CHAPTER II
MR. POCKLINGTON'S
SO Pip and Pipette went to school, and life in its entirety lay at theirfeet.
Hitherto the social circle in which they moved had been limited on themale side to Father, Mr. Evans, and Mr. Pipes, together with themilkman, the lamplighter, and a few more nodding acquaintances; and onthe female to Tattie Fowler, Cook, and a long line of housemaids. Thechildren could neither read nor write; the fact that they possessedimmortal souls was practically unrevealed to them; and their religiousexercises were limited to a single stereotyped prayer, imparted by Cook,and perfunctorily delivered night and morning by the children, at thebidding of the housemaid in charge, to a mysterious Power whose solefunction, so far as they could gather, was to keep an eye upon themduring their attendant's frequent nights-out, and to reportdelinquencies (by some occult means) on her return.
Of the ordinary usages of polite society they knew little or nothing. ToPip and Pipette etiquette and deportment were summed up in thefollowing nursery laws, as amended by the Kitchen:--
I. Girls, owing to some mysterious infirmity which is never apparent, and for which they are not responsible, must be helped first to everything.
II. A boy must on no account punch a girl, even though she is older and bigger than himself. (For reason, see I.)
III. A girl must not scratch a boy. Not that the boy matters, but it is unladylike.
IV. Real men do not play with dolls. (However, you may pretend to be a doctor, and administer medicine, without loss of dignity.)
V. Real ladies do not climb the trees in the garden in the Square. (But you can get over this difficulty by pretending to be a boy or a monkey for half an hour.)
VI. Girls never have dirty hands--only boys. (For solution of this difficulty see note on V.)
VII. You must _never_ tell tales. Girls must be specially careful about this, not because they are more prone to do so, but because boys think they are.
VIII. Real men never kiss girls, but they may sometimes permit girls to kiss them.
IX. You must eat up your bread-and-butter before you have any cake. (This rule holds good, they found out later, all through life.)
X. Do not blow upon your tea to cool it: this is very vulgar. Pour it into your saucer instead.
Clearly it was high time they went to school, and Father, who had hadvague thoughts for some time about "procuring a tutor" for Pip, finallymade up his mind, and despatched both children one morning in thebrougham to Mr. Pocklington's.
The school was a comfortable-looking building, standing inside highwalls in a secluded corner of Regent's Park. On the gate shone a largebrass plate bearing the inscription--
WENTWORTH HOUSE SCHOOL AND KINDERGARTEN.
MR. POCKLINGTON. THE MISSES POCKLINGTON.
The children could not read this, but Mr. Evans, who accompanied them inthe brougham on the first morning, kindly consented to do so, hisefforts to pronounce the word "Kindergarten" (an enterprise upon whichhe embarked before realising that he might with perfect safety have leftit out altogether) pleasantly beguiling the time until the gate wasopened by a boy in buttons.
Pip and Pipette found themselves in a cheerful-looking hall, larger andbrighter than that at home, and stood staring with solemn eyes at theunwonted objects around them. From a room on their right came a subduedhum, and upstairs they could hear juvenile voices singing in chorus.They were put to wait in a small room.
Presently the door opened, and an old gentleman with white whiskers anda black velveteen jacket trotted in. Mr. Evans bowed respectfully.
"The doctor's compliments, sir, and I was to inquire what time the younglady and gentleman was to be sent for?" he said.
"Our morning hours," replied Mr. Pocklington with a precise air, "arefrom nine-thirty till twelve-thirty. At twelve-thirty we take exercisein the playground. Should the weather be inclement we adjourn to theGymnasium. Luncheon is served at one-thirty, and we resume our studiesat two-thirty. We desist from our labours at four."
