There are very peculiar and creepy sounds to be heard in the country at
night, and I heard them all. Everything, in fact, is quite different to
what it is by day. Especially the colours of things. There was a watery
sort of moon, and it made all the leaves on the trees look as if they
were cut out of dirty white paper. And it made gate-posts and
tree-stems look as if they were alive. I got a curious sort of feeling
about this time and lit a match and read a couple of Skeleton Sermons.
This put me absolutely all right, and I went to seek some of the fruits
of the earth. But May is evidently a bad time for that purpose. In
fact, there were simply no fruits of the earth to eat anywhere, so I had
to trust to young leaves. Beech leaves are all right in a way, but you
soon have enough. That was all I could get, however, and I washed them
down with a drink from a brook, but unluckily slipped in while filling
my bowler hat with water. Then the thing was to find a comfortable
place with sweet, snug straw; and I crept down to a farmhouse; and,
hearing me creeping down unfortunately upset a dog so much that it
barked steadily for half-an-hour and woke many other dogs for miles
round.
At last I found a poorish sort of shed which had no sweet, fragrant hay
but only a cart with sacks in it. The sacks had been used for guano.
Still they were better than nothing, and I got into the cart and pulled
the sacks over me, having first taken off my socks and hung them on the
edge of the cart to dry. I slept, but not well, and when morning came I
found myself deeply scented with guano and starving for food, but
otherwise all right and still free. So I read a bit, and put on my
socks, and set out boldly down a lane to the farm. But, after all, I
did not go to this particular farm, because, instead of a motherly woman
or some beautiful young girl standing at the door feeding chickens and
pigeons, there were two men in a corner killing a pig, and the pig
simply hated it; and to see this done on an empty stomach is very trying
to the nerves. So I went hastily and boldly on, and at last found a
quiet and humble cottage and a woman in it. I don’t think she would
have given me food for nothing; but when I said I would pay her a
shilling for a breakfast, and showed her my five shillings to prove it,
she met my views gladly and gave me three pieces of bread-and-butter, an
egg, that was not laid yesterday, and some tea. Then she changed the
five-shilling piece and gave me back four shillings.
Much refreshed and with nothing to trouble me but a cold in the head,
doubtless owing to getting my feet wet, I went on my way. My idea was
to get to Exeter and then boldly take my stand in the cathedral yard and
try to begin doing good and arresting the careless passer-by, and
leaving the rest to Providence. I did not know whether it might be
possible to get to Exeter by lanes and footpaths over fields. Nothing
happened except that I gave away two shillings in charity to a blind
woman with four children. I also said a few encouraging words to her.
And then, being now in the middle of a very lonely common covered with
yellow gorse and white may, I came suddenly upon a man sitting under a
bush smoking a cigarette. He was evidently not a happy man, being very
ragged and with one laced boot and one elastic one. His hair was long,
partly yellow and partly grey; his face was as brown as leather; and he
had little rings in his ears. His clothes were faded and a good deal
patched. He evidently did not mind what he wore. His eyes were blue
and bright, but rather kind on the whole. There was a paper opened
beside him. It was a bit of newspaper and contained bones and the sort
of food you give to dogs. His nails were long and black, and some of
his fingers perfectly yellow from smoking cigarettes.
I said—
"Good-morning! Can you kindly tell me the distance to Exeter?"
And he said—
"I’m going there myself after I’ve finished my breakfast. It’s about
ten miles from here."
I thought very likely that Providence had thrown this rather
unsuccessful man into my path for a good purpose; so I said—
"As we are both going to Exeter, we might perhaps walk part of the way
together. Only I like the quiet lanes and field-paths best—not the high
road."
He seemed to think the idea quite possible. He said—
"Can’t be too quiet for me."
I said—
"I cannot tell you my history, but I may tell you this much: I am quite
determined to do some good in the world."
He said—
"Funny you should say that. I’m just the same. I’m nuts on doing some
good myself. In fact, I was sitting here this minute wondering what the
dickens it should be."
I said—
"The truest way to make yourself happy is to set to work to make other
people happy."
And he said—
"Righto! I’ve always stuck to that. And I’ve been so busy lately,
trying to make other people cheerful, that I’ve got rather down on my
own luck."
