Gunpowder Treason and Plot, and Other Stories for Boys

by Harold Avery, Frederick Whishaw, and R. B. Townshend

  THE COCK-HOUSE CUP.

  There was great excitement on the Big Side cricket ground at HadburyCollege, though play for the day had finished. The last of theinter-house matches had just been brought to a conclusion, and thecoveted trophy, known generally as the "Cock-house Cup," was about to bepresented to the winners.

  At Hadbury there were many honours of this kind to be won--the "footer"shield, the racquets trophy, and other prizes of a similar nature, whichexcited keen competition between the different boarding-houses. Butamong all these coveted rewards of skill and endurance the cricketchallenge cup was perhaps the most highly valued. It took the form of ahandsome and elegantly-chased vase of solid silver, on which, eachsucceeding year, the name of the holders was engraved.

  Directly in front of the pavilion the ground was raised into a smallterrace, round which the whole school had assembled in a dense crowd.At the top of the slope, as though on a platform, stood the headmaster,the Rev. T. A. Wedworth, M.A., Mrs. Wedworth, several of thehouse-masters and their wives, Brise the captain of cricket, and othernotables too numerous to mention.

  The late afternoon sunlight flashed like fire on the precious metal asMrs. Wedworth handed the cup to Herbert, the captain of the winningteam; and a mighty roar of applause went up from the crowd, who had beenpatiently bottling up their shouts all through the headmaster's speech.

  "Hurrah! Bravo, Conway's! Three cheers for Conway's! Hurrah!"

  A boy who, considering his size, contributed as large a share as any oneto the general hubbub, was young Harry Westcott, commonly known amonghis more intimate associates as the "Weasel." In a voice of remarkablepower and shrillness he shrieked, "Bravo, Conway's! Bravo, Herbert!"until a bigger boy, standing just in front, whose teeth were set on edgeby these yells, turned round crying, "Shut up, you little beast! You'reenough to deafen anybody!"

  At first sight there seemed little cause for such a display of feeling.Westcott was a day boy, and did not wear the green and orange cap ofMr. Conway's house. He was, however, a cricket enthusiast, neverabsented himself from a big match, and knew all the great men's scoresand averages. He was a stanch admirer of Herbert, and secretly flatteredhimself that his own style in batting closely resembled that of thecaptain of Conway's. As his own team had been knocked out in the firstround, he had hoped that Conway's would win, and hence his satisfactionat the result of the final contest.

  At Hadbury the day boys were, for the sake of the games, nominallydivided into two "houses," Mr. Beard's and Mr. Hutton's. Westcott worethe blue and white cap of the latter; and though Hutton's had never beenfavourites for the challenge cup, yet the "Weasel" continued to possesshis soul in patience, feeling quite sure that when _he_ should beawarded his house colours, a great change would come over the characterof the team, and the name of "Hutton's" would then stand a very goodchance of being engraved on the Cock-house Cup.

  The sunlight flashed again in a dazzle of ruddy gold, as Herbert turnedand held up the trophy as a sign of victory. Another roar burst fromthree hundred throats; the handsome cup being regarded almost with aweand reverence by the spectators, as though it were some relic of theheroic past, a trophy for which doughty knights had struggled in theages of romance. It had been in existence now for years, and manyplayers who had helped to win it had since then done great things oncounty grounds, and made names in first-class cricket.

  One set of boys there was among the crowd who, for the most part, lookedglum and surly, and refused to cheer. They wore the red and black cap ofMorgan's, and curiously enough were not members of the house which hadbeen defeated in that day's encounter. Morgan's had been beaten byConway's in the semi-finals. There had been ill will and dissatisfactionabout an umpire's decision on which hung the fate of the game, and, eversince, Morgan's had been consoling themselves with the rather malevolenthope that Conway's would be defeated in the final.

  An oak box, lined with baize and fitted with a lock and key, had beenspecially constructed to hold the cup when it was carried to and fromthe cricket ground; and, as the assembly began to disperse, Herbertcarefully deposited the trophy in its appointed case, which he thenlocked, and put the key in his pocket.

  "I say," he remarked, handing the box to Buckle, the long-stop, "I wishyou'd take care of this, and carry it back with you. I want to run downtown and send off a telegram. I told my people I'd wire if we won."

