Pip : A Romance of Youth

by Ian Hay

  CHAPTER V

  LINKLATER

  I

  LINKLATER came to school after Pip,--one year, to be precise,--but bythe time that both had attained to the dignity of seniors they were firmfriends. They were a curiously assorted couple. Pip at the age ofeighteen was as inscrutable and reserved as ever, though his popularitywith the school was unbounded, and his influence, when he chose to exertit, enormous. He had already been a member of the Eleven for threeyears, and should by rights this year have been captain. But alas!though Pip had been duly washed by the high tides of promiscuousSeptember promotions out of the all-glorious Lower Shell into the UpperShell, and from the Upper Shell by the next inundation into the Fifth,he had not as yet qualified for a Monitorship.

  Linklater was a handsome, breezy, rather boisterous youth, quick oftongue and limber of limb. He possessed his fair share of brains, butnot the corresponding inclination to use them; and he was a naturalathlete of the most attractive type,--a graceful mover, a pretty bat,and a beautiful racquets player. But somehow he was not universallypopular. Everybody was his friend, it is true, but that was chieflybecause nobody cares to be the avowed antagonist of a man who possessesa sharp tongue and no scruples about using it, especially when thesegifts are backed by such undoubted assets as membership of the Fifteenand Eleven. There was something not quite right about Linklater. Perhapshe was too grownup in his manners. He was popular, too, with masters,which is not invariably a good sign in a boy.

  Still, he was not quite so grownup at eighteen as when he first came toGrandwich; and thereby hangs a tale.

  At every public school there are certain things--each school has its ownlist--which are "not done." Not done, that is, until one has achievedfame,--until one is a "blood," or a "dook," or a "bug" (or whatever theycall it at your school, sir); until a boy has fought his way into thataristocracy--the most exclusive aristocracy in the world--in whichbrains, as such, count for nothing, birth has no part, and wealth issimply disregarded; where genuine ability occasionally gains aprecarious footing, and then only by disguising itself as somethingelse; but to which muscle, swiftness of foot, and general ability tomanipulate a ball with greater dexterity than one's neighbour isreceived unquestioningly, joyfully, proudly. Dear old gentlemen, whoare brought down to distribute the prizes after lunch on Speech Day,invariably point to Simpkins major, who has obtained a prize for GreekIambics and another for Latin Prose, as the summit of the scholasticuniverse; and they beseech Simpkins's "fellow-scholars" not to bedown-hearted because they are not like Simpkins. "We do not allget--er--ten talents, boys," observes the old gentleman soothingly, witha half-deferential bob towards the Head, as if to apologise for quotingScripture before a clerical authority. He next proceeds to hold outstrong hopes to his audience that if they work hard they maypossibly--who knows?--come some day to resemble Simpkins major. At thisall the parents, forgetful of their own youth, applaud, and the"fellow-scholars," about fifty per cent of whom do not know Simpkins bysight, while the remainder seldom meet him in a passage without kickinghim, grin sheepishly, and take it out of Simpkins afterwards. The realheroes of the school, if only the dear old gentleman would realise, orremember, the fact, are those rather dull-looking youths, with incipientmoustaches and large chests, who sit cracking nuts in the back row.

  But this is by the way. Let us return to the things which are "not done"by the proletariat. The following are a few extracts from the unwrittenbut rigid code of Grandwich:--

  1. You must wear your tie in a sailor's knot--not in a bow.

  2. A new boy must not speak to any one unless spoken to first.

  3. You must _not_ shave until you are in the Fifteen or Eleven; after that you must shave every Saturday night, whether you need it or not.

  There was a merciful proviso attached to the last remarkableenactment--namely, that all whose growth of hair had outrun their socialstatus might shave to an extent sufficient to make them presentable,provided that the operation did not take place in public. Consequentlymany undistinguished but hairy persons were compelled to shave in bed atnight after the gas was out. I have often wondered what their motherswould have thought if they had known. Fortunately there is much in ourlives that our mothers never hear of. If they did, public schools (amongmany other things) would cease to exist.

  Now, Linklater, who, as has been already mentioned, was a precociousyouth,--a typical cock-of-the-walk from a preparatory school,--spent hisfirst few weeks at Grandwich in running foul of all the most cherishedtraditions of that historic foundation. He arrived in a neat bowtie,and proceeded to wear the same, despite the pointed criticisms of amultitude of counsellors, for the space of a week; at the end of whichperiod it was taken from his neck by a self-appointed committee of theLower Fourth. Finding that his eccentricities were earning him a certainamount of unpopularity, Linklater decided, like the born opportunistthat he was, to allay popular feeling by a timely distribution oflargesse. He accordingly paid a visit to the school tuck-shop, where heexpended two shillings and sixpence on assorted confectionery. On hisway back he encountered no less a person than Rumsey, the captain of theEleven, and, feeling that he might as well conciliate all classes whilehe was about it, cried, "Catch, there!" and launched the largest sweethe could find in the bag in the direction of Rumsey. The feelings ofthat potentate on receiving a _marron glace_ in the middle of hiswaistcoat from a diminutive fag deprived him for the moment of all powerto move or speak, so that the unconscious Linklater, passing onunscathed, lived to tell the tale, and subsequently to hear it told andretold by hysterical _raconteurs_ to delighted audiences for monthsafterwards.

  "Heard the latest about that new bloke?" inquired Master Mumford of Pipone evening, under cover of the continuous hum of conversation whichalways characterised "prep" in the Hivite house.

  "What new bloke?"

  "Linklater. Seen him?"

  Yes, Pip had seen him at nets that day, and had noticed that he was ajolly neat bat.

  "Notice his boots?" pursued Mumford.

  "Can't say I did."

  "Well, they were white!"

  Master Mumford fairly overflowed with happy laughter at the richness ofthe jest. The wearing of white buckskin boots was one of the privilegesof the First Eleven, and Linklater had run counter to custom and habitagain.

  "Oh," said Pip, "I suppose he didn't know."

  This childishly lenient view of the case did not appeal to Mumford, who,with all the small-minded man's respect for the letter of the law, wasthirsting to punish the evildoer.

  "Beastly side!" he ejaculated, "that's all. We are going to fill themwith soap and water after prep, and put a notice beside them telling himnot to stick on so much of it. I'm writing it now. How many _e's_ arethere in beastly?"

  "Dunno," replied Pip shortly.

  "Will you come and help?"

  "No. He looks rather a decent chap. He's only been here a week; he maynot know about white boots."

  "Ought to, then," snapped the bloodthirsty Mumford. "Other people findthings out all right."

  "Not all," grunted Pip. "How about stamps?"

  Master Mumford turned his back with some deliberation, and addressedhimself severely to the labours of composition. Once, during his firstweek at Grandwich, he had called at the Head Master's, and having, aftera wordy encounter with an unexpected butler in the hall, succeeded inpushing his way into the study, had endeavoured, in faithful pursuanceof the custom in vogue at his private school, to purchase a penny stampfor his Sunday letter from the stupefied autocrat within.