He offered me the remains of his repast, which I declined. Then I told
him that I had two shillings and that, if he was still hungry, he might
share my lunch with me when we came to some quiet inn. He thanked me
heartily and fell in with this. He said he wasn’t hungry but was
suffering from an agonizing thirst. He said that thirst was a disease
with him, also smoking; and I told him that it was a terrible mistake to
become the victim of a habit; and he said he knew only too well that it
was.
I improved his mind a good deal before we came to an inn, and then, not
wishing to be seen, I gave him one of my shillings and told him to spend
sixpence on himself and sixpence on me. I merely wanted sixpennyworth
of good, wholesome bread-and-cheese; and I went behind some haystacks
and waited for him.
He was a long time coming, and, when he did come, I was surprised to
find how little bread-and-cheese he brought for sixpence. Me admitted
frankly that it was very little; but he said the landlord was a hard man
and he would not give a crumb more for the money.
While I ate, Marmaduke FitzClarence Beresford—for that was this friend’s
name—told me something of his life. He was a gentleman by birth and
also by education. He had, in fact, been to Eton and Oxford and also in
the army. He had won the Victoria Cross and been mentioned several
times in dispatches. He had even shaken hands with the King and been
thanked by the House of Commons for his services in the Boer War. But
then, at the very height of his worldly prosperity, a bank had broken
and he had suddenly found himself quite ruined and penniless. Of course
he had to leave the army, for in the position he had now reached, which
was that of major-general, his mess bill alone ran into gold every week.
A major-general has to buy champagne every day of his life, whether he
drinks it or not. It is a rule in the British army and very important.
But he said that nothing mattered as long as one tried to do good in the
condition in life that one found oneself in. He said I was perfectly
right to carry my Skeleton Sermons with me, and that the first thing he
was going to do, when he had saved a little money, was to buy a volume
himself. But, if anything, he was still more interested in my
telescope. He said that it was good for five shillings and advised me
to sell it. He explained that it was useless to me if I was going to
devote the rest of my life to doing good; and of course this was true.
He said we had better stop where we were till dusk, and that there was a
small town, two miles off, where it might be possible for him, as a
favour to me, to get a friend of his to buy the telescope. So we sat a
good many hours in this quiet field; and he smoked thousands of
cigarettes, and I told him many things that it was useful for him to
know; and he told me many things that it was not particularly useful for
me to know, yet interesting. He was a well-meaning and religious
officer, but he was rather soured, naturally enough, owing to the utter
breaking of his bank and the loss of his hard-earned savings.
He admitted that I had made him see several things in a very new and
different light, and then, towards evening, he said we might now start
to sell the telescope. He said with a part of the proceeds I might get
a fairly clean bed at the little town, and that he hoped, after a
comfortable night’s rest, I should be able to start refreshed and strong
to do good at Exeter. I asked him where he was going to sleep, and he
said in some ditch, because, for the moment, he was absolutely without
means, having given away his last shilling to a poor tramp who was even
worse off than himself. I told him he might be very sure that he would
never regret that shilling; and he said probably not in the long run,
but, just for the moment, as it was going to be a wet night and he had a
bad cold on his chest developing into bronchitis, he felt a little weak
and regretful. Then I said—
"You shall share this telescope with me, Major-general Beresford, and if
you like to throw in your lot with me, we will take a humble lodging for
the night and start to do good to-morrow."
He said it was almost more than he had a right to expect; and yet it
showed how wicked he had been to doubt Providence for a moment. He
almost cried, and I cheered him up and told him to be courageous and
hopeful. Then he said he would try to be; and then he went off with the
telescope, while I waited just outside the small town behind a hoarding.
The major-general had said that he should be about an hour, as a thing
of this kind wanted a good deal of doing; but he wasn’t: he came back in
twenty minutes, and he brought the telescope with him, and he was in a
frightful rage and spoke several soldierly words that were not at all
right to use for a man who wanted to do good.
Me said—
"The blighters won’t let me pop it! They all want to know how I came by
it! Dash their infernal impudence! Why, they’d have had the cops on me
if I’d stopped to argue about it! You’d better take it yourself. But
I’ll be even with some of ’em yet, clash and bash them! I’ll burn their
very bad-word houses down about their ears before they’re much older!"
