The boys began to read the poems and did not like them. All the five poems that they had in front of them on their desk were very poor.
"That only leaves one more. And I hope it's poor too," said Jennings.
Darbishire looked at the handwriting on the last sheet of paper and said: "This one is Venables'. Listen!"
'Break, break, break,
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me!
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!'
"That's not bad, is it!" said Jennings. "Who did you say wrote it?"
"Venables."
"Don't be funny. Venables couldn't write that."
"I'm sure it's Venables' handwriting. But wait a minute. It's only half of a poem."
"It's quite enough. His poem is certainly a lot better than others," said Jennings.
"We'll have to give him a prize, if we can't find that something is wrong with it," said Darbishire.
"There must be something wrong with it." Jennings looked at the sheet of paper. "Look, Darbi. I don't think it is very good when he repeats all the time 'O well'. He says, 'O well for the fisherman's boy' and 'O well for the sailor lad.' People don't say that, do they?"
"Maybe he couldn't think of anything better. But we can't disqualify him for it, can we?"
"No, we can't. we must think of something else for a prize. Oh well, let's think.."
"There you are," said Darbishire quickly. "You've said it."
"Said what?"
"'Oh well.' You said people didn't say that."
At that moment the dormitory bell rang and the boys went to bed.
Chapter Eleven
How to get a big cake
When Jennings and Darbishire were takings off their clothes in the dormitory that evenings, the boy who took part in the competitions came up to them.
"Have you already read those poems?" asked Bromwich.
"Yes, there was only one good poem," answered Jennings.
"Mine?" asked Bromwich.
"No. Yours went into the waste-paper basket."
"Oh!" exclaimed Bromwich. "I've spent a lot of time on that poem."
"And mine?" asked Temple.
"Yours was very poor, too," said Jennings. "I don't want to tell you who is the winner, because it's still a secret, but if you keep it I'll tell you that Venables' poem is the best."
"Good old Venables!" cried Temple.
"Hey, Venables, you've taken the first prize in the wall-newspaper competition!" cried Atkinson.
Venables was washing his face at the washbasin. He turned his head.
"Have I?" he exclaimed. He quickly dried his face on the towel and came up to Darbishire and Jennings.
"When shall I get the cake?" asked Venables.
Jennings began to take off his shoes. He "did not hear" the question.
"When shall I get the cake?" Venables repeated.
"You see," said Jennings. "We don't have the cakes yet."
"What!" exclaimed Venables. "But you've promised it!"
"Yes, you've promised a big cake. And there must be a big cake," said Atkinson.
"If I don't get my prize, I'll..."
"All right, all right! Don't get angry. You'll get your prize," said Jennings.
"The big cake?" asked Venables.
"No, something ten times better."
"Ten times better? What?"
"It's a secret. You will know tomorrow, and I'm sure you'll like it."
At that moment Jennings did not know anything about the prize himself. But what could he say? There was no other way open to him.
When all the boys went to their beds Darbishire said to Jennings:
"It's a good thing you've thought of something, Jen. What is it?"
"I don't know yet."
"But you said...you said we could give him something ten times better than a big cake. What shall we give him?.. Can't we sell something and buy something else for the money?"
"I'm not going to say good-bye to my camera or my printing set, thank you very much."
"No, I mean some old thing that costs a lot because it's old. You'll be surprised to know how much old things sometimes cost. My father knows a man who has a book which was published at the time of Julius Caesar, and he says it costs a hundred pounds."
"Who says - Julius Caesar?"
"No, you silly! My father says. It's a rare first edition, you see."
"But I don't have anything that was published at the time of Julius Caesar. Maybe my Latin textbook."
"Oh, no. I'm talking about some first editions that people buy when they are a hundred years old."
"I don't think my Latin textbook is younger than a hundred," Jennings said with a smile. "And I remember the words 'first edition' on the first page of the book. There are only two books in school like it - Venables' and mine. All the other boys have much newer books."
"Don't be silly, Jennings! You are not going to tell me that your Latin book is valuable."
Jennings decided to see for himself. There were still some minutes before the lights were put out. He got out of bed, hurried out of the dormitory, went to his desk in the classroom and found the book. He opened it and read: A First Latin Grammar by A. Grimshaw. First Edition MCMLXII (1962).
Jennings tried to translate Roman numerals. "That must be... Yes, of course: 1852!"
He took the book and hurried out of the classroom. "First I must find out if the book is valuable," he thought when he ran to the dormitory. "If it is valuable I'll sell it for - well, Darbishire says a hundred pounds - for ten shillings, maybe. So I'll have money to buy Venables his cake and I'll leave some money to buy a newer edition of the book." He read the price: four-and-sixpence. "What will Mr Penberton say if I come into class without my Latin Grammar? So I will have to buy a newer edition of the book."
He was near the door of the dormitory when he heard a voice.
"Come here, Jennings." It was the Headmaster.
It was too late to hide the Latin book.
"Do you know, Jennings, that your dormitory light were put out five minutes ago?"