Mr. Evans having made a dignified exit, the children, for the first timein their lives, found themselves alone in the world, and suddenlyrealised that the world was very big and they were very small. Pipettewas at once handed over to a lady called Miss Arabella, while Pip wasescorted by Mr. Pocklington to the changing-room, where he was given apeg for his coat, a peg for his cap, a locker for his boots, and awash-hand basin for his ablutions (everything carefully labelled andnumbered), and was otherwise universally equipped for the battle oflife. Then he was taken into Mr. Pocklington's private sitting-room,whence, after a brief but all too adequate inquiry into his attainments,he was unhesitatingly relegated to the lowest class in the school, wherehe found Pipette already installed at the bottom of the bottom bench.Here we will leave them for a time, dumbly gazing at the opening page ofa new reading-book, whereon appears the presentment of what they havehitherto regarded as a donkey, but which three large printed letters atthe foot of the page inform them must henceforth be called an A-S-S.
Mr. Pocklington had been intended by nature for an old maid. He was anelderly faddist of a rather tiresome type, with theories upon everypossible subject, from cellular underclothing to the higher education ofwomen. He was a widower, and was assisted in the management of theschool by his three daughters--Miss Mary, Miss Arabella, and MissAmelia.
The daily routine of Wentworth House School was marked by an Old-Worldprecision and formality which adults might have found a trifle irksome;but it did the children no particular harm beyond making them slightlypriggish in their manners, and no particular good beyond instilling intothem a few habits of order and method.
The day began at twenty minutes past nine with "whistle-in." The"monitor" for the week--a patriarch of ten or eleven--appeared at theside door, which gave on to the playground, and blew a resonant blast ona silver whistle. Followed a scramble in the dressing-rooms, while boysand girls changed their boots for slippers. At three minutes to thehalf-hour the monitor, having hung the whistle on its proper peg andarmed him-(or her-) self with a dinner-bell, clanged out a summons to"line up." Thereupon the pupils of Wentworth House School formed adouble _queue_ along the passage, the eldest boy with the eldest girl,and so on,--Mr. Pocklington believed in mingling the sexes thoroughly:it taught girls not to whisper and giggle, and gave boys ease of mannerin the presence of females,--and at the stroke of nine-thirty, to theaccompaniment of an ear-splitting fantasia on the bell, the animalsmarched arm-in-arm into the ark (as represented by the largeschoolroom), where Noah (Mr. Pocklington), supported by Shem, Ham, andJapheth (Amazonian Miss Mary, shy and retiring Miss Arabella, andpretty and frivolous Miss Amelia) stood ready to take roll-call.
Roll-call at Wentworth House was an all-embracing function. Besidesanswering their names, pupils were required to state whether theyrequired "lunch" at the interval, and to announce the name of anylibrary books that they might be borrowing or returning. Parentalpetitions and ultimatums were also delivered at this time. As might havebeen expected in such an establishment, all communications had to becouched in elegant and suitable phraseology of Mr. Pocklington's owncomposition. Consequently roll-call was a somewhat protracted function.As a rule the performance consisted of a series of conversations of thefollowing type:--
_Mr. Pocklington._ Reginald!
_A high squeaky Voice._ Present, sir. I wish to take a glass of milk during the interval, and I am returning "The Young Carthaginian," thanking you for the loan-of-the-same.
Or--
_Mr. Pocklington._ Beatrice!
_A rather breathless little Voice._ Present, sir. I wish to take a glass of milk _and_ a bun [_very emphatic this_] durin' the interval, and I propose, with your permission, to
borrow this copy of "Carrots Just a Little Boy"; and, please, I've got a note from mum--I mean I am the bearer of a letter from my mother asking for you to be so kind as to--to excuse my not havin' done all my home work, 'cos I forgot--
_Mr. Pocklington._ Beatrice!
_The R. B. L. V._ I mean 'cos I _neglected_ [there was no such word as "forget" in Mr. Pocklington's curriculum] to take the book home. And, please, mum--my mother would have written to you by post last night, only she forg--neglected to do it till it was too late.
And Beatrice, having unburdened herself of a task which has beenclouding her small horizon ever since breakfast, sits down with a sighof intense relief.
On the first morning after their arrival, Mr. Pocklington, having calledout the last name and registered the last glass of milk, drew theattention of the school to Pip and Pipette.
"You have to welcome two fresh companions this morning," he said. "Iwill enter their names on the register, and will then read them aloud toyou, in order that you may know how to address your new friends."
