"Some
food we had." -
Shakespeare.
[Greek text] - Theocr. Id.
As the
boys scattered away
from the ground,
and East, leaning on
Tom's arm, and limping
along, was beginning
to consider what luxury
they should go and buy
for tea to celebrate
that glorious victory,
the two Brookes came
striding by. Old Brooke
caught sight of East,
and stopped; put his
hand kindly on his shoulder,
and said, "Bravo,
youngster; you played
famously. Not much the
matter, I hope?"
"No, nothing at
all," said East
- " only a little
twist from that charge."
"Well, mind and
get all right for next
Saturday." And the
leader passed on, leaving
East better for those
few words than all the
opodeldoc in England
would have made him,
and Tom ready to give
one of his ears for as
much notice. Ah! light
words of those whom we
love and honour, what
a power ye are, and how
carelessly wielded by
those who can use you!
Surely for these things
also God will ask an
account.
"Tea's directly
after locking-up, you
see," said East,
hobbling along as fast
as he could, "so
you come along down to
Sally Harrowell's; that's
our School-house tuck-shop.
She bakes such stunning
murphies, we'll have
a penn'orth each for
tea. Come along, or they'll
all be gone."
Tom's new purse and
money burnt in his pocket;
he wondered, as they
toddled through the quadrangle
and along the street,
whether East would be
insulted if he suggested
further extravagance,
as he had not sufficient
faith in a pennyworth
of potatoes. At last
he blurted out, -
"I
say, East, can't we
get something else
besides potatoes? I've
got lots of money, you
know."
"Bless us, yes;
I forgot," said
East, "you've only
just come. You see all
my tin's been gone this
twelve weeks - it hardly
ever lasts beyond the
first fortnight; and
our allowances were all
stopped this morning
for broken windows, so
I haven't got a penny.
I've got a tick at Sally's,
of course; but then I
hate running it high,
you see, towards the
end of the half, 'cause
one has to shell out
for it all directly one
comes back, and that's
a bore."
Tom
didn't understand much
of this talk, but
seized on the fact that
East had no money, and
was denying himself some
little pet luxury in
consequence. "Well,
what shall I buy?" said
he, "I'm uncommon
hungry."
"I say," said
East, stopping to look
at him and rest his leg, "you're
a trump, Brown. I'll
do the same by you next
half. Let's have a pound
of sausages then. That's
the best grub for tea
I know of."
"Very well," said
Tom, as pleased as possible; "where
do they sell them?"
"Oh, over here,
just opposite." And
they crossed the street
and walked into the cleanest
little front room of
a small house, half parlour,
half shop, and bought
a pound of most particular
sausages, East talking
pleasantly to Mrs. Porter
while she put them in
paper, and Tom doing
the paying part.
From
Porter's they adjourned
to Sally Harrowell's,
where they found a lot
of School-house boys
waiting for the roast
potatoes, and relating
their own exploits in
the day's match at the
top of their voices.
The street opened at
once into Sally's kitchen,
a low brick-floored room,
with large recess for
fire, and chimney- corner
seats. Poor little Sally,
the most good-natured
and much-enduring of
womankind, was bustling
about, with a napkin
in her hand, from her
own oven to those of
the neighbours' cottages
up the yard at the back
of the house. Stumps,
her husband, a short,
easy-going shoemaker,
with a beery, humorous
eye and ponderous calves,
who lived mostly on his
wife's earnings, stood
in a corner of the room,
exchanging shots of the
roughest description
of repartee with every
boy in turn. "Stumps,
you lout, you've had
too much beer again to-day." "'Twasn't
of your paying for, then." "Stumps's
calves are running down
into his ankles; they
want to get to grass." "Better
be doing that than gone
altogether like yours," etc.
Very poor stuff it was,
but it served to make
time pass; and every
now and then Sally arrived
in the middle with a
smoking tin of potatoes,
which was cleared off
in a few seconds, each
boy as he seized his
lot running off to the
house with "Put
me down two-penn'orth,
Sally;" "Put
down three-penn'orth
between me and Davis," etc.