In this dreadful way he went on for some time; then I tried to calm him
down and told him he must not feel too much hurt because common, crafty
men in shops regarded him suspiciously. I said—
"You evidently lost your temper with them, and that is never right or
wise. It was your boots that made them doubt you. You ought quietly to
have told them who you are, and about the King shaking hands with you,
and the bank breaking, and so on. Then they would have understood, and
if they had been Christian men, they would have sympathized with you and
very likely have given six or seven shillings for the telescope."
He said, rather foolishly—
"Given six or seven grandmothers for the telescope!"
Then he seemed to grow suddenly suspicious of me and he asked—
"Where did _you_ get it from anyhow? If I thought you’d sneaked it,
I’d——"
"I got it from my Uncle Horace," I said. "He is an amateur astronomer
and understands the stars."
"Well, I ought to understand three balls by this time," answered the
major-general, though what this meant I have never understood myself to
this day.
Then he began to make me rather uncomfortable, and I detected a good
deal of vulgarity in him. But doubtless it often turns people vulgar
and brutal to come down in the world, owing to having to mix with their
inferiors and suchlike.
Now he began to ask me about myself in a very cross-questioning manner,
and at last it seemed to me that I must tell him the truth. In fact, he
kept on so about who I was and where I had come from, that it got to be
a simple question between telling him the truth and telling him a lie.
Therefore, of course, I told him the truth, and said that my name was
Richmond and that I had lately changed my way of life by leaving school
in order to do some public work in the way of goodness.
He seemed much surprised.
"You’ve run away from school then?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," I said; "but of course I am telling you this in the strictest
confidence."
He quite saw that, and said that he regarded the confidence as a great
compliment to him. He became perfectly friendly again and said that,
when a boy, he had run away from school also, and that most boys of
spirit did so—in fact, nearly every boy who ever made much of a mark in
the world began in that manner. I reminded him that he had been to Eton
and Oxford, and he admitted it. It was from Eton that he had run away,
but he had been subsequently captured and taken back.
"Now you have confided in me," he said, "I think I can really be of some
practical use to you."
He guessed at the time and said, that if we put our best foot foremost,
we ought to be in Exeter by midnight. I remember, curiously enough,
wondering which was his best foot—the one in the lace-up boot, or the
one with elastic sides. Anyway, we set off after I had shared my last
shilling with him. This he changed into food and drink at a small
public-house by the wayside.
"At Exeter," he said, "I am widely known and respected. When we get
there, certain people will welcome me in a friendly spirit, and I am
quite sure they will welcome you too. In fact, I can promise you a very
warm welcome and a good night’s rest."
"Will they take the telescope?" I asked.
"No," he said. "They are not people like that. When they understand
the situation, they will be perfectly well satisfied with you as you
are."
I was glad that the major-general had come back to this quieter and
wiser frame of mind, and thanked him.
"I hope it may be in my power to do you a service some day," I said; and
then, in his turn, he thanked me.
"You never know," he replied. "You may be able to do me a good turn
even sooner than you think for."
He smoked thousands more cigarettes, and asked me about my home and my
family. He was rather interested to hear that my father was a rural
dean, and kindly hoped that he made a good thing out of it. I told him
that I believed he did; but I explained to him that money was not
everything—indeed, far from it—and that too much is a great temptation.
He said that he had never had enough, even in his palmiest days, to
judge; and I said—
"There are many precious things that money will not buy, major-general.
You must admit that. It won’t buy affection, for instance."
He sniffed and evidently doubted this. He said—
"It will buy all the affection I want—and a bit over."
Then the lights of Exeter at last appeared and I was frightfully
exhausted by now and jolly glad to see them.
"Here we are at last, thank the Lord," said my companion, though not in
a very pious tone. Then, at the outskirts of the town, we came to a
building with a light outside, and the major-general pushed me in in
front of him—rather roughly, I thought. The inside was brightly
illuminated with gas and, to my amazement, the building contained
nothing but policemen. One of these was much astonished to see us.
"Hullo, Slimey Sam!" he said to my companion. "’Tisn’t often you give us
a call without a little help from behind!"
Then, to my horror, the major-general cast subterfuge to the winds and
appeared in his true character.
