CHAPTER XIII
TRENDALL AND SOME OTHERS
After all, Masters had to have his joke, and knowing thatinconsequential and extraordinary young gentleman as we do now, we canimagine that even the fierce ire of Hugh and of Bert and Clive hadlittle terrors for him. He harped on that stale old joke of theburglars.
"How's burglars?" he fired off at the unfortunate heroes of that lateadventure quite a dozen times within the first twenty-four hours oftheir return to Ranleigh, and was promptly hustled. Then, too, think ofthe bitterness of it all, the "Peach," the placid Mr. Canning, smiled atthem and winked.
"Like his beastly cheek!" declared Clive indignantly, speaking inundertones to Bert and Hugh. "See the beggar smile and wink?"
"Grinned, the beast!" said Hugh, his lips pursed together. Hugh alwaysdid that when he was annoyed. He appeared to be endeavouring to muzzlehimself, as if long experience of his temper warned him that an openmouth would result in some very bitter sayings. "Grinned, ugh!" herepeated.
"After all," began Bert, in those aggravatingly droning and dreamy tonesof his, "you can't exactly blame the fellow, now can you?"
"Eh?" asked Hugh sharply. Here was an opportunity to be taken. A fewmore words from his respected brother would lead to a flare-up betweenthem. Hugh rather wanted that. It would clear the air and get rid ofsome of his own irritability.
"Sticking up for the Canning beast, eh?" he demanded threateningly.
"No. Not quite, but--well, if you were in his shoes----"
"I'm not," snapped Hugh.
"But, if you were, you'd----"
"Wouldn't deign to wear 'em, ever," declared his brother haughtily.
"Oh, well, let's imagine someone else wearing them. He'd grin, wouldn'the? It was mighty funny, you know--er--for Canning."
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Hugh.
"Let's talk of something else," suggested Clive. "I say, the school'sgoing to the dickens."
"Without Harvey, yes," assented Hugh, forgetting his irritation for themoment. "What'll we do? Who'll be captain of the school?"
They looked blankly at one another. To speak the truth, a bomb hadfallen squarely into the middle of Ranleigh boys. Harvey, the headscholar and captain of the school, had left suddenly. He was not tohave said good-bye for a couple of terms. But the Head had announcedwithin a few hours of their return that Harvey had been called abroadsuddenly to join his father in India. It was, without a shadow of doubt,a terrible blow.
"What'll we do?" asked Hugh blankly, appealing to the members of the OldFirm, now gathered about him. "The school'll go to the dogs."
"Not while the Old Firm's lively," said Masters.
"Try me as captain," suggested Susanne, with one of his quiet grins.
"Oh, do let's talk sense!" cried Clive pettishly. "It'd be ripping ifSturton got it. He's in the running, he's a scholar, and he's splendidat games. George! wouldn't he give some of the outside footer teamssocks if he were captain."
But, till the point was cleared up, and the Upper Sixth had duly mettogether to discuss this momentous question and elect a captain, therewas unusual despondency throughout the school. The Old Firm went aboutdisconsolately that afternoon after their arrival.
"Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Nothing decent," grumbled Hugh.
"Except impots," said Masters, with a scowl. "I've still some unfinishedfor that fellow Canning. A chap never gets clear of them at thisschool. I complained to the Governor."
"Ah. What happened?" asked Bert.
There was silence for a moment. Masters looked anything but pleased atthe train of thought the question gave rise to.
"Let's do something pleasant," he said. "My Governor don't understand afellow. To begin with, look at my allowance! A dog'd be disgusted. Asfor the impots, he laughed--laughed, I tell you."
Bert grinned. This question of impots was in the case of Masters quitean amusing affair. Besides, whenever the matter was mentioned Bert'smind always went back to the day when Clive's magic pen was brought intorequisition, and when Masters had conducted his work so skilfully thathe had contrived to ruin the tablecloth and drench himself in ink. Butto grin at this point was dangerous. Bert straightened his featureswhile Susanne changed the conversation.
"Hullo! Here's Trendall," he said. "He and Rawlings don't speaknowadays. I'm a bit sorry for that fellow."
"So am I," agreed Bert.
"Acted like an idiot. Might have belonged to the Old Firm if he'dbehaved," remarked Hugh magnanimously.