  Linklater's white boots were duly filled with soap and water, but Pipwas not present at the ceremony. He sought out the victim next eveningand invited him to supper--sardines, and condensed milk spread onbiscuits--in his study after prayers. An invitation from Pip wassomething sought after among the Juniors in "Uncle Bill's" house, forPip, though only fifteen, was regarded as a certainty for his
Elevencolours this year, after his electrifying performance on last year'shouse-match.

  Linklater gratefully accepted the invitation, and the two became friendsfrom that day. They possessed opposite qualities. Pip admiredLinklater's vivacity and _bonhomie_, while Linklater was attracted byPip's solid muscle and undemonstrative ability to "do things." Butcricket was their common bond. Linklater was almost as promising a batas Pip was a bowler, and the two rose to eminence side by side. Butdespite their early proficiency, it was fated that neither should beCaptain of the Eleven,--Pip for reasons already stated, and Linklaterfor another, which came about in this way.

  Nearly every schoolboy has a _bete noire_ among the masters, and everymaster has at least one _bete noire_ among the boys. Fortunately it veryseldom happens that the antipathy is mutual. If it is, look out fortrouble, especially when the boy has a dour temper and the master isfault-finding and finicky. Such an one was Mr. Bradshaw, late Scholar ofBalliol College, Oxford, and a born fool.

  Hostilities began early. On Linklater's first appearance in the LowerSixth, Mr. Bradshaw remarked unfavourably on the shape of his collar,and elicited loud and sycophantic laughter--which is always music in theears of men of his type--by several facetious comments on the colour ofhis tie. Linklater chafed and glowered, and muttered "Swine!" under hisbreath,--symptoms of discomfiture which only roused Mr. Bradshaw tofurther humorous efforts. Thereafter the two waged perpetual warfare.Linklater took his opponent's measure with great accuracy, and thenadvanced to battle. He discovered that Mr. Bradshaw was deaf in his leftear. He therefore made a point, whenever possible, of sitting on thatside and making obscene noises. Mr. Bradshaw was extremely bald, andashamed of the fact. Linklater had noted in his study of the Scripturesthat the prophet Elisha had suffered from the same infirmity:consequently Mr. Bradshaw found his blackboard adorned every morning fora month with the single word ELISHA in staring capitals. When Mr.Bradshaw was irritable Linklater was serenely cheerful; when Mr.Bradshaw was blandly sarcastic Linklater was densely stupid; and afterostentatious efforts to understand his preceptor's innuendoes, wouldshake his head pityingly, with a patient sigh at such ill-timed levity.

  So the battle went on. Every schoolboy knows what it must have beenlike. Matters were bound to come to a crisis. One morning, during aCicero lesson, the form came upon a Greek expression amid the Latintext, and Mr. Bradshaw, who rather fancied himself at this sort ofthing, added a touch of distinction to his translation by rendering theword in French. The form received this flight of scholarship withoutenthusiasm, merely wondering in their hearts how any man could be suchan unmitigated ass as to be desirous of elucidating for them a languageof which they knew but little by translating it into another of whichthey knew still less.

  "Yes, _elan_ is exactly the right translation," quoth Mr. Bradshaw, wellpleased. "There is always a way out of every difficulty if we only lookfor it. Get on!"

  "Please, sir, what does _elan_ mean, exactly?" inquired Linklater, notbecause he wished to know, but in the hope that "Braddy" would wasteseveral precious minutes in explaining.

  The master rose to the bait.

  "Mean? Bless my soul, what a question! Not know? Here, tell him,somebody--Martin, Levesley, Smith, Forbes, next, next, next!"

  Various futile translations were offered, and Mr. Bradshaw stormedagain.

  "Do you fellows do _anything_ in the French hour except eat bananas?" heinquired. (Deferential sniggers.) "What are French lessons but an excusefor idleness? Really, I must ask the Head--"

  They let him run on, while the golden moments slipped by. As soon as heshowed signs of flagging, Linklater, seeing that it still wanted eightminutes to the hour, repeated--

  "But what _does_ it mean, sir?"

  "Mean, you insufferable dolt! It means--it means--er, 'energy,''verve,' 'dash'--yes, that's it! 'dash'!"

  Linklater held up a respectful hand.

  "I said 'dash!' sir, the moment the question passed me," he remarkedmeekly.

  The form roared, and unanimously decided afterwards that "Link was oneup on Braddy." Mr. Bradshaw, after the manner of his kind, reportedLinklater to the Head for "gross impertinence." The Head, who had notreached his present high position for nothing, took a lenient view ofthe case, merely requesting Linklater to refrain in future from humourduring school hours. But for all that Linklater determined to be "evenwith Braddy" for reporting him: and so successful was he in hisenterprise that he effectually destroyed his own last chance of leadinga Grandwich Eleven to Lord's.

  The schoolboy is an observant animal. Mr. Bradshaw, like most men whocarry method and precision to extremes, was a mass of littleaffectations and mannerisms, one of the most curious of which was hishabit of passing his right hand in one comprehensive sweep along hisbald head and down over his face. The boys knew this trick by heart:Braddy was much addicted to it at moments of mental exaltation,--say,when standing over a victim and thinking out the details of someexceptionally galling punishment. Milford tertius, the licensed jesterof the Lower Fourth, had indeed been caned by the Head for a lifelikeimitation of the same, rendered to a delighted pewful of worshippersduring a particularly dull sermon in chapel.

  The schoolboy, as we have said, is an observant animal. Very well, then.

  One morning Mr. Bradshaw, as he entered his classroom, majestic in capand gown, closing the door carefully and lovingly behind him, with allthe cheerful deliberation of a Chief Tormentor who proposes to spend amerry morning in the torture-chamber, suddenly beheld Linklater stand upin his place and heave a "Liddell & Scott" (medium size) across the roomat an unsuspecting youth in spectacles, who was busily engaged inputting the finishing touches to a copy of Greek Iambics.

  The book, having reached its destination, rebounded in obedience to oneof the primary laws of mechanics, and fell with a heavy thud upon thefloor. The form, after the first startled flutter, settled down with ahappy sigh to witness the rare spectacle of a volcano in full eruption.

  Mr. Bradshaw's eye sparkled. Assuredly the enemy was delivered into hishand this time. Mounting his rostrum, he stood gazing, almostaffectionately, upon the perpetrator of the outrage, mentally passing inreview all the possibilities of punishment, from expulsion downwards,and busily caressing his countenance the while.

  Presently some one in the form tittered. Then another, and another, andanother. Then the whole room broke into a roar. Mr. Bradshaw, in highgood-humour, allowed them to continue for some time: he wanted to rub itinto Linklater. At last he cleared his throat.

