[6]
A SHOCKING AFFAIR
The Bradshaw who appears in the following tale is the same youth whofigures as the hero--or villain, label him as you like--of thepreceding equally veracious narrative. I mention this because I shouldnot care for you to go away with the idea that a waistcoat marked withthe name of Bradshaw must of necessity cover a scheming heart. It may,however, be noticed that a good many members of the Bradshaw familypossess a keen and rather sinister sense of the humorous, inheriteddoubtless from their great ancestor, the dry wag who wrote thatmonument of quiet drollery, _Bradshaw's Railway Guide_. So withthe hero of my story.
Frederick Wackerbath Bradshaw was, as I have pointed out, mycontemporary at St Austin's. We were in the same House, and together wesported on the green--and elsewhere--and did our best to turn themajority of the staff of masters into confirmed pessimists, they in themeantime endeavouring to do the same by us with every weapon that layto their hand. And the worst of these weapons were the end-of-termexamination papers. Mellish was our form-master, and once a term ademon entered into Mellish. He brooded silently apart from the maddingcrowd. He wandered through dry places seeking rest, and at intervals hewould smile evilly, and jot down a note on the back of an envelope.These notes, collected and printed closely on the vilest paper, made upthe examination questions.
Our form read two authors a term, one Latin and one Greek. It was theGreek that we feared most. Mellish had a sort of genius for picking outabsolutely untranslatable passages, and desiring us (in print) torender the same with full notes. This term the book had beenThucydides, Book II, with regard to which I may echo the words of acertain critic when called upon to give his candid opinion of afriend's first novel, 'I dare not say what I think about that book.'
About a week before the commencement of the examinations, the ordinarynight-work used to cease, and we were supposed, during that week, to besteadily going over the old ground and arming ourselves for theapproaching struggle. There were, I suppose, people who actually did dothis, but for my own part I always used to regard those seven days as ablessed period of rest, set apart specially to enable me to keepabreast of the light fiction of the day. And most of the form, so faras I know, thought the same. It was only on the night before theexamination that one began to revise in real earnest. One's methods onthat night resolved themselves into sitting in a chair and wonderingwhere to begin. Just as one came to a decision, it was bedtime.
'Bradshaw,' I said, as I reached page 103 without having read a line,'do you know any likely bits?'
Bradshaw looked up from his book. He was attempting to get a generalidea of Thucydides' style by reading _Pickwick_.
'What?' he said.
I obliged with a repetition of my remark.
'Likely bits? Oh, you mean for the Thucydides. I don't know. Mellishnever sets the bits any decent ordinary individual would set. I shouldtake my chance if I were you.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I'm going to read _Pickwick_. Thicksides doesn't come within amile of it.'
I thought so too.
'But how about tomorrow?'
'Oh, I shan't be there,' he said, as if it were the most ordinary ofstatements.
'Not there! Why, have you been sacked?'
This really seemed the only possible explanation. Such an event wouldnot have come as a surprise. It was always a matter for wonder to me_why_ the authorities never sacked Bradshaw, or at the leastrequested him to leave. Possibly it was another case of the ass and thebundles of hay. They could not make up their minds which specialmisdemeanour of his to attack first.
'No, I've not been sacked,' said Bradshaw.
A light dawned upon me.
'Oh,' I said, 'you're going to slumber in.' For the benefit of theuninitiated, I may mention that to slumber in is to stay in the Houseduring school on a pretence of illness.
'That,' replied the man of mystery, with considerable asperity, 'isexactly the silly rotten kid's idea that would come naturally to acomplete idiot like you.'
As a rule, I resent being called a complete idiot, but this was not thetime for asserting one's personal dignity. I had to know whatBradshaw's scheme for evading the examination was. Perhaps there mightbe room for two in it; in which case I should have been exceedinglyglad to have lent my moral support to it. I pressed for an explanation.
'You may jaw,' said Bradshaw at last, 'as much as you jolly wellplease, but I'm not going to give this away. All you're going to knowis that I shan't be there tomorrow.'
'I bet you are, and I bet you do a jolly rank paper too,' I said,remembering that the sceptic is sometimes vouchsafed revelations towhich the most devout believer may not aspire. It is, for instance,always the young man who scoffs at ghosts that the family spectrechooses as his audience. But it required more than a mere sneer or anempty gibe to pump information out of Bradshaw. He took me up at once.