Turning to Pip, Mr. Pocklington asked his name.
"Pip."
"No, no," said Mr. Pocklington testily. "Your first baptismal name,boy!"
Pip, to whom the existence of baptismal names was now revealed for thefirst time, merely turned extremely red and shook his head.
"We do not countenance childish nicknames here," said Mr. Pocklingtongrandly. "What is your Christian name, boy?"
Pip, to whom Christian and baptismal names were an equal mystery,continued to sit mute, glaring the while in a most disconcerting fashionat poor Miss Arabella, who happened to sit opposite to him.
Mr. Pocklington turned impatiently to Pipette.
"What is your brother's name?"
"Please, it's just Pip," replied Pipette plaintively, groping for Pip'shand under the desk. "He hasn't got any other name, I don't fink."
"Perhaps it is Philip," suggested pretty Miss Amelia. "I believe"--witha little blush--"that 'Pip' is occasionally used as an abbreviation forthat name. Is your name Philip, little boy?" she asked, leaning forwardto Pip, with a glance which he would have valued considerably more if hehad been ten years older.
"I don't know," said Pip.
"I think it must be Philip," said Miss Amelia, turning to her father.
So Pip was inscribed on the roll as Philip, which, as it happened, _was_his real name. (By the way, his surname was Wilmot.)
"Now, _your_ first baptismal name, little girl?" said Mr. Pocklingtonbriskly, turning to Pipette.
"Please, it's Pipette," she replied apprehensively.
Her fears were not ungrounded. The school began to titter.
"Pipette? My dear, that is a quite impossible name. A pipette is a smallglass instrument employed in practical chemistry. Surely you have someproper baptismal name! Perhaps you can suggest a solution again," headded, turning to Miss Amelia.
No, Miss Amelia could offer no suggestion. Her forte, it appeared, wasgentlemen's names. As a matter of fact, Pipette's name, as ascertainedby reference to Father by post that night, was Dorothea, and she hadbeen laughingly christened "Pipette" by her mother, because her father,when summoned from the laboratory to view his newly born daughter, hadarrived holding a pipette in his hand.
So Pip and Pipette, much to their surprise and indignation, foundthemselves addressed as Philip and Dorothea respectively, and as suchjoined in the pursuit of knowledge in company with a motley crew ofArthurs, Reginalds, Ermyntrudes, Winifreds, and the like. Surnames werenot employed in the school. If two children possessed the same Christianname they were distinguished by the addition of any other sub-title theyhappened to possess. Three unfortunate youths, for instance, wereaddressed respectively as John Augustus, John William, and John Evelyn.
Things at Wentworth House School move in a stereotyped circle, and Pipand Pipette soon became familiar with the curriculum. There were threeclasses, they found. The First Class, the veterans, nearly old enough togo to a preparatory school, dwelt in a stuffy apartment called "TheStudy." Their learning was profound, for they were taught a mysteriouslanguage called Latin, and another, even more mysterious, called"Alzeber" (or something like that). The Second Class, conducted by MissMary--formidable, but a good sort--in a corner of the schoolroom, didnot fly so high. They studied history and geography, and were addictedto a fearsome form of parlour-game called "Mentalarithmetic," whichinvolved much shrieking of answers to highly impossible questions aboutequally dividing seventeen apples among five boys.
Pip and Pipette occupied a humble position in the Third Class, wherethey soon developed a fervent admiration for pretty Miss Amelia, who wasalways smiling, always daintily dressed, and charmingly inaccurate andcasual.
On Thursday afternoons the whole school assembled in the Music Room.Here faded Miss Arabella thumped mechanically on the piano, while thepupils of Wentworth House School chanted an inexplicable andinterminable ditty entitled "Doh-ray-me-fah." The words of this canticlewere printed on a canvas sheet upon the wall, and the method ofinculcation was somewhat peculiar. Mr. Pocklington, taking his standbeside the sheet, would lay the tip of his little white wand upon theword "Doh" printed at the bottom. Miss Arabella would strike a note uponthe piano, and the school would reproduce the same with no uncertainsound, sustaining it by one prolonged howl until the white wand slid upto "Ray," an example which the vocalists would attempt to follow to thebest of their ability, and with varying degrees of success. Havingrallied and concentrated his forces on "Ray," Mr. Pocklington wouldadvance to "Me," and then to "Fah," the effects achieved by the eldermale choristers, whose voices were reaching the cracking stage, as thescale approached the topmost "Doh," being as surprising as they werevarious.
