen wavered, Loman followed in as he would in aprofessional boxing match, and when at last the small boy gave up,exhausted, bleeding, and scarcely able to stand, his foe administered aparting blow, which, if he had struck no other, would have stamped himas a coward for ever.
"Now!" exclaimed Loman, looking down on his victim, "will you do whatyou're told now, eh?"
It was a critical moment for poor Stephen. After all, was the "strike"worth all this hardship? A single word would have saved him; whereas ifhe again defied his enemy, it was all up with him.
He did waver a moment; and lucky for him he did. For just then the dooropened, and Simon entered. Stephen saw his chance. Slipping to theopen door, he mustered up energy to cry as loud as he could, "No, Iwon't;" and with that made good his escape into the passage, as done upas a small boy well could be without being quite floored.
A dozen eager friends were at hand to aid in stopping the bleeding oftheir hero's nose, and to apply raw steak to his black eye. The storyof his desperate encounter flew on the wings of fame all over theschool, and the glory and pride of the youngsters reached its climaxwhen, that afternoon, Stephen with his face all on one side, his eye abright green and yellow, and his under lip about twice its ordinarythickness, took his accustomed place in the arithmetic class of theFourth Junior.
"Why, Greenfield," exclaimed Mr Rastle, when in due time the younghero's turn came to stand up and answer a question, "what have you beendoing to yourself?"
"Nothing, sir," remarked Stephen, mildly.
"How did you come by that black eye?" asked the master.
"Fighting, sir," said Stephen, rather pompously.
"Ah! what did you say forty-eight sixths was equal to?"
This was Mr Rastle's way. He very rarely hauled a boy over the coalsbefore the whole class.
But after the lesson he beckoned Stephen into his study.
"I'm afraid you got the worst of that fight," he said.
Stephen, who by this time knew Mr Rastle too well to be afraid of him,and too well, also, not to be quite frank with him, answered meekly,"The fellow was bigger than me."
"I should guess that by the state of your face. Now, I don't want toknow what the fight was about, though I dare say you'd like to tell me[Stephen was boiling to tell him]. You small boys have such peculiarreasons for fighting, you know, no one can understand them."
"But this was because--"
"Hush! Didn't I tell you I won't hear what it was about, sir!" said
MrRastle, sharply. "Did you shake hands afterwards?"
"No, I didn't, _and I won't_!" exclaimed Stephen, forgetting, in hisindignation, to whom he was speaking.
"Then," said Mr Rastle, quietly, "write me out one hundred lines ofCaesar, Greenfield; and when you have recollected how to behaveyourself, we will talk more about this. You can go."
Mr Rastle _was_ a queer man; he never took things as one expected.When Stephen expected him to be furious he was as mild as a lamb. Therewas no making him out.
But this was certain: Stephen left his room a good deal more crestfallenthan he entered it. He had hoped to win Mr Rastle's sympathy andadmiration by an account of his grievances, and, instead of that, he wassent off in disgrace, with an imposition for being rude, and feelinganything but a hero.
Even the applause of his friends failed to console him quite. Besides,his head ached badly, and the bruise on his cheek, which he had scarcelyfelt among his other wounds, now began to swell and grow painful.Altogether, he was in the wars.
He was groaning over his imposition late that evening in the class-room,feeling in dreadful dumps, and wishing he had never come to SaintDominic's, when a hand laid on his shoulder made him start. He lookedup and saw Mr Rastle.
"Greenfield," said the master, kindly, "how much of your imposition haveyou done?"
"Seventy lines, sir."
"Hum! That will do this time. You had better get to bed."
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Stephen, moved far more by Mr Rastle's kind tonethan by his letting him off thirty lines of the Caesar, "I'm so sorry Iwas rude to you."
"Well, I was sorry, too; so we'll say no more about that. Why, what acrack you must have got on your cheek!"
"Yes, sir; that was the ruler did that."
"The ruler! Then it wasn't a fair fight? Now don't begin telling meall about it. I dare say you were very heroic, and stood up againstterrible odds. But you've a very black eye and a very sore cheek now,so you had better get to bed as fast as you can."
And certainly the pale, bruised, upturned face of the boy did not lookvery bright at that moment.
Stephen Greenfield went off to bed that night in a perturbed state ofmind and body. He had stuck loyally to his promise not to fag, and hehad earned the universal admiration of his comrades. But, on the otherhand, he had been awfully knocked about, and, almost as bad, he had beeneffectively snubbed by Mr Rastle. He did not exactly know what tothink of it all. Had he done a fine deed or a foolish one? and whatought he to do to-morrow?
Like a sensible little man, he went sound asleep over these questions,and forgot all about them till the morrow.
When he woke Stephen was like a giant refreshed. His eye was certainlya rather more brilliant yellow than the day before, and his cheek stillwore a dull red flush. But somehow he felt none of the misgivings anddumps that had oppressed him the night before. He was full of hopeagain and full of courage. The Guinea-pigs should never charge _him_with treachery and desertion, and what he had gone through already inthe "good cause" he would go through again.
