Chapter VII
THE RETURN OF THE WANDERERS
While Bailey and his friends were spending the evening in the companyof Mr. George Washington Bankes, the principal of Mecklemburg Housewas in a condition in which principals are very seldom supposed to be,a condition very closely allied to tears.
Mr. Fletcher was a tall, thin man, whose height was altogether out ofproportion to his width. He was afflicted with a chronic stoop, andhad a way, in walking, of shuffling, rather than stepping from foot tofoot, which was scarcely dignified. His face was not unpleasing; therewas a mildness in his eye and a sweetness about his infrequent smilewhich spoke of a gentler nature than the typical pedagogue is supposedto have.
The Philistines were upon him now; the battle, which he had long beenfeebly eluding, rather than boldly facing, had closed its ranks, andin the mere preamble to the fray he had immediately succumbed. Itwould have been better, perhaps, if he had been made of sterner stuff,but, unless he could have been entirely changed into another man,sooner or later the end was bound to come. Mr. Fletcher was ruined,and with him Mecklemburg House Collegiate School was ruined too.
He had been on a forlorn hope to town. A certain creditor, in returnfor money advanced, held a bill of sale on all the contents of theacademy. Necessary payments had not been made, and he had threatenedto swoop down upon the ancient red-brick house, and make a clearanceof every desk and stool, every pot and kettle, every bed and bolsterthe premises contained. To appease this personage, Mr. Fletcher hadjourneyed up to town, and had journeyed up in vain. The fiat had goneforth that to-morrow, the day after, any day or any hour--in themiddle of the night, for all he knew--hard-hearted strangers might andwould arrive, and, without asking with your leave or by your leave,would strip Mecklemburg House of every movable it contained.
This was what it had come to after five-and-twenty years! When hisfather died he had been left a comfortable sum of ready money,untarnished credit, and a flourishing school; of all which nothing wasleft him now.
The principal and his wife were seated in their own sitting-room,trying to look the matter boldly in the face. Mr. Fletcher, sittingwith his elbows on the table, covered his face with his hands. Mrs.Fletcher, a hard-featured woman, had her arm about his neck, andstrove to comfort him. Her ideas of comfort were of a material sort.
"Come, eat your supper, now do. You've had nothing to eat all day, andwhen you've eaten a bit things will look brighter, perhaps."
Mr. Fletcher turned his care-worn face up to his wife.
"Jane, things will never look bright to me again."
The man's voice trembled, and the woman turned her face away, perhapsunwilling to let him see that in her eyes were tears. The principalgot up and began to walk about the room. His stoop was more pronouncedthan usual, and his shuffling style of movement more ungainly.
"I'm just a failure, that's what I am, a failure. The world's movedon, and I've stood still. I'm exactly where my father was, and inschools and schoolmasters there's a difference of a hundred yearsbetween his time and this. I'm not fit for keeping school in these newtimes. I don't know what I am fit for. I'm fit for nothing but todie!"
"And if you die, what's to become of me?"
"And if I live, what'll happen to you then?"
"It'll happen to me that I'll have you, and do you think that'snothing?"
"Jane, it's worse than nothing! You ought to have been the man insteadof me. I shall be a clog to you and a burden; you're fit for fiftythings, and I'm not fit for one! I could not make a decent clerk. I'mvery certain I could not pass the examination required of a teacher ina board-school; I doubt if I ever could have reached that standard.I'm very certain I could not now. Times are changed in matters ofeducation. People used to be satisfied with a twentieth part of whatthey now require. When I am turned out of the house in which I wasborn, and in which I have lived my whole life long, as I shall be inthe course of a day or two, and you are turned out with me, wife,there will be fifty openings you will be fitted to fill, whileI shall only be fit to carry circulars from house to house, or asandwich-board through the streets."
"It's no use talking in that way, Beauclerk; it only breaks my heartto hear you, and it does no good. We must make up our minds to dosomething at once, and the great thing is, what? Now come and eat yoursupper, or you'll be ill; you know how you suffer if you go hungry tobed."
"I may as well become accustomed to it, because I shall have to gohungry very soon."
"Beauclerk!--what is the use of going on like that?--do you want tobreak my heart?"
"Wife, I believe mine's broken."