'What'll you bet?' he said.
Now I was prepared to wager imaginary sums to any extent he might havecared to name, but as my actual worldly wealth at that moment consistedof one penny, and my expectations were limited to the shillingpocket-money which I should receive on the following Saturday--half ofwhich was already mortgaged--it behoved me to avoid doing anything rashwith my ready money. But, since a refusal would have meant the downfallof my arguments, I was obliged to name a figure. I named an evensixpence. After all, I felt, I must win. By what means, other thanillness, could Bradshaw possibly avoid putting in an appearance at theThucydides examination?
'All right,' said Bradshaw, 'an even sixpence. You'll lose.'
'Slumbering in barred.'
'Of course.'
'Real illness barred too,' I said. Bradshaw is a man of resource, andhas been known to make himself genuinely ill in similar emergencies.
'Right you are. Slumbering in and real illness both barred. Anythingelse you'd like to bar?'
I thought.
'No. Unless--' an idea struck me--'You're not going to run away?'
Bradshaw scorned to answer the question.
'Now you'd better buck up with your work,' he said, opening his bookagain. 'You've got about as long odds as anyone ever got. But you'lllose all the same.'
It scarcely seemed possible. And yet--Bradshaw was generally right. Ifhe said he had a scheme for doing--though it was generally for notdoing--something, it rarely failed to come off. I thought of mysixpence, my only sixpence, and felt a distinct pang of remorse. Afterall, only the other day the chaplain had said how wrong it was to bet.By Jove, so he had. Decent man the chaplain. Pity to do anything hewould disapprove of. I was on the point of recalling my wager, whenbefore my mind's eye rose a vision of Bradshaw rampant and sneering,and myself writhing in my chair a crushed and scored-off wreck. I drewthe line at that. I valued my self-respect at more than sixpence. If ithad been a shilling now--. So I set my teeth and turned once more to myThucydides. Bradshaw, having picked up the thread of his story again,emitted hoarse chuckles like minute guns, until I very nearly rose andfell upon him. It is maddening to listen to a person laughing and notto know the joke.
'You will be allowed two hours for this paper,' said Mellish on thefollowing afternoon, as he returned to his desk after distributing theThucydides questions. 'At five minutes to four I shall begin to collectyour papers, but those who wish may go on till ten past. Write only onone side of the paper, and put your names in the top right-hand corner.Marks will be given for neatness. Any boy whom I see looking at hisneighbour's--_where's Bradshaw?_'
It was already five minutes past the hour. The latest of the latealways had the decency to appear at least by three minutes past.
'Has anybody seen Bradshaw?' repeated Mellish. 'You,what's-your-name--' (I am what's-your-name, very much at yourservice) '--you are in his House. Have you seen him?'
I could have pointed out with some pleasure at this juncture that ifCain expressed indignation at being asked where his brother was, I, bya simple sum in proportion, might with even greater justice f
eelannoyed at having to locate a person who was no relative of mine atall. Did Mr Mellish expect me to keep an eye on every member of myHouse? Did Mr Mellish--in short, what did he mean by it?
This was what I thought. I said, 'No, sir.'
'This is extraordinary,' said Mellish, 'most extraordinary. Why, theboy was in school this morning.'
This was true. The boy had been in school that morning to some purpose,having beaten all records (his own records) in the gentle sport ofMellish-baiting. This evidently occurred to Mellish at the time, for hedropped the subject at once, and told us to begin our papers.
Now I have remarked already that I dare not say what I think ofThucydides, Book II. How then shall I frame my opinion of thatexamination paper? It was Thucydides, Book II, with the few easy partsleft out. It was Thucydides, Book II, with special home-madedifficulties added. It was--well, in its way it was a masterpiece.Without going into details--I dislike sensational and realisticwriting--I may say that I personally was not one of those who requiredan extra ten minutes to finish their papers. I finished mine athalf-past two, and amused myself for the remaining hour and a half bywriting neatly on several sheets of foolscap exactly what I thought ofMr Mellish, and precisely what I hoped would happen to him some day. Itwas grateful and comforting.