  The interior of the pavilion was forbidden ground except to theprivileged few; but on an occasion such as the present the rule was notso rigidly enforced, and a motley crowd pressed in after the players tocongratulate the winners and glance at the scoring sheets.

  Buckle was a good-natured giant, a strong tower as long-stop, but rathera clown in many ways; and, as might have been expected in the presentinstance, he became the subject of a good bit of friendly chaff andjoking.

  "Take care of that cup, Buckle; don't lose it!"

  "No fear!" answered the long-stop with a grin.

  "Well, don't bang it about; we shall want it returned next year exactlyas you got it."

  "You've got to win it first," chuckled Buckle, putting the case downupon a locker, and preparing to take off his spiked shoes.

  Brise, the captain of cricket, elbowed his way through the crush.

  "Is Herbert here?" he asked.

  "No, he's gone down town," answered the long-stop.

  "Oh, bother!" was the answer. "I wanted to speak to him. I'm going awayfor a couple of days to see my pater before he leaves for India. Well, Imust see him when I come back."

  "All right," answered Buckle. "Look here," he added; "how about gettingthis cup engraved?"

  Brise was already moving away. He turned his head and said something,but the remark was lost in the babel of noises. The crowd and hubbubincreased; there was some shoving and indications of horse-play.

  "Now then, all you fellows who haven't any business here, just clearout!" shouted Buckle.

  "Clear out! Hook it, you kids!" echoed two or three prefects, at thesame time picking up old leg-guards and other weapons with which, ifnecessary, to enforce obedience to their commands. "Out you go!"

  Among those who joined in the helter-skelter rush which followed wasMaster Harry Westcott, who, with his usual self-assertion, had forcedhis way into the pavilion, and now dashed out headlong to escape theconsequences of his temerity. Glancing at his watch, he found the hourwas later than he expected, and so, starting off at a trot across thelevel playing-field, he made the best of his way back to the house ofhis aunt, Mrs. Arden, with whom he lodged during the school terms.

  Aunt Polly had finished her tea when her nephew arrived, but she stillsat at the head of the table, while Harry gulped down huge mouthfuls ofbread and butter, at the same time pouring forth an excited account ofthe match, describing with great animation Herbert's big hits, Smith'ssensational catch, and the magnificent manner in which Vincent had keptwicket. Mrs. Arden smiled and nodded, but it was perhaps excusable ifher mind wandered, and she mixed some points in her nephew's narrative.To her the Cock-house Cup was but a silver vase. She knew none of thetraditions which belonged to it, the long story of gallant andhonourable warfare told by the names engraved upon its side; and thoughshe was aware of the fact that each summer term one house gained thecricket challenge trophy, yet it did not seem of vital importance to herwhether it went to Conway's or Morgan's. She was, however, pleased withHarry's enthusiasm, and anxious for him to grow up a thoroughEnglishman, and, therefore, she tried to sympathize with him in theinterest which he took in the great national sport, and made up for herlack of knowledge by being a ready listener when the boy came home withtales of the playing-field.

  Meanwhile, Buckle had changed his boots, found his coat, and startedoff to return to Conway's, bearing the oak case in triumph, andsurrounded by a small group of wearers of the green and orange cap. Asthey turned into the road a pebble clattered past them.

  "Swindle!" yelled a shrill voice, and a youth with a red and black bandto his "straw" disappeared quickly rou
nd a neighbouring corner.

  "Some young beast of Morgan's," growled an indignant Conwayite. "They'veall gone home in a sulk. Precious poor sportsmen, I call 'em. Allbecause Bell gave that chap 'run out' in our match against them, andthey said he wasn't."

  "He was out right enough," said Buckle. "Of course, I couldn't see fromwhere I was standing, but Vincent told me the beggar's bat never camewithin a yard of the crease; and Vincent isn't the sort of chap to tella lie for the sake of a wicket. He always plays the game."

  "Well, Morgan's have made up their minds that we swindled them out ofthat cup," said another. "They've got a grudge against us. They were allhoping that we should be beaten to-day, and they're jolly sick that wearen't."