"No," he said. "It took four of you blue worms to carry me in last time
I was here; but this is just a friendly visit. I’ve been doing a bit of
your work, in fact."
Instantly I perceived my position and made a dart for the door; but my
faithless companion was too quick for me.
"No, you don’t, my little man!" he cried out, and grabbed me by the
collar as he did so. "This is the missing link," he said to the
policemen, and they were much interested instantly.
"The boy from Merivale?"
"Yes."
Several policemen hastened to the telephone, and one hurried off to the
main police-station of Exeter, and all was excitement, disorder and
confusion. Slimey Samuel—for this was the real name of the treacherous
and unfeeling man—told them the whole story in my hearing; but he
omitted the part about not being able to sell the telescope, and the
only thing that interested him personally was the question of the
reward.
And really there is not much more to add, because what my father said,
and what Dr. Dunstan said and did, and what Mannering said, and what the
bicycle people said, and what the other chaps said when I went back, is
none of it particularly interesting in a general way.
In fact, the only thing that would have been very interesting and that I
should really like to be able to tell, is what Slimey Samuel said when
he got his blood-money for giving me up to justice. He declared to the
police in my hearing that it ought to be good for a hundred quid at
least. But his nature was far too hopeful, and as a matter of fact he
only got two pounds from my father and an offer of honest work. He only
took the money; and I expect he felt rather bitter about it; and I felt
rather bitter about it in secret also; because it seemed to show that my
father did not put much value on me. Two pounds for a human life—let
alone your own son—is really rather little. No doubt my father will go
on thinking nothing of me till I am a man. Then, perhaps, the day may
come when I shall be able to show him that, after all, money is mere
dust in the balance against a son, who can do the sort of things I hope
and intend to do, when I grow up into manhood.
*THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE*
*No. XI*
*THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE*
*I*
Going through the school-room of the third, which is my own form, I
chanced to see Saunders minor and Fowle there; and, just as I passed
them, Saunders minor said that he wished he was dead.
This, from Saunders minor, was a bit out of the common, so I stopped and
asked him why. He said—
"It’s only a manner of speaking, Thwaites; but, all the same, I do,
because of the Good Conduct Prize."
"Well," I said, "you’re a snip for it; everybody knows that."
"Not now," he answered. "In fact, it’s all up, and the silver watch and
chain are gone."
Of course, when young Saunders talked about a silver watch and chain, he
didn’t mean Dr. Dunstan’s footling Good Conduct Prize, which is always a
book of a particularly deadly kind, such as _Lays of Ancient Rome_; but
he meant the special prize his father had promised him if he won the
highest marks for good conduct in his class. And he was simply romping
home when this happened.
"Of course, it’s that beast Foster," said Fowle. "I always hated Foster,
and now, knowing he couldn’t win by fair means, he made that peculiar
face at Saunders just as the Doctor came in to say prayers last night;
and Saunders laughed, not knowing the Doctor had actually come in; and
the Doctor took off five conduct marks at one fell swoop."
"Foster must win now," said Saunders. "But it’s a blackguard thing."
"And if Foster doesn’t win, you will," said Fowle to me.
Curiously enough, this was true. I had been going rather strong on good
conduct this term for private reasons. In fact, my father had promised
me—not a silver watch—but a flogging, or very likely two, if I came home
again with a holiday punishment.
You must know that at Merivale there was a putrid system called ’holiday
punishments,’ and if you didn’t get a certain number of good conduct
marks in the term, instead of going home in glory with a good report,
you went home with a holiday punishment. Well, owing to one thing and
another, I had taken home a holiday punishment four terms running; and
my father began to get rather nasty about it. As a rule, he is a sort
of father who talks very ferociously but doesn’t do much; therefore,
when he actually does flog me, which happens now and then, it comes as a
great and unpleasant surprise. And I felt, in the matter of the good
conduct marks, that if I went back with another holiday punishment, he
would certainly keep his word and flog me to the best of his power.
Therefore, I bucked up in a very unusual way, and though miles behind
Saunders minor and Foster, was miles in front of the others; and when
suddenly Fowle said this to me, that if Foster also smashed up as
Saunders had done, I must get the Good Conduct Prize in the third, I
felt quite giddy. Needless to say, I had never taken home a prize in my
life. In fact, it seemed almost too much. My people would never
believe it.