  "Your friends may well smile, sir," he began majestically. (Cheers andlaughter.) "So serene are you in your conceit and self-assurance thatyou proceed to break rules, to behave like a board-school boy, withouteven taking the trouble to observe if one in Authority"--he smacked hislips--"be present or no. What is the result? Pride has a fall, my youngfriend. You make a spectacle of yourself--"

  Here the speaker was interrupted by a perfect tornado of merriment. Amaster can always raise a snigger at the expense of a boy, but suchwhole-hearted appreciation as this had not fallen to Mr. Bradshaw's lotbefore.

  "--a ludicrous exhibition," he continued, after the noise had subsided.

  Cheers and laughter, as before.

  "If you could only see yourself now, my boy, only behold the spectacleyou present--"

  This time his audience became so hysterical that Braddy was conscious ofan uneasy suspicion that something must be wrong. Suddenly his eye fellupon the pad of foolscap before him, upon which he had been emphasisinghis remarks by vigorous slappings. The paper was covered with numerousimpressions of his hand, neatly outlined in some jet-black substance.After a hasty inspection of the hand itself the awful truth began todawn upon him, and the now frenzied Lower Sixth were regaled with thespectacle of a man attempting to scrutinise his own countenance bysquinting along his nose.

  It must have been about this time, according to the best authorities,that the Head came in. That benevolent despot, passing the door on hisway to his study, had been attrac
ted by the sounds of mirth within; andunder the impression that owing to some misunderstanding Mr. Bradshawwas not taking his form that hour, he entered the room to maintaindiscipline until the errant master could be found. After his usualpunctilious knock--he was a head master of the velvet glove type--heopened the door, and stood an interested and astonished spectator of thescene within.

  What he saw was this--

  On the benches rolled thirty boys, helpless, speechless, tearful withlaughter; and upon the rostrum, with a parti-coloured bald head and acoal-black face, there mowed and gibbered a creature, which rolledfrenzied eyes and gnashed unnaturally whitened teeth in impotent frenzyupon the convulsed throng before him.

  Linklater had covered the door-handle with lampblack, and Mr. Bradshaw'sfavourite mannerism had done the rest.

  II

  Linklater's escapade took place at the end of the Christmas term. Earlyin the following January the Cricket Committee held their customarymeeting in the President's study, to elect a Captain and Secretary ofthe School Eleven for the following summer term.

  Usually such functions were of the most formal character. The senior"old colour" was elected Captain, and the next man Secretary; theReverend William Mortimer was unanimously re-elected President (with anungrammatical vote of thanks for past services thrown in); and theproceedings terminated.

  But this term matters were not so simple. There were five old coloursavailable: Pip, sturdy, popular, just eighteen, the best bowler,according to that infallible oracle the ground-man, that the school hadknown in a generation; Linklater, a beautiful bat and a brilliant field,with the added recommendation of a century against the County lastsummer; Ellis, a steady bat and a good change bowler, a singularlyright-minded and conscientious boy, and therefore slightly unpopular;Fagg, a wicket-keeper pure and simple; and Jarvis, a stripling ofconsiderably more promise than performance, who had scraped into theEleven at the end of the summer term on the strength of a brilliant butfluky innings against the Authentics.

  Of these five, Pip, from every conceivable point of view save one, wasthe obvious and natural man for the post. But the captaincy of theEleven carried with it a School Monitorship, and the Law, as representedby an inflexible head master's decree, said that no member of the schoolcould wear a Monitor's cap who was not a member of the Sixth. Now, Pipwas only a member of the Fifth, and occupied but a sedimentary positionin that. Consequently the Committee heaved a resigned if dissatisfiedsigh when Uncle Bill, after taking the chair, announced with real regretthat Wilmot--this, you may possibly remember, was Pip's name--was noteligible for the post of Captain.

  "Lucky thing Link got his remove this term," whispered Fagg to Jarvis,"or he'd have been barred too."

  "Dry up," said Jarvis, with a warning nudge; "Uncle Bill has gotsomething on his chest."

  Uncle Bill indeed appeared to be labouring under some embarrassment,for his good-humoured face was clouded, and he hesitated beforecontinuing his remarks.

  "I have another message from the Head," he said at length. "I will giveit you exactly as I received it, without comment. It is not a pleasantmessage, but you--we have no choice but to obey orders. It is this. Thenext in seniority, Linklater, is a member of the Sixth, and thereforeeligible for office; but on account of his--of a regrettable incident inconnection with Mr. Bradshaw last term, the Head feels unable to makehim a Monitor, and consequently he cannot be Captain of the Eleven."

  Uncle Bill had created a sensation this time. There was a startled stirall round the table, and one or two glanced stealthily in the directionof Linklater. He was deathly pale. He was an ambitious boy,--as he wasan ambitious man in after life,--and the snub hurt his pride more thanmost of them suspected. The fact that a far better man than himself hadbeen passed over, too, did not occur to him. He was not that sort.

  "That is not an agreeable message to have to deliver," continued UncleBill, who felt the necessity of breaking the silence. "But whatever ourprivate feelings in the matter may be,"--Uncle Bill did not like Mr.Bradshaw, and he was inwardly raging at the calamity which had befallenhis beloved Eleven,--"we have no choice in the matter but to obey ordersand--er--pull together for the good of the school. We have still toelect a Captain."

  "I should like to propose Ellis," said Pip at once.

  "Ellis is proposed. Will somebody second?"

  All eyes were turned upon Linklater, but that modern Achilles was toomortified to respond to their mute inquiry. Accordingly, after anawkward little pause, Ellis was seconded by Mr. Hanbury, who was presentin his capacity of Treasurer, and unanimously elected. Pip was appointedSecretary.

  "I'm sorry for Ellis," remarked Hanbury to his colleague as they satdown for a pipe after the meeting. "It's a poor business giving ordersto two infinitely better players than yourself, especially when theyenjoy the advantage of being martyrs into the bargain."

  "If I wasn't a parson I should call the whole thing d----d nonsense,"remarked Uncle Bill with sudden heat. He had fathered the School Elevenfor fourteen years, and he was now very sore that this disaster shouldhave fallen upon the most promising side he had ever coached. "I don'twant that young ass Linklater particularly, although they'd havefollowed him all right; but, as I said to the Head, here was a splendidopportunity for making an exception to the rule about not appointing aFifth-Form fellow. If there had been a decent alternative to Pip Ishould have said nothing. Ellis is not popular with the school as it is,and the fact of his having supplanted two favourites will make hisposition simply unendurable. Poor chap! For sheer moral worth I don'tsuppose there are half a dozen boys in the school to compare with him.But after all he's only a plodder. He has no more influence than--thanBradshaw himself. The Eleven won't follow him: they think he is 'pi.'He'll stick to his guns, but he'll be miserable all the time, and he'lllook it too, and altogether he'll cast a blight over the best Eleven Ihave ever seen at Grandwich."

  Hanbury, who knew that his senior would feel better if allowed to havehis say, smoked on. Presently he said--

  "I think you are rather reckoning without our friend Pip. He hasn't anounce of jealousy or meanness in his composition. Linklater will behavelike the young sweep that he is, but Pip will back Ellis through thickand thin. Just you see if he don't. Cheer up, old man, and we trample onthe County and St. Dunstan's yet!"