"Let's invite him to feed," suggested Clive of a sudden.
"I say!" cried Masters, hearing the words. "You know--well, I don'tmind, of course. In fact, glad to invite him. But Trendall's a fellow toeat; it'd be expensive."
"Hang expense! Hi, Trendall!" shouted Susanne, always the prince of goodfellows.
The object of their regard was at that moment crossing the quad, lookingforlorn and unhappy. The new term had begun badly for him, in fact. Hewas depressed like every other fellow at the thought of Ranleigh's loss.And then, slowly but surely, and in some few cases rapidly and withuncouth bluntness, he was being led to see that he was by no means apopular individual.
"Sit next one another in Hall?" he had asked Marsham, once quite afriend of his.
"Promised," came the surly answer.
"But there's another side. I'll sit there."
"Blandy's bagged it; you can't," Marsham told him sharply.
Thereat Trendall swallowed his annoyance and went elsewhere. But what achange it was to the commencement of the term before, when Clive hadfirst made the acquaintance of Ranleigh! Then Rawlings and Trendall hadgrandly elected their table companions. No one had then been strongenough to refuse their invitation. Still, Trendall had not yet had hisfull lesson.
"I say, Wilkins," he began, accosting one of his own form fellows,"how'd it be if we went clubs with our grub this term? You know, I'vehad a bit of a turn up with Rawlings, and you and I have always beenpals."
Wilkins was a thin, hook-nosed individual, with sandy hair alreadythinning at the temples, prominent cheek bones, a bent figure, and apair of curious pink eyes which long ago had given him the soubriquet ofthe "Rabbit." He was one of those ill-developed youths who always appearanxious and hungry. But he had his good points, plenty of them, and wasfriendly with the majority.
"What say, Rabbit?" added Trendall, with all his old assurance.
"Thanks; not for me," came the chilling answer. "Try Parkin Tertius.He's new this term. He don't know too much about you."
"Look here!" ejaculated Trendall angrily. And then, recollecting thechange in his circumstances, and deciding that he could not afford to bepugnacious, turned mildly upon Wilkins.
"Don't be funny, Rabbit," he said in tones almost of entreaty.
"Rabbit! Hang your cheek! I'm Wilkins to you, Trendall. Just see thatyou don't forget it."
His own particular friends would have smiled at Wilkins' fierceness. TheRabbit was the very last person to act in this manner. A little whileago he would never have dared speak to Trendall with such directness.Not that he was taking advantage now of the downfall of that youngfellow. Wilkins was merely disgusted with him, just as were the majorityof Ranleigh, and meant to let him know it. And after all, perhaps theRabbit was doing Trendall a real service in thus dealing with him. Forbluntness at school brings its lessons. It is never pleasant, perhaps,but it is more bearable there than in later life, when lessons areassimilated less easily.
Trendall turned sadly on his heel and went off dejectedly, his handssunk deep in his pockets. At the corner of the corridor he came face toface with Rawlings, when the two passed one another without evennodding.
"Who funked after Guildford?" The gibe came floating down the corridor."Who sat tight so as to let Susanne and his crowd get a whacking foryou?" came with maddening distinctness.
Rawlings stopped abruptly. He felt almost impelled to return toTrendall's side as if to claim his support at such a moment. ButTrendall was already moving rapidly away. With
cheeks aflame and despairat his heart he raced from the corridor, leaving Rawlings to face thetormentors. Flushed to the roots of his hair, his hands in his jacketpockets, Rawlings strode majestically forward. He could see a bunch ofsmall boys at the far end of the corridor, and made no doubt that theywere the authors of those gibes.
"Come here, Jarvis," he commanded huskily, singling out a lad somewhattaller than the others. "What do you mean by shouting in the corridor?"
"Shan't!" was the answer flung at him. "You're not a prefect now, andI've as much right to shout in the corridor as you have."
Rawlings lifted his hand threateningly. Jarvis dived swiftly, twistedout of the grip of the bigger boy, kicked his legs from beneath him andthen bolted.
"Who left Susanne's gang in the lurch?" came screaming down at Rawlings.
"Look out!" shouted Jarvis, hugely delighted at the success of hismovements, and at seeing the bully sprawling. "Susanne's coming. Betterhop, Rawlings. Susanne's promised to give you a hiding."