  "Let 'em be!" retorted the sturdy long-stop. "One thing I know; we'vegot the cup, and they'll have to wait a whole twelvemonth before theycan take it away from us again."

  "They might come over and steal it!" said a rather shallow-brained smallboy vaguely, for which remark he was promptly smacked on the head, andthe conversation terminated.

  Buckle took the case to the house-master's study, and deposited it onthe end of the writing-table. The boy would have liked to have anotherlook at the trophy, but Herbert had the key of the box, and Mr. Conwayhimself was out spending the evening.

  The following morning at breakfast the master referred to the recentvictory, and congratulated the cricket team on having won suchdistinction for the house.

  "By the way," he said in conclusion, "while the cup remains with us(which I hope may be for many seasons to come), I think it may as wellstand here on the sideboard with our other trophies. Will you fetch itfrom my study, Vincent?"

  The boy named rose from his place at the prefect's table and left theroom, reappearing again two minutes later with the oak case in his hand.

  "It's locked, sir," he remarked.

  "Who has the key?"

  "Here it is, sir," said Herbert, producing it from his waistcoat pocket.

  At each of the four tables the boys had paused in their eating anddrinking, and were waiting in silence for another sight of the famoustrophy. Mr. Conway turned the key and opened the box.

  _It was empty!_

  For a moment the incident seemed rather more comic than serious. Itappeared a sort of first of April joke, and a ripple of laughter wentround the room.

  "How's this?" said Mr. Conway with a slight indication of annoyance inhis tone. "Where is the cup?"

  The members of the cricket team stared at one another in silentastonishment.

  "Where is the cup?" repeated Mr. Conway. "Who brought it back from thefield yesterday?"

  "I did, sir," answered Buckle. "I put it in your study."

  "Did you make sure the cup was in the case before you started?"

  "Yes, sir; I saw Herbert lock it in the case, and he's had the key eversince."

  "Did you leave the case about anywhere?"

  "No, sir; I brought it straight home, and put it on your table."

  "Do you know anything about it, Herbert?"

  "No, sir," answered the cricket captain, whose face was as long as afiddle. "I locked the cup in the case, and gave it to Buckle; and Ionly just remembered that the key was still in my pocket."

  "Well, this is most extraordinary!" said Mr. Conway blankly. "It soundslike one of those tricks shown by Maskelyne and Cook. You must bemistaken, Herbert. This must be inquired into at once."

  A few minutes later an excited crowd surged out of the dining-hall.Every one was talking at once, the result being a perfect babel ofsound. The Cock-house Cup was missing; by some extraordinary means ithad been spirited away from its rightful owners. In the whole history ofHadbury College such a thing had never been heard of before.

  Each boy had a different opinion to offer: one thought that Herbert orBuckle must have left it behind on the ground; another believed aburglary had been committed; while a third made the somewhat rashassertion that the Morganites might have collared it out of spite,though how this could have been done he was not prepared to explain.

  A few of the seniors did not doubt that the cup would be found somewherein the house-master's study, but a careful search afforded no furtherclue towards a solution of the mystery; in fact, the theory of a robberyseemed untenable, since not a single article in the room had beendisturbed or removed from its accustomed place.

  The startling fact at length forced itself upon the minds of allconcerned. The Cock-house Cup, Hadbury's most cherished and honouredtrophy, had, in some mysterious manner, disappeared; added to which wasthe unpleasant reflection that Conway's would be held responsible forits loss.

  Ill news travels fast, and before morning school the tidings had spreadfar and wide. Westcott, arriving in the big quadrangle ten minutesbefore the bell rang, was told it by his chum Lawrence.

  "I say, Westcott," cried the latter; "what d'you think? The Cock-houseCup's gone!"

  For a moment the day boy seemed overcome with the shock of thisannouncement. He gulped in his throat, and then blankly said, "Oh!"

  "Yes, it's gone, right enough," continued the other excitedly. "Lost, orstolen, or something. Awful rum business. I've just heard all about itfrom young Redfern, who's at Conway's."

  And the speaker launched out into a vivid account of what had happened,not forgetting to embellish the story with a little addition, promptedby his own imagination.

  "If they can't find where it's gone, they'll have a detective down fromLondon."

  Westcott opened his mouth as though to reply, but he only gave forth akind of inarticulate gasp.