How she ever kept the
accounts so straight
as she did, in her head
and on her slate, was
a perfect wonder.
East and Tom got served
at last, and started
back for the School-house,
just as the locking-up
bell began to ring, East
on the way recounting
the life and adventures
of Stumps, who was a
character. Amongst his
other small avocations,
he was the hind carrier
of a sedan-chair, the
last of its race, in
which the Rugby ladies
still went out to tea,
and in which, when he
was fairly harnessed
and carrying a load,
it was the delight of
small and mischievous
boys to follow him and
whip his calves. This
was too much for the
temper even of Stumps,
and he would pursue his
tormentors in a vindictive
and apoplectic manner
when released, but was
easily pacified by twopence
to buy beer with.
The
lower-school boys of
the School-house,
some fifteen in number,
had tea in the lower-fifth
school, and were presided
over by the old verger
or head-porter. Each
boy had a quarter of
a loaf of bread and pat
of butter, and as much
tea as he pleased; and
there was scarcely one
who didn't add to this
some further luxury,
such as baked potatoes,
a herring, sprats, or
something of the sort.
But few at this period
of the half-year could
live up to a pound of
Porter's sausages, and
East was in great magnificence
upon the strength of
theirs. He had produced
a toasting-fork from
his study, and set Tom
to toast the sausages,
while he mounted guard
over their butter and
potatoes. "'Cause," as
he explained, "you're
a new boy, and they'll
play you some trick and
get our butter; but you
can toast just as well
as I." So Tom, in
the midst of three or
four more urchins similarly
employed, toasted his
face and the sausages
at the same time before
the huge fire, till the
latter cracked; when
East from his watch-tower
shouted that they were
done, and then the feast
proceeded, and the festive
cups of tea were filled
and emptied, and Tom
imparted of the sausages
in small bits to many
neighbours, and thought
he had never tasted such
good potatoes or seen
such jolly boys. They
on their parts waived
all ceremony, and pegged
away at the sausages
and potatoes, and remembering
Tom's performance in
goal, voted East's new
crony a brick. After
tea, and while the things
were being cleared away,
they gathered round the
fire, and the talk on
the match still went
on; and those who had
them to show pulled up
their trousers and showed
the hacks they had received
in the good cause.
They were soon, however,
all turned out of the
school; and East conducted
Tom up to his bedroom,
that he might get on
clean things, and wash
himself before singing.
"What's singing?" said
Tom, taking his head
out of his basin, where
he had been plunging
it in cold water.
"Well, you are
jolly green," answered
his friend, from a neighbouring
basin. "Why, the
last six Saturdays of
every half we sing of
course; and this is the
first of them. No first
lesson to do, you know,
and lie in bed to-morrow
morning."
"But
who sings?"
"Why,
everybody, of course;
you'll see
soon enough. We begin
directly after supper,
and sing till bed-time.
It ain't such good fun
now, though, as in the
summer half; 'cause then
we sing in the little
fives court, under the
library, you know. We
take out tables, and
the big boys sit round
and drink beer - double
allowance on Saturday
nights; and we cut about
the quadrangle between
the songs, and it looks
like a lot of robbers
in a cave. And the louts
come and pound at the
great gates, and we pound
back again, and shout
at them. But this half
we only sing in the hall.
Come along down to my
study."
Their principal employment
in the study was to clear
out East's table; removing
the drawers and ornaments
and tablecloth; for he
lived in the bottom passage,
and his table was in
requisition for the singing.