The hour always concluded with a sort of musical steeplechase. The whitewand would skip incontinently from Doh to Fah, and from Me to Soh, thesingers following after--faint yet pursuing. At the end of threeminutes, the field having tailed out, so to speak, every note in thegamut was being sung, _fortissimo_, by at least one member of thechoir, and the total effect was more suggestive of a home for lost dogsthan an academy for the sons and daughters of gentlemen.
Our friends enjoyed this diversion hugely. Pipette, who could carol likea lark, hopped from note to note with an agility only equalled by thatof the white wand itself. Pip, who had no music in his soul, adopted adifferent method of procedure. Selecting a note well within his compass,he would stick to it with characteristic thoroughness and a graduallyblackening countenance, until a final flourish from the white wandintimated to all and sundry that this nuisance must now cease.
Pip and Pipette were also submitted to a rather farcical ordeal whichMr. Pocklington called his "common-sense test." Shortly after theirarrival they were called into the Study, where Mr. Pocklington, after alittle homily on the danger of judging by appearances and thefallaciousness of giving preference to quantity rather than quality,produced a threepenny-bit and a penny, and commanded his auditors totake their choice. Pipette unhesitatingly picked the threepenny-bit, andwas commended for her acumen. Pip, when it came to his turn, selectedthe penny, and after being soundly rated for his stupidity was castforth from the Study and bidden to learn sense. A week later he wasagain put to the test, and again chose the penny, repeating hisperformance with stolid regularity when given a further opportunity ofredeeming his character the following week. After that the affairdeveloped into a kind of round game, Mr. Pocklington producing the twocoins from time to time and Pip invariably selecting the penny,--aproceeding which gave his preceptor unlimited opportunities for tiresomelittle lectures to the school in general, and Pip in particular, on thesubjects mentioned above.
Finally, after the entertainment had been repeated week by week for sometime, Pipette, whose loyal little soul chafed at the sycophantic gigglesof the other boys and girls when Pip was being scarified by Mr.Pocklington, boldly broached the matter to her brother.
"Pip, why don't you take the fripenny-bit? If you did h
e'd stop bein' sohowwid to you."
Pip regarded his sister's small eager face with cold scorn.
"If once I took the threepenny-bit," he replied, "he'd stop offerin' themoney altogether. Why, I've made eightpence since I came here. Sillykid!"
This was the last occasion in their lives on which Pipette everquestioned the wisdom of her beloved brother's actions.
Both children made friends rapidly. Pip, indeed, soon after his arrival,received a proposal of marriage, which, ever ready to oblige a lady, heaccepted forthwith. But he was reckoning without Pipette. That jealouslittle person, finding one day that Pip had suddenly deserted her, andwas at that moment actually sharing his morning bun with his fiancee inthe boot-room, incontinently burst in upon the lovers, and after a briefbut decisive interview despatched her rival howling from the room,remaining herself to share the bun with the newly restored Pip, who, tobe quite frank, had been finding the role of a Romeo, however passive,rather exacting.
Isabel Dinting, the disappointed lady, was inconsolable for a day ortwo, but she eventually recovered her spirits, and lived to heap coalsof fire on Pip's head, as you shall hear.
