King of Ranleigh: A School Story

by F. S. Brereton

  CHAPTER IV

  SOME INTRODUCTIONS

  "At last! Got you, you little demon! I'll teach you to laugh when abeggarly froggy gives me sauce. This'll help to make you remembermanners, and is just a sample of what's to follow."

  The amiable Rawlings, still smarting after his downfall in the train,had waylaid Clive Darrell. He pounced upon that youngster just as heissued from the chapel corridor, and with a heave and a jerk forced himthrough the narrow entrance into Middle School. A dim gas jet onlyserved to show the immensity of the place, and its uncomfortablebareness. It was tenantless, save for the two who had now entered.

  "No use your howling, my son," exclaimed the brutal Rawlings sneeringly,twisting Clive's arm till it was a wonder it did not break, and holdingit so firmly behind his back that the lad could not move. "We'llcommence with your lessons now, before school begins to-morrow."

  He kneed the youngster unmercifully, shaking his whole body till it wasa wonder his teeth were not jerked down his throat, and repeated thedose promptly. Clive shouted and kicked. His face was pale with pain,for his arm was terribly twisted. And yet he was powerless to get free.He wondered if he were going to faint. He certainly felt very giddy.Beads of perspiration were rolling down his forehead, and no doubt, in alittle while, had the torture been continued, he would have actuallyfainted. But there came a sudden interruption. A stout, square figurelounged into the class-room, while a head appeared at the door behind.The figure belonged to Susanne.

  "Pardon," he began, with that peculiar politeness for which, in thecourse of a few days, he became notorious, "but you are hurtingDarrell."

  Rawlings swung round on him, thereby nearly completing the fracturing ofClive's arm.

  "You get off," he cried angrily. "You've nothing to do with this affair,and if there's any more of your sauce I'll serve you likewise. Hearthat?"

  Susanne seemed to be completely deaf. Not for one second did he forgethis politeness. Indeed, it came to be said of Susanne, the good-natured,stolid Frenchman, that nothing ever put him out, and that even in theheat of footer he was always himself, the essence of politeness. But hecould be deaf to threats. Moreover, such a thing as temper seemed to beforeign to him. He strolled up to Rawlings, took him by the nose andpinched that organ very thoroughly--pinched it, in fact, till Rawlingsholloed. He let go his hold of Clive instantly, and clung to the injuredorgan, while his vengeful eyes flashed over the edge of his hands atSusanne. What precisely would have happened next it is impossible tostate, for there came now a second interruption. Harvey's voice washeard. He had entered the class-room and was just behind the three.

  "Serve you right," he said bluntly; "and look here, Rawlings, understandthis from me: while I'm Head Scholar and Captain of the School this sortof thing's got to be put a stop to. I'll have no bullying, mind that.And have the goodness to remember that Darrell's a new boy. Now,youngster, cut. It's time you were upstairs in your dormitory. Same inyour case, Feofe. Rawlings, you can come along to the scholars' room. Iwant a chat with you."

  Clive clambered briskly to One South. True, he became a little muddledbetween the passages and the staircases, and found himself in the wrongdormitory. But a howl from a fellow hardly as big as himself sent himrunning like a rabbit.

  "Here! Who's this kid?" he heard, while a youth with red hair stickingup abruptly from his forehead, as if he had received a severe frightwhen very young and had never recovered from it, stretched out andsnatched at his collar. "What dormitory?" came the curt question.

  "One South."

  "Then out you go. We don't have One South kids fooling about in TwoSouth, I can tell you. Clear off!"

  Clive was actually staggered by the insolent arrogance of thisyoungster. He bolted, whereas, with all his wits about him, it isprobable that there would have been at least a wordy warfare for somefew minutes. And then he dived into his own abode, and made for his ownparticular bed. The dormitory was almost full now. That is to say, therewas a boy to every bed save one. Clive sat down on the box placedbetween his bed and the next, and looked curiously round. There wassilence in the place. There came to his ears merely the pattering ofmany restless heels upon the floor, while from the other threedormitories which went to make up the four in the south of the schoolbuildings there came not so much as a sound.

  Was Rawlings in the place? Thank goodness, no! Then Harvey? Of course,he'd gone off with the bully to the scholars' room. So there was stillthe chance that ill luck might put Rawlings in One South. Opposite,smiling at him, was Susanne, his peace of mind apparently unruffled bythe scuffle in which he had so recently taken a part. As for the rest ofthe thirty odd fellows, they were large and small and medium,shock-headed, sunburned after their holidays, rather clean and wellgroomed for schoolboys, but then they were fresh from home, and as jollylooking as one could wish for. Compulsory silence, however, muzzled themfor the moment. At the call of "speak" within ten minutes such a babelof voices arose that Clive was almost deafened. Susanne grinned now andcrossed to speak to him.