Supper came in due course
at seven o'clock, consisting
of bread and cheese and
beer, which was all saved
for the singing; and
directly afterwards the
fags went to work to
prepare the hall. The
School-house hall, as
has been said, is a great
long high room, with
two large fires on one
side, and two large iron-bound
tables, one running down
the middle, and the other
along the wall opposite
the fireplaces. Around
the upper fire the fags
placed the tables in
the form of a horse-shoe,
and upon them the jugs
with the Saturday night's
allowance of beer. Then
the big boys used to
drop in and take their
seats, bringing with
them bottled beer and
song books; for although
they all knew the songs
by heart, it was the
thing to have an old
manuscript book descended
from some departed hero,
in which they were all
carefully written out.
The
sixth-form boys had
not yet appeared;
so, to fill up the gap,
an interesting and time-honoured
ceremony was gone through.
Each new boy was placed
on the table in turn,
and made to sing a solo,
under the penalty of
drinking a large mug
of salt and water if
he resisted or broke
down. However, the new
boys all sing like nightingales
to-night, and the salt
water is not in requisition
- Tom, as his part, performing
the old west-country
song of "The Leather
Bottel" with considerable
applause. And at the
half-hour down come the
sixth and fifth form
boys, and take their
places at the tables,
which are filled up by
the next biggest boys,
the rest, for whom there
is no room at the table,
standing round outside.
The glasses and mugs
are filled, and then
the fugleman strikes
up the old sea-song,
"A
wet sheet and a flowing
sea,
And a wind that follows
fast," etc.,
which
is the invariable first
song in the School-house;
and all the seventy voices
join in, not mindful
of harmony, but bent
on noise, which they
attain decidedly, but
the general effect isn't
bad. And then follow "The
British Grenadiers," "Billy
Taylor," "The
Siege of Seringapatam," "Three
Jolly Postboys," and
other vociferous songs
in rapid succession,
including "The Chesapeake
and Shannon," a
song lately introduced
in honour of old Brooke;
and when they come to
the words,
"Brave
Broke he waved his sword,
crying, Now, my lads,
aboard, And we'll stop
their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy
oh!"
you
expect the roof to
come down. The sixth
and fifth know that "brave
Broke" of the Shannon
was no sort of relation
to our old Brooke. The
fourth form are uncertain
in their belief, but
for the most part hold
that old Brooke was a
midshipman then on board
his uncle's ship. And
the lower school never
doubt for a moment that
it was our old Brooke
who led the boarders,
in what capacity they
care not a straw. During
the pauses the bottled-
beer corks fly rapidly,
and the talk is fast
and merry, and the big
boys - at least all of
them who have a fellow-feeling
for dry throats - hand
their mugs over their
shoulders to be emptied
by the small ones who
stand round behind.
Then
Warner, the head of
the house, gets up
and wants to speak; but
he can't, for every boy
knows what's coming.
And the big boys who
sit at the tables pound
them and cheer; and the
small boys who stand
behind pound one another,
and cheer, and rush about
the hall cheering. Then
silence being made, Warner
reminds them of the old
School-house custom of
drinking the healths,
on the first night of
singing, of those who
are going to leave at
the end of the half. "He
sees that they know what
he is going to say already" (loud
cheers), "and so
won't keep them, but
only ask them to treat
the toast as it deserves.
It is the head of the
eleven, the head of big-side
football, their leader
on this glorious day
- Pater Brooke!"
And away goes the pounding
and cheering again, becoming
deafening when old Brooke
gets on his legs; till,
a table having broken
down, and a gallon or
so of beer been upset,
and all throats getting
dry, silence ensues,
and the hero speaks,
leaning his hands on
the table, and bending
a little forwards. No
action, no tricks of
oratory - plain, strong,
and straight, like his
play.
"Gentlemen of the
School-house! I am very
proud of the way in which
you have received my
name, and I wish I could
say all I should like
in return. But I know
I shan't. However, I'll
do the best I can to
say what seems to me
ought to be said by a
fellow who's just going
to leave, and who has
spent a good slice of
his life here. Eight
years it is, and eight
such years as I can never
hope to have again. So
now I hope you'll all
listen to me" (loud
cheers of "That
we will"), "for
I'm going to talk seriously.
