Chapter IX
THE START
With tears and sighs Willie Seymour produced his desk for hisrelative's inspection. It was a little rosewood desk which his motherhad given him to keep his papers in, and envelopes, and his ownparticular pens, and his stamps, and his money, and his treasures.Bailey proceeded to inspect it.
"Where's the key?"
"Don't take the money, Bertie. Mamma sent it me to buy a birthdaypresent with, and I've spent sevenpence already. It was two shillingsshe sent."
"Oh, you've spent sevenpence, have you! Then I've half a mind to giveyou a licking for spending such a lot. Do you think your mother sentyou money to chuck about all over the place? She told me to look afteryou, and so I will. Give me the key."
From a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends, which bulged out thepockets of his knickerbockers, the key was produced.
"Don't take the money, Bertie!"
Bailey unlocked the desk with a magisterial air.
"If your mother knew that you'd spent sevenpence, what d'ye thinkshe'd say to me? She'd say, 'I told you to look after him, and hereyou let him go chucking the money I sent him to buy a birthday presentinto his stomach, and making himself as ill as I don't know what! Isthat the way to buy a birthday present? Nice affectionate lad youare!'"
At this point Bailey, having discovered the one and fivepence, held itin his hand.
"I shall put this money into my pockets, and I shall take care of itfor you, and when you want it, you come to me and ask for it. D'yehear?"
At this point he slipped the money into his trousers pocket.
Willie wept.
"What are you snivelling for? If you don't stop I'll take care of yourdesk as well. Now I think of it, Wheeler wants just such a desk asthis. I shouldn't be surprised if he gave me sevenpence for it; itwould just come in handy."
Bailey subjected the desk to a critical examination.
"I'll tell Mr. Fletcher if you take my desk away."
"What, sneak, would you? As it happens, I don't care for you or Mr.Fletcher either."
Bertie tucked the desk under his arm and moved to the door. Willieflung his head upon his arms and burst into a passion of tears. At thedoor Bertie turned and surveyed the child.
"Here, take your desk. Think I want the thing!"
He flung the desk towards his cousin. Falling on the edge of a form,it burst open, and the contents were thrown out of it. Leaving Willieto make the best of a bad case, and pick up his ill-used property,Bertie marched away with the one and fivepence in his pocket.
That one and fivepence was all the cash he could secure. He made oneor two efforts in the course of the day to increase his capital by theaddition of a penny or two, but the efforts were in vain. None of thesmaller boys had any money; some of the seniors he suspected were inpossession of funds, but in face of their refusal to oblige him with atemporary loan he did not feel justified in taking them by the throatsand putting into practice any theory of their money or their life. Hesuspected he might get neither; sundry knocks and bruises he might bethe richer for, but they were riches for which he had no longing. Oneparticularly gallant attack he made upon a suspected seat of capitaldoes not deserve to go unchronicled.
The suspected seat of capital was Mr. Shane. Chancing to pass theschoolroom on his way downstairs, a glimpse he caught of some onewithin brought him to a standstill. He entered; he shut the doorbehind him for precaution's sake, being unwilling that his friendsshould intrude upon what he perceived might be a delicate interview.
In a corner of the schoolroom was Mr. Shane. He sat with his elbowsresting on the desk and his head resting on his hands. So absorbed washe in his own meditations that he paid no heed to Bailey's entrance.Bertie watched him in silence for a moment or two, then he made hispresence known.
"I say, Mr. Shane."
Mr. Shane started and looked up. His face was very pale, there weretraces of what were suspiciously like tears about his eyes, and hiswhole appearance was as of one who had received a sudden blow. Withoutspeaking he stared at Bailey, whose presence evidently took him bysurprise. Seeing that the other held his peace, Bertie came to thepoint.
"Can you lend me a shilling or two?"
"Lend you a shilling or two!"
"I daresay you'll think it like my cheek to ask you, and so it is;but--I'm in an awful hole, I really am. I know I've not been such acivil beggar as I might have been, but--I never meant any harm;and--I'm sorry about that grammar, I really am; I'd buy you another ifI'd got the money, upon my word I would--I don't know what I wouldn'tdo for you if you'd lend me a shilling or two--especially if you'd makeit three."
In spite of himself Bertie grinned, and his eyes glistened at the ideaof spoiling the usher. Mr. Shane stared at him, as well he might. Hespoke with a sort of little pause between each word, as though he weredoubtful if he had heard aright.
"You want me to lend you a shilling or two?--me?"
"Yes. I'll let you have it back as soon as, I can, and I'm in an awfulhole, or I wouldn't ask you. Do lend it me!"