  "I say," he began, "who's that fellow I caught twisting your arm?"

  "Rawlings; he lives near us at home. He's an out-and-out bounder."

  "Ah! And a bully. He'll not try again when I'm near. But when he catchesyou alone, then there'll be trouble. I say, er----"

  "Darrell."

  "Then, Darrell, pity we're not next to one another here. Wonder if itcould be managed?"

  The suggestion was hardly made before a hand was placed on Susanne'sshoulder.

  "Look here, you're a new boy, aren't you?" asked a voice. "Well, I'mSturton, you know, prefect of One South, and chaps aren't allowed tomove over and speak to one another without getting leave. Now you know,eh?"

  Susanne apologised in his best manner, while Clive inspected the one whohad spoken. He hadn't seen him before, for the simple reason thatSturton was one of those who ascended to the organ loft at chapel time,and was there invisible. He had come up to the dormitory after "speak,"and here he was, admonishing and advising Susanne as if he were anotherHarvey. Clive liked Sturton at once, liked his clean-cut figure andfeatures, his bold brown eyes, his crisp and yet friendly way oftalking.

  "I say, please----" he began, and then became somewhat abashed.

  "Eh? Fire away! You say----"

  "I was wondering, sir, if----"

  "Oh, come now, none of your 'sirs.' What is it?" asked Sturton, thinkingthat Clive was quite a decent little fellow, an acquisition to thedormitory.

  "Well--er--oh, I don't know."

  Sturton laughed outright. Susanne grinned. If Clive suffered frombashfulness, at least he didn't.

  "He doesn't like to say it; but we're chums--isn't that the word?" heasked. "You see, I got into the same carriage with him. There wasanother chap there, and he'd come to make himself disagreeable toDarrell. So I--er, chipped in, eh?"

  "Got it right--chipped in's the word," admitted Sturton, lookinginterested, while Clive nodded vigorously.

  "Chipped in, and together Darrell and I made him look foolish. Darrell'swondering whether we could have our beds close together, then I needn'tbother to ask leave."

  "Why, of course! Bring your bag over. Change places with one of thesefellows on either side. I dare say they won't mind."

  The exchange was made promptly, and Clive found himself chatting awaywith his new friend. He was half undressed when that fair giant whom hehad first seen at the station, and then again amongst the mastersprocessing into chapel, entered the dormitory. He went from boy to boy,shaking hands heavily but with sincerity and friendship.

  "Well, Darrell," he began, accosting our young friend, and speaking inso gentle and subdued a voice that Clive wondered if he had a bad cold,or if the voice really belonged to him, "been digging any more pits oflate, eh? Or making motor-cars? Tell me all about them."

  There was such genuine interest in this master that Clive told thetale, till Mr. Branson--for that was this master's name--wiped tears ofenjoyment from his eyes. Also the same eyes sparkled when
the boy spokeof his motor-car, and forgetting all else in the depths of his interestplunged into a description of levers and gears, of throttle and ignitionapparatus, of lubrication and cooling. Was Branson--Old B., as fellowsspoke of him usually--was he a fellow enthusiast?

  "So you like engineering things, then, Darrell?" he said in hissing-song drawl, "and digging pits too? Well, so do I. Er--that is, Ilike the first. You'd like to join the carpenter's shop, eh? and thesmith's shop? But no motor-cars. Ranleigh can't afford to have its boysrushing about the roads. And there are the police to be considered.Well, boy, I'm your dormitory master; I hope you'll like Ranleigh."

  It was Susanne's turn next. Clive watched the slouching figure of theyoung fellow bend politely, and marvelled as he discussed his comingwith Old B. as if he were his grown-up equal. But that was thepeculiarity about Susanne. Perhaps he had mixed more with men than withboys. Certainly he had an old-fashioned manner about him, while hisself-assurance was far in excess of that usually displayed by one ofschool age. Then came the turn of other new boys, while the place ofthe master was taken by Sturton armed with pencil and paper, andrattling silver in his pocket. There were silver coins to be paid forthe support of the football club run by One and Four South, a request towhich Clive assented readily enough, though it depleted his purse sadly.