You're bound to listen
to me for what's the
use of calling me 'pater,'
and all that, if you
don't mind what I say?
And I'm going to talk
seriously, because I
feel so. It's a jolly
time, too, getting to
the end of the half,
and a goal kicked by
us first day" (tremendous
applause), "after
one of the hardest and
fiercest day's play I
can remember in eight
years." (Frantic
shoutings.) "The
School played splendidly,
too, I will say, and
kept it up to the last.
That last charge of theirs
would have carried away
a house. I never thought
to see anything again
of old Crab there, except
little pieces, when I
saw him tumbled over
by it." (Laughter
and shouting, and great
slapping on the back
of Jones by the boys
nearest him.) "Well,
but we beat 'em." (Cheers.) "Ay,
but why did we beat 'em?
Answer me that." (Shouts
of "Your play.") "Nonsense!
'Twasn't the wind and
kick-off either - that
wouldn't do it. 'Twasn't
because we've half a
dozen of the best players
in the school, as we
have. I wouldn't change
Warner, and Hedge, and
Crab, and the young un,
for any six on their
side." (Violent
cheers.) "But half
a dozen fellows can't
keep it up for two hours
against two hundred.
Why is it, then? I'll
tell you what I think.
It's because we've more
reliance on one another,
more of a house feeling,
more fellowship than
the School can have.
Each of us knows and
can depend on his next-hand
man better. That's why
we beat 'em to-day. We've
union, they've division
- there's the secret." (Cheers.) "But
how's this to be kept
up? How's it to be improved?
That's the question.
For I take it we're all
in earnest about beating
the School, whatever
else we care about. I
know I'd sooner win two
School-house matches
running than get the
Balliol scholarship any
day." (Frantic cheers.)
"Now, I'm as proud
of the house as any one.
I believe it's the best
house in the school,
out and out." (Cheers.) "But
it's a long way from
what I want to see it.
First, there's a deal
of bullying going on.
I know it well. I don't
pry about and interfere;
that only makes it more
underhand, and encourages
the small boys to come
to us with their fingers
in their eyes telling
tales, and so we should
be worse off than ever.
It's very little kindness
for the sixth to meddle
generally - you youngsters
mind that. You'll be
all the better football
players for learning
to stand it, and to take
your own parts, and fight
it through. But depend
on it, there's nothing
breaks up a house like
bullying. Bullies are
cowards, and one coward
makes many; so good-bye
to the School-house match
if bullying gets ahead
here." (Loud applause
from the small boys,
who look meaningly at
Flashman and other boys
at the tables.) "Then
there's fuddling about
in the public-house,
and drinking bad spirits,
and punch, and such rot-gut
stuff. That won't make
good drop- kicks or chargers
of you, take my word
for it. You get plenty
of good beer here, and
that's enough for you;
and drinking isn't fine
or manly, whatever some
of you may think of it.
"One
other thing I must
have a word about.
A lot of you think and
say, for I've heard you,
'There's this new Doctor
hasn't been here so long
as some of us, and he's
changing all the old
customs. Rugby, and the
Schoolhouse especially,
are going to the dogs.
Stand up for the good
old ways, and down with
the Doctor!' Now I'm
as fond of old Rugby
customs and ways as any
of you, and I've been
here longer than any
of you, and I'll give
you a word of advice
in time, for I shouldn't
like to see any of you
getting sacked. 'Down
with the Doctor's' easier
said than done. You'll
find him pretty tight
on his perch, I take
it, and an awkwardish
customer to handle in
that line. Besides now,
what customs has he put
down? There was the good
old custom of taking
the linchpins out of
the farmers' and bagmen's
gigs at the fairs, and
a cowardly, blackguard
custom it was. We all
know what came of it,
and no wonder the Doctor
objected to it. But come
now, any of you, name
a custom that he has
put down."