Mr. Shane stood up, with a curious agitation in his air.
"I haven't got it."
"Not got it I Not got a shilling or two! Oh, I say, come!"
"I haven't got a penny in the world."
"Not got a penny in the world! Oh, I say, aren't you piling it on!"
"Not a penny; not a penny in the world; not one. I'm a beggar!"
Mr. Shane's agitation was so curious, and the air with which heproclaimed himself a beggar was so wild, that Bertie's surprise grewapace. He wondered whether, as he might himself have phrased it, theusher had a tile loose in his head.
"See!" Mr. Shane turned his coat-tail pockets inside out. There wasnothing in them. "See!" He followed suit with the pockets in histrousers. They also were void and empty. "Nothing! nothing! not a sou!Mr. Fletcher engaged to pay me sixteen pounds a year. There's fifteenshillings owing from last term. I couldn't afford to buy myself a pairof boots when I came back. Look at my boots." Mr. Shane held up hisboots, one after the other. Bertie stared at them; they were very muchthe worse for wear. "And now he tells me that I'm to leave this veryday, leave in the very middle of the term, without a penny-piece. Hesays he cannot let me have a penny-piece. I've worked hard for mymoney; he knows I've worked hard for my money; he knows I've beencruelly used; and yet he sends me away in the middle of the term abeggar, and with fifteen shillings owing from last term. What am I todo! My mother lives at Braintree. I can't walk all the way toBraintree in Essex, especially in such boots as these; and she hasn'tany money to give me when I get there, and I can't get anothersituation in the middle of the term. It's cruel, cruel, cruel! I'm abeggar, and I shall have to go to the workhouse and sleep in thecasual ward, and break stones before they let me leave in the morning.It's wicked cruelty! I don't care who hears me say it, so it is!"
Mr. Shane's agitation, though real enough, was also sufficientlygrotesque. With his pockets turned inside out, and his collar andnecktie all awry, he paced about the schoolroom, swinging his arms,speaking in his thin, cracked tones, the tears running down hischeeks, half choked with passion. It was the grotesque side of theusher's woe which appealed to Bailey.
"You don't mean to say Mr. Fletcher won't pay you your wages?"
"I do, I do! He says he hasn't got it; he says he doubts if he hasfive shillings to call his own. What right has he to engage an usherif he has not got five shillings of his own? How does he expect to payme, and fifteen shillings owing from last term? How am I to walk toBraintree in Essex in these boots without a penny in my pocket? andwhat will my mother say when I get home--if I ever do get home--withno money in my pocket, and turned out of a situation in the middle ofa term? It's a cruel, wicked shame, and I'll shout it out in themiddle of the road! I don't care what they say, I will! I won't gowithout my money, if it's only the fifteen shillings left owing fromlast term!"
"Then I suppose you can't lend me a shilli
ng or two?"
"Lend you a shilling or two! How can I? It's for you to advance a loanto me. Bailey, you've been a wicked boy to me ever since I came, andnow to come and ask me to lend you money! You're all wicked about theplace."
"I've got one and fivepence." Bailey held the money in his hand.
"One and fivepence! Bailey, it's your duty to lend me that one andfivepence. You can't want money, your parents will send you the meansto take you home. And here am I without a penny. How am I to walk allthe way to Braintree in Essex in these boots without a penny in mypocket? It is a wicked thing that I should ever have been induced toaccept such a situation. It's your duty to make amends for youruniform bad conduct, and to sympathise with me in my distress. Youought to lend me that one and fivepence. Won't you lend it to me,Bailey?"
Bertie went through the familiar pantomime of putting his fingers tohis nose.
"Me lend you one and fivepence--ax your grandmother! You must think mejolly green."
He thrust the hand which still held the one and fivepence into histrousers pocket, and turning on his heel marched with an air of greatdeliberation to the door. At the door he turned, and again addressedthe usher.
"If I were you, old Shane, I'd go to Fletcher, and I'd say, 'Fork up,Fletcher, or I'll give you one in the eye;' and then if he didn't forkup I'd give him a couple of good fine black ones. He'd look nice witha couple of black eyes, would Fletcher; and, if you like, I'll comewith you now and see you do it."
He paused; but seeing that Mr. Shane gave no immediate signs of actingon this useful hint he went on,--
"You haven't got the spirit of an old dead donkey. You'd let anybodyhave a kick at you. You're a regular all-round Molly, Shane."
With this frank expression of heart-felt sympathy for Mr. Shane'sdistress he left the room, and banged the door behind him. Hisenterprise, though displaying boldness, had been a failure; he had notsucceeded in adding to his capital. As he walked away from theschoolroom he meditated upon the matter.
