[5]
BRADSHAW'S LITTLE STORY
The qualities which in later years rendered Frederick WackerbathBradshaw so conspicuous a figure in connection with the now celebratedaffair of the European, African, and Asiatic Pork Pie and Ham SandwichSupply Company frauds, were sufficiently in evidence during his schoolcareer to make his masters prophesy gloomily concerning his future. Theboy was in every detail the father of the man. There was the samegenial unscrupulousness, upon which the judge commented so bitterlyduring the trial, the same readiness to seize an opportunity and makethe most of it, the same brilliance of tactics. Only once during thoseyears can I remember an occasion on which Justice scored a pointagainst him. I can remember it, because I was in a sense responsiblefor his failure. And he can remember it, I should be inclined to think,for other reasons. Our then Headmaster was a man with a straight eyeand a good deal of muscular energy, and it is probable that thetalented Frederick, in spite of the passage of years, has a tenderrecollection of these facts.
It was the eve of the Euripides examination in the Upper Fourth.Euripides is not difficult compared to some other authors, but he doesdemand a certain amount of preparation. Bradshaw was a youth who didless preparation than anybody I have ever seen, heard of, or read of,partly because he preferred to peruse a novel under the table duringprep., but chiefly, I think, because he had reduced cribbing in form tosuch an exact science that he loved it for its own sake, and would nosooner have come tamely into school with a prepared lesson than asportsman would shoot a sitting bird. It was not the marks that hecared for. He despised them. What he enjoyed was the refined pleasureof swindling under a master's very eye. At the trial the judge, whohad, so ran report, been himself rather badly bitten by the HamSandwich Company, put the case briefly and neatly in the words, 'Youappear to revel in villainy for villainy's sake,' and I am almostcertain that I saw the beginnings of a gratified smile on Frederick'sexpressive face as he heard the remark. The rest of our study--thejuniors at St Austin's pigged in quartettes--were in a state ofconsiderable mental activity on account of this Euripides examination.There had been House-matches during the preceding fortnight, andHouse-matches are not a help to study, especially if you are on thevery fringe of the cock-house team, as I was. By dint of practisingevery minute of spare time, I had got the eleventh place for myfielding. And, better still, I had caught two catches in the secondinnings, one of them a regular gallery affair, and both off thecaptain's bowling. It was magnificent, but it was not Euripides, and Iwished now that it had been. Mellish, our form-master, had anunpleasant habit of coming down with both feet, as it were, on membersof his form who failed in the book-papers.
We were working, therefore, under forced draught, and it was distinctlyannoying to see the wretched Bradshaw lounging in our only armchairwith one of Rider Haggard's best, seemingly quite unmoved at theprospect of Euripides examinations. For all he appeared to care,Euripides might never have written a line in his life.
Kendal voiced the opinion of the meeting.
'Bradshaw, you worm,' he said. 'Aren't you going to do _any_work?'
'Think not. What's the good? Can't get up a whole play of Euripides intwo hours.'
'Mellish'll give you beans.'
'Let him.'
'You'll get a jolly bad report.'
'Shan't get a report at all. I always intercept it before my guardiancan get it. He never says anything.'
'Mellish'll probably run you in to the Old Man,' said White, the fourthoccupant of the study.
Bradshaw turned on us with a wearied air.
'Oh, do give us a rest,' he said. 'Here you are just going to do a mostimportant exam., and you sit jawing away as if you were paid for it.Oh, I say, by the way, who's setting the paper tomorrow?'
'Mellish, of course,' said White.
'No, he isn't,' I said. 'Shows what a lot you know about it. Mellish issetting the Livy paper.'
'Then, who's doing this one?' asked Bradshaw.
'Yorke.'
Yorke was the master of the Upper Fifth. He generally set one of theupper fourth book-papers.
'Certain?' said Bradshaw.
'Absolutely.'
'Thanks. That's all I wanted to know. By Jove, I advise you chaps toread this. It's grand. Shall I read out this bit about a fight?'
'No!' we shouted virtuously, all together, though we were dying to hearit, and we turned once more to the loathsome inanities of the secondchorus. If we had been doing Homer, we should have felt more in touchwith Bradshaw. There's a good deal of similarity, when you come tocompare them, between Homer and Haggard. They both deal largely inbloodshed, for instance. As events proved, the Euripides paper, likemany things which seem formidable at a distance, was not nearly so badas I had expected. I did a fair-to-moderate paper, and Kendal and Whiteboth seemed satisfied with themselves. Bradshaw confessed withoutemotion that he had only attempted the last half of the last question,and on being pressed for further information, merely laughedmysteriously, and said vaguely that it would be all right.
It now became plain that he had something up his sleeve. We expressed aunanimous desire to know what it was.
'You might tell a chap,' I said.
'Out with it, Bradshaw, or we'll lynch you,' added Kendal.
Bradshaw, however, was not to be drawn. Much of his success in thepaths of crime, both at school and afterwards, was due to his secretivehabits. He never permitted accomplices.
On the following Wednesday the marks were read out. Out of a possiblehundred I had obtained sixty--which pleased me very much indeed--White,fifty-five, Kendal, sixty-one. The unspeakable Bradshaw's net total wasfour.
Mellish always read out bad marks in a hushed voice, expressive ofdisgust and horror, but four per cent was too much for him. He shoutedit, and the form yelled applause, until Ponsonby came in from the UpperFifth next door with Mr Yorke's compliments, 'and would we recollectthat his form were trying to do an examination'.