Mr. Fletcher leaned his face against the wall just where he wasstanding, his long, lean frame shaken with his sobbing.
"Beauclerk! Beauclerk! don't! don't!"
Hard-faced Mrs. Fletcher went to her husband, and took him in herarms, and soothed him as though he were a child of five. Mr. Fletcherlooked up. His face was ghastly with the effort he made atself-control.
"I think I will have some supper; perhaps it will do me good,"
Husband and wife sat down to supper. There were the remains of a legof mutton, a little glass jar half-filled with pickled cabbage, asmall piece of cheese, and bread. Mrs. Fletcher put some mutton on herhusband's plate, and a smaller portion on her own. Mr. Fletcherswallowed one or two mouthfuls, but apparently it went against thegrain.
"I can't eat it," he said, pushing away his plate; "I'm not hungry."
"Won't you have some cheese? it's very nice cheese."
"I'm not hungry," repeated her husband.
His wife held her peace; she continued eating, not, perhaps, becauseshe was hungry, but possibly because she wished, in doing something,to find a momentary relief from the necessity of thinking. Mr.Fletcher sat drawing patterns with his fork upon the tablecloth.
"I shall write to the parents in the morning. In fact, I ought towrite to them to-night, but I don't feel up to it. I shall tell themthat I am ruined, root and branch, stock and stone; that MecklemburgHouse Collegiate School is a thing of the past, and that they hadbetter remove their sons immediately, and let them have the means totravel with, because I have none."
"When did Booker say he would distrain?"
Booker was the creditor who held the bill of sale.
"He didn't specify the exact hour and minute, but it'll only be aquestion of an hour or two in any case. We can't pay and the thingsmust go."
"But you have received money from some of the boys in advance."
Mr. Fletcher got up, and began to pace the room again.
"I have received money from most of them. Jane, what am I to do? Asyou know very well, I have received from more than half the boys theterm's fees in advance. I am not clear that they could not prosecuteme for obtaining money by means of false pretences; but, in any case,I shall feel that I have played the part of a dishonest man. Whydidn't I say frankly at the beginning of the term, I am ruined, ruinedhopelessly! and gone down at once without a pretence of strugglingthrough another term?"
"We have struggled through so many, we could not tell we should not beable to struggle again."
"At any rate, we haven't. Before we're halfway through the term we'rebeaten, and I have received money on what was very much like falsepretences. Then there are Mr. Till and Mr. Shane; they're entitled toa term's salary, if they could not lay claim to a term's notice too."
Mrs. Fletcher's face grew cold and hard, and there was an unpleasantglitter in her eyes.
"I shouldn't trouble myself about them; a more helpless lout than Mr.Shane, as you call him, I never saw, and to my mind Mr. Till never hasbeen worth his salt. This morning, when he was left in charge, theschool was like a bear-garden; I had to go in half a dozen times toask what the noise was about. It's my belief that if you had hadproper assistance you wouldn't be in the state you are in now."
Mr. Fletcher sighed.
"That is not the question, my dear; I owe them the money, and the
yought to be paid. I know that they are both almost, if not quitepenniless, and if I do not pay them something I doubt whether theywill have the means to take them up to town. Remember, too, that thisis the middle of term, and that how long they will be without even thechance of getting another situation goodness only knows."
"And are you better off? Have you better prospect of a situation?Beauclerk, before you pay either of those men a penny you will have tospeak to me; I will not be robbed by them."
"If I would I have nothing to pay them with, so there is an end of it,my dear."
"Do you know what Mr. Shane's latest performance has been?" Struckby something in his wife's tone, Mr. Fletcher glanced at her withinquiry in his eyes. "I have not told you yet, because I have beentoo much upset by the news which you have brought to tell youanything,--goodness knows we have enough of our own to bear withouthaving to bear the brunt of that clown's blunders too."
Seeing that his wife's eloquence bade fair to carry her away, Mr.Fletcher interposed a question.
"What has Mr. Shane been doing?"
"Doing! I'll tell you what he has been doing,--and you talk of robbingyourself to give him money! He let four of those boys go out in therain this afternoon, when I expressly told him not to; and it wouldseem as if he has let them go for good, for they are still out now."
Her husband looked at her, not quite catching the meaning of herwords.
"Still out now?"