"One and fivepence isn't much--not to run away with--but Mr. Bankessaid he'd only ninepence-halfpenny; I'm better than that. Still, I'dlike another shilling or two; one and fivepence doesn't go far,stretch it how you will. But if I can't get more I'll make it do,somehow. If Mr. Bankes managed with ninepence-halfpenny I don't seewhy I shouldn't do with one and fivepence. Something is sure to turnup directly I am off."
It occurred to him that perhaps Mr. Bankes might have had somethingelse besides his ninepence-halfpenny--something in the shape of food,valuables, or extra clothing, or some other unconsidered trifle ofthat kind. Bertie perceived that if he put into execution his plan ofimmediate flight he would have to go as he was, with his one andfivepence and nothing else. He had a misty recollection of having readsomewhere of a young gentleman, just such another hero as himself, whostarted on his exploration of the world with baggage in the shape of ared cotton handkerchief, which contained a clean shirt, some bread andcheese, and, if his memory served him, a pair of socks which hislittle sister had neatly darned for him on the night before hissetting out.
Bertie would have to start without even this amount of luggage. Norcould he understand that he would be much worse off on that account;the bread and cheese might be useful--if he remembered rightly, theyoung gentleman referred to had eaten his bread and cheese about tenminutes after starting--but for the shirt and socks he could perceiveno use whatever. He had a sort of idea that either those sort ofthings would not be required, or else that they could be had forasking when he was once out in the world.
But his chief fear was, and it kept him on tenter hooks throughout theday, that his grand exploit would be nipped in the bud, altogetherfrustrated, by his being prematurely fetched home. He lived at Upton,a little town in Berkshire, not twenty miles away. It would not takelong for Mr. Fletcher's communication to reach his home, and it wasquite within the range of possibility that a messenger would beimmediately despatched to fetch him. In that case he would sleep thatnight in a paternal bed, and farewell to the Land of Golden Dreams.
The flitting had already commenced. By the afternoon some of the boys,who lived close by, had already gone. The packing progressed briskly.He had seen with his own eyes his boxes locked and corded. It was withvery mixed sensations that he had himself assisted at the process.Within those well-worn receptacles was he locking and cording the Landof Golden Dreams! At the mere thought of such a thing he could haveshed unheroic tears. At any moment he might be called, he might begreeted by a familiar face, he might be whirled away in a cab at therate of four or five miles an hour, with his luggage on the roof ofthe vehicle, and then--farewell to the Land of Golden Dreams.
He might have put an end to his uncertainty by starting at once on hisprogress through the world. But he had made up his mind that that wasnot the thing. To run away in broad daylight, like an urchin who hadstolen a twopenny loaf, with half a dozen yelping curs at his heelsand not impossibly the country folks all grinning--who could connectromance with such an undignified departure? No, night was the thingfor him--silent, mysterious night; and, above all, the witching hour.That was the time for romance! Under the cold white moon, and acrossthe moonlit meadows, when all the world was sleeping--then he couldconceive a flight into the world of mystery and of magic, and of Landsof Golden Dreams. So he had decided that as nearly as possiblemidnight should be the moment for his adventures to begin.
The choice of such an hour put difficulties in his way. First of all,there was the difficulty of being sure of the time. He did not himselfpossess a watch, and he could not rely upon some distant church clockinforming him of the passage of the night. Fortunately he rememberedthat Tom Graham, who slept in a bed next door but one to his,possessed a watch. He would time his departure by Tom Graham's watch.Then there was the difficulty of egress--how was he to get away? Inhis strong desire to play the more heroic part, he would have liked tohave dropped from the window of his bedroom some thirty-five feet onto the paving-stones of the courtyard below. But then he reflectedthat he would not improbably break his neck, and it would be just aswell not to begin his adventures by doing that; that sort of thingwould come in its proper place a little later on. He might knot hissheets together, and form an impromptu rope, and descend by means ofthat: there were charms about the idea which commended themselves tohim. He had seen a picture somewhere of a gallant youth descending bymeans of such a rope a tower apparently a mile or two in height; itwas an unpleasant night and the youth was whirled hither and thitherby the tempestuous winds. Had his bedroom been a couple of milesfrom the ground, why then--Bailey smacked his lips, and his eyesglistened--but as it wasn't he discarded the idea. He sighed to thinkthat they build none of those lofty towers now--at least, so far ashe was aware.
No; for the present it was sufficient to get away. Let him first getclear away, and then he would have adventures fast enough. He decidedthat the old familiar schoolroom window would suffice for theoccasion. He would get out of that.