To return to Trendall, he dashed away from the corridor, hid his face inhis class-room for a while, and then sauntered aimlessly across thequad, his chin sunk disconsolately on his chest, his hands once moreburied deep in his pockets.
"Hi! Trendall!" he heard, and took no notice; doubtless it was thosekids again.
"Little brutes," he growled. "All the same, we deserve it. Rawlings andI acted like low-down cowards. We left Susanne and his crowd to standthe whole trouble. We were found out, as I was sure would be the case.It'd have been better to have owned up. I would have done but forRawlings. But there, we acted like hounds. Now they're making us pay forit."
"Hi! Trendall!" came floating once more across the quad. "Look sharp,there's a good fellow."
There was something kind about the voice. Trendall looked up and over atthe far side. His cheeks flushed instantly, for there were Susanne andhis friends beckoning to him. He hesitated. It was true that at the endof last term he had made amends to the Old Firm, and they hadmagnanimously shaken hands with him. But were they really inclined to befriendly? Had the intervening holiday swept away such good intentions?
"Well?" he asked doubtfully.
"Come over here," shouted Clive. "We want to speak to you."
"Rotten this about Harvey, eh?" began Susanne when at last Trendall hadjoined them, and was standing somewhat shamefacedly near the group."Makes a chap feel like kicking the bucket. Let's have a feed, eh?"
"You know, over by the tuck-boxes," said Clive, nodding vigorously.
"Bert's got some ripping sardines," Masters informed the company. "Andthere's a whole loaf of new bread in my box. At least, it was new twodays ago. Expect it'll be a bit hard now. But there's heaps of butter. Isneaked a whole heap from the kitchen. You see, our cook's a perfectripper."
"This way," pointed Hugh, leading the party off to the huge room whereintuck-boxes were stored. "We've fixed the whole business you know,Trendall. It's to be a sort of feast of peace. Something after the styleof Red Indians smoking the pipe of peace. Susanne wanted it to be thatreally, using a pipe he's brought from home with him. But eating'sbetter. Besides, there's a heap of stuff that must be tackled soon or itwon't be fit for consumption. Here, take a pew."
Trendall was breathless. When one came to look at him now it appeared asif he had lost a good deal of his usual flabbiness. His cheeks seemed nolonger fat and jowly. His whole aspect was more alert and pleasing. Andnow there was positively a smile on his lips, a glad smile, a smilealmost of gratitude.
"Awfully decent of you chaps," he said.
"Rot! Try a sardine," cried Susanne, stripping the lid off and handingthe tin. "Sorry there ain't forks, Trendall, but then, fingers first,eh? Hook one out with your penknife if you like. But it's easy enoughto get hold of a tail. They are splendid like that. You just eat themlike the Italians eat macaroni. Only look out. Sometimes the tail breaksaway, and an oily sardine makes a beast of a mess on a fellow'sbreeches."
"Ripping!" ejaculated Trendall, swallowing his second sardine. "But, Isay, I'm having more than my fair share."
"There's heaps more," declared Clive instantly. "We want you to have areal solid feed. Like those biscuits?"
"Look here, you fellows," said Trendall, and then paused, as if he hadnot the courage to continue.
The Old Firm became silent for the moment, Masters because he couldhardly be expected to answer, seeing that his mouth was stuffed withbread liberally coated with butter and jam. They looked at their oldenemy in a manner which showed their friendship. In fact, it was obviousto anyone who cared to look, and to Trendall certainly, that this wasundoubtedly the Old Firm's method of showing their feelings.
"Ham, eh?" asked Susanne, breaking a somewhat trying silence, andoffering their guest a huge slice hacked from a joint by means ofClive's penknife.
"Thanks. It's mighty kind of you chaps, but, really, I feel an awfulbrute to take your things and enjoy your hospitality. I----"
"Oh, that's all right," smiled Bert, looking straight at him. "Bygonesare bygones, Trendall. We're burying the hatchet."
They were burying a good deal more to look at Hugh and Masters. Theenormous masses of food those two healthy youngsters were causing todisappear threatened them with apoplexy.
"And, you know," said Susanne, "we're jolly glad to have you with us.The Old Firm don't like having enemies. This feast's to celebrate theloss of one of 'em, and to offer him friendship."