  The excitement grew as the morning progressed. That a big silver cupcould have totally disappeared, and in such an extraordinary manner,when the case which contained it was locked, was almost inconceivable;and added to this was the fact which has already been stated, that thechallenge vase was the most valued trophy competed for by Hadbury boys.

  "My eye!" exclaimed one member of the Sixth to another. "Brise will bein a pretty way when he comes back. He'll pitch into those Conwaybeggars for not being more careful, I know."

  As the foregoing remark seemed to imply, the winners of the cup wereheld in a way responsible for its loss, and the Conwayites were destinedto come in for a good deal of blame and reproach. Nowhere did thefeeling rise higher than in the Middle Fourth, of which form Westcottwas a member.

  Mr. Blake, the master, happened to be a little late in appearing in hisclassroom, and his pupils availed themselves of the opportunity ofairing their views on the topic of the moment.

  "Yah, you miserable Conwayites!" cried Steward, who hailed fromMorgan's. "You can't keep that cup for a day, which shows you only wonit by a fluke."

  "We didn't," shouted a youngster named Cay, firing up at once. "We wonit fairly enough, and you know that, Steward!"

  "Then why can't you take proper care of it? You don't deserve to betrusted with anything better than a pewter mug."

  Like an assembly of foxhound puppies, several other youngsters now gavetongue. Cay called Steward a liar, who promptly fired a book across theroom; and in another moment something in the form of a general actionmight have taken place, if the appearance of Mr. Blake had not quelledthe disturbance.

  At eleven o'clock the usual "break" took place in the morning's work,and towards the end of the half-hour Herbert was crossing the road, whenCay and another young Conwayite rushed up to him in a state of thegreatest excitement.

  "I say, Herbert! Look what we've got! Sam says he found it in our yardthis morning."

  The thing in question was a black flannel cap with red stripes.

  "Well, what of it?" said the cricket captain. "It belongs to one ofMorgan's chaps."

  "Yes, that's just it," cried Cay. "One of them must have been in ouryard last night. Sam found this before he blacked the boots thismorning. I say, Herbert, perhaps this was the fellow who carried off thecup!"

  "Oh, rubbish!" answered the senior. "How could he? And besides, whatobject could there be in doing such a thing? You don't supp
ose we've gotany burglars in the school?"

  "No, but they might have done it out of spite," persisted Cay. "It mayhave been a sort of practical joke."

  "Not it!" answered the senior. "No chap would be such a fool as to runsuch risks for the sake of a joke. That isn't good enough!"

  Though Herbert pooh-poohed the suggestion, he took possession of thecap, and carried it away in his pocket. After dinner Mr. Conway calledthe senior members of the house together for a consultation as to whatsteps should be taken towards recovering the lost trophy. The firstthing seemed to be to ascertain in what manner it had disappeared; andthough several theories were advanced, not one of them seemed to offer asatisfactory explanation of the mystery.

  At length Herbert produced the black and red cap from his pocket, andrepeated the remarks which had been made by young Cay.

  "I can't think that has anything to do with it," said the house-master."One of Mr. Morgan's boys may possibly have been in our yard last night,and dropped his cap when climbing over the wall, but I can't bringmyself to believe that he stole the cup. Besides, how could he? Thething's impossible!"

  The events of the morning had left a feeling of soreness in the breastsof most of the Conwayites, and no one offered a word in defence ofMorgan's.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Conway. "I'll give this cap toMr. Morgan, and report the matter to him. But, as I said before, I don'tbelieve for a moment that it has any bearing on the disappearance of thecup. Well, unless we find out something between now and tea-time, Ireally see no course open to us but to report the matter to the police."

  Now, certainly, the plot began to thicken. On the following day, aftermorning school, Mr. Conway once more summoned the senior boys of thehouse for a consultation in his study. There was a peculiar look on hisface, which showed that the announcement he had to make was ratherunexpected.

  "Mr. Morgan has just been over to see me with reference to that capwhich was found in our yard. He says that, from a mark inside it, it hasbeen identified as belonging to Southby. Now Southby admits that he wasin our yard on the evening in question, between suppertime andprayers, but, beyond denying altogether that his visit had anything todo with the disappearance of the cup, he refuses to give any explanationof his conduct."