"Yes, still out now. Bailey, Griffin, Wheeler and Ellis went out thisafternoon, in all the rain and fog, with Mr. Shane's permission; andout they've stopped, for they're not back yet."
"Not back yet! Jane, you cannot mean it. Why, it's nearly midnight."Mr. Fletcher looked at his venerable silver watch, which had come tohim, with the rest of his possessions, from his father. "What's that?"
Husband and wife listened. The silence which reigned without had beenbroken by a crash from the schoolroom, a crash which bore a strongfamily resemblance to the sound made by the upsetting of a form.
"It's those boys!" said Mrs. Fletcher. "They're getting through thewindow."
She hurried off to see, her husband following closely after. All thelights were out; save the sitting-room which they had left, all thehouse was dark. She called to him to bring the lamp. Returning, hesnatched it from the table and went after her again.
They entered the schoolroom, Mr. Fletcher acting as lamp-bearer.Directly the door was opened they were conscious of a strong currentof air within the room. Mrs. Fletcher went swiftly forward, pickingher way among the desks and forms, and the cause of the noise they hadheard and the draught they felt was soon apparent. The furthest windowwas wide open. In front of it a form was overturned upon the floor, aform which some one effecting a burglarious entrance through thewindow in the dark had unwittingly turned over. The lady's quick eyecaught sight of a figure crouching behind a neighbouring desk. It didnot take her long to drag a young gentleman out by the collar of hiscoat.
"Well--upon--my--word!"
Her astonishment was genuine, and excusable; few more disreputablefigures ever greeted a lady's eye.
"Is this Bailey?"
It was Bailey. Perhaps at that moment Bailey rather wished it wasn't;but the surprise of his sudden capture had bereft him of the power ofspeech, and he was unable to deny his identity. The lady did nothingelse but stare. Suddenly somebody else made his appearance at thewindow, a head rose above the window-sill, and a meek, modest voiceinquired,--
"Please, ma'am, may I come in?"
The new-comer was Edward Wheeler. The lady's astonishment redoubled.
"Well--I--never!"
Taking this exclamation to convey permission, Wheeler gradually raisedhimself the necessary height, and finally, after a few convulsiveplunges to prevent himself from slipping back again, scrambled throughthe window and stood upon the floor. Wheeler presented a companionpicture to his friend. As he had lost his hat at an early hour of theevening, he, perhaps, in some slight details, bore away the palm fromBailey. Mrs. Fletcher stared at them both in blank amazement; in allher experience of boys she never had seen anything quite equal tothese two. Mr. Fletcher, lamp in hand, came up to join in theinspection.
"Where have you boys been?" he asked.
"Out to tea," said Bailey.
Mrs. Fletcher sniffed disdainfully.
"Out to tea! Don't tell me that! I should think you've been out to teain a ditch!"
Mr. Fletcher carried on the examination.
"How dare you tell me you've been to tea! Where have you boys been?"
"We have been out to tea," said Bailey.
"And where, sir, have you been having tea, that you come back at thishour, and in such a plight as that?"
"Washington Villa," answered Bailey.
"Washington Villa! And where's Washington Villa? But never mind that,I shall have something to say to you in the morning. Where are thoseother boys? Where are Griffin and Ellis?"
"They're coming," muttered Bailey.
Just then they came. While Mr. Fletcher hesitated, in doubt what to door say, a voice, unmistakably Ellis', was heard without.
"Is that you, Bailey? Won't I pay you out for this, you cad! We mighthave got drowned for all you cared. Here's Griffin got half-drowned asit is."
Thrusting her head out of the window, Mrs. Fletcher replied to thewanderer; a reply, doubtless, as unexpected as undesired.
"If Mr. Fletcher did as I wished him, he'd give each of you boys agood round flogging before you went to bed, a lot of disobedient,ungrateful, untruthful, and untrustworthy scamps!"
Possibly this was enough for Ellis, for he subsided and was heard nomore, but a sound of weeping arose. It was the grief of CharlieGriffin. Placing the lamp upon a desk, Mr. Fletcher put his head outof the window beside his wife's.
"I'm not going to open the hall door for you at this time of night.Your friends came through the window, and you can follow yourfriends."