  * * * * *

  The school had already regretfully resigned themselves to the prospectof not having Pip as Captain of the Eleven, but the news that Linklaterhad been barred too created a storm that was not allayed for some weeks.Linklater, much to his own gratification, found himself a hero, andwithout ado collected around him a band of sympathisers of the basersort, who assured him twenty times a day that he was the only"sportsman"--overworked word!--in the school, and asserted with theunreasoning logic of their kind that things ought to be "made warm" forEllis when the summer term arrived.

  Pip said nothing about the matter at all. It was a way he had. Hemethodically made up his fixture card for the cricket season, andremarked to Ellis that if the present extraordinarily mild winter endedas it had begun, they ought to be able with any luck to get up a littlenet practice during the fag-end of the spring term after the Sports.

  But all thoughts of cricket, and indeed of every other suggestion ofsummer, were speedily brought to an end by the coming of the great andhistoric frost--subsequently known as the Hot-Water Frost--which istalked about in Grandwich to this day. It arrived rather late,--thefirst week in February,--and it held continuously and unrelentinglyuntil the last week in March.

  Morning after morning the mercury in the thermometer outside Big Schoolwas found to have retreated unostentatiously into its bulb; day afterday a watery and apologetic sun shone forth upon a curiously resonantand rigid world; and night after night the black frost came down like acast-iron pall, repairing in a moment the feeble and ineffective ravagesof the winter day.

  Not very far away enthusiastic persons were endeavouring to roas
t an oxwhole in the middle of the Thames, and at Grandwich many an equallyunusual and delightful pastime was improvised. There was much sliding:there was no other way of getting about; and boys and masters slid orglid, with more or less agility and immunity from disaster, to and frobetween house and school for several weeks. There was a magnificentslide, slightly downhill, all the way from Big School door to theGymnasium, which offered an exhilarating rush through the air of nearlyseventy yards--an offer of which Mr. Bradshaw, accidentally discoveringthe existence of the slide when walking home from dinner one dark night,involuntarily availed himself.

  There was skating galore, for the Head, taking it for granted that eachday's frost must be the last, gave extra half-holidays with a liberalitywhich continued, perforce, for seven weeks. There was tobogganing, too,down a smooth hillside ending in a plantation of young trees, againstwhich the adamantine heads of the youth of Grandwich crashed unceasinglyfrom dinnertime till tea. Every night, between "prep" and prayers, apicked band from the Hivites house, which stood adjacent to the slope,sallied out, often headed by their house-master in person, carrying potsand kettles filled with hot water to pour upon the worn parts of thetoboggan-slide; rags and sacking, too, wherewith to bandage the trunksof such of the young trees as were beginning to suffer from unceasingcollision with the heads of youthful Grandwich. Under this scientifictreatment the toboggan-slide increased rather than decreased inexcellence. The long slope, though slightly abraded towards the end of aday, always emerged glossy and speckless with the morning's light, andfearsome was the speed with which the toboggans rushed down to arborealdestruction at the foot. "Monkey" Merton, the most agile boy in theschool, used to shoot down on skates, saving his life with incredibleregularity at the end of each descent by hooking on to a tree as astreet arab hooks on to a lamp-post.

  And if there were joys outside there were others within. The classroomswere so cold that the benches were deserted, and boys and master satround the great open fireplace in a sociable semicircle. In the housestoo, there were unlimited fires; and unlimited fires meant unlimitedother things. There was a fireplace at the end of each of the bigdormitories, and fires now blazed in these from seven o'clock everyevening. Theoretically these dormitory fires, not being stoked after 9P.M., died a natural death shortly after the boys had retired to bed. Inpractice, however, they glowed like the altars of Vesta all night long,for every boy made it his business to convey a regular contribution ofcoal to his dormitory. (Handkerchiefs were an appalling item in thelaundry-bill that term.) Their united efforts were thus sufficient tokeep the fire going all night, and the _elite_ of the dormitory used tobivouac round it, in baths filled with bedclothes. This practice, ofcourse, varied in its extent, and depended entirely on thehouse-master's capacity for keeping his house in order. Among theHivites it is sufficient to say that the nocturnal fire-worshippers werenever once disturbed during the whole seven weeks of frost.

  Besides fuel, it was only natural that light refreshments should findtheir way up to the dormitories, and many and festive were thesupper-parties which were held, with the senior monitor in the chair--orrather the bath-chair--supported by the nobility and gentry sittingwell into the fire, while the fags sat and munched upon their hat-boxesin the outer circle.

  A change of routine always tugs at the bonds of discipline; for a boy,like his noble and infinitely more useful fellow-creature, the horse,though you may drive him daily with ease and comfort so long as you doso under monotonously normal conditions, kicks over the traces at onceif you change his oats or take his blinkers off. Pip's house, theHivites, had recently changed hands. "Uncle Bill" had been promoted tothe largest house in Grandwich, and had left his flock lamenting, takingHanbury with him; and the house, under the benevolent sway of hissuccessor, Mr. Chilford, a fine scholar but no master of men, was inthat state of discipline usually described as "lax." Mr. Chilford, whodisliked boys, and saw as little of them as possible, left a good dealof the management of his house to monitors--a sound plan, provided,firstly, that it is adopted by the house-master to give his monitorsexperience and reliability, and not to save himself trouble; andsecondly, that the monitors have the right stuff in them. But when themonitors' excessive authority is entirely due to the house-master's lackof the same, things are bound to happen.

  Now, Mr. Chilford's monitors that term were not a very strong lot.They were chiefly of the clever and rather undersized type, withan unwholesome respect for the burly malefactors of the Fifth andModern Side. Their ranks had recently been stiffened by theinclusion of Pip,--non-membership of the Sixth was no bar to ahouse-monitorship,--and he and Linklater were the only representativesof authority for whom the house could be said to have any respectwhatsoever. Pip, as junior monitor, did not participate largely in thedirection of affairs, but he backed the house's nominal head, oneMaxwell, with a good deal of unostentatious energy whenever thatincompetent official could be cajoled or reviled into doing his duty;and he kept a quiet but effective hand upon the house-bullies.

  But, as has been the case ever since history grew old enough to repeatitself, the chief danger came not from without but within. Linklater,second only to Pip in popularity and influence, once deposed from thecaptaincy of the Eleven, became, as Ham had predicted, the prey of theparasite and the flatterer. Such, little though they cared for theirmuch vaunted hero-martyr, were delighted with any policy which presentedthem with an opportunity of pursuing a career of misdemeanour undermonitorial authority. Did Pip go to quell a riot in a study, Linklaterwas in the midst of it; was a boy of the baser sort detected in anyparticularly unlawful offence, he said that "Linklater had given himleave."