At intervals I wondered what had become of Bradshaw. I was notsurprised at his absence. At first I had feared that he would keep hisword in that matter. As time went on I knew that he would. At morefrequent intervals I wondered how I should enjoy being a bankrupt.
Four o'clock came round, and found me so engrossed in putting thefinishing touches to my excursus of Mr Mellish's character, that Istayed on in the form-room till ten past. Two other members of the formstayed too, writing with the despairing energy of those who had fiveminutes to say what they would like to spread over five hours. At lastMellish collected the papers. He seemed a trifle surprised when I gaveup my modest three sheets. Brown and Morrison, who had their eye on theform prize, each gave up reams. Brown told me subsequently that he hadonly had time to do sixteen sheets, and wanted to know whether I hadadopted Rutherford's emendation in preference to the old reading inQuestion II. My prolonged stay had made him regard me as a possiblerival.
I dwell upon this part of my story, because it has an important bearingon subsequent events. If I had not waited in the form-room I should nothave gone downstairs just behind Mellish. And if I had not gonedownstairs just behind Mellish, I should not have been in at the death,that is to say the discovery of Bradshaw, and this story would havebeen all beginning and middle, and no ending, for I am certain thatBradshaw would never have told me a word. He was a most secretiveanimal.
I went downstairs, as I say, just behind Mellish. St Austin's, you mustknow, is composed of three blocks of buildings, the senior, the middle,and the junior, joined by cloisters. We left the senior block by thedoor. To the captious critic this information may seem superfluous, butlet me tell him that I have left the block in my time, and entered it,too, though never, it is true, in the company of a master, in otherways. There are windows.
Our procession of two, Mellish leading by a couple of yards, passedthrough the cloisters, and came to the middle block, where the Masters'Common Room is. I had no particular reason for going to that block, butit was all on my way to the House, and I knew that Mellish hated havinghis footsteps dogged. That Thucydides paper rankled slightly.
In the middle block, at the top of the building, far from the haunts ofmen, is the Science Museum, containing--so I have heard, I have neverbeen near the place myself--two stuffed rats, a case of moulderingbutterflies, and other objects of acute interest. The room has astaircase all to itself, and this was the reason why, directly I heardshouts proceeding from that staircase, I deduced that they came fromthe Museum. I am like Sherlock Holmes, I don't mind explaining mymethods.
'Help!' shouted the voice. 'Help!'
The voice was Bradshaw's.
Mellish was talking to M. Gerard, the French master, at the moment. Hehad evidently been telling him of Bradshaw's non-appearance, for at thesound of his voice they both spun round, and stood looking at thestaircase like a couple of pointers.
'Help,' cried the voice again.
Mellish and Gerard bounded up the stairs. I had never seen a Frenchmaster run before. It was a pleasant sight. I followed. As we reachedthe door of the Museum, which was shut, renewed shouts filtered throughit. Mellish gave tongue.
'Bradshaw!'
'Yes, sir,' from within.
'Are you there?' This I thought, and still think, quite a superfluousquestion.
'Yes, sir,' said Bradshaw.
'What are you doing in there, Bradshaw? Why were you not in school thisafternoon? Come out at once.' This in deep and thrilling tones.
'Please, sir,' said Bradshaw complainingly, 'I can't open the door.'Now, the immediate effect of telling a person that you are unable toopen a door is to make him try his hand at it. Someone observes thatthere are three things which everyone thinks he can do better thananyone else, namely poking a fire, writing a novel, and opening a door.
Gerard was no exception to the rule.
'Can't open the door?' he said. 'Nonsense, nonsense.' And, swooping atthe handle, he grasped it firmly, and turned it.
At this point he made an attempt, a very spirited attempt, to lower theworld's record for the standing high jump. I have spoken above of thepleasure it gave me to see a French master run. But for good, squareenjoyment, warranted free from all injurious chemicals, give me aFrench master jumping.
'My dear Gerard,' said the amazed Mellish.
'I have received a shock. Dear me, I have received a most terribleshock.'