One of the most curious and characteristic institutions at WentworthHouse School was Mr. Pocklington's system of "Task-Tickets." Every boyand girl on entering the school received ten little tablets about thesize of visiting-cards, inscribed with his or her name, and numberedfrom one to ten consecutively. If a pupil failed in a lesson or broke arule, one of his Task-Tickets was impounded, and was not restored untilthe faulty lesson was perfected or a specified imposition performed.Periodically there would be an "inspection," and many a small headwhose owner was discovered to be short of tickets would be hung in shamethat day. Only such confirmed reprobates as Thomas Oates, the bad boy ofthe school (whom Mr. Pocklington in his more jocular moments addressedas "Titus," much to his hearers' mystification), could endure the stigmaof being perpetually without a full complement. Thomas indeed onceelectrified the school by announcing to Miss Mary, when asked for aticket in default of an unlearned lesson, that _all_ his tickets were inpawn already, and that, until he had redeemed one of the same, he wouldbe unable to oblige her. Mr. Pocklington and the majority of his staffwere horror-struck at such iniquity; but Miss Mary, in whom wasconcentrated most of the common sense of the family, instituted a searchin Master Thomas's desk, with the result that she triumphantly fishedout no less than five tickets. All of which goes to prove that ThomasOates, like a good many of us, preferred notoriety, even as amalefactor, to respectable oblivion.
The Task-Ticket system presented another feature of interest. Besidestheir regulation ten ordinary tickets, Mr. Pocklington's pupils wereentitled to acquire "Special Task-Tickets." If you weeded the garden,or filled some ink-pots, or wrote a specially neat copy, you werepresented with a Task-Ticket marked "Special" in red ink in onecorner. Next time a breakdown in work or the infraction of a rulebrought you within the sphere of operations of Mr. Pocklington's penalcode, exemption from punishment could be purchased by payment of oneor more of your Special Task-Tickets. This scheme was attractive inseveral ways. Good children--chiefly little girls, it must beadmitted--accumulated these treasures assiduously for the mere joy ofpossession, the trifling fact that their owners were far too virtuousto be likely ever to have need of them being more than counterbalancedby the comfortable glow of satisfaction with which the existence ofsuch a moral bank-balance suffused their rather self-righteous littlebosoms. Wicked children, on the other hand, would laboriously collecttickets against a rainy day, and, having accumulated a sufficientstore to pay for the consequences, would indulge in a prolonged orgyof sin until the last ticket was gone. Thomas Oates once found tenSpecial Task-Tickets in an old desk, and having straightway filled alike number of buttoned boots in the girls' dressing-room withsoap-and-water, proffered the same in compensation. However, thepossession of so much hoarded virtue in such a proclaimed reprobateroused the suspicions of the authorities. Inquiries were set on foot,the fraud was discovered, and Thomas was only saved from expulsionfrom Wentworth House School by the intercession of pretty Miss Amelia,who cherished a weakness for all renegades of the opposite sex.
Pip's tear-stained ex-fiancee, Isabel Dinting, anxious to drive away thedepression resultant upon her unfortunate attachment, allowed herself tobecome badly bitten with the ticket-collecting mania. Her own tenordinary tickets invariably presented a full muster, and all her soulwas set upon the acquisition of Specials. These, by the way, weretransferable, and consequently Isabel's friends were requested to bestirthemselves, and by extra acts of virtue earn something to contribute toher store. Pip himself assisted her. One day he caught and expelled fromthe classroom a troublesome bumblebee, and, much to his surprise, wasawarded a Special Task-Ticket by the grateful Miss Amelia. He promptlyhanded over the gift to Isabel, whose gratification knew no bounds.Touched by his adorer's thanks, Pip decided in his quiet way to help herfurther. Next morning the schoolroom suffered from a positive inundationof bumblebees, and the services rendered by Pip in removing them wererewarded by more Specials, all of which were duly handed over to the nowgreatly consoled Isabel. When, however, the phenomenon occurred againon the following morning, Miss Mary, who did not share her sister'sromantic belief in the integrity of the male sex, became suspicious, andinsisted on searching Pip's desk. An incautiously handled paper bagemitted a perfect cascade of moribund bumblebees, and Pip's ingeniousdevice for obliging a lady stood revealed. After that he made no morecontributions to the supply.