They followed their friends, Ellis coming first; Griffin, with notunnatural bashfulness, preferring to keep in the background. Mrs.Fletcher's uplifted hands and cry of astonishment greeted Ellis, whowas indeed a notable example of the possibilities of dirt as appliedto the person, but Griffin's entry was followed by the silence ofpetrified amazement.
His friends' attempts at disfigurement were altogether unsuccessful ascompared to the success which had attended his. They were dandiescompared to him. It was difficult at a first glance to realize that hewas a boy, or indeed a human being of any kind. He was covered with acombination of weeds, green slime, particoloured filth, and yellowclay; the water dripped from the more prominent portions of his frame;his clothes were glued to his limbs; he was hatless; his face and hairwere plastered with the aforesaid slime; and, to crown it all, he wasconvulsed with a sorrow which lay too deep for words.
"Griffin!" was all that the headmaster's wife could gasp. "CharlieGriffin!"
"Where have you been?" asked Mr. Fletcher.
"I've been in the pond," gasped Griffin, half choked with mud andtears.
"In the pond? What pond?"
"Pa-almer's po-ond!"
"Palmer's pond! What were you doing in there? What I'm to do with youboys is more than I can say!" Mr. Fletcher sighed. "There's one thing,I shan't have to do with you much longer." This was muttered halfbeneath his breath. "What are we to do with them, my dear?" This was aquestion to his wife.
"Don't ask me; I don't know what we're to do with them. I should thinkthat boy"--here she pointed an accusatory finger at Griffin--"hadbetter go back to Palmer's pond. He appears to be fond of it, and it'sthe only place he's fit for." Griffin was moved to wilder tears. "Hehad better take his things off where he stands, and throw them outinto the yard; they'll never be good for anything again, and he shan'tgo upstairs with them on. And all four of them"--this with suddenvivacity which turned attention away from Griffin--"must have a bathbefore they think of going to bed between my sheets. A pretty state ofthings to have to get baths ready at this time of nigh
t!"
"Griffin, you had better take off your things," said Mr. Fletchermildly, when his wife had finished. "I don't know what your fatherwill say when he hears of the way in which you treat your clothing."
Mrs. Fletcher returned to her sitting-room, and Griffin unrobedhimself, flinging each separate article of clothing into the yard ashe took it off. Then a procession, headed by Mr. Fletcher, started forthe bath-room. After a few moments' contact with clean, cold water,the young gentlemen, presenting a more respectable appearance, wereescorted to their bedroom, Mr. Fletcher remaining while they putthemselves to bed. Having assured himself that they actually werebetween the sheets, "I will speak to you in the morning," he said, anddisappeared.
When the boys had satisfied themselves that he was out of hearing,their tongues began to wag. Griffin was still whimpering.
"It's all through you, Bailey, I got into this row."
Something suspiciously like a chuckle was the only answer which camefrom Bailey's bed.
"I say, did you really tumble into Palmer's pond?" inquired Wheeler.
"Of course I did! How could I help it when you couldn't see your handbefore your face?"
Wheeler buried himself in the bedclothes and roared with laughter.
"You wouldn't have laughed if it had been you," continued the outragedGriffin. "I was as nearly drowned as anything. I should have been ifit hadn't been for a fellow with a lantern."
"Go away! drowned!" scoffed Bailey, unconsciously repeating thecarter's words; "why, there isn't enough water to drown a cat!"
"What did you go and leave us for like that?" asked Ellis.
"Do you think I was going to mess about in the rain all night whileyou two were squabbling on top of each other in the mud?"
"I call it a mean thing to do!"
"Who cares what you call it?"
"And if it weren't so jolly late, I'd give you something foryourself."
"Oh, would you? You'd give me something for myself! I like that! Youwait till the morning, and then perhaps I'll give you something foryourself instead!"
Unconscious of the compliments which his affectionate pupils werebandying from one to the other, Mr. Fletcher returned to his wife,seated in the parlour. His whole air was one of depression, as of onewho had no longer spirit enough to fight with fortune.
"Well, it will be over to-morrow!" he said. "I don't think I'm muchgood at school-keeping; I'm not strong enough; I'm not sufficientlyable to impress my influence on others." Going to the mantelshelf heleaned his head upon his hand. "I suspect I've failed as aschoolmaster because I deserved to fail."
Then, forgetting the heroes of the night, his wife began to comforthim.