"Who was that with you?" asked Mrs. Larkins, when she had obtained leave to have her boy with her, while she did her shopping.
"That was May senior, our dux."
"Was it? I am very glad you should be with him, my dear George. He is very kind to you, I hope?"
"He is a jolly good fellow," said Larkins sincerely, though by no means troubling himself as to the appropriateness of the eulogy, nor thinking it necessary to explain to his mother the terms of the conversation.
It was not fruitless; Larkins did avoid mischief when it was not extremely inviting, was more amenable to May senior, and having been put in mind by him of his home, was not ashamed to bring the thought to the aid of his eyes, when, on Sunday, during a long sermon of Mr. Ramsden's, he knew that Axworthy was making the grimace which irresistibly incited him to make a still finer one.
And Ballhatchet was so much convinced of "that there young May" being in earnest, that he assured his persuasive customers that it was as much as his licence was worth to supply them.
Evil and insubordination were more easily kept under than Norman had expected, when he first made up his mind to the struggle. Firmness had so far carried the day, and the power of manful assertion of the right had been proved, contrary to Cheviot's parting auguries, that he would only make himself disliked, and do no good.
The whole of the school was extremely excited this summer by a proceeding of Mr. Tomkins, the brewer, who suddenly closed up the footway called Randall's Alley, declaring that there was no right of passage through a certain field at the back of his brewery. Not only the school, but the town was indignant, and the Mays especially so. It had been the doctor's way to school forty years ago, and there were recollections connected with it that made him regard it with personal affection. Norman, too, could not bear to lose it; he had not entirely conquered his reluctance to pass that spot in the High Street, and the loss of the alley would be a positive deprivation to him. Almost every native of Stoneborough felt strongly the encroachment of the brewer, and the boys, of course, carried the sentiment to exaggeration.
The propensity to public speaking perhaps added to the excitement, for Norman May and Harvey Anderson, for once in unison, each made a vehement harangue in the school-court--Anderson's a fine specimen of the village Hampden style, about Britons never suffering indignities, and free-born Englishmen swelling at injuries.
"That they do, my hearty," interjected Larkins, pointing to an inflamed eye that had not returned to its right dimensions. However, Anderson went on unmoved by the under titter, and demonstrated, to the full satisfaction of all the audience, that nothing could be more illegal and unfounded than the brewer's claims.
Then came a great outburst from Norman, with all his father's headlong vehemence; the way was the right of the town, the walk had been trodden by their forefathers for generations past--it had been made by the good old generous-hearted man who loved his town and townspeople, and would have heard with shame and anger of a stranger, a new inhabitant, a grasping radical, caring, as radicals always did, for no rights, but for their own chance of unjust gains, coming here to Stoneborough to cut them off from their own path. He talk of liberalism and the rights of the poor! He who cut off Randall's poor old creatures in the almshouses from their short way! and then came some stories of his oppression as a poor-law guardian, which greatly aggravated the wrath of the speaker and audience, though otherwise they did not exactly bear on the subject.
"What would old Nicholas Randall say to these nineteenth-century doings?" finished Norman.
"Down, with them!" cried a voice from the throng, probably Larkins's; but there was no desire to investigate, it was the universal sentiment. "Down with it! Hurrah, we'll have our footpath open again! Down with the fences! Britons never shall be slaves!" as Larkins finally ejaculated.
"That's the way to bring it to bear!" said Harvey Anderson, "See if he dares to bring an action against us. Hurrah!"
"Yes, that's the way to settle it," said Norman. "Let's have it down. It is an oppressive, arbitrary, shameful proceeding, and we'll show him we won't submit to it!"
Carried along by the general feeling, the whole troop of boys dashed shouting up to the barricade at the entrance of the field, and levelled it with the ground. A handkerchief was fastened to the top of one of the stakes, and waved over the brewhouse wall, and some of the boys were for picking up stones and dirt, and launching them over, in hopes of spoiling the beer; but Norman put a stop to this, and brought them back to the school-yard, still in a noisy state of exultation.