"The hounds," calls
out a fifth-form boy,
clad in a green cutaway
with brass buttons and
cord trousers, the leader
of the sporting interest,
and reputed a great rider
and keen hand generally.
"Well,
we had six or seven
mangy harriers
and beagles belonging
to the house, I'll allow,
and had had them for
years, and that the Doctor
put them down. But what
good ever came of them?
Only rows with all the
keepers for ten miles
round; and big-side hare-and-hounds
is better fun ten times
over. What else?"
No answer.
"Well, I won't
go on. Think it over
for yourselves. You'll
find, I believe, that
he don't meddle with
any one that's worth
keeping. And mind now,
I say again, look out
for squalls if you will
go your own way, and
that way ain't the Doctor's,
for it'll lead to grief.
You all know that I'm
not the fellow to back
a master through thick
and thin. If I saw him
stopping football, or
cricket, or bathing,
or sparring, I'd be as
ready as any fellow to
stand up about it. But
he don't; he encourages
them. Didn't you see
him out to-day for half
an hour watching us?" (loud
cheers for the Doctor); "and
he's a strong, true man,
and a wise one too, and
a public-school man too" (cheers), "and
so let's stick to him,
and talk no more rot,
and drink his health
as the head of the house." (Loud
cheers.) "And now
I've done blowing up,
and very glad I am to
have done. But it's a
solemn thing to be thinking
of leaving a place which
one has lived in and
loved for eight years;
and if one can say a
word for the good of
the old house at such
a time, why, it should
be said, whether bitter
or sweet. If I hadn't
been proud of the house
and you - ay, no one
knows how proud - I shouldn't
be blowing you up. And
now let's get to singing.
But before I sit down
I must give you a toast
to be drunk with three-times-three
and all the honours.
It's a toast which I
hope every one of us,
wherever he may go hereafter,
will never fail to drink
when he thinks of the
brave, bright days of
his boyhood. It's a toast
which should bind us
all together, and to
those who've gone before
and who'll come after
us here. It is the dear
old School-house - the
best house of the best
school in England!"
My dear boys, old and
young, you who have belonged,
or do belong, to other
schools and other houses,
don't begin throwing
my poor little book about
the room, and abusing
me and it, and vowing
you'll read no more when
you get to this point.
I allow you've provocation
for it. But come now
- would you, any of you,
give a fig for a fellow
who didn't believe in
and stand up for his
own house and his own
school? You know you
wouldn't. Then don't
object to me cracking
up the old School house,
Rugby. Haven't I a right
to do it, when I'm taking
all the trouble of writing
this true history for
all of your benefits?
If you ain't satisfied,
go and write the history
of your own houses in
your own times, and say
all you know for your
own schools and houses,
provided it's true, and
I'll read it without
abusing you.
The
last few words hit
the audience in their
weakest place. They had
been not altogether enthusiastic
at several parts of old
Brooke's speech; but "the
best house of the best
school in England" was
too much for them all,
and carried even the
sporting and drinking
interests off their legs
into rapturous applause,
and (it is to be hoped}
resolutions to lead a
new life and remember
old Brooke's words -
which, however, they
didn't altogether do,
as will appear hereafter.
But it required all
old Brooke's popularity
to carry down parts of
his speech - especially
that relating to the
Doctor. For there are
no such bigoted holders
by established forms
and customs, be they
never so foolish or meaningless,
as English school-boys
- at least, as the school-boys
of our generation. We
magnified into heroes
every boy who had left,
and looked upon him with
awe and reverence when
he revisited the place
a year or so afterwards,
on his way to or from
Oxford or Cambridge;
and happy was the boy
who remembered him, and
sure of an audience as
he expounded what he
used to do and say, though
it were sad enough stuff
to make angels, not to
say head-masters, weep.
We looked upon every
trumpery little custom
and habit which had obtained
in the School as though
it had been a law of
the Medes and Persians,
and regarded the infringement
or variation of it as
a sort of sacrilege.