Mention has already been made of that arch-ruffian Master Thomas Oates.With him Pip waged war from the day that he entered the school.Hostilities commenced immediately. Thomas dared Pip to place his hand ina can of almost boiling water in the dressing-room. Pip did so, and keptit there unwinkingly for the space of a full minute. Next day his handwas skinless, and Father had to dress it for him in splendidlyconspicuous bandages. Pip retaliated by initiating a breath-holdingcontest, in which his opponent was not only worsted, but admitted hisdefeat by an involuntary and sonorous gurgle right in the middle of oneof Mr. Pocklington's customary harangues on nothing in particular in thelarge schoolroom. He was promptly scarified for his unseemly conduct andfined three Task-Tickets.
One afternoon, to the curiosity of all and the trepidation of some,"Whistle-in" sounded at two-fifteen instead of two-twenty-five.Evidently something momentous was about to occur.
All his pupils being seated, and the roll having been called, Mr.Pocklington, with an air of portentous solemnity, explained the reasonfor which they were assembled and met together. It was nothing verydreadful after all, but the seriousness with which the subject wastreated by their preceptor impressed the children with a hazy feelingthat they were assisting at a murder trial.
Some person or persons unknown, it appeared, had invaded the Study, andhad embellished the features of a bust of Julius Caesar, which stood onthe mantelpiece, with some assorted coloured chalks, which furtherinvestigation proved to have been stolen from the chalk-box by theblackboard. Mr. Pocklington, who was not blessed with a sense of humour,sought to drive home the enormity of this offence by oculardemonstration. He rang the bell; and after a short but impressive pausethe door of the schoolroom was thrown open by the pageboy, and thebutler staggered majestically in, carrying Julius Caesar on a tea-tray.That empire-builder's "make-up" could hardly be called a becoming one. Ared nose gave him a bibulous appearance, his blue chin suggested laterising and the absence of a razor, and a highly unsymmetricalmoustache, executed in mauve chalk, stood out in vivid contrast to hisblackened right eye. It says much for the impression which Mr.Pocklington's introductory harangue had produced that not a child in theroom so much as smiled.
The perspiring butler having set down his alcoholic-looking burden upona small table and withdrawn, attended by his satellite,--the only personpresent, by the way, who appeared inclined to regard the situation withlevity,--Mr. Pocklington once more addressed his cowering audience.
"I will now ask the p
erpetrator of this outrage," he thundered, "tostand up, that I may punish him as he deserves."
The little girls all shivered with apprehension, but one or two littleboys looked slightly amused. They were not very old or experienced, butthey were not green enough to join gratuitously in a game of "Dilly,Dilly, come and be killed!"
Mr. Pocklington played his next card.
"I may add," he continued, "that a boy was seen to leave the Study in asurreptitious manner shortly after this offence must have beencommitted. No one has entered the Study since. That boy, therefore, mustbe the culprit. If he does not immediately respond to the dictates ofhis conscience and stand up in his place--I shall expose him! Now,please!"
There was a death-like silence, suddenly broken by piercing shrieks fromone Gwendoline Harvey, aged seven, for whose infant nerves the strainhad proved too great.
"Please, it wasn't me," she wailed, "and--and--and I've lost my hankey!"
Tender-hearted Miss Arabella supplied the deficiency, and led her out,still sobbing. The inquisition was resumed.
"I shall give the culprit one more minute," announced Mr. Pocklington inthe tones of a Grand Inquisitor.
There was another tense silence. The inmates of Wentworth House Schoolbreathed hard, looked straight before them, and waited with their smallmouths wide open. One or two little girls--and small boys, for thatmatter--gripped the benches convulsively, and with difficulty refrainedfrom screaming.
"The minute has elapsed," proclaimed the Grand Inquisitor. "Philip,stand up!"
"Ah!" A long, shuddering sigh, partly of relief and partly ofapprehension, ran round the room. Pipette turned deathly pale. Pip roseslowly to his feet, staring intently in his disconcerting way at thebesotted features of Julius Caesar.
"Philip," said Mr. Pocklington, "you were seen coming out of the Studyat one-twenty. What have you to say?"