  Pip bore it all patiently, while he thought the matter over. Linklaterwas his friend, the one boy in Grandwich for whom he felt any realaffection. He had an intense admiration for Linklater's superbbrilliancy in many departments of school life, and especially for thereadiness and vivacity that he himself lacked. They had fought their wayup the school together, and had stood back to back in more than onetight place. The fact that "Link" was at present completely "off hisrocker" was entirely due to the scurvy manner in which he had beentreated by the Head--or rather by Braddy; for the Head, Pip admitted,was bound to back weak masters up. Link would inevitably recover hisbalance in time: at present allowances must be made for him.

  However, there is a limit to all things. One evening, after the frosthad lasted for nearly a month, the monitors were lingering over thetea-table in their own private apartment. A half-holiday for skating hadbeen granted that day, and the monitors, pleasantly replete, reclinedround the greatly lightened board, unwilling to drag themselves awayfrom the _debris_ of a fine veal-and-ham pie which somebody's "people"had kindly sent for somebody's birthday.

  Suddenly the door was opened with a rapid, nervous flourish, and theReverend James Chilford appeared on the threshold. It was plain that hewas suffering from an attack of energy. For days he would leave hishouse to its own devices, and then, suddenly goaded to a sense of dutyby some slight misdemeanour, would make a lightning descent upon hispupils, and, having thoroughly punished the wrong boy, disappear assuddenly as he came.

  "Maxwell!" he exclaimed, in his high, querulous voice, to the head boy,"are you _quite_ incapable of maintaining discipline in the house? HereI have a letter from the parents of Butler, complaining that their sonis being shamefully and systematically bullied by an organised gang. Ilook to you to clear the matter up immediately. Come and report to me atnine o'clock that you have detected the offenders and soundly punishedthem!"

  The door banged, and this paragon among house-masters was gone.

  Maxwell looked round feebly.

  "Well, what are we to do, you chaps?" he inquired, seeking to shiftresponsibility in his turn.

  "What's the good of doing anything for a swine who doesn't knock at thedoor when he comes in?" grunted Blakely, the second monitor.

  "I suppose we'd better have Butler in and ask him," said Maxwell, forcedto take the initiative.

  "F
at lot of good that would do," put in Pip. "He wouldn't dare to tellyou even if he _has_ been bullied, which I doubt."

  "Better send for Kelly and Hicks," said somebody.

  Maxwell grew red, and there was a general laugh, for it was known thathe was desperately afraid of Kelly and Hicks, two bulky and muscularlibertines who did pretty well what they liked in the house.

  "It's not Kelly or Hicks this time," said Pip, getting up and going tothe door, "I'm pretty sure of that."

  "How do you know?"

  "Had my eye on them all the time."

  "Oh!" The other monitors sighed rather enviously. Their chief object inlife was not to keep their eye on Kelly and Hicks, but to keep the eyeof those freebooters off themselves.

  "Where are you going? Don't clear out till we have settled something,"said Maxwell helplessly, as Pip turned the door-handle.

  "All right!" said Pip, and was gone.

  He turned down a passage towards a district known as "the Colony," wherethe boys' studies were situated. He was not on the track of Kelly andHicks this time. Another idea had occurred to him--an idea which set theseal of certainty on a series of conjectures which had been forcingthemselves upon his reluctant mind for some weeks. After a brief sojournin a study _en route_--usually known as "the Pub," from the fact that itwas always full--into which he was unanimously haled to decide an acriddispute over certain questions connected with the Outside Edge, hesteered a course for Linklater's apartment, which was situated somewhatremotely at the end of the passage. Linklater, by the way, had left teasome time before Mr. Chilford's angry visit.

  He gave his usual heavy thump on the door, and walked in.

  Linklater was at home. He sat in an armchair with his back to the door.In his hand he held a red-hot poker, the end of which swayed gentlybackwards and forwards not more than two inches from the paralysedcountenance of Master Butler, who, cut off from retreat by anintervening table, and rigid with terror, was staring helplessly at theglowing point with the thoroughness of a fascinated rabbit.

  III

  Hearing the door open, Linklater looked round. Almost simultaneously abrown and muscular hand reached over his right shoulder and whipped thepoker from his grasp.

  "You can clear out, Butler," said Pip.

  Master Butler departed like a panic-stricken rocket, and Pip andLinklater were left alone.

  Linklater eyed his friend furtively, with an uneasy grin. He knew thathe had to deal with a boy who was his superior in every way, and thefact that the boy was his best friend did not make the coming interviewappear any less unpleasant.

  Pip sat down and used the poker, which he still held in his hand, toburn elaborate holes in his host's mantelpiece. At length he remarked,--

  "Link, old man, you are making a bally ass of yourself."

  "Thanks!" said Linklater laconically.

  "You are putting me in an awful hole over it, too."

  "Indeed? Why?"

  "Well, this sort of thing has got to stop, and I don't quite know how toset about it."

  "Is it absolutely necessary for you to try? Are you head of the house?"

  "No, I'm not. But Maxwell is. He's a rabbit, and the next four arerabbits, too. That leaves you and me. By rights you ought to be the manto keep the house on its legs. But you seem rather inclined to--to leaveit to me. See?"

  Linklater glared.

  "It's a large order for one monitor," continued Pip, "but I'm going todo it, my son."

  Pip finished a rather ornate pattern on the mantelpiece, laid down thepoker, and continued talking, looking straight into the fire.

  "What sort of state do you think the house will be in by the end of theterm if it's to be run by Kelly, Hicks, and--you in your present state?Rotten! I've seen that sort of thing before. Kendall's house went justthe same way four years ago, and--look at it now! _We_ aren't going thatway if I can help it. If only you'll pull yourself together--"

  "What the blazes do you mean?" broke out Linklater passionately. "Do youthink I'm going to stop taking it out of an idle little hog of a fagjust to please you?"

  "Oh, Butler? I wasn't talking about him," said Pip. "Listen a minute.Lately I've been able to get no good out of you at all, and you don'tseem to have had much use for me either. It's not my business to jaw,but I think you have rather allowed yourself to be talked over by apretty rotten lot--sorry, if they're friends of yours!--and the result,to be quite frank, is that you are simply playing Hades with the house."

  "What have I done?" snapped Linklater.

  "Well, the monitors are a weak enough gang in all conscience, and ittakes them all their time to run things as it is; but when they find youin the middle of every riot and row they're told to suppress, I don'twonder that they all go about looking as if they wanted to blub. Then,one night last week in the dormitory I woke up--about two in themorning, I think--when you were still sitting with some of your palsround the fire. As far as I remember there were you and Hicks and Kellyand little Redgrave--"

  "You ought to set up as a private detective," said Linklater, in toneswhich were meant to be sarcastic, but which only succeeded in soundingrather frightened.

  "I happen to know," said Pip, "because you were talking rather loud--atthe top of your voices, in fact. And to judge by your conversation youwere brewing whiskey-punch."

  He stopped, and looked at his friend inquiringly.

  "I wonder you didn't rush and tell Chilly," said Linklater witheringly.

  "I might have done," agreed Pip, "only it happens to be rather aserious matter for a monitor to be nabbed in a business like that."