It cooled a little by-and-by under the doubt how their exploit would be taken. At home, Norman found it already known, and his father half glad, half vexed, enjoying the victory over Tomkins, yet a little uneasy on his son's behalf. "What will Dr. Hoxton say to the dux?" said he. "I didn't know he was to be dux in mischief as well as out of it."
"You can't call it mischief, papa, to resent an unwarranted encroachment of our rights by such an old ruffian as that. One's blood is up to think of the things he has done!"
"He richly deserves it, no doubt," said the doctor, "and yet I wish you had been out of the row. If there is any blame, you will be the first it will light on."
"I am glad of it, that is but just. Anderson and I seem to have stirred it up--if it wanted stirring--for it was in every fellow there; indeed, I had no notion it was coming to this when I began."
"Oratory," said the doctor, smiling. "Ha, Norman! Think a little another time, my boy, before you take the law into your own hands, or, what is worse, into a lot of hands you can't control for good, though you may excite them to harm."
Dr. Hoxton did not come into school at the usual hour, and, in the course of the morning, sent for May senior, to speak to him in his study.
He looked very broad, awful, and dignified, as he informed him that Mr. Tomkins had just been with him to complain of the damage that had been done, and he appeared extremely displeased that the dux should have been no check on such proceedings.
"I am sorry, sir," said Norman, "but I believe it was the general feeling that he had no right to stop the alley, and, therefore, that it could not be wrong to break it down."
"Whether he has a right or not is not a question to be settled by you. So I find that you, whose proper office it is to keep order, have been inflaming the mischievous and aggressive spirit amongst the others. I am surprised at you; I thought you were more to be depended upon, May, in your position."
Norman coloured a good deal, and simply answered? "I am sorry, sir."
"Take care, then, that nothing of the kind happens again," said Dr. Hoxton, who was very fond of him, and did not find fault with him willingly.
That the first inflammatory discourse had been made by Anderson did not appear to be known--he only came in for the general reprimand given to the school.
It was reported the following evening, just as the town boys turned out to go to their homes, that "old Tomkins had his fence up five times higher than before."
"Have at him again, say I!" exclaimed Axworthy. "What business has he coming stopping up ways that were made before he was born?"
"We shall catch it from the doctor if we do," said Edward Anderson, "He looked in no end of a rage yesterday when he talked about the credit of the school."
"Who cares for the credit of the school?" said the elder Anderson; "we are out of the school now--we are townsmen--Stoneborough boys-- citizens not bound to submit to injustice. No, no, the old rogue knew it would not stand if it was brought into court, so he brings down old Hoxton on us instead--a dirty trick he deserves to be punished for."
And there was a general shout and yell in reply.
"Anderson," said Norman, "you had better not excite them again, they are ripe for mischief. It will go further than it did yesterday-- don't you see?"
Anderson could not afford to get into a scrape without May to stand before him, and rather sulkily he assented.
"It is of no use to rave about old Tomkins
," proceeded Norman, in his style of popular oratory. "If it is illegal, some one will go to law about it, and we shall have our alley again. We have shown him our mind once, and that is enough; if we let him alone now, he will see 'tis only because we are ordered, not for his sake. It would be just putting him in the right, and maybe winning his cause for him, to use any more violence. There's law for you, Anderson. So now no more about it--let us all go home like rational fellows. August, where's August?"
Tom was not visible--he generally avoided going home with his brother; and Norman having seen the boys divide into two or three little parties, as their roads lay homewards, found he had an hour of light for an expedition of his own, along the bank of the river. He had taken up botany with much ardour, and sharing the study with Margaret was a great delight to both. There was a report that the rare yellow bog-bean grew in a meadow about a mile and a half up the river, and thither he was bound, extremely enjoying the summer evening walk, as the fresh dewy coolness sunk on all around, and the noises of the town were mellowed by distance, and the sun's last beams slanted on the green meadows, and the May-flies danced, and dragon-flies darted, and fish rose or leaped high in the air, or showed their spotted sides, and opened and shut their gills, as they rested in the clear water, and the evening breeze rustled in the tall reeds, and brought fragrance from the fresh-mown hay.