Jennings said something, which could mean "Yes-sir" or "No-sir"
"Then I don't understand, Jennings, why you are not in bed."
"I went to my classroom to get a book, sir."
"And how are you going to read it in the dark?" asked the Headmaster. But at that moment he looked at the book, which Jennings was holding, and his expression changed. "Grimshaw's Latin Grammar! Well, well, Jennings, I must say that I am surprised. Does this mean that you have at last decided to begin to learn Latin?"
"Oh, I don't know, sir. I... I... I was going to look through it before lights were out if there was time. Or maybe in the morning, before I get up, sir."
"Very good, Jennings. You have left it too late for this evening, but I think that there is no better thing than to read A Latin Grammar in the morning. It's a very valuable book."
"Yes, sir. Do you mean that it's a rare book, sir?"
"I mean that it's very difficult to get it. I ordered some copies many months ago, but I haven't yet got them," answered the Headmaster. "A very interesting man - Mr Grimshaw. I attended his lectures at the university."
Jennings opened his eyes wide in surprise. "You... you've seen him, sir?"
"Very often."
"Mr Grimshaw must be a hundred and fifty years old," THOUGHT Jennings. "No wonder he was interesting."
"It says here, sir," Jennings pointed to the first page, "that he wrote the book in 1852."
Mr Pemberton looked at the page.
"No, Jennings. MCMLXII is - well, try to read it yourself. Good night."
The Headmaster went away. "He is a good boy, that Jennings," he thought on the way to his room. "Of course it was silly of him to make a mist
ake of a hundred years when he was translating the Roman numerals. But after he knows his Latin grammar he will understand. No, he isn't a bad boy, that Jennings."
Jennings hurried into his dormitory. It was dark there. But Darbishire was not sleeping. He was waiting for his friend.
"Have you got it, Jen?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, you are quite right. The Headmaster says that it's a rare and valuable book."
"Did he say that?"
"He used other words, but that's what he meant. And I think it's very old because the author is dead."
"How do you know he is dead?"
"It says so in the book, it calls him a Late Lecturer."
"That's nothing. Maybe it means that he was usually late for his lectures."
"I'm sure it doesn't mean that," said Jennings. "I'm sure 'late' means 'dead' here."
"But how could a dead man write a book?"
"Well? Maybe he wasn't dead when he wrote it, but he is dead now."
"Maybe," said Darbishire.
"So first thing tomorrow we'll decide how we can get a lot of money for it."
But Darbishire did not answer. He was already sleeping.
Chapter Twelve
Jennings and Darbishire try to sell books
The next morning Jennings was sitting at his breakfast with a sad face. "There is no second-hand bookshop nearer then Dungambury," thought Jennings, "and Mr Carter will never give Darbishire and me permission to go so far. And if we can reach Dunhambury, shall we find a second-hand bookshop where we can sell the book for a hundred pounds or.. ten shillings?"
He was going to talk to Darbishire, when Venables spoke from the other side of the table.
"Don't forget my prize, Jennings. Remember, it has to be something good."
"Yes, what's it going to be?" asked Atkinson.
"I can't tell you yet," said Jennings, "because... well, because I haven't got it yet. But it's all right. I'm going to sell my Latin book and buy something for the money."
"Sell you Latin book!" The boys were surprised.
"Yes, it costs a lot of money, maybe a hundred pounds, because it's a rare first edition."
"But what will you use in class?" asked Temple.
"Oh, that's all right. The Headmaster won't know because I shall buy a newer edition."
* * *
There was no football game that Saturday and the boys could get permission to go to the village and buy sweets there at the little house that had a notice in the window. Home-made Cakes and Bicycles Repaired.
Jennings and Darbishire had other plans. But before they went out of the school yard they heard footsteps behind hem. They turned round and saw Venables. In his hand he carried his Grimshaw's Latin Grammar.
"Wait a minute," he said. "Are you going to Dunhambury?"
"Ssh! Don't speak so loudly!" said Jennings. "If Mr Carter knows that we are going so far there will be... I don't know what there will be."
"It's about these Latin books," Venables said in a whisper. "Mine is a first edition too. So I wondered if you could take it with you."
"I don't advise you to sell yours," said Darbishire. "Jennings is selling his because he has to buy you a big cake."
"But I want to sell mine, too. Please, Jennings, take it," said Venables.
Jennings thought for a moment. If he could sell one book, he could sell two books at the same time.
"All right," he said.
"Thank you very much," smiled Venables. "But, please, buy a newer edition before you sell the old book. The Headmaster will be very angry if I haven't got a book for his class on Monday."
Jennings and Darbishire hurried to the bus stop. They had very little time. It was a long way to Dunhambury, and they had to be back at school by half past four.
For a quarter of an hour they waited at the bus stop. At last a bus came, and soon they arrived at Dunhambury.
For some time they could not find a bookshop. They saw all kinds of shops, but not a bookshop.
"There must be a bookshop in the town," Darbishire said.
"But, maybe these people have no time to read books," said Jennings.
"Shall we ask?"