  "So you thought you'd give me a pi-jaw instead! That was decent of you."

  Pip took this affront quite impassively.

  "Don't talk rot," he said. "You know perfectly well that this isn't api-jaw. They're not in my line. We--we are both people of the same sortof character. The only difference is that at present you happen to berather off your oats owing to the Head's treatment of you, and thatfills you with a desire to raise Cain and drink punch in thedormitory--eh?"

  This exceedingly handsome way of putting things appealed even toLinklater's selfish soul.

  "Well, perhaps you are right," he growled. "But why can't you be asportsman and join in?"

  Pip laughed.

  "I wonder how many good chaps have gone to the devil through fear of notbeing thought 'sportsmen,'" he said. "No, Link, old man, I won't joinin. I have my vices, but whiskey-punch in tooth-mugs at 2 A.M. isn't oneof them."

  "Very well," said Linklater ungraciously. "Sorry to have disturbed yourslumbers. I'll tell the chaps to meet in the East Dormitory tonight.Sure Maxwell will be pleased to see us!"

  Pip stood up and sighed heavily. He knew he was dealing what wouldprobably be its deathblow to one of the few friendships he reallyvalued, but this was no time for ignoble compromises. He leaned ratherdejectedly against the mantelpiece, this David, and looked down upon theunworthy Jonathan before him.

  "Link, the whole business has got to be dropped--absolutely. Surelyyou've got the sense to see that."

  He spoke almost appealingly, still clutching at the fast receding hopethat his friend would pull himself together yet. But he saw in a momentthat the hope was a vain one. Linklater's teeth shut with a snap, andhis eyes blazed.

  "Drop it, must I? Indeed? And who is going to stop me? You, I suppose,you--you swab!"

  Pip put his last regrets from him, and answered briskly--

  "Correct!"

  "And why?"

  "Because--well, because I happen to be rather fond of this oldhouse,--we've both had a good time in it, Link,--and I don't want to seeit turned into a fully-licensed pub. Also, because I don't like to seemy friends make asses of themselves. Also, because--I suppose I ought tohave mentioned this first--because it happens to be what I was made amonitor for."

  "O lor!" said Linklater, turning up his eyes; "talking about his 'duty'now. We shall have a prayer next!"

  "Yes, horrid w
ord, 'duty,' isn't it?" said Pip. "I know no sportsmanwould ever use it. But I'm going to do mine for all that, my lad."

  "May I venture to inquire how?"

  "Well, there you rather have me. But I shall begin by going round thehouse with a stick and making myself deuced unpleasant."

  "How the house will love you!"

  "They'll thank me in the end," said Pip stoutly.

  "What else will you do?"

  "Well, if I can't stiffen up the other monitors enough to get thingsright again, I shall have to make Maxwell report some of the worstpeople to Chilly."

  "Maxwell? He'd never dare."

  "Then I'll do it myself."

  "Go and blab! That's right. Great Scott! you must have got religiousmania, or something."

  "But of course," said Pip reassuringly, "I should only do that as a lastresource. I should try the other way first. To begin with--but, by thebye, where do you get your whiskey?"

  "What the devil has that got to do with you?" roared Linklater.

  "Lots. I'm going to cut off the supply."

  "Find out where it comes from first."

  "I'm going to. Do you get it from the butler?"

  "Find out."

  "Right-o! But if I accuse him of supplying smuggled whiskey to thehouse, and he happens to be innocent, it's possible he may consider ithis duty to mention the matter to Chilly. Won't you be rather landed ifhe does?"

  He gazed inquiringly at Linklater, and the latter, thus suddenlycornered, lowered his eyes.

  "It isn't the butler," he growled.

  "Who is it?"

  A pause. Then--"Atkins." (Atkins was the gate porter.)

  "Thanks," said Pip. "I'll tell Atkins that if he supplies another bottleI'll report him to the Head. But all that is by the way. What I want tosay is this, Link: will you promise me on your honor to drop all thismonkey-business and back me up in putting the house in decent orderagain? This long frost is playing Old Harry with the place; but ifyou--if we play the man this day, the bottom will drop out of theopposition completely. Will you promise, Link?"

  Pip was extremely red in the face. One cannot strain the foundations ofan ancient friendship without feeling it.

  Linklater looked at him for a moment, and then gazed into the fire.

  "Supposing I don't," he said at length.

  "But you will?"

  "Yes; but supposing I _don't_?"

  "Then," said Pip deliberately, "I should have to give you a thunderinggood licking, Link."

  Linklater was no coward, but Pip's slow words dropped into his heartlike ice. He felt miserably petty and mean, and he knew that he lookedit. He raised the ghost of a laugh.

  "Wha--what the blazes do you mean, old man?" he queried uneasily. "Rumway to treat your friends, isn't it?" It was the first time that he hadadmitted their friendship during that interview.

  "Yes, filthy," said Pip. "But there's only one alternative--to reportyou to Chilly, and I don't want to do that. The less masters have to dowith this job the better."

  Linklater plucked up courage. Pip seemed so good-tempered and serene.

  "Well, old chap," he said easily, "I absolutely refuse to fight you. Theidea's absurd. So there!"

  He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who has neatly turnedan awkward corner.

  Pip looked at him grimly.

  "I didn't say fight," he explained. "I said I should have to give you alicking,--an ordinary, low-down caning, that is,--a monitor'slamming,--in here. Of course, if you resist, I shall have to knock youdown till you give in; and then I--I shall bend you over in the usualway, that's all."

  He did not speak boastfully, but quietly and evenly, with his seriousblue eyes fixed upon the boy in front of him. He had figured out thesituation, and settled on his course of action. To him Linklater hadceased to be a friend, and was now an abstract problem, to be solved atall costs. He was prepared to knock Linklater senseless, if necessary,until he purged him of the evil spirit that possessed him. And Linklaterknew it.

  There was a pause, and then Linklater's weaker nature suddenly crumpledup like a wet rag before Pip's overbearing steadiness.

  "All right!" he replied petulantly. "Anything you like. You've beatenme! I'll give in, curse you! And for Heaven's sake stop staring at melike that!"

  His overstrained nerves could endure no more, and he rushed from thestudy, leaving his guest master of the situation.

  Pip sighed heavily, and diverted his devastating gaze into the fire.

  He had lost a friend, but he had saved the house.

  IV

  Thereafter there was no more trouble with the unruly element. Bereft ofpseudo-monitorial support, Messrs. Hicks and Kelly found the groundslipping from under them. They were routed on several occasions, for Pipexercised a good deal of quite unconstitutional authority, and wieldedthe rod in a manner which they regarded as excessively unfair. Thehalf-hearted monitors took courage; presently the house began tounderstand the meaning of the word obedience, and its self-appointedleaders came to the reluctant conclusion that the game was not worth thecandle. To crown all, the frost broke, and the long-deferred joys offootball soon dissipated the last relics of discontent andinsubordination for everybody.