"Friendship! You--you don't mean----" began Trendall almostbreathlessly, and then, remembering the painful experience he hadalready had, stopped abruptly. But Susanne's happy, open smile reassuredhim. Clive improved the occasion by offering their guest an enormousapple, while Masters bashed a hole in the lid of a tin of sweetened milkand held it out invitingly.
"You have first go," he said. "I daren't offer it to Hugh. He's such athirsty beggar, and Clive's no better. Better have the first shot,Trendall. Then you're sure to get plenty."
But their guest declined the invitation with a shake of the head. Forthe moment his thoughts choked him. He gulped. Looking at him, Susannefelt sorry for their late enemy, for he was so obviously overcome bythis cordial welcome.
"We understand all about it, don't you know, Trendall," he ventured, asif to save Trendall. "They're all bygones. We begin afresh here. You'reone of us."
"You don't mean that you--want me to join you? That you would be glad tohave me with you?" gulped Trendall, perspiration now on his forehead,the huge slice of ham on the lid of a tin box, serving as a plate, nowneglected. "I--I----"
"That is, we'd like it, if you would," cried Bert, who had a knack ofalways saying the right thing at the right moment.
"You see," reflected Clive, "the Old Firm ain't a limited company. We'vepowers always to add to our numbers. We go on the principle of 'the morethe merrier'--in reason, of course. Well, there's the invitation. Jointhe Board. Become one of the unlimited."
There were positively tears in Trendall's eyes. He pitched the tin lidto the floor and stood up. Clive could see that his knees were actuallyshaking. His face had gone a deadly pale colour. His breath came fastand deep and in jerks. Bert was terribly afraid lest he should faint andfall at the feet of those who were doing him this honour. Then a flushcame to the sallow cheeks. Those who had known Trendall in the old days,the bad days when Rawlings dominated his thoughts and actions, would,had they seen him at this moment, have declared without hesitation thatnow they saw a vast improvement. The old sly, sneaking air was gone.This young fellow was no longer filled with arrogance. And when hesmiled at Susanne and Clive and the others, genuine friendship lookedout of his eyes, even if the latter were somewhat blurred by the mistwhich had risen so suddenly to cloud them.
"I'll join gladly," he said, with a catch in his voice. "If only youfellows knew how gladly! I've been a pig in the past."
"Hush!" interrupted Bert. "Bygones, you know, Trendall."
"Are bygones, and not to be remembered," cried Masters, having now gotrid of the huge hunch of
bread which had obstructed his vocal organs.
"Then let's shake hands again," said Trendall. "You can't tell howdecent I think it of you fellows."
It was decent. When the Old Firm--that is to say, its firstmembers--came later on to discuss the matter, they agreed that they hadbehaved nobly.
"Of course, we might have kept the enmity up for a long while," saidMasters. "That'd have made Trendall sit up a trifle. But it's better tobe friends. And think how useful."
"Useful. How's that?" asked Bert.
"Well, to commence with, Trendall's a slogging good chap at classics. IfI'm in a hole ever----"
"You're always in one," laughed Bert, interrupting him.
"There's Trendall to help me," continued Masters, scowling at theinterrupter.
"A nice way to look at a friendship!" jeered Susanne. "What next?"
"Well, you know," said Masters lamely, "I used to sit within sight ofTrendall."
"That's why you warned us that he was such an eater," cried Clive. "Hedidn't do much this time, anyway."
"It wasn't that I meant. But Trendall's a lucky beggar," said Masters,his eyes opening at the thought of what he'd seen. "Talk about a spreadat table! Why, his people sent him a whole turkey last term, a turkeyready cooked, with sausages. I just wanted that turkey. Wish my people'dthink sometimes that turkey's good for fellows at Ranleigh."
Everyone, no doubt, have their own way of looking at the same matter.Masters at the moment viewed the addition of Trendall to the Old Firmfrom the point of view of what he personally would gain. Not that hewas really serious. It may be said, in fact, that Masters was above suchpettishness. Still, it was true enough that Trendall was first rate atclassics, while Masters was an utter duffer. A little help now and againwould certainly be an advantage. As for the turkey, well, it was knownthat Trendall had ripping hampers. Why shouldn't the Old Firm rejoice attheir coming?