So had I, only of another kind. I really thought I should have expiredin my tracks with the effort of keeping my enjoyment strictly tomyself. I saw what had happened. The Museum is lit by electric light.To turn it on one has to shoot the bolt of the door, which, like thehandle, is made of metal. It is on the killing two birds with one stoneprinciple. You lock yourself in and light yourself up with onemovement. It was plain that the current had gone wrong somehow, runamock, as it were. Mellish meanwhile, instead of being warned byGerard's fate, had followed his example, and tried to turn the handle.His jump, though quite a creditable effort, fell short of Gerard's bysome six inches. I began to feel as if some sort of round game weregoing on. I hoped that they would not want me to take a hand. I alsohoped that the thing would continue for a good while longer. Thesuccess of the piece certainly warranted the prolongation of its run.But here I was disappointed. The disturbance had attracted anotherspectator, Blaize, the science and chemistry master. The matter washastily explained to him in all its bearings. There was Bradshawentombed within the Museum, with every prospect of death by starvation,unless he could support life for the next few years on the two stuffedrats and the case of butterflies. The authorities did not see their wayto adding a human specimen (youth's size) to the treasures in theMuseum, _so_--how was he to be got out?
The scientific mind is equal to every emergency.
'Bradshaw,' shouted Blaize through the keyhole.
'Sir?'
'Are you there?'
I should imagine that Bradshaw was growing tired of this question bythis time. Besides, it cast aspersions on the veracity of Gerard andMellish. Bradshaw, with perfect politeness, hastened to inform thegentleman that he was there.
'Have you a piece of paper?'
'Will an envelope do, sir?'
'Bless the boy, anything will do so long as it is paper.'
Dear me, I thought, is it as bad as all that? Is Blaize, in despair ofever rescuing the unfortunate prisoner, going to ask him to draw up a'last dying words' document, to be pushed under the door and despatchedto his sorrowing guardian?
'Put it over your hand, and then shoot back the bolt.'
'But, sir, the electricity.'
'Pooh, boy!'
The scientific mind is always intolerant of lay ignorance.
'Pooh, boy
, paper is a non-conductor. You won't get hurt.'
Bradshaw apparently acted on his instructions. From the other side ofthe door came the sharp sound of the bolt as it was shot back, and atthe same time the light ceased to shine through the keyhole. A momentlater the handle turned, and Bradshaw stepped forth--free!
'Dear me,' said Mellish. 'Now I never knew that before, Blaize.Remarkable. But this ought to be seen to. In the meantime, I had betterask the Headmaster to give out that the Museum is closed until furthernotice, I think.'
And closed the Museum has been ever since. That further notice hasnever been given. And yet nobody seems to feel as if an essential partof their life had ceased to be, so to speak. Curious. Bradshaw, after ashort explanation, was allowed to go away without a stain--that is tosay, without any additional stain--on his character. We left theauthorities discussing the matter, and went downstairs.
'Sixpence isn't enough,' I said, 'take this penny. It's all I've got.You shall have the sixpence on Saturday.'
'Thanks,' said Bradshaw.' Was the Thucydides paper pretty warm?'
'Warmish. But, I say, didn't you get a beastly shock when you lockedthe door?'
'I did the week before last, the first time I ever went to the place.This time I was more or less prepared for it. Blaize seems to thinkthat paper dodge a special invention of his own. He'll be taking out apatent for it one of these days. Why, every kid knows that paperdoesn't conduct electricity.'
'I didn't,' I said honestly.
'You don't know much,' said Bradshaw, with equal honesty.
'I don't,' I replied. 'Bradshaw, you're a great man, but you missed thebest part of it all.'
'What, the Thucydides paper?' asked he with a grin.
'No, you missed seeing Gerard jump quite six feet.'
Bradshaw's face expressed keen disappointment.
'No, did he really? Oh, I say, I wish I'd seen it.'
The moral of which is that the wicked do not always prosper. IfBradshaw had not been in the Museum, he might have seen Gerard jump sixfeet, which would have made him happy for weeks. On second thoughts,though, that does not work out quite right, for if Bradshaw had notbeen in the Museum, Gerard would not have jumped at all. No, better putit this way. I was virtuous, and I had the pleasure of witnessing thesight I have referred to. But then there was the Thucydides paper,which Bradshaw missed but which I did not. No. On consideration, themoral of this story shall be withdrawn and submitted to a committee ofexperts. Perhaps they will be able to say what it is.
Tales of St. Austin's Page 12