  For everybody but Linklater, that is. His pride had had a fall, and hewas not the boy to recover easily from such a disaster. His interviewwith Pip had been absolutely private--apart from the momentary intrusionof Pip upon the torture of Master Butler, a scene which had lost none ofits dramatic force from that infant martyr's description of it; but thehouse, though they knew nothing for certain, observed two things--(_a_)that Linklater was no longer the sworn foe of law and order, and (_b_)that he was no longer the friend of Pip; and putting two and twotogether and adding them up in time-honoured fashion to a total of five,they came to the unanimous and joyous conclusion that Pip had "lammedLink till he promised to dry up."

  Pip, if he felt any satisfaction over the result of his labours,displayed none. He invited Linklater to take supper in his study thefollowing Sunday evening, and though little surprised at the answer hereceived, all his stolid philosophy could not prevent him from feelingdistinctly unhappy.

  One night he lay awake, thinking. The school clock had just chimedmidnight, and the dormitory was given up to a well-modulated _concerto_for seventeen nasal organs. Pip found himself wondering if Linklater wasasleep. Happy thought! he would go and see.

  The night was cold, and the moon shone brightly through the uncurtainedoriel windows upon Pip's bare feet as they paddled along the boardedfloor. Pip's cubicle was next to the dormitory door, while Linklater's wasat the extreme end, the two monitors thus dividing the dormitory betweenthem.

  Pip had something to say to Linklater.

  Presently he arrived at his friend's cubicle. It possessed no door, andthe moonlight illuminated the interior quite plainly, in spite of thefact that the lower half of the window was obscured by a humanform--the form, in fact, of the owner of the cubicle. He was leaning farout, and was apparently endeavouring to communicate with some one in thegarden below.

  No; he was hauling something up! Pip could see the regular motion of hiselbow as the line came in hand over hand. What had this midnightfisherman hooked? And who had put the fish on the hook for him? And whaton earth--?

  Suddenly the motion of Linklater's elbow ceased. Still intent on hisemployment, he stepped back a pace and scientifically "landed" hisquarry. Simultaneously Pip realised that this performance was notintended for the public eye. He must either take official notice of itor go back to bed.

  He went back to bed.

  "I wonder," he said to himself, as he settled down under the clothesagain, "if they ever wrap up anything _but_ bottles in those strawthings? He can't have taken to drink! Atkins, of course, daren't supplyhim with any more, so he must be--But surely he doesn't find it asnecessary as all that! Perhaps it's only cussedness. Let's hope so! Poorold Link! In the morning I'll--"

  Here Pip joined the
well-modulated _concerto_.

  * * * * *

  Pip's sleepy surmises had been more or less correct. It _was_ a bottle,but Linklater had not taken to drink. It was, as Pip opined, chiefly"cussedness." Pip, argued Linklater, had suddenly turned religious, andby a most unwarrantable parade of muscular Christianity had compelledhim, Linklater, the idol of the school, to eat humble pie and thenefface himself. But not even Pip should stop his fun. He would show hisindependence!

  Hence the bottle of highly inferior whiskey, obtained at an appallingcost from an individual known to the boys as the One-Eyed Tout, whoresided in the adjacent village, and whose visits to the school (eventswhich the vigilance of the authorities rendered infrequent and furtive)were invariably for some nefarious purpose. It is true that Linklaterdid not like whiskey, though plenty of hot water and sugar enabled himto swallow it with a fair show of enjoyment. But it was forbidden fruit.Few of us, from Eve downwards, have ever been able to withstand thattemptation, and, as his dormitory parties had been perforcediscontinued, Linklater conceived the happy notion of giving a "smalland early" in his own study. And on these hospitable thoughts intent heinvited Kelly and Hicks to "look in" directly after prayers if theywanted "a little something, hot."

  Kelly and Hicks both nodded knowingly, and accepted the invitation withmuch pleasure. Their sentiments were perfectly genuine. In the firstplace, it is gratifying for ordinary house-bullies to be noticed by acelebrity in the Eleven; and in the second, it is comforting to feelthat in the event of a collision with the powers that be, the entireresponsibility will fall upon the exalted shoulders of your host.

  Bedtime at Grandwich lasted from nine-thirty till ten-fifteen. Theschool retired to roost in detachments--"squeakers" at half-past nine,Middle School at ten, and the Sixth at a quarter-past. At that hour thesenior boy was supposed to turn off the gas, and slumber reignedofficially till six-forty-five the following morning.

  The dormitory cubicles, as has already been mentioned, possessed nodoors, and the partitions were only seven feet high. Each cubicle wasentered by an opening some three feet wide, across the top of which rana stout wooden bar. The bar, originally devised to strengthen theframework of the doorway, had been used for generations by Grandwichboys for the performance of gymnastic exercises. Indeed, it wasincumbent upon every newcomer, after he had been a member of the schoola fortnight, to do six "press-ups" on his cubicle-bar, under penalty ofcontinuous and painful assistance (with a slipper) from the rest of thedormitory until proficiency was attained.

  On the evening of Linklater's party, Pip arrived in the dormitory, aswas his custom, shortly before ten, and after attiring himself in hispyjamas proceeded to his usual exercises. Five minutes' club-swingingwarmed his blood nicely; and he had just completed his preliminary"toe-and-up," and was sitting balanced on the bar, when the dormitorydoor, which adjoined the entrance to his cubicle, suddenly swung open,and Linklater appeared upon the threshold. He was singing, blindly,lustily, raucously; and Pip realised at a glance that the "straw thing"_had_ contained a bottle, and that his friend was now a fully-qualifiedcandidate for "the sack."

  Linklater arrived opposite Pip's cubicle, where he drew up with a slightlurch and a suggestion of a hiccup. Small boys, who, attracted by hiscorybantic entrance, had come to the doors of their cubicles to see whatthe matter was, regarded him furtively with looks of mingled fear andamusement.

  Pip slipped off his bar.

  "Have you been making that filthy row all the way up from your study?"he inquired.

  Linklater turned a slightly glazed eye upon him, and nodded.

  "In that case," said Pip, "you'll probably have Chilly up anymoment. If he catches you like this you'll get sacked--do youunderstand?--_sacked!_ Go to bed, quick--you swine!"

  He took his bemused friend by the shoulder and turned him in the rightdirection. But two glasses of toddy held firm sway in Linklater'sunaccustomed interior, and for the moment Dutch courage was the order ofthe day.

  "Think I care?" he roared. "Where _is_ old Chilly? Let me get at him!Chilly be--"

  "There he is!--downstairs--now!" hissed Pip in his ear. "Get to yourcubicle and into bed, as quick as you can. I'll try to keep him down atmy end; but if he comes along to you, pretend to be asleep. It's youronly chance."

  All the time he was hustling the highly indignant Linklater towards hiscubicle. Downstairs Mr. Chilford's high voice could be heard querulouslyannouncing its owner's determination to unearth "the perpetrator of thisoutrage."