With this determination he dressed and went down to school. Loman,whose summons he expected every moment to hear, did not put him to thenecessity of a renewed struggle. From all quarters, too, encouragingreports came in from the various insurgents. Paul announced thatGreenfield senior took it "like a lamb"; Bramble recounted how his"nigger-driver," as he was pleased to call Wren, had chased him twiceround the playground and over the top of the cricket-shed without beingable to capture him; and most of the others had exploits equally heroicto boast of. Things were looking up in the Fourth Junior.
They spent a merry morning, these young rebels, wondering in whispersover their lessons what this and that Sixth or Fifth Form fellow haddone without them. With great glee they imagined Raleigh blacking hisown boots and Pembury boiling his own eggs, and the very idea of suchwonders quite frightened them. At that rate Saint Dominic's would cometo a standstill altogether.
"Serve 'em right!" said Bramble; "they want a lesson. I wish I'd twofellows to strike against instead of one!"
"One's enough if he strikes you back," said Stephen, with a rueful grin.
Master Bramble evinced his sympathy by laughing aloud. "I say, you lookjust like a clown; doesn't he, Padger, with his eye all sorts of coloursand his cheek like a house on fire?"
"All very well," said Stephen; "I wish you'd got my cheek."
"Bramby's got cheek enough of his own, I guess," put in Paul; whereatMaster Bramble fired up, and a quarrel became imminent.
However, Stephen prevented it by calling back attention to his ownpicturesque countenance. "I don't mind the eye, that don't hurt; but Ican tell you, you fellows, my cheek's awful!"
"I always said you'd got an awful cheek of your own, young Greenfield,"said Bramble, laughing, as if _he_ was the inventor of the joke.Stephen glowered at him.
"Well, you said so yourself," put in Bramble, a little mildly, for sinceStephen's exploit yesterday that young hero had advanced a good deal inthe respect of his fellows. "But, I say, why don't you stick somelotion or something on it? It'll never get right if you don't, will it,Padger?"
Padger suggested that young Greenfield might possibly have to have hischeek cut off if he didn't look-out, and Paul said the sooner he"stashed his cheek" the better.
The result of this friendly and witty conference was that Stephen tookit into his head to cure his cheek, and to that end applied for leavefrom Mr Rastle to go down that afternoon to Maltby to get somethingfrom the chemist.
Mr Rastle gave him leave, and told him the best sort of lotion to askfor, and so, as soon as afternoon school was over, our young championsallied boldly forth on his errand. He felt very self-satisfied andforgiving to all the world as he walked along. There was no doubt aboutit, he was a hero. Every one seemed to take an interest in his blackeye and sore cheek, from Mr Rastle downwards. Very likely that fightof his with Loman yesterday would be recorded as long as Saint Dominic'sremained, as the event which saved the lower school from the tyranny ofthe upper!
His way to the chemist's lay past the turning up to the Cockchafer, andthe idea occurred to him to turn in on the way back and talk over theevent of the hour with Mr Cripps, whom he had not seen since thebagatelle-lesson a week ago. He was sure that good gentleman wouldsympathise with him, and most likely praise him; and in any case itwould be only civil, after promising to come and see him sometimes, tolook in.
The only thing was that the Cockchafer, whatever one might say about it,was a public-house. The private door at the side hardly sufficed tosatisfy Stephen that he was not breaking rules by going in. He wouldnot have entered by the public door for worlds, and the thought didoccur to him, Was there very much difference after all between one doorand the other? However, he had not answered the question before hefound himself inside, shaking hands with Mr Cripps.
That gentleman was of course delighted, and profuse in his gratitude tothe "young swell" for looking him up. He listened with profoundinterest and sympathy to his story, and made some very fierce remarksabout what he would do to "that there" Loman if he got hold of him.Then the subject of bagatelle happened to come up, and presently Stephenwas again delighting and astonishing the good gentleman by his skill inthat game. Then in due time it came out that the boy's mother hadbought him a bicycle, and he was going to learn in the holidays, aresolution Mr Cripps highly approved of, and was certain a clever youngfellow like him would learn in no time, which greatly pleased Stephen.
Before parting, Mr Cripps insisted on lending his young friend alantern for his bicycle, when he rode it in the dark. It was aspecially good one, he said, and the young gentleman could easily returnit to him after the holidays, and so on.
Altogether it was a delightful visit, and Stephen wondered more thanever how some of the fellows could think ill of Mr Cripps.
"Oh, I say," said the boy, at parting; "don't do what you said you wouldto Loman. I'm not afraid of him, you know."
; "I'd like to knock his ugly head off for him!" cried Mr Cripps,indignantly.
"No, don't; please don't! I'd rather not. I dare say he's sorry forit."
"I'll see he is!" growled Mr Cripps.
"Besides, I've forgiven him," said Stephen, "and oughtn't to have toldtales of him; so mind you don't do it, Mr Cripps, will you?"
"I'll see," said Mr Cripps. "Good-bye for the present, younggentleman, and come again soon."
And so, at peace with all the world, and particularly with himself,Stephen strolled back to Saint Dominic's, whistling merrily.
The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story Page 17