It was complete enjoyment to Norman after his day's study and the rule and watch over the unruly crowd of boys, and he walked and wandered and collected plants for Margaret till the sun was down, and the grasshoppers chirped clamorously, while the fern-owl purred, and the beetle hummed, and the skimming swallows had given place to the soft-winged bat, and the large white owl floating over the fields as it moused in the long grass.
The summer twilight was sobering every tint, when, as Norman crossed the cricket-field, he heard, in the distance, a loud shout. He looked up, and it seemed to him that he saw some black specks dancing in the forbidden field, and something like the waving of a flag, but it was not light enough to be certain, and he walked quickly home.
The front door was fastened, and, while he was waiting to be let in, Mr. Harrison walked by, and called out, "You are late at home to- night--it is half-past nine."
"I have been taking a walk, sir."
A good-night was the answer, as he was admitted. Every one in the drawing-room looked up, and exclaimed as he entered, "Where's Tom?"
"What! he is not come home?"
"No! Was he not with you?"
"I missed him after school. I was persuaded he was come home. I have been to look for the yellow bog-bean. There, Margaret. Had not I better go and look for him?"
"Yes, do," said Dr. May. "The boy is never off one's mind."
A sort of instinctive dread directed Norman's steps down the open portion of Randall's Alley, and, voices growing louder as he came nearer, confirmed his suspicions. The fence at this end was down, and, on entering the field, a gleam of light met his eye on the ground--a cloud of smoke, black figures were flitting round it, pushing brands into red places, and feeding the bonfire.
"What have you been doing?" exclaimed Norman. "You have got yourselves into a tremendous scrape!"
A peal of laughter, and shout of "Randall and Stoneborough for ever!" was the reply.
"August! May junior! Tom! answer me! Is he here?" asked Norman, not solicitous to identify any one.
But gruff voices broke in upon them. "There they are, nothing like 'em for mischief."
"Come, young gentlemen," said a policeman, "be off, if you please. We don't want to have none of you at the station to-night."
A general hurry-skurry ensued. Norman alone, strong in innocence, walked quietly away, and, as he came forth from the darkness of the alley, beheld something scouring away before him, in the direction of home. It popped in at the front door before him, but was not in the drawing-room. He strode upstairs, called, but was not answered, and found, under the bedclothes, a quivering mass, consisting of Tom, with all his clothes on, fully persuaded that it was the policeman who was pursuing him.
CHAPTER XXII.
Oh Life, without thy chequered scene, Of right and wrong, of weal and woe, Success and failure, could a ground For magnanimity be found? WORDSWORTH.
Dr. May was called for late the next day, Friday, and spent some time in one of the houses near the river. It was nearly eight o'clock when he came away, and he lingered, looking towards the school, in hopes of a walk home with his boys.
Presently he saw Norman coming out from under the archway, his cap drawn over his face, and step, gesture, and manner betraying that something was seriously wrong. He came up almost to his father without seeing him, until startled by his exclamation, "Norman--why, Norman, what's the matter?"
Norman's lips quivered, and his face was pale--he seemed as if he could not speak.
"Where's Tom ?" said the doctor, much alarmed. "Has he got into disgrace about this business of Tomkins? That boy--"
"He has only got an imposition," interrupted Norman. "No, it is not that--it is myself"--and it was only with a gulp and struggle that he brought out the words, "I am turned down in the school."
The doctor started back a step or two, aghast. "What-how--speak, Norman. What have you done?"
"Nothing!" said Norman, recovering in the desire to reassure his father--"nothing!"
"That's right," said the doctor, breathing freely. "What's the meaning of it...a misunderstanding?"
"Yes," said Norman, with bitterness. "It is all Anderson's doing--a word from him would have set all straight--but he would not; I believe, from my heart, he held his tongue to get me down, that he might have the Randall!"