  "Then I should say he's telling a lie, sir," blurted out Vincent. "If hewasn't up to mischief, then why doesn't he say what he was doing on ourpremises?"

  "Well, that's just what Mr. Morgan has been trying to find out. He haspromised to bring Southby over here. We shall both question him; and, ifhe still refuses to give an explanation, he must go before theheadmaster. Of course the matter will be thoroughly sifted; but I mustsay I don't believe that Southby, or indeed any other boy, took the cupfrom my study."

  There was a moment's silence. To a man, the bystanders were inclined tobelieve that the Morganites were answerable for what had happened.

  "Look here, Buckle," said Mr. Conway suddenly. "Are you _sure_ that thecup was in the case when you brought it away from the field? You see,"continued the speaker, lifting the oak box from the floor at his side,"the case itself is heavy, so, even if it had been empty, you might nothave noticed the difference in the weight."

  "But I saw Herbert put the cup in myself, sir," was the answer. "Then helocked the box and gave it straight into my hands. Besides, if the cuphad been left lying about anywhere, some one would have seen it, and weshould have heard about it before now."

  This reply seemed reasonable enough, and so the conference ended, Mr.Conway promising to renew it after he had had another interview with Mr.Morgan.

  As might have been expected, a report of the conversation which hadtaken place in the house-master's study soon spread like wildfire, thestory receiving numerous sensational additions as it passed from mouthto mouth, until, especially among the junior boys, it was openlydeclared that Morgan's had organized a raid upon the rival house, andcarried off the cup. It was not likely that any community would allowitself to be publicly charged with theft without some show ofresentment, and the unfriendly feeling with which Morgan's alreadyregarded the rival house now found vent in a blaze of indignation.

  "Dirty sneaks!" cried one young gentleman. "They swindle us out of thecup; and now, when they've got it and lost it, they want to make outthat we're nothing better than a gang of robbers. Wait till we play 'emat football next term, and we'll show 'em the stuff we're made off!"

  So high did feeling run that it was dangerous for wearers of the blackand red and the green and orange caps to approach within strikingdistance of one another; indeed, if it had not been for the promptintervention of a stalwart prefect, two hot-headed youngsters would havedone battle just before dinner on one of the fives courts.

  It was a lovely, hot, summer afternoon, and practice at the varioushouse nets was in progress.

  Mrs. Arden sat by the open window in her parlour, doing some fancy work.Suddenly the door opened, and her nephew entered. His face was flushed,and he still wore the "blazer" and flannels in which he had gone tocricket.

  "You're back early," said his aunt.

  The boy made no reply. He sat down on a chair, and a moment later buriedhis face in his hands.

  Mrs. Arden had thought he looked queer.

  "What's the matter?" she asked, laying down her work. "Have you beenhurt?"

  The "Weasel" shook his head, and gave vent to what sounded like astifled sob.

  "It's this hot sun, I expect," said his aunt. "I daresay you've beenrunning about in it without your cap."

  And hurrying out of the room, she returned a moment later with some coldwater.

  "Now," she said, kneeling down by the boy's side, "tell me what's thematter. Are you feeling giddy or faint?"

  "_Tell me what's the matter._" Page 188.]

  "Oh no, aunt," moaned the "Weasel," raising a face on which was depictedan expression of unutterable woe. "It isn't that! It's the cup--theCock-house Cup! It's gone, and can't be found!"

  "Well, what of that?" answered Aunt Polly, who could not realize theimmense value which the trophy possessed in a schoolboy's eyes.

  "Why--why," faltered the unhappy juvenile, almost weeping, "it's myfault! I did it!"

  "You? What nonsense! Tell me directly what you mean."

  When once started on the work of unburdening his soul, words camequickly enough.

  "It was like this. You know I told you how Conway's won the cup. It'sworth pounds and pounds; besides which, it's the one that has beenplayed for ever since there was a Cock-house Cup, and it has all thenames of the winners engraved on it, so it could never be replaced; and,oh! I believe the fellows would kill me if they knew it was my fault!"

  "Yes; but how _was_ it your fault?" interrupted the aunt.