And the Doctor, than
whom no man or boy had
a stronger liking for
old school customs which
were good and sensible,
had, as has already been
hinted, come into most
decided collision with
several which were neither
the one nor the other.
And as old Brooke had
said, when he came into
collision with boys or
customs, there was nothing
for them but to give
in or take themselves
off; because what he
said had to be done,
and no mistake about
it. And this was beginning
to be pretty clearly
understood. The boys
felt that there was a
strong man over them,
who would have things
his own way, and hadn't
yet learnt that he was
a wise and loving man
also. His personal character
and influence had not
had time to make itself
felt, except by a very
few of the bigger boys
with whom he came more
directly into contact;
and he was looked upon
with great fear and dislike
by the great majority
even of his own house.
For he had found School
and School-house in a
state of monstrous license
and misrule, and was
still employed in the
necessary but unpopular
work of setting up order
with a strong hand.
However, as has been
said, old Brooke triumphed,
and the boys cheered
him and then the Doctor.
And then more songs came,
and the healths of the
other boys about to leave,
who each made a speech,
one flowery, another
maudlin, a third prosy,
and so on, which are
not necessary to be here
recorded.
Half-past
nine struck in the
middle of the
performance of "Auld
Lang Syne," a most
obstreperous proceeding,
during which there was
an immense amount of
standing with one foot
on the table, knocking
mugs together and shaking
hands, without which
accompaniments it seems
impossible for the youths
of Britain to take part
in that famous old song.
The under-porter of the
School-house entered
during the performance,
bearing five or six long
wooden candlesticks with
lighted dips in them,
which he proceeded to
stick into their holes
in such part of the great
tables as he could get
at; and then stood outside
the ring till the end
of the song, when he
was hailed with shouts.
"Bill you old muff,
the half-hour hasn't
struck." "Here,
Bill, drink some cocktail." "Sing
us a song, old boy." "Don't
you wish you may get
the table?" Bill
drank the proffered cocktail
not unwillingly, and
putting down the empty
glass, remonstrated. "Now
gentlemen, there's only
ten minutes to prayers,
and we must get the hall
straight."
Shouts
of "No,
no!" and a violent
effort to strike up "Billy
Taylor" for the
third time. Bill looked
appealingly to old Brooke,
who got up and stopped
the noise. "Now
then, lend a hand, you
youngsters, and get the
tables back; clear away
the jugs and glasses.
Bill's right. Open the
windows, Warner." The
boy addressed, who sat
by the long ropes, proceeded
to pull up the great
windows, and let in a
clear, fresh rush of
night air, which made
the candles flicker and
gutter, and the fires
roar. The circle broke
up, each collaring his
own jug, glass, and song-book;
Bill pounced on the big
table, and began to rattle
it away to its place
outside the buttery door.
The lower-passage boys
carried off their small
tables, aided by their
friends; while above
all, standing on the
great hall- table, a
knot of untiring sons
of harmony made night
doleful by a prolonged
performance of "God
Save the King." His
Majesty King William
the Fourth then reigned
over us, a monarch deservedly
popular amongst the boys
addicted to melody, to
whom he was chiefly known
from the beginning of
that excellent if slightly
vulgar song in which
they much delighted,—
"Come,
neighbours all, both
great and small,
Perform your duties here,
And loudly sing, 'Live Billy, our king,'
For bating the tax upon beer."
Others
of the more learned
in songs also celebrated
his praises in a sort
of ballad, which I take
to have been written
by some Irish loyalist.
I have forgotten all
but the chorus, which
ran,—
"God
save our good King
William,
be his name for ever
blest;
He's the father of all
his people, and the guardian
of all the rest."
In troth we were loyal
subjects in those days,
in a rough way. I trust
that our successors make
as much of her present
Majesty, and, having
regard to the greater
refinement of the times,
have adopted or written
other songs equally hearty,
but more civilized, in
her honour.