It may be imagined, too, that this sudden accession of Trendall to theranks of Susanne and Clive and Company created quite a storm atRanleigh. That very afternoon they were seen for the first timestrolling arm in arm across the ground sloping down in front of theschool. They were laughing and chatting as if there had never been sucha thing as a disagreement between them. Then they turned into thetuck-shop, and casual visitors there saw and marvelled at Trendalltreating fellows to apple tarts and cups of tea or coffee to whom, acouple of months before, they could imagine his administering somethingfar less pleasant. That evening, in Hall, Rawlings saw the members ofthe Firm gaily signalling to one another, while, as if to make mattersworse, there was Trendall seated comfortably between Hugh and BertSeymour. Rawlings scowled behind his cup. He kicked savagely at the boyopposite when he remarked on this singular friendship which had arisenso unexpectedly. And then he found his attention caught by the entry ofthe members of the Upper Sixth. They came in in single file. There wasSturton, tall and cool and unconcerned. Stebbins, the fellow next behindhim, a strong candidate for the captaincy, looked bored and sullen.Fellows liked him at Ranleigh; but not as they liked Sturton. Then cameBagshaw, "the oyster" as some called him, the poet, the leader writer,pale of face, stooping and delicate, but with flashing eye and jovialsmile which were always captivating. You could knock poor Bagshaw downwith the greatest ease. A fellow in Middle School could defeat himwithout the need to remove a coat. And yet Bagshaw was a power in theschool, a force there was no denying. The most muscular boy had beenknown to tremble before him. It was said of Bagshaw that even Mr.Canning felt less assurance when "the oyster" was his opponent at theweekly meetings of the Debating Society.
Slowly, one by one, they filed to their places, while the heads of allat Ranleigh were turned to watch them. And then the figure of the Headsuddenly appeared on the dais, with the master of the week beside him.
"Sturton is elected Captain of Ranleigh," he declared, and thendisappeared with a discretion there was no denying.
"Hooray! Three cheers for Sturton!" bellowed one of his supporters.
The boys shouted till they were hoarse. Bert and Hugh and Trendall didtheir best to drown the shouts of those beside them. Susanne beat thetable with a knife till the noise was deafening.
"Speech! Speech! Speech!" came thundering through the Hall; and--whowould have thought it?--it was Bagshaw the delicate who possessed thatenormously deep voice. Then Sturton popped up on the dais, and waitedthere for silence.
"You fellows," he began, his hands deep in his pockets, a habit atRanleigh as elsewhere, "I'm awfully sorry about Harvey----"
Cheers. Counter cheers from opposite sides of the Hall. "For he's ajolly good fellow," started by Masters, and dropped with suddenness whenthat young gentleman found himself the only one chanting.
"He was a rattling good fellow"--more cheers. "One of the very best"--aperfect tornado--"and we all loved him. I say that he was one of thebest captains this school has ever seen"--more cheers. "You'll do aswell," was shouted from the far end of the Hall. "Hooray for Sturton!"
"I'll do my level best, be sure of that," went on Sturton. "I want tothank the Upper Sixth for choosing me, and you fellows for applaudingtheir selection. I'm going to work hard. I'm going to make you fellowswork hard too, I can tell you." "Shame!" from the end of the Hall.Laughter throughout. "Not me," from the irrepressible Masters.
"Yes, and Masters too," continued Sturton, at which there was anotheroutburst of merriment. "We're all going to work hard. We're going totrain steadily, and at the end of the term we're going to pull off thatfooter cup we've been so long after. You fellows, three cheers forHarvey!"
They gave them with a vigour there was no denying. Ranleighans shoutedthemselves hoarse in their exuberance. And then they filed out of theHall where many busy tongues commenced wagging.
"Don't seem so bad after all," observed Clive. "This afternooneverything was at sixes and sevens, and a fellow could have sworn thatwe were in for a sickening term. Now it's A1. Sturton's Captain."
It was a fine thing for Ranleigh too. Harvey had been a fine fellow anda first-class leader. Sturton was to be as good. We shall see what hedid with the material he had to handle, and how he made ready for thegreat day when Ranleigh was to fail or triumph.
King of Ranleigh: A School Story Page 13