Pip had nothing to say, but transferred his gaze to Mr. Pocklington. Asa matter of fact he had not entered the Study. He had spent some time,it was true, in the passage outside the door, but that was because hewas waiting for Thomas Oates, having arranged to meet him there for fiveminutes, for the purpose of adjusting a small difference on a matter ofa purely personal character, calling for plenty of elbow-room andfreedom from publicity. Tommy Oates had not appeared, and Pip had beenlate for luncheon in consequence.
"Do you confess to this outrage?" inquired Mr. Pocklington, comingsuddenly to the point.
Pip collected himself. Then as common politeness seemed to demand somesort of reply, he said, "No."
Another slight shudder passed round the room.
"Do you know anything about the matter?"
Pip was about to reply with another negative, when it suddenly flashedacross his mind that as he stood outside the Study waiting for MasterOates he had experienced considerable difficulty in getting rid ofIsabel Dinting, who had hovered around him in a highly flattering butmost embarrassing fashion just when he wished to compose andconcentrate his faculties for his coming interview with Tommy. What wasshe doing there? What could her business have been? In plain truth shehad come to avert a possible battle between Pip and Tommy, but thisnever occurred to Pip: he had not thought it possible that any oneshould take such a close interest in his movements. Anyhow this was noconcern of his. Accordingly he said, "No" a second time.
Then came another question.
"Do you deny having been in the Study?"
"Yes."
"But you were seen coming from the passage leading to the Study door."
No answer.
"Do you admit that you were in that passage?"
"Yes." (Sensation.)
"Philip," said Mr. Pocklington, "that passage leads only to the Study.What other motive can have taken you there?"
No answer. It is difficult on the spur of the moment to frame aplausible excuse for having in cold blood arranged a sanguinaryencounter outside your Principal's study door.
"Do you decline to answer?"
Again no reply from Pip. Another pause. Mr. Pocklington, now as excitedas a terrier halfway down a rabbit-hole, with difficulty refrained frompronouncing sentence on the spot. However, he restrained himself so faras to remember to sum up.
"Appearances are against you, Philip," he began. "You were seen leavingthe--the scene of the outrage in a suspicious manner shortly after thatoutrage was committed. You decline to state what business took youthere. No one else visited the spot during the time underconsideration--at least--by the way, _did_ you see any one else whileyou--during that period?"
This chance shot hit Pip hard. That Isabel Dinting should have paintedJulius Caesar's nose red seemed almost beyond the bounds of humanprobability. Still she undoubtedly _had_ been there, and with Mr.Pocklington in his present state the sudden revelation of such a factwould probably cause a perfect eruption. Pip hesitated.
"Was any one else there?" reiterated Mr. Pocklington.
Pip was essentially a truthful boy, and the idea of saying, "No" neveroccurred to him. Accordingly he said nothing, as before.
The eruption immediately took place.
"Philip," thundered Mr. Pocklington, "I have asked you two questions.You have answered neither of them. Do you decline to do so?"
A very long pause this time. Then--"Yes," said Pip briefly.
"In that case," replied Mr. Pocklington, metaphorically assuming theblack cap, "I must pronounce you guilty. Still, I would rather youconfessed than were convicted. I will give you one more minute."
Sixty palpitating seconds passed. Forty juvenile hearts bumpedtumultuously, and Pip still stood up, a very straight, very silent, andnot undignified little figure.
"Have you anything further to say?" inquired Mr. Pocklington at last,now almost convinced that he was the Lord Chief Justice himself.
Pip shook his head. He seldom wasted words.
"Then I pronounce you guilty. You have committed an offence againstdecency and good taste that I have never known paralleled in the historyof this school. Your punishment"--the children held their breath--"mustbe a matter for consideration. Meanwhile--"
Mr. Pocklington paused, and frowned at Isabel Dinting, who was gropingfor something in her desk.
"Meanwhile," he continued, having suddenly decided to keep Pip indurance vile until a punishment could be devised in keeping with hiscrime, "you will be incarcerated--Well, Isabel?"
Isabel Dinting was standing up in her place, with her small countenanceflushed and apprehensive, but bravely waving one hand in the air toattract attention. In the other she grasped a rather grubby and bulgyenvelope.