Of course, if such a thing really did happen, it would be a frightful
score off my father; but then there was Foster. He stood six clear
marks ahead of me, and unless some awful catastrophe overtook Foster, it
was impossible for me to catch him. Then it seemed to me as Foster, in
the most unsporting manner, had made his well-known comic face that
always forced Saunders minor to laugh, and so he had got ahead of
Saunders by a paltry trick, therefore it was only right that Foster
should be scored off too. Needless to say, I was quite prepared to
score off Foster myself; but then, very likely that would end by
smashing me up, so it seemed to me that the thing to do was to try and
get some outside person to score off Foster, like he had scored off
Saunders minor.
I thought a lot about it, but I couldn’t see any way that was perfectly
sportsmanlike. Then Fowle, who is not sportsmanlike but very cunning,
said there was a way. I felt pretty certain his way must be mean and
piffling; but for once he thought of rather a good way. At least, it
seemed good to me.
"I can’t do anything myself," Fowle said, "because the last time I was
interested in a fight, you will remember, the result was very unpleasant
for me; but all the same, in a case like this, there ought to be a
fight, and very likely if you explained in a perfectly friendly spirit
to Saunders minor that he owes it to himself to fight Foster, he will be
much obliged to you, and so into training for it."
Well, I was bound to admit that for once Fowle seemed to be right.
Because, if Saunders minor fought Foster, the marks of battle would
appear on Foster, even if he won; and they would be noticed by Browne,
who hates fighting, and always takes off half the term’s good conduct
marks when he finds a chap who has clearly had a fight.
So I put it to Saunders minor.
I said, "I come in a perfectly friendly spirit, Saunders minor, and I
don’t want to put you to any inconvenience with Foster. But, as he’s
knocked you out of the Good Conduct Prize and your silver watch, which
your father may never offer again, as they often change their minds, you
have a frightful and bitter grievance against Foster."
"You may also add that Queen Anne is dead," said Saunders minor.
"I know," I said. "But the point is that I’m rather worried to see you
taking this lying down. It isn’t worthy of the third. We’ve always been
a fighting form, and, in fact, you ought to resist this tooth and nail;
and I’d be your second like a shot; and West, the champion of the lower
school, would referee—to oblige me."
Saunders minor was a good deal interested.
"D’you think I ought to lick him?" he asked.
"I think you ought to try," I said; "and you might even succeed if you
went into training, and had a bit of luck."
Saunders minor thought. He was a pale, putty-coloured chap, and when he
thought, he frowned terrifically till his forehead got quite wrinkled
and old. There was also a very peculiar vein on his temple you could
see when he was thinking extra hard, but not at other times.
"The question is what I should gain," he said.
"Also what he would lose," I said. This was, of course, Fowle’s idea,
but it came in jolly handy here.
"What can he lose unless I lick him?"
"Well, the beauty of it would be," I explained, "that if you licked him,
or if he licked you, it would be all the same as far as the Good Conduct
Prize is concerned. If you knock him about a bit and black an eye or
so, Browne will pounce upon him for certain, as well as you, and away go
half his conduct marks for the term, and bang goes the Good Conduct
Prize."
Saunders minor nodded.
"Did you think of this?" he asked.
"Yes," I said; "with help from Fowle."
"As a matter of fact, if this happened you’d get the Good Conduct Prize,
Thwaites," said Saunders minor.
"It seems rather a wild idea," I answered, "but as a matter of fact I
should—unless, of course, I come to grief myself before the end of the
term. I’ve had to be awful keen on conduct this term, owing to my
father, who has rather overdone it about conduct lately; and so I’ve
been piling up marks in a small way, but of course such a thing as a
good conduct prize is bang out of my line."
"Or any prize," added Saunders minor thoughtfully.
"Or any prize, as you truly say," I answered.
"Well, we’ve always been friendly enough," kindly remarked Saunders
minor.
Needless to say I agreed.
"It would, of course, be a terrific act of kindness on your part to me
if you knocked Foster out," I said; "and also it would be an act of
justice to yourself; and also it would be what is expected of third form
chaps."
"You speak as a fighter yourself," said Saunders minor.
"I am, of course, a great fighter," I said, "and have only once been
beaten, and that by West, who is a champion and nearly two years older
than me. But I believe you would be a very good fighter if you cared
about it."