"Whether they are too busy to read?"
"No, you silly! Shall we ask where a bookshop is?"
"Better not. Nobody must know that the pupils of Linbury Court Boarding School have come here to sell rare and valuable books, because..." Jennings stopped and looked at his friend. "Why do you still have your school cap on, Darbi?"
"I'm sorry," said Darbishire. He took off his school cap and put it in his pocket.
* * *
At last they saw a bookshop. There were a lot of old books in the shop window but it was so dusty that the boys could not read the titles of the books. In front of the shop there was a long table with many books in it.
"It's very risky to leave these books out in the street," Darbishire said, "if they are valuable first editions."
Jennings took a dust thick book from the table. "Poems by Alfred Tennyson," he read. "This book must cost a lot," he said. "It's very thick."
"A hundred pounds?" asked Darbishire.
Jennings looked at the price. "No, nine pence. Maybe it's only a second edition. Let's go in, shall we!"
It was a dark little shop, and for a moment the boys thought it was empty: because Mr Barlow, the bookseller, looked like his books. His clothes were as dusty as the books on his shelves and he looked at the boys through spectacles which were as dusty as his window.
"Well?" he asked the boys. "What can I do for you?"
"Jennings handed him the two books that he carried.
"How much do these books cost?" he asked.
Mr Barlow took of his spectacles.
"Hm. Grimshaw's First Latin Grammar. Ah, yes, a very good book." He turned over some pages. When Mr Barlow began to turn the pages of the book Jennings closed his eyes. The pages were not very clean and all the pages were not there.
"A very good book," repeated Mr Barlow. "Very good condition. Beautiful binding."
"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Jennings. He turned to Darbishire. "Do you hear that, Darbi?" Then he turned back to the counter. "How much does it cost, please?"
Mr Barlow looked up at the ceiling.
"Let's say five shillings each," he said.
"Oh! Is that all?" exclaimed Jennings. That was much less than a hundred pound.
"You will not buy them for less than that," said the bookseller.
"Buy them! I don't want to buy them. I want to sell them," exclaimed Jennings.
"Didn't you take these books from that table near by shop?" asked Mr Barlow.
"Oh, no! We brought them with us. They are ours - they are!"
"How do I know that they are really yours? People often bring me in a book and I give them a good price for it, and all the time it's my own book that they have taken from the table outside."
"But they are really ours," repeated Jennings. "You must believe us."
There was something in Jennings' voice that made Mr Barlow believe the boys. He looked at the books again.
"These books aren't much good to me. The pages are not clean, and all the pages are not there."
"But a minute ago you said that the books were in a good condition."
"Oh, yes," said the bookseller, "but that was before I knew you wanted to sell them. Well, I'll give you three pence for each."
"Three pence!" exclaimed Jennings. He got very angry. "They cost five shillings each a minute ago when you thought we wanted to buy them."
Mr Barlow put on his spectacles.
"That's business, my boy," he said. "These old books don't cost... Oh, wait a moment! I think somebody has ordered Grimshaw's Latin Grammar."
He opened his order book. "Yes, I thought so! The Headmaster of Linbury Court Boarding School asked me to sent him any copies which I had."
The bookseller took the two books and put three sixpence on the counter.
"I'm giving you nine pe
nce for each! That is much more than they really cost."
"Just think," Jennings said to Darbishire in a whisper. "The Headmaster will have to pay five shillings for the book which he thinks is in my desk."
"We can't take a hundred pounds for it," answered Darbishire.
"What are you talking about?" asked Mr Barlow.
"I... I don't want to sell the books I want them back," said Darbishire.
Now Mr Barlow did not want to give them back.
"You will not get a better price for them," he said. "Well, I'll give you one shilling and nine for the two of them. All right?"
"No, thank you very much. They are not for sale," said Jennings.
"Not for sale! What do you mean - not for sale? You've said you came here to sell them!" cried the bookseller.
"Yes, I know, but now quite suddenly I've decided not to sell them."
Mr Barlow put the books back on the counter.
"You are two silly boys who don't know whether you want to buy books or sell them," the bookseller said angrily. "Get out of my shop, and take your books with you!"
The boys were only too happy to go!
Chapter Thirteen
Jennings gives the prize
Jennings and Darbishire went into the street.
"Just think, Jen. The headmaster takes the Latin book and finds your name on the first page," said Darbishire and leaned on Mr Barlow's table. When he did it a pile of books fell from the table.
"You are so clumsy, Darbi!" Jennings said angrily. "Now look what you've done!"
"I'm sorry, Jen. It was that clumsy table..."
"Quick; pick them up before the old man comes out of his shop!"
The boys picked the books up and put them back on the table. The last book, which Jennings was just going to put back on the table was Poems by Alfred Tennyson. The book had opened when it had fallen down and Jennings took his handkerchief from his pocket to clean the dust from the two open pages.
"I think it's all right now, so we'll put it..." He stopped and looked in surprise at the page in front of him.
"What's the matter?" asked Darbishire.
"I don't know."
Jennings and His Friends Page 4