  "Why, after the match was over, there was a crowd in the pavilion, and Isqueezed in too. Buckle had the cup, and he put it down close to me on alocker. Lots of fellows were chaffing old Buckle. I happened to have akey in my pocket that fitted the case, and, just for a lark, I managedto unlock it when no one was looking, and I slipped the cup inside thelocker. I thought Buckle would notice at once that the box was lighterthan before, and I never meant that he should go away without the cup;but just then Brise ordered us all to clear out of the pavilion. YoungRoberts trod on my foot, and I chased him; and, somehow, I forgot allabout what I'd done until yesterday morning, when some one told me thatthe cup was lost. Now they say one of Morgan's fellows stole it, and Mr.Conway is going to put the matter in the hands of the police."

  "But, my dear boy, why didn't you go and tell some one at once whatyou'd done, and where they will find the cup?"

  "That's just it," groaned the "Weasel." "I don't know where the cupis--it's gone! I made an excuse and went and looked in the locker, butit wasn't there; and I know Herbert has searched every corner of thepavilion. It must have been stolen; and oh, aunt, it's all my fault!What _shall_ I do?"

  Aunt Polly could be firm if she liked, and her answer was prompt anddecisive.

  "Go at
once and tell Mr. Conway exactly what you've told me," she said."And say you are sorry you were too much of a coward to do so before. Ifa theft has been committed, every hour you leave it makes it less likelythe cup will ever be recovered."

  * * * * *

  Standing together in the house-master's study were Mr. Conway, Mr.Morgan, and Southby, the last named a strong, pleasant-looking boy, whoit was difficult to believe could be guilty of any mean or underhandedaction.

  "Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway; "don't be foolish. This is a seriousmatter, and it becomes all the more serious from your refusal to give usthe explanation we demand. What brought you into our house yard theother evening?"

  "I can't say, sir."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it would be acting unfairly to some one else."

  "Oh, so there is some one else concerned in this matter besidesyourself?"

  At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Master Harry Westcottentered the room. He was pale and trembling, and that air of jauntyself-confidence which usually distinguished him had entirely vanished.With a great effort, and in faltering tones, he made his confession. Theroom seemed to swim before his eyes, but somehow he got through to theend of his story, and then breathlessly awaited the result.

  "Why didn't you tell me this at once, sir?" demanded the master sharply."No doubt the cup has been stolen from the pavilion. Tut! We must sendat once and tell the police."

  Then came what was, perhaps, the most extraordinary part of the wholebusiness; for, as Mr. Conway stepped forward to ring the bell, there wasa knock at the door, and a servant entered, carrying what at first sightlooked like a bundle of green baize.

  "Mr. Daniels has sent this, sir, and the boy's waiting to take back thecloth."

  Mr. Conway sprang forward, stripped off the covering, and held up to theastonished gaze of all beholders--_the Cock-house Cup_!

  "Why--why, where does this come from?" he exclaimed.

  "Mr. Daniels, the jeweller, sent it, sir. The boy says you will find thebill for the engraving inside."

  There was a sound of footsteps in the passage, and Brise, the captain ofcricket, burst unceremoniously into the room.

  "I'm very sorry, sir," he began, "but I've been away for two days, and Ionly heard about the bother a few minutes ago. I told Buckle I would seeabout having the name of the house engraved on the cup if he liked toleave it in my hands. I found it, after the others had gone, in one ofthe lockers, and I thought it had been left there on purpose; so I tookit down straight away, and handed it over to Daniels. I didn't mentionthe matter, because I thought there was no necessity."

  The mysterious disappearance of the cup was now fully explained; onlyone question remained to be answered.

  "Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway. "Tell me in confidence what it wasbrought you into our yard."

  "Well, sir," answered the boy, "I borrowed a saloon pistol from one ofyour boys, and I came to return it. I didn't like to tell you for fearof getting him into a row."

  "Oh, that's the explanation, is it?" replied the master, laughing."Well, if I find the pistol I shall confiscate it; but in this instanceI won't press you to tell the boy's name, though I think I could guessit, if I tried."

  So the matter ended, and except that the "Weasel" got a licking for hispresumption in laying irreverent hands on such a sacred treasure as theCock-house Cup, there is nothing further to relate.

  THE END.