"I never should care about it," said Saunders minor. "But the point is
Foster. Supposing he refuses to fight?"
"My dear chap," I said, "he couldn’t. You’ve got a frightful grievance
against him. The sixth, when they heard, would mighty soon make him
fight."
"You’ll second me, Thwaites, if it comes off?"
"Yes," I said. "Certainly I will."
Saunders minor began to think again, and his forehead became much
furrowed.
"I’m just wondering, if I explained to my father about it, whether he’d
still give me the watch if I succeeded in licking Foster," he said.
I told him that from what I knew of fathers like his it was very
unlikely, and he’d better not hope.
"I have heard you say that your father is a clergyman," I said. "Don’t
buoy yourself up to think that he’ll give you the watch if you lick
Foster. Far from it. In the case of Morrison it was very different.
His father always gave him half-a-crown if he went home with a black
eye, and Morrison generally managed to do so; but then his father was a
royal sea captain, and had commanded a first-class battleship. Your
father is religious, naturally, and against fighting for certain."
It happened that just at this moment Foster and some other chaps,
including his chum, Tin Lin Chow—commonly called ’Tinned Cow’—the
Chinaman, came by, and Saunders minor, in the excitement of the moment,
stopped Foster and spoke—
He said, "I’ve been thinking over losing the Good Conduct Prize, Foster;
and as it was your fault, something must be done."
Foster said, "I’ve apologized. Nothing more can be done."
But Saunders minor said, "Much more can be done. In fact, I challenge
you to fight; and Thwaites is my second, and West will referee."
Foster was much astonished at this.
"I’m bigger than you," he said. "It wouldn’t be fair. I’m bound to
lick you if we have a real serious fight."
"You might lick me, no doubt," said Saunders minor. "But I shall do a
bit first: and I dare say you’ll know what’ll happen then."
"The only thing that can happen is that you’ll have to give in," said
Foster.
"Something else will happen besides that," answered Saunders minor.
"However, you’ll see. To-morrow week in the wood, if that will suit
you."
He mentioned a half-holiday, and as the first had no match on, West
would be able to referee comfortably, while everybody was looking at the
second eleven match fixed for that day.
"Saturday week in the wood; but you’d better think twice," said Foster.
"I have," said Saunders minor.
And then Foster himself appeared to think twice. At least, Tin Lin Chow
reminded him of something, and he came back rather mildly to us after he
had walked away in a very cold and haughty manner.
"Look here, Saunders," he said; "would you mind putting off this fight
till next term? I’m not in the least anxious not to oblige you; but for
private reasons I would rather not fight this term."
"Yes, I know," said Saunders minor; "and for private reasons I rather
would. You’ve knocked me out of the Good Conduct Prize when it was a
dead certainty for me; and now——"
Foster went away to think; but, needless to say, his thinking didn’t get
him out of the mess. In fact, the fight had to come off, though Foster
met Saunders minor three times before the day, and once actually sank to
offering him a valuable and remarkable knife if he would put off the
fight till the next term.
But Saunders minor jolly well scorned to do so.
*II*
What Foster did in the matter of training I don’t know, but Saunders
minor had rather bad luck. We sat together, and I gave up my meat at
meals to him in exchange for his pudding. Well, of course, to eat all
my meat as well as his own ought to have made him strong. But,
unfortunately, it didn’t. He seemed to miss his puddings frightfully,
and his tongue went white the day before the fight, and he got a
headache. The matron spotted him looking a bit off, and then a
frightful thing happened, for the very night before the fight she made
him take a huge dose of some beastliness, and of course, instead of
being full of solid meat and strength for the fight, when the time came
Saunders minor was quite the reverse.
Needless to say, he gave up all hope, and at dinner wouldn’t eat any
meat worth mentioning, and wouldn’t give up his apple tart to me, but
ate it himself. He said he was bound to lose, so it didn’t matter,
especially as apple tart was his favourite food.
The time came, and those in the fight sneaked off to the great wood that
runs by Merivale playing-fields, and everything went very smoothly
indeed. Saunders minor had me and Saunders minimus for his seconds, and
Foster had Tin Lin Chow and Trelawny. And West not only was referee,
but he wrote a magnificent description of the fight, like a newspaper.