Then
the quarter to ten
struck, and the prayer-bell
rang. The sixth and fifth
form boys ranged themselves
in their school order
along the wall, on either
side of the great fires,
the middle-fifth and
upper-school boys round
the long table in the
middle of the hall, and
the lower-school boys
round the upper part
of the second long table,
which ran down the side
of the hall farthest
from the fires. Here
Tom found himself at
the bottom of all, in
a state of mind and body
not at all fit for prayers,
as he thought; and so
tried hard to make himself
serious, but couldn't,
for the life of him,
do anything but repeat
in his head the choruses
of some of the songs,
and stare at all the
boys opposite, wondering
at the brilliancy of
their waistcoats, and
speculating what sort
of fellows they were.
The steps of the head-porter
are heard on the stairs,
and a light gleams at
the door. "Hush!" from
the fifth-form boys who
stand there, and then
in strides the Doctor,
cap on head, book in
one hand, and gathering
up his gown in the other.
He walks up the middle,
and takes his post by
Warner, who begins calling
over the names. The Doctor
takes no notice of anything,
but quietly turns over
his book and finds the
place, and then stands,
cap in hand and finger
in book, looking straight
before his nose. He knows
better than any one when
to look, and when to
see nothing. To-night
is singing night, and
there's been lots of
noise and no harm done
- nothing but beer drunk,
and nobody the worse
for it, though some of
them do look hot and
excited. So the Doctor
sees nothing, but fascinates
Tom in a horrible manner
as he stands there, and
reads out the psalm,
in that deep, ringing,
searching voice of his.
Prayers are over, and
Tom still stares open-
mouthed after the Doctor's
retiring figure, when
he feels a pull at his
sleeve, and turning round,
sees East.
"I
say, were you ever
tossed in a blanket?"
"No," said
Tom; "why?"
"'Cause
there'll be tossing
to-night,
most likely, before the
sixth come up to bed.
So if you funk, you just
come along and hide,
or else they'll catch
you and toss you."
"Were you ever
tossed? Does it hurt?" inquired
Tom.
"Oh yes, bless
you, a dozen times," said
East, as he hobbled along
by Tom's side upstairs. "It
don't hurt unless you
fall on the floor. But
most fellows don't like
it."
They
stopped at the fireplace
in the top
passage, where were a
crowd of small boys whispering
together, and evidently
unwilling to go up into
the bedrooms. In a minute,
however, a study door
opened, and a sixth-form
boy came out, and off
they all scuttled up
the stairs, and then
noiselessly dispersed
to their different rooms.
Tom's heart beat rather
quick as he and East
reached their room, but
he had made up his mind. "I
shan't hide, East," said
he.
"Very well, old
fellow," replied
East, evidently pleased; "no
more shall I. They'll
be here for us directly."
The room was a great
big one, with a dozen
beds in it, but not a
boy that Tom could see
except East and himself.
East pulled off his coat
and waistcoat, and then
sat on the bottom of
his bed whistling and
pulling off his boots.
Tom followed his example.
A noise and steps are
heard in the passage,
the door opens, and in
rush four or five great
fifth-form boys, headed
by Flashman in his glory.
Tom and East slept in
the farther corner of
the room, and were not
seen at first.
" Gone to ground,
eh?" roared Flashman. "Push
'em out then, boys; look
under the beds." And
he pulled up the little
white curtain of the
one nearest him. "Who-o-op!" he
roared, pulling away
at the leg of a small
boy, who held on tight
to the leg of the bed,
and sang out lustily
for mercy.
"Here,
lend a hand, one of
you, and help
me pull out this young
howling brute. - Hold
your tongue, sir, or
I'll kill you."
"Oh,
please, Flashman, please,
Walker, don't
toss me! I'll fag for
you - I'll do anything
- only don't toss me."