  It was striking half-past nine when at length all had turned in saveSturton and Massey, the other prefect. They sat on the edge of the tableoccupying the centre of the dormitory, on a line with the two rows ofbasins running down the middle. Snuggled down on his pillow Clivewatched them debating in animated manner, and rose on his elbow as apair of heavy feet came thundering into the dormitory. A young mandressed in a blue cotton jacket hurried from jet to jet of the gaspipes, and with the help of a notched stick extinguished all but one. Hewas gone in a moment, his thunder resounding from the other dormitories.

  "Good night, Darrell," called Susanne.

  "Good night, Susanne."

  Darrell dropped asleep feeling happy and entirely peaceful. He likedRanleigh so far, liked it immensely. If there was a great drawback tothe place, if Rawlings did happen to be there, and to have shown themost unfriendly intentions, at least there were good fellows enough.Bert and Hugh, for example. What luck their being at the school! AndSusanne too, and Sturton, and Harvey. Yes, Harvey held pride of place.He was Captain, lord of all he surveyed, immeasurably above the head ofthe humble Clive Darrell.

  The violent ringing of a bell awakened Clive. He started up in bed tofind daylight streaming in through the high-placed dormer windows. Thatsame youth who had operated the gas taps on the previous night wasthundering through the dormitory with his hobnailed boots, swinging abell of generous proportions. Later, Clive gathered that he was known asa "beaky." He crossed to a door at the near end of the place and tappedheavily upon it. Then he disappeared as if in a perpetual hurry, and theringing of the bell resounded from the other dormitories. Clive hoppedout of bed, thereby arousing the inmate of the next bed. That younggentleman raised a very sleepy face from his pillow, hit rathersnappishly at the hand which Clive had laid on his bed thereby to steadyhimself, and dropped back on his pillow.

  "Hang you, waking me!" he grumbled, his eyes half shut, as if, too,there had been no such thing as a bellman. "It's always the same withnew kids. Get funked when they hear a bell. Want to hop up at once.Here, you Darrell, call me when it's twenty past the hour. I givemyself ten minutes the first morning, afterwards just five. Any decentfellow can wash and dress in that time."

  Clive followed Sturton and a few of the others out of the dormitory,slippers on his feet and a towel about his waist.

  "Swim, eh?" asked Sturton, giving him an encouraging nod.

  "Rather!"

  "You're the sort of chap we want then. Hullo! Masters still fugging.None of those old games, Masters," sang out Sturton, whose manner ofaddressing the one in question showed that he meant to be head of hisdormitory whatever happened. "Here, out you come! Fugging may be allowedat home, but at Ranleigh, never!"

  The unfortunate individual who lay next to Clive, and who had declaredhis intention of sparing a bare ten minutes on this, the first morning,for the purpose of ablution and dressing, was dragged out of bed withoutceremony.

  "Hop into your shoes and no skulking," said Sturton, standing over him."I've had enough of your slackness, Masters. Every chap over twelve inthis dormitory goes down for a dip every morning. The kids can, too, ifthey like. Same with those in Four South. I tell you One and Four aregoing to come out cock dormitory in footer this term if I can manageit."

  Grumbling was of no use. Indeed, Masters showed no great inclinationthat way. Clive found him, after a while, when they had become moreintimate, a merry, contented fellow, but dreadfully lazy.

  "A regular slacker," Sturton declared on more than one occasion."There's a cart-load of sisters at his home, and they molly-coddle thefellow. If he imagines an ache or a pain, even in his toe, he lies abedin the morning and is fed by one of the many sisters. But there's nobringing chaps up here on the spoon. No hand-rearing at Ranleigh if Iknow it. When a chap's ill, he can go to the sick-room. That's rightenough. Or to the 'sanny' if he's really bad. Otherwise he's got to befit--fit as a fiddle, Darrell."

  Sturton was nothing if not open and straight-forward. Clive found in himsomething strangely akin to Harvey, the idol of the lower school, theman admired and envied by all the seniors. For Sturton was fresh andbreezy in his ways. He addressed the juniors, not as if they were somany nuisances, or as individuals vastly beneath his notice--a mannermuch resorted to by Rawlings and the fat-faced Trendall--but as equals,cheerily; but always in a way that showed that he expected instantobedience.

  His motto was perfection. He set an example of the strenuous life, andallowed no shirking where games were concerned. Nor was he backwardwhere work came into account. His figure, dressed in an overcoat overhis pyjamas, often with a towel about his curly head, was familiar toall in the dormitory who happened to open their sleepy eyes in the earlymorning. For Sturton was "swatting." He had some examination in view,and since the rules of Ranleigh forbade the burning of the candle atboth ends, and indeed compelled the shutting down of all lights by teno'clock at night, Sturton perforce had to burn the candle at one endonly, and that the daylight one. Five o'clock found him poring over hisbooks at the dormitory table.