  For a moment it seemed as if Pip's determined strategy would succeed.But just at the entrance to his cubicle Linklater broke away with asudden twist, and in a moment was flying down the dormitory again withthe avowed intention of interviewing his house-master.

  "Where is the blighter?" he shrieked. "Lead me to him, and I'll--Pip,you cad, leave me alone! Help! rescue! cad--hrrrumph!"

  The last ejaculation was caused by sudden contact with his own pillow,for Pip, losing all patience, fairly picked him up in his arms, and,carrying him kicking and struggling the whole length of the dormitory,through a double rank of trembling and ecstatic fags, heaved him throughthe doorway of his cubicle on to his bed.

  "Get him into bed and sit on his head," he whispered rapidly to the twobiggest boys present. "Chilly is coming upstairs now. Never mind hisclothes. Quick!"

  His lieutenants, though they risked a heavy punishment for being foundin another boy's cubicle, turned to their task with the utmostcheerfulness and vigour, while Pip raced down the dormitory to repel theinvader. When that well-meaning but incompetent pedagogue entered thedoor Pip was preening himself upon his cubicle-bar.

  Mr. Chilford began at once--

  "Wilmot, what is the meaning of this disgraceful disturbance? I insistupon having the names of those responsible. Do you hear? I insist, Isay,--I insist!"

  "Disturbance, sir?" said Pip blankly.

  "Yes--disturbance, brawl, riot, pandemonium, boy! Who is responsible?"

  "What sort of disturbance was it, sir?" inquired Pip respectfully, hiscast-iron features unmoved.

  "What sort? Are you deaf? Do you mean to say you heard nothing?"

  Pip reflected.

  "I think I did hear somebody singing, sir," he admitted at length.

  "Hear?" Mr. Chilford almost screamed. "I should think you did! And, whatis more, I believe he was coming up to this dormitory. Who was it?"

  "I think it must be a mistake, sir. There is nobody singing here; youcan hear that for yourself, sir."

  Mr. Chilford was accustomed to cavalier treatment from boys, but Pip'sbland rudeness was rather more than even he was prepared to stand. For amoment there was dead silence in the dormitory, broken only by spasmodicquakings from one or two beds. Then, just as Mr. Chilford braced himselffor a thorough scarifying of Pip,--a congenial task which would probablyhave occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else and so tided over adisaster,--there came from the far end of the dormitory a loud,resonant, and alcoholic chuckle, and out of the gloomy recesses ofLinklater's cubicle there arose once more the refrain of that very songwhich had brought Mr. Chilford flying from his study.

  Pip ground his teeth. But he broke in quickly,--

  "Would you mind telling me if I do a straight-arm balance right, sir?"(Mr. Chilford had been something of a gymnast in his youth, and many ahard-pressed sinner had escaped punishment at the eleventh hour byasking his advice on the subject.) "My left arm seems to go wrongsomehow. Do you think--"

  But Mr. Chilford had heard the noise.

  "There--I knew it, I knew it!" he cried. "It _is_ in this dormitory. Whois it, Wilmot? I insist upon you giving me his name."

  "I expect it's Linklater, sir," said Pip, after consideration. Thedormitory shivered. Surely Pip was not going to throw up the sponge now!"He often sings in his sleep, sir," he added.

  The dormitory breathed again, and Mr. Chilford, completely baffled byPip's heroic coolness, paused irresolutely. Meanwhile, in the murkyrecesses of Linklat
er's abiding-place, the two sturdy Fifth-Form boysdid not cease to sit precariously but resolutely on Linklater's head.

  "Where I go wrong, sir," continued Pip, following up his advantage, "ishere." He poised himself on the bar and began to sink his head slowlydown, while his rigid body and legs, hinged on his elbows, swung slowlyup. "My left arm begins to go as soon as the weight--"

  Mr. Chilford began to take an interest, in spite of himself. Butthen--ten thousand horrors!--there was a sound as of heavy bodies inconflict, and Linklater's raucous voice was once more uplifted--

  "What? Here, is he? Just the man I want to see! Lead me to him, lead meto him, I tell you! Lead--"

  "Should I have my thumbs round the bar, sir, or alongside my fingers?"gasped Pip, upside down and desperate.

  But it was too late. Mr. Chilford, roused at last, turned on his heeland rushed up the dormitory in the direction of Linklater's cubicle.

  He had only taken a few steps when his course was arrested by the soundof a crash and a dull thud behind him. He whirled round again to seewhat had happened. Pip was no longer balanced on the bar, but lay on thefloor beneath, a motionless heap of arms and legs and striped pyjamas.

  Providence had stepped in at the eleventh hour, and the unjust had beensaved, not for the first time, at the expense of the just.

  * * * * *

  Seven feet is not a very long way to fall, but when you do so headfirst, and alight on the point of your left shoulder on a boarded floor,something is bound to go. Pip's collar-bone went, and his thick headalso suffered considerable concussion. However, his injuries, asdescribed to Master Linklater by the entire dormitory next morning, weresufficient to give that late disciple of Bacchus a very bad frightindeed. His recollection of the disaster itself was vague in theextreme, but the strictures on his own part in the affair, received fromnumerous angry people during the next few days, had an effect upon himwhich was to last the rest of his life. Consequently it was a veryremorseful and repentant Linklater who presented himself at theSanatorium two days later, on a visit to the invalid.

  "Five minutes and no more!" said the decisive matron, as she showed himinto the sick-room. "His head is still very painful."

  Linklater, to his eternal credit, devoted the greater part of the fiveminutes to an abject apology for his baseness and ingratitude.Pride--most invincible of all devils--was swept aside at last, and hisbroken words embarrassed Pip considerably.

  "All right, old man, you can dry up now," he remarked nervously, asLinklater paused for breath. "Let's drop the subject once and for all.It's all over."

  "Is it? Pip, they say you won't be able to bowl next term."

  This possibility had not occurred to Pip, but if he felt anydisappointment he displayed none.

  "Yes," he said, "it's a pity. Never mind!"

  "And it's all my fault, my fault!" Linklater held his head in his handsand groaned aloud.

  "Your fault? Piffle, my dear man! What on earth had you to do with myfalling off a bar? You were at the other end of the dormitory. The wholething was an accident: it happened at a rather lucky time for you,that's all. You'd better cut now."

  Linklater rose to go, mightily comforted.

  "I heard how you held out against Chilly, trying to keep him fromcoming--"

  "Oh, hook it!" remarked the patient uneasily.

  But Linklater lingered a moment. He wanted to say something.

  "I'll--we'll look after the house till you come back, Pip," he saidawkwardly.

  "Right. Back Maxwell up. He's a puker, Link."

  "Well, so long!"

  "So long!"

  Linklater reached the door, and turned.

  "It's a rum world, Pip," he said. "If you hadn't tumbled off that bar atthat precise moment I should have been sacked."

  "You would," assented Pip.

  Then, as the door closed upon his friend, he turned to the wall, andmurmured with a contented chuckle,--

  "That's why I did it, my son!"