"You be hanged," said
Flashman, lugging the
wretched boy along; "'twon't
hurt you, - you ! - Come
along, boys; here he
is."
"I say, Flashey," sang
out another of the big
boys; "drop that;
you heard what old Pater
Brooke said to-night.
I'll be hanged if we'll
toss any one against
their will. No more bullying.
Let him go, I say."
Flashman, with an oath
and a kick, released
his prey, who rushed
headlong under his bed
again, for fear they
should change their minds,
and crept along underneath
the other beds, till
he got under that of
the sixth-form boy, which
he knew they daren't
disturb.
"There's plenty
of youngsters don't care
about it," said
Walker. "Here, here's
Scud East - you'll be
tossed, won't you, young
un?" Scud was East's
nickname, or Black, as
we called it, gained
by his fleetness of foot.
"Yes," said
East, "if you like,
only mind my foot."
"And
here's another who
didn't hide. - Hullo!
new boy; what's your
name, sir?"
"Brown."
"Well,
Whitey Brown, you don't
mind being
tossed?"
"No," said
Tom, setting his teeth.
"Come along then,
boys," sang out
Walker; and away they
all went, carrying along
Tom and East, to the
intense relief of four
or five other small boys,
who crept out from under
the beds and behind them.
"What a trump Scud
is!" said one. "They
won't come back here
now."
"And
that new boy, too;
he must be a good-plucked
one."
"Ah!
wait till he has been
tossed on
to the floor; see how
he'll like it then!"
Meantime the procession
went down the passage
to Number 7, the largest
room, and the scene of
the tossing, in the middle
of which was a great
open space. Here they
joined other parties
of the bigger boys, each
with a captive or two,
some willing to be tossed,
some sullen, and some
frightened to death.
At Walker's suggestion
all who were afraid were
let off, in honour of
Pater Brooke's speech.
Then
a dozen big boys seized
hold of a blanket,
dragged from one of the
beds. "In with Scud;
quick! there's no time
to lose." East was
chucked into the blanket. "Once,
twice, thrice, and away!" Up
he went like a shuttlecock,
but not quite up to the
ceiling.
"Now, boys, with
a will," cried Walker; "once,
twice, thrice, and away!" This
time he went clean up,
and kept himself from
touching the ceiling
with his hand, and so
again a third time, when
he was turned out, and
up went another boy.
And then came Tom's turn.
He lay quite still, by
East's advice, and didn't
dislike the "once,
twice, thrice;" but
the "away" wasn't
so pleasant. They were
in good wind now, and
sent him slap up to the
ceiling first time, against
which his knees came
rather sharply. But the
moment's pause before
descending was the rub
- the feeling of utter
helplessness and of leaving
his whole inside behind
him sticking to the ceiling.
Tom was very near shouting
to be set down when he
found himself back in
the blanket, but thought
of East, and didn't;
and so took his three
tosses without a kick
or a cry, and was called
a young trump for his
pains.
He and East, having
earned it, stood now
looking on. No catastrophe
happened, as all the
captives were cool hands,
and didn't struggle.
This didn't suit Flashman.
What your real bully
likes in tossing is when
the boys kick and struggle,
or hold on to one side
of the blanket, and so
get pitched bodily on
to the floor; it's no
fun to him when no one
is hurt or frightened.
"Let's toss two
of them together, Walker," suggested
he.
"What a cursed
bully you are, Flashey!" rejoined
the other. "Up with
another one."
And so now two boys
were tossed together,
the peculiar hardship
of which is, that it's
too much for human nature
to lie still then and
share troubles; and so
the wretched pair of
small boys struggle in
the air which shall fall
a-top in the descent,
to the no small risk
of both falling out of
the blanket, and the
huge delight of brutes
like Flashman.
But now there's a cry
that the prepostor of
the room is coming; so
the tossing stops, and
all scatter to their
different rooms; and
Tom is left to turn in,
with the first day's
experience of a public
school to meditate upon.
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