He had read about thousands of proper prize fights in a book of his
brother’s at home; so he understood everything about it. And he and
Trelawny rather hoped that Masterman, who is the editor of our school
magazine, would put the fight in; and if he had, it would have been far
and away the best thing that he ever did put in. But Masterman
wouldn’t, though he was jolly sorry not to. He said—
"You see, West, the people who read the magazine most are the parents,
and they like improving articles about foreign travel and what old boys
are doing, and poetry, and so on. If I published this fight, the Doctor
would get into an awful bate, because it would be too ferocious, and
very likely frighten the parents of future new boys away when they read
it."
Certainly it was a very horrid account written as West wrote it; but as
he most kindly let me have the description to copy, I shall write it out
again here; because certainly I couldn’t do it half so well as him—him
being champion of the lower school, and champion of the upper school,
too, when Trelawny goes.
This is word for word what West wrote—
"Description of the fight between Foster and Saunders minor, written by
Lawrence Basil West, Esquire, Champion of the Lower School of Merivale,
and brother of Lieutenant Theodore Travers West, Middle-weight Boxing
Champion of the Army.
"The men came into the ring in pretty good condition, though Foster had
the advantage owing to Saunders minor getting a set back in his training
the day before the battle. The ring was cleared, and the combatants
shook hands for
"THE FIGHT.
"Round 1.—Some cautious sparring ended by Saunders letting fly with the
right and left, and missing with both. Foster then steadied his
antagonist with a light blow on the chest. More sparring followed,
then, with a round-arm blow, Saunders got home on Foster’s ear, and the
men closed. They fell side by side, and on rising instantly prepared to
renew the battle; but as the round was over, the referee (Lawrence Basil
West, Esquire) ordered them to their corners.
"Round 2.—The men were very fresh and eager for business when time was
called. There was some good counter hits, and then Foster received a
prop on the nose which drew the claret. First blood for Saunders minor
claimed and allowed. The fighting became rather unscientific towards the
end of this round, and finally Foster closed and threw Saunders minor
with a cross-buttock. Both men were rather exhausted after this round.
"Round 3.—Foster, using his superior height, landed with his right on
Saunders minor’s kisser. Then he repeated the dose, and in return caught
it on the left optic. Some good milling followed, with no advantage to
either side. Saunders minor got pepper towards the end of the round,
and when he was finally thrown, his seconds offered to carry him to his
corner; but he refused, and walked there.
"Round 4.—Foster came first to the scratch. Both cautious, and Saunders
minor very active on his trotters. But he gave some good blows, and
managed to hit Foster again on the left peeper. Foster in return landed
with the right on Saunders minor’s smelling-bottle, and liberated a
plentiful supply of the ruby. A good round. At its conclusion,
Thwaites and Saunders minimus wanted Saunders minor to give in; but as
he was far from beaten, he very properly refused to do so.
"Round 5.—In this round Saunders minor was receiver general, and
received heavy punishment. It was claimed that Foster hit him a clean
knock-down blow, but the referee would not allow it. In the wrestle at
the close Saunders minor got the best of it, and fell on Foster, much to
Foster’s surprise.
"Round 6.—Saunders minor was badly cut up in this round, and received
heavy blows on the potato trap and olfactory organs. The fighting was
very wild and unscientific, and both men fell exhausted towards the
finish.
"Round 7.—Nothing done. Both fell exhausted.
"Round 8.—Some good in-fighting. Saunders minor got his second wind,
and, making useful play with his left, landed on Foster’s throat and his
right eye. It was nearly a case of shutters up with Foster. They fell
side by side with the ruby circulating freely. The sight of so much
gore upset Saunders minimus, and he had to leave the ensanguined field.
Fortescue took his place by permission of the referee. But the end was
now near at hand.
[Illustration: "THE FIGHTING WAS VERY WILD AND UNSCIENTIFIC."]
"Round 9.—Both very weak. Referee had to caution both combatants for
holding. Nothing much done, except that Saunders minor lost a tooth,
said to be loose before the fight.