  And now he was ready to lead his juniors for the morning plunge. Hisconquering eyes viewed every bed in the place. Peremptorily he called tocertain fellows. And then the procession set out for the bath, notsedately following Sturton, but in a rushing crowd, which went like anavalanche down the stairs, out of the wide passage between Middle andSecond Schools, and then into the corridor about the quad. Clive peepedthrough the open windows, innocent of glass till the coming of December,when the school carpenter would put the frames into position. He saw awide quad, smoothly asphalted, and rising by steps on the north side toa central doorway. Those open windows ran round it on three sides, anddoubtless there were corridors within them. But he had little time forobservation, for as part of that scampering throng he went pell-melldown the corridor, swung sharply to the left, and then along the eastside of the quad. Up a short flight of steps, worn into deep hollows bythe shoe-leather of many a Ranleighan, to the right abruptly, and sodown a whitewashed passage with an abrupt turn at the far end, and thenthrough a doorway into the dressing-room of the bath. A stretch of waterlay between concreted walls.

  "Cold as ice," shivered Masters, still begrudging the comfort of hisbed. "Sturton's a demon for hardening fellows. All the same, a fellowfeels frightfully fit when he's had a dip in the early morning. But abed pulls; I could always do two hours longer any morning."

  What fellow in his schooldays couldn't? A cosy bed pulls very hard on acold, dark morning; but, with a peremptory Sturton about, there was noshirking. One and Four South boys mingled with others from West, asingle, large dormitory, with those from North and East, and splashedinto the bath. Sturton had his own ideas
as to how the plunge should betaken.

  "Can't stand a chap who walks in," he said. "Might just as well havethree inches of water in a tub in one's room. A fellow ought to dive,and he can go in off the board if he wishes. For me, there's no placelike the shallow end. You've got to be canny when you dive, for there'snot three feet of water, and if you scrape the bottom, why, concrete ona naked chest acts like a rough file on soft wood. It draws blood everytime. So you've got to remember that. Now, young Darrell, show Susannethe way. Follow me to the deep end. The first plunge'll freeze you tothe marrow. The swim down will warm your blood. You'll come out againwith your skin on fire, feeling as fresh as a daisy."

  Off he went, cutting the water obliquely. Indeed, the dive was bound tobe almost a flat one. Sturton did not appear again till he rose at thefar end of the bath. Down he sank again, pushed off from the far wallunder water and came up under Clive's nose, to that young gentleman'swonder and admiration. Then Clive attempted the same thing, floppedbadly, stinging his hide severely. The ice-cold water sent a chill tohis very marrow as he entered it. And then, as Sturton had said, hisblood seemed to boil up as he took a first stroke. He was in a beautifulheat when at length he returned to the shallow end and clambered out towatch Susanne. That young man--known already to his dormitory by thename Clive had given him--looked somewhat doubtfully at the bath.

  "Swim?" asked Sturton, who had not yet got his measure, and who withinsular pride and prejudice was apt to look down upon a foreigner. "Eh?"

  "Yes, but----"

  "What? Funk the dive?"

  "Yes," admitted Susanne frankly. "But I'll do it if it kills me."

  He went souse into the water, sending a huge wave before him, and risinga moment later to rub his knees and elbows.

  "Come to ground?" asked Sturton sympathetically. "Well, you won'tto-morrow. Nothing like having one jar to teach you to be careful. Offyou go. We'll all of us have to be nippy."

  Clive had never before had much need to practise haste, for at homebreakfast had not been an early function, while the school he attendedwas within easy distance. But at Ranleigh he soon learned what it was tobe something of a speed merchant where dressing was concerned. He couldscrub his skin dry after his morning bath in a mere jiffy. The rush backto One South dried all the parts he had missed in his hurry. To diveinto his clothing was a process facilitated by many an artful dodge.Masters, in fact, was a promising instructor.

  "Stick your things overnight so as you can hop into 'em all together,"he advised. "Vest and shirt always as one, mind you, and tie still onthe collar. Of course, any juggins knows the dodge of getting into pantsand socks at one operation, while if you don't bother to undo yourshoes, you can push your feet into 'em in a jiffy. Five minutes is mytime for washing and dressing."

  "Was," corrected Sturton, who happened to overhear this edifyingconversation. "Was, Masters. I've been doubtful about the efficacy ofthe washing part. Chaps in One South have got to be known as fresh-waterfellows, and a piece out of your short allowance won't help us. Besides,you're over twelve. Don't you let me catch you missing your dip in themorning."