"We'll see you righted," said the doctor eagerly. "Come, tell me the whole story, Norman. Is it about this unlucky business?"
"Yes. The town-fellows were all up about it last evening, when we came out of school. Anderson senior himself began to put them up to having the fence down again. Yes, that he did--I remember his very words--that Tomkins could not bring it into court, and so set old Hoxton at us. Well, I told them it would not do--thought I had settled them--saw them off home--yes, Simpson, and Benson, and Grey, up the High Street, and the others their way. I only left Axworthy going into a shop when I set off on my walk. What could a fellow do more? How was I to know that that Axworthy would get them together again, and take them to this affair--pull up the stakes--saw them down--for they were hard to get down--shy all sorts of things over into the court-hoot at old Tomkins's man, when he told them to be off--and make a bonfire of the sticks at last?"
"And Harvey Anderson was there?"
"No--not he. He is too sharp--born and bred attorney as he is--he talked them up to the mischief when my back was turned, and then sneaked quietly home, quite innocent, and out of the scrape."
"But Dr. Hoxton can never entertain a suspicion that you had anything to do with it!"
"Yes, he does though. He thinks I incited them, and Tomkins and the policeman declare I was there in the midst of the row--and not one of these fellows will explain how I came at the last to look for Tom."
"Not Tom himself?"
"He did try to speak, poor little fellow, but, after the other affair, his word goes for nothing, and so, it seems, does mine. I did think Hoxton would have trusted me!"
"And did not he?" exclaimed Dr. May.
"He did not in so many words accuse me of--of--but he told me he had serious charges brought against me--Mr. Harrison had seen me at Ballhatchet's, setting an example of disregard to rules--and, again, Mr. Harrison saw me coming in at a late hour last night. 'I know he did,' I said, and I explained where I had been, and they asked for proofs! I could hardly answer, from surprise, at their not seeming to believe me, but I said you could answer for my having come in with the flowers for my sister."
"To be sure I will--I'll go this instant--" he was turning.
"It is of no use, papa, to-night; Dr. Hoxton has a dinner-party."
"He is always having parti
es. I wish he would mind them less, and his business more. You disbelieved! but I'll see justice done you, Norman, the first thing to-morrow. Well--"
"Well then, I said, old Ballhatchet could tell that I crossed the bridge at the very time they were doing this pretty piece of work, for he was sitting smoking in his porch when I went home, and, would you believe it? the old rascal would not remember who passed that evening! It is all his malice and revenge--nothing else!"
"Why--what have you been doing to him?"
Norman shortly explained the ginger-beer story, and adding, "Cheviot told me I should get nothing but ill-will, and so I have--all those town fellows turn against me now, and though they know as well as possible how it was, they won't say a word to right me, just out of spite, because I have stopped them from all the mischief I could!"
"Well, then--"
"They asked me whether--since I allowed that I had been there at last--I had dispersed the boys. I said no, I had no time. Then they desired to know who was there, and that I had not seen; it was all dark, and there had not been a moment, and if I guessed, it was no affair of mine to say. So they ordered me down, and had up Ned Anderson, and one or two more who were known to have been in the riot, and then they consulted a good while, and sent for me; Mr. Wilmot was for me, I am sure, but Harrison was against me. Dr. Hoxton sat there, and made me one of his addresses. He said he would not enter on the question whether I had been present at the repetition of the outrage, as he called it, but what was quite certain was, that I had abused my authority and influence in the school; I had been setting a bad example, and breaking the rules about Ballhatchet, and so far from repressing mischief, I had been the foremost in it, making inflammatory harangues, leading them to commit violence the first time, and the next, if not actually taking part in it personally, at any rate not preventing it. In short, he said it was clear I had not weight enough for my post--it was some excuse I had been raised to it so young--but it was necessary to show that proficiency in studies did not compensate for disregard of discipline, and so he turned me down below the first six! So there's another May in disgrace!"
The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations Page 30