"Please, _may_ I speak to Pi--Philip?" she gasped.
Mr. Pocklington was too surprised to be pedantic.
"To Philip? Why, my child?"
"Because--well, because I've got somefing to give him."
"This is hardly the time for an exchange of gifts," remarked Mr.Pocklington severely.
"But _may_ I?" persisted Isabel, with a boldness which surprisedherself.
"I cannot imagine what your gift can be, but if it has any bearing onthe present deplorable case, I should be only too thankful to permit--"
But long before this homily was completed Isabel had slipped out of herseat and was standing by Pip's side, whispering excitedly into his earand endeavouring to thrust the grubby envelope into his hands.
"Take them," she panted. "There's thirty-five of them. Give him them_all_, _now_, and he'll let you off."
Poor little Isabel! Surely under all the broad heavens there was nocrime that could not be atoned for by the surrender of thirty-fivelaboriously acquired Special Task-Tickets!
Pip smiled at her. He was a plain-looking little boy, but he possessedan extraordinarily attractive smile, and Isabel felt utterly,absolutely, and completely rewarded for her sacrifice.
Meanwhile Mr. Pocklington had come to the conclusion that all this washighly irregular.
"Bring me that envelope!" he commanded.
Pip handed up the envelope. Mr. Pocklington op
ened it, and out tumbledthe thirty-five Special Task-Tickets.
"What is all this?" he inquired testily.
"Special Task-Tickets," replied Pip.
"To whom do they belong?"
"Isabel."
"No--they belong to Pip!" screamed that small maiden. "Won't you let himoff if he gives them _all_ to you, please? I've given them to him. I--Idon't mind losin' them."
Isabel's voice quavered suddenly; and then, having conducted her caseunflinchingly past the critical point, she dissolved, woman-like, intoreactionary tears.
There was a long silence now, broken only by Isabel's sobs. Pip stoodstill stiffly at attention, facing the grinning effigy of Julius Caesar.Every child in the room (except Pipette) was lost in admiration ofIsabel's heroic devotion, for all knew how precious was her collectionof tickets to her. Miss Mary smiled genially; Miss Amelia's eyes filledwith sympathetic tears. Even Mr. Pocklington was touched. Hastily heflung together in his mind a few sentences appropriate to the occasion."Unselfishness"--"devotion to a friend"--"a lesson for all"--the roundedphrases formed themselves upon his tongue. He was ready now.
"I cannot refrain--" he began.
It was true enough, but he got no further; for above the formal tones ofhis voice, above the stifled whispering of the school, and above the nowunrestrained lamentations of Isabel Dinting, rose the voice of MasterThomas Oates, in a howl in which remorse, hysteria, and apprehensionwere about equally mingled.
"It was me!" he roared. "Booh--hoo!"
His sinful but sentimental soul, already goaded to excessive discomfortby the promptings of an officious conscience, had with difficultyendured the inquisition upon the innocent Pip, and after Isabel'sromantic intervention he could contain himself no longer. Confessionburst spontaneously from his lips.
"It was me!" he repeated, _fortissimo_, knuckling his eyes.
There was a final astonished gasp from the school.
"It was _I_, Thomas," corrected Mr. Pocklington, the ruling passionstrong even at this crisis.
"No it wasn't!" roared Thomas, determined to purge his soul. "It was_me_! I was in the Study when Pip was outside, and I did it and got outwhen he was talking to Isabel, and--and I won't do it again. Aah--ooh!"
* * * * *
Pip became a hero, of course, but bore his honours with indifference.
Isabel expostulated with him.
"It was awful brave of you to say nothin' all the time," she remarkedadmiringly.
"There was nothing to say," replied Pip, with truth.
"But you said nothin' when you knew it was Tommy all the time,"persisted Isabel, anxious to keep her idol on his pedestal.
"I didn't think it was Tommy," said Pip; "I thought it was you."
Isabel's round eyes grew positively owl-like.
"Me? Oh, Pip! How _splendid_ of you!"
In his lifetime Pip inspired three women with love for him--two morethan his proper allowance. Isabel was the first. The others will followin due course.