  Once dressed on that first morning Clive drifted down the stairs toMiddle School. There was no particular reason why he should go there.But numbers of the school were entering the narrow doors, and hefollowed. Bert was just within, looking thinner than ever, his eyesstill more dreamy. And Hugh was beside him, vivacious and very wideawake.

  "I say, how ripping!" he exclaimed. "But wouldn't the Governor be riledif he knew what had happened? It was the last thing he wanted to do tosend us to the same school. What about that beast Rawlings? Thought Isaw him in chapel last evening."

  "Impossible! The lordly Rawlings go to Ranleigh!" exclaimed Bert."Nothing less than Eton'd suit him."

  "All the same, he's here. I travelled a part of the way down with him,"said Clive. "I say, I'll tell you all about him later. He's a beast, andno mistake. But I want to get hold of that fellow. Hi, Susanne," hecalled.

  The Frenchman shambled awkwardly towards them. His provincial clotheswere in marked contrast to those of the other fellows. Not that thatfact seemed to distress him. Susanne cared not a rap for popularopinion. Half-way towards Clive a big fellow jostled against him whiledeep in conversation with another, and jarred by the contact turnedangrily upon him. It was Rawlings, with the oily, fat Trendall besidehim. At once the bully's face reddened. He looked threateningly atSusanne, while the Frenchman regarded him with something approachingamusement.

  "Pardon," he began, for he deemed himself the cause of the collision.

  "Hang your pardon! Look here, you Frenchman, there's just one thingyou've got to understand. I'm a prefect, and----"

  "You're a new kid," chimed in Trendall, looking distinctly unamiable.In fact, this greasy, fat fellow had thrown in his lot with Rawlingssince the previous evening. There had always been some sort ofattraction between them. But Rawlings was to be a prefect. To theself-seeking Trendall that was sufficient, a friendship with himpromised many advantages, and here was an opportunity to cement thatfriendship.

  "Precisely," said Rawlings, "and the sooner you get to know it thebetter. You'll do well to sheer clear of this Darrell."

  There was surprise in his eyes as he saw Bert and Hugh. A sneer gatheredon his face, and then a scowl of anger. For Hugh grinned a grin ofrecognition. He remembered the pit, and the manner in which it hadcaptured the wrong individual.

  "You're here too; then you'll catch it," growled Rawlings, moving onwith Trendall.

  "Pleasant," smiled Hugh, when he had gone.

  "A gentleman, eh?" asked Susanne, with a lift of his dark eyebrows."But----"

  "My friends, Bert and Hugh Seymour," introduced Clive. "That Rawlings isan out-and-outer. With Trendall as his toady, and perhaps another crony,they can make life unbearable here for us. That is, for Bert and Hughand I."

  "And Susanne," said that worthy, smiling. "Remember that I have beendragged into this matter."

  "Tell you," cried Bert suddenly, "we'll send the beast an ultimatum.Tell him we'll hammer him if he interferes with one or any of us."

  That scheme had to be put aside for the moment, for there came a clamourat the door. There arose a shout of "_Cave!_ Old B.," and an instantlater that fair giant entered the form room, obviously having easilyoverheard the warning. Boys ranged themselves up into line, and therebegan Call Over, Clive's and other new boys' names being tacked on atthe end.

  "'Sum, 'sum, 'sum," the answers sounded, and then were punctuated by theringing of the chapel bell. The door, shut a few moments before on thosewho were late, was swung open, and they processed to the chapel. Afterthat there was breakfast in the Hall, and, later, form work began with avengeance, Clive being placed in the Lower Third, while Bert attained tothe Upper; Hugh ascended only as high as Upper Middle, while, to thesurprise of all, Susanne romped into the Upper Fourth. It followed,therefore, that some time elapsed before the little quartette met again.But when they did, Clive drew up a letter, which, having received thesignatures of all concerned, was duly posted to "Albert Rawlings,Ranleigh, Local."

  "This is to inform you," it ran, "that we, the undersigned, have decidedto lick you every time you touch one of our band. We refrain from givingyou our private and confidential opinion of you. As gentlemen, we feelthat we have no right unduly to hurt your feelings. And also, thisopinion of ours must be very well known to you. Just sheer off and leaveus alone is the sincere advice of

  CLIVE DARRELL, BERT SEYMOUR, HUGH SEYMOUR, RICHARD FEOFE (SUSANNE)."