"Round 10 (and last).—Foster came first to the scratch, and managed to
get home on Saunders minor’s forehead and left aural appendage. Saunders
minor was almost too tired to put up his hands. He tried to fight, but
nature would not be denied, and Saunders minor fell in a very done-up
state. He was counted out by the referee, and Thwaites flung up
Saunders minor’s sponge in token of defeat.
"When Foster discovered that he had won, he shed tears. But Saunders
minor, though defeated, was quite collected in his mind. The men then
shook hands and left the field with their friends.
"Remarks—
"We have seen better fights, and we have also seen worse ones. Foster
has some good useful blows, but he wants patience and practice. He is
not a born fighter, but might improve if he took pains. He had much the
best of it in height and weight, including age, being a good deal older
than his redoubtable antagonist. Though defeated, Saunders minor was by
no means disgraced. He put up a very good fight, and at one time looked
like winning; but luck was against him. Saunders minor, however, might
give a very good account of himself with a man of his own size, and we
hope soon to see him in the ring again. He has the knack of hitting
hard and getting away. He was very little marked at the end of the
battle, whereas his opponent’s right eye will long bear the marks of his
prowess.
(Signed) "LAWRENCE BASIL WEST, Esquire,
"Referee."
I read this to Saunders minor, and he agreed with it all, except the bit
about being in the ring again soon. He assured me he did not care about
fighting in a general way, or want to live for it, like West and me, but
only now and again for some very special reason, as in the case of
Foster. At any rate, though the loser, he had done all he wanted to do,
and Foster had a caution of an eye that went on turning different
colours, like a firework, till the very end of the term.
Such a wonderful, bulgy and curious eye could not of course be
overlooked even by such a blind bat as old Briggs; and, needless to say,
Browne jolly soon saw it. Then the truth came out, and that was the end
of the Good Conduct Prize as far as Foster was concerned. He was
frightfully sick about it; and when it began to appear that owing to
these extraordinary things I, of all people, must get the Good Conduct
Prize, he was sicker still, and called it a burlesque of justice,
whatever that may be.
Anyway, it actually happened, and when prize day came, it was a clear
and evident thing that I, Thwaites, had got the Good Conduct Prize in
the third form. The Doctor began to read out the name; then, evidently
under the idea that he had got it wrong, stopped and whispered to Mr.
Warren, our form master; and Mr. Warren nodded, and the Doctor put on a
puzzled look. Then he dashed at it and read out my name, and I had to
go up and get the prize.
"A pleasing and unexpected circumstance, Geoffrey Thwaites," said the
Doctor. "To be frank, that you should achieve this palm of victory
causes me no little astonishment; but I can assure you that my surprise
is only equalled by my gratification. You have not forgotten what I
said to you last term, and I hope this satisfactory amelioration of
manners may, when we reassemble, be followed by a corresponding increase
of scholastic achievement. It will be no small gratification to your
father, Geoffrey Thwaites, to welcome you under these conditions,
instead of with the usual melancholy addition of a holiday punishment."
Then the Doctor picked up the Good Conduct Prize with a sort of
innocent, inquiring air that he always puts on when giving the prizes.
He pretends to be frightfully astonished at the beauty and magnificence
of each book in turn; which, considering he chooses them all himself, is
fearful bosh, and deceives nobody but a few mothers, who sometimes come
if their sons happen to have pulled off anything.
Now Dr. Dunstan picked up a tidy-looking book, as far as its outside was
concerned.
"What have we here?" he said, as if he had just found a bird’s nest.
"Why, no less a classic than Bunyan’s _Pilgrim’s Progress_! Fortunate
boy! Here, bound in scarlet and gold, and richly illustrated, is a copy
of that immortal work. Know, Thwaites, that in receiving the _Pilgrim’s
Progress_ you become enriched by possession of one among the noblest and
most elevated and improving masterpieces in the English language. Take
it and read it again and again, my lad; and when you shall have mastered
it, lend it to those less fortunate, that they, too, may profit by the
wisdom and piety of these luminous pages."
Then the chaps clapped and stamped, and I bowed and took the book, and
shook hands with the Doctor and cleared out.
Needless to say, my father was even more astonished than Dr. Dunstan. I
came into his study to wish him good-evening when I got home, and he
said, "Well, boy, holidays again? How have you got on? Don’t—don’t
tell me there’s any more trouble!"
"Far from it, father," I said. "I’ve got a prize." |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기