When order had been restored, Mellish settled his glasses and glaredthrough them at Bradshaw, who, it may be remarked, had not turned ahair.
'Bradshaw,' he said, 'how do you explain this?'
It was merely a sighting shot, so to speak. Nobody was ever expected toanswer the question. Bradshaw, however, proved himself the exception tothe rule.
'I can explain, sir,' he said, 'if I may speak to you privatelyafterwards.'
I have seldom seen anyone so astonished as Mellish was at these words.In the whole course of his professional experience, he had never metwith a parallel case. It was hard on the poor man not to be allowed tospeak his mind about a matter of four per cent in a book-paper, butwhat could he do? He could not proceed with his denunciation, for ifBradshaw's explanation turned out a sufficient excuse, he would have towithdraw it all again, and vast stores of golden eloquence would bewasted. But, then, if he bottled up what he wished to say altogether,it might do him a serious internal injury. At last he hit on acompromise. He said, 'Very well, Bradshaw, I will hear what you have tosay,' and then sprang, like the cat in the poem, 'all claws', upon anunfortunate individual who had scored twenty-nine, and who had beencongratulating himself that Bradshaw's failings would act as a sort oflightning-conductor to him. Bradshaw worked off his explanation inunder five minutes. I tried to stay behind to listen, on the pretext ofwanting to tidy up my desk, but was ejected by request. Bradshawexplained that his statement was private.
After a time they came out together like long-lost brothers, Mellishwith his hand on Bradshaw's shoulder. It was some small comfort to meto remember that Bradshaw had the greatest dislike to this sort ofthing.
It was evident that Bradshaw, able exponent of the art of fiction thathe was, must have excelled himself on this occasion. I tried to get thestory out of him in the study that evening. White and Kendal assisted.We tried persuasion first. That having failed, we tried taunts. Then wetried kindness. Kendal sat on his legs, and I sat on his head, andWhite twisted his arm. I think that we should have extracted somethingsoo
n, either his arm from its socket or a full confession, but we wereinterrupted. The door flew open, and Prater (the same being ourHouse-master, and rather a good sort) appeared.
'Now then, now then,' he said. Prater's manner is always abrupt.
'What's this? I can't have this. I can't have this. Get up at once.Where's Bradshaw?'
I rose gracefully to my feet, thereby disclosing the classic featuresof the lost one.
'The Headmaster wants to see you at once, Bradshaw, at the SchoolHouse. You others had better find something to do, or you will begetting into trouble.'
He and Bradshaw left together, while we speculated on the cause of thesummons.
We were not left very long in suspense. In a quarter of an hourBradshaw returned, walking painfully, and bearing what, to the expert'seye, are the unmistakable signs of a 'touching up', which, beinginterpreted, is corporal punishment.
'Hullo,' said White, as he appeared, 'what's all this?'
'How many?' enquired the statistically-minded Kendal. 'You'll bethankful for this when you're a man, Bradshaw.'
'That's what I always say to myself when I'm touched up,' added Kendal.
I said nothing, but it was to me that the wounded one addressedhimself.
'You utter ass,' he said, in tones of concentrated venom.
'Look here, Bradshaw--' I began, protestingly.
'It's all through you--you idiot,' he snarled. 'I got twelve.'
'Twelve isn't so dusty,' said White, critically. 'Most I ever got wassix.'
'But why was it?' asked Kendal. 'That's what we want to know. What haveyou been and gone and done?'
'It's about that Euripides paper,' said Bradshaw.
'Ah!' said Kendal.
'Yes, I don't mind telling you about it now. When Mellish had me upafter school today, I'd got my yarn all ready. There wasn't a flaw init anywhere as far as I could see. My idea was this. I told him I'dbeen to Yorke's room the day before the exam, to ask him if he had anymarks for us. That was all right. Yorke was doing the two Unseenpapers, and it was just the sort of thing a fellow would do to go andask him about the marks.'
'Well?'
'Then when I got there he was out, and I looked about for the marks,and on the table I saw the Euripides paper.'
'By Jove!' said Kendal. We began to understand, and to realize thathere was a master-mind.
'Well, of course, I read it, not knowing what it was, and then, as theonly way of not taking an unfair advantage, I did as badly as I couldin the exam. That was what I told Mellish. Any beak would haveswallowed it.'
'Well, didn't he?'
'Mellish did all right, but the rotter couldn't keep it to himself.Went and told the Old Man. The Old Man sent for me. He was as decent asanything at first. That was just his guile. He made me describe exactlywhere I had seen the paper, and so on. That was rather risky, ofcourse, but I put it as vaguely as I could. When I had finished, hesuddenly whipped round, and said, "Bradshaw, why are you telling me allthese lies?" That's the sort of thing that makes you feel rather awreck. I was too surprised to say anything.'
'I can guess the rest,' said Kendal. 'But how on earth did he know itwas all lies? Why didn't you stick to your yarn?'
'And, besides,' I put in, 'where do I come in? I don't see what I'vegot to do with it.'
Bradshaw eyed me fiercely. 'Why, the whole thing was your fault,' hesaid. 'You told me Yorke was setting the paper.'
'Well, so he did, didn't he?'
'No, he didn't. The Old Man set it himself,' said Bradshaw, gloomily.
Tales of St. Austin's Page 11