But the chief difficulty he had to face was the terrible risk whichexisted of his being fetched away. One boy after another went; hourafter hour passed; a bare handful of young gentlemen remained. Theyhad dinner, such as it was; but Bertie had lost his appetite, and wasfor the nonce contented with meagre fare. They had tea, which waspostponed to the latest possible hour, and which when it cameconsisted of a liquid which such boys as partook of it declared wasconcocted of the tea leaves which had remained at breakfast, and whichwas accompanied by thick slices of unbuttered bread. But Bertie nevergrumbled; he ate his bread and he drank his tea without suggestinganything against its quality.
The evening passed. The number of boys was still more diminished, yetfor Bailey no one came. The clock pointed to an hour at which it wasdeclared that no one could come now--it was half-past nine. The usualhour for bed was half-past eight, but the boys had been kept up in theexpectation and possible hope that at Mecklemburg House it would notbe necessary for them to go to bed at all. Now they were ordered totheir rooms.
&
nbsp; Bertie could have danced, and sung, and stood on his head, andcomported himself generally like a juvenile madman; but he refrained,His time was coming; he would be able to comport himself as he likedin two hours and a half, but at present the word was caution.
It was arranged that all the boys who remained should sleep in thesame room. There were only five: Edgar Wheeler, Tom Graham, littleWillie Seymour, a boy whose parents were in India named Hagen, andcommonly called Blackamoor, and Bertie Bailey. The first into bed wasBailey. Not a word was to be got out of him edgeways. He was a modelof good behaviour. He even pressed the others to hurry into bed,to go to sleep, to let him sleep. They slept long before he did.He lay awake tingling all over. He listened to their regularrespirations--Hagen was a loud snorer and always set up a signal ofdistress--and when he was sure they were asleep he hugged himself inbed. Then he sat up, being careful to make as little noise aspossible, and in the darkness peered at his sleeping comrades. Theirgentle breathing and Hagen's stentorian snores were music in his ears.Then he lay back in bed again, biding his time.
He heard a clock strike the half-hour--half-past ten. It was a churchclock. He wondered which. The night was calm, and the sound travelledclearly through the air; it might have been a long way off. Andthen--then he went to sleep.
It was not at all what he intended--very much the other way. He hadsupposed that he had only to make up his mind to lie awake till twelveo'clock to do it. But he was wrong; the strain at which he had kepthis faculties through the day had told upon him more than he hadsupposed.
He awoke with a start--with a consciousness that something was wrong.He listened for a moment, wondering what strange thing had roused him.Then he remembered with a flash. The time had gone and he had slept.
With a half-stifled cry he sprang up in bed. What time was it? Had hereally slept? Only for a minute or two, he felt sure. He groped hisway to Graham's bed. That young gentleman slept with his watch beneathhis pillow; Bailey was awkward in his attempts to get at it withoutwaking the sleepy owner.
He got it, and took it to the window that he might see the time.Half-past two! soon it would be light--Bertie was almost inclined tothink it was getting lighter now. He gave a cry of rage, and the watchdropped from his hand to the floor. Startled, he turned to see if thesleepers were awakened by the noise. He held his breath to listen.They slumbered as before. He picked up the watch and placed it on themantelshelf, not caring to run the risk of rousing Graham by replacingit beneath his pillow. As he did so, he noticed that the glass wasbroken, shattered in the fall.
With great rapidity he dressed himself, only pausing for a moment tosee that the one and fivepence was safe. His slippers were packed; hehad come to bed in his boots. Holding them in his hand, in hisstockinged feet he stole across the room, carefully turned the handleof the door, went out, and shut the door behind him.
He met with no accident on his way to the schoolroom. Within fiveminutes of his leaving his bed he was standing among the desks andforms. The blinds had not been drawn: the moonlight flooded theroom--at any rate, the moon had not gone down. He was going to carryout so much of his plans--he was to fly through a moonlit world.Perhaps after all the little accident which had caused him to shut hiseyes was not of much importance. Certainly, the sleep had refreshedhim; he felt capable of making for the Land of Golden Dreams withoutrequiring to pause upon the way.
Among the moonlit desks and forms he put his boots on; laced them up;then, with a careful hand, slipped the hasp of the familiar window,raised the sash, got out, and lowered himself to the ground. It wasonly when he was on the ground that he remembered that he was withouta cap. He put his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket andproduced an old cricket cap which he had privately secured when he wassupposed to be assisting at the packing.
Then he started for the Land of Golden Dreams.