Part 4

"We must have no larks of this sort, my boy. What! _My_ niece gallivanting about the downs with a lively young man! Miss Hazelby is inexpressibly shocked. A rod has been pickling the whole day, you may swear. And she says that you boys make love to the child. Do you?"

"I'd l-l-like to," said Mark abjectedly, "but I haven't--yet."

The Admiral paced the room slowly, as if it were a quarter-deck. His grey beard lay upon his broad chest; his red weather-beaten countenance was heavy with thought.

"Look ye here," said he at length. "This is serious, and I take it seriously. I am tempted to call you a--jackanapes. As it is, I prefer to say--nothing, except this: you ought to be birched."

"I f-feel as if you were b-b-birching me."

His face relaxed.

"My boy, I'm sorry for you. You may not believe it, but when I was seventeen and in the Mediterranean squadron"--the Admiral's voice became reminiscent--"I had the doose of an affair. I suffered like any Romeo, and my Juliet was only eight-and--er--twenty! Well, sir, I fought and conquered, and so must you, by God!"

"I have f-f-fought, sir; and I am c-c-conquered."

"You're glib with your tongue. I daresay Betty thinks you a tremendous fellow."

"She thinks us--very s-s-silly."

"Us? Miriam Hazelby was right. The little baggage! A De Courcy from tip to toe already. Well, my boy, shake hands! You've made a clean breast of it, and I respect you for that. And you're in your salad days, too. So--no more! If you choose to sigh for the moon I can't prevent you. Good night."

Mark went home, humble as Uriah Heap. None the less, he made a tolerable dinner, and felt happy and hopeful after it. And that night he dreamed he was illustrious--a great soldier, a ruler amongst men. But, high though he climbed, aye, even to the Milky Way itself, where honours gleamed innumerable, he could not attain to the object of his dreams--the lovely Moon!

*CHAPTER V*

*VALETE*

It was now definitely decided that Archibald Samphire must go into the Church, and in due time hold the snug family living. The Squire, however, was of the opinion that Her Majesty's scarlet would mightily become his handsome second son, whereas the black of a Clerk in Orders would do well enough for Mark. Archie, to his father's surprise, chose the sable instead of the gules. Amongst the Samphires it was a tradition that the second son always became a parson. Archie had a respect amounting to veneration for tradition.

"Suit yourselves," said the Squire of Pitt Hall to his sons. "I should have liked to have seen Archie on a charger."

"But what a leg for a gaiter," said Mark, hinting at episcopal honours.

Archibald was now a very big fellow indeed, so big that when he went in to bat at Lord's, as captain of the Harrow eleven, a small Eton boy, not far from Lord Randolph's coach, called out shrilly: "I say, Samphire, how's your wife and family?" This was the famous year when Eton was beaten by five wickets, having suffered defeat during four previous summers. And the only thing that marred Archie's triumph was the fact that Mark, despite the services of a professional during the Easter holidays, had not a place in his eleven. On the eve of the great match one vacancy remained to be filled. It became certain that either Mark or Jim Corrance would fill it. Jim has confessed since with shame that he was miserably jealous of Mark, that for a dreadful three weeks this feeling strained their friendship. And he knew that Mark was the better cricketer; more, that he had made his friend a better cricketer, that Jim's understanding of and skill in the game were due to Mark's precept and practice. Mark would whip a cricket-ball out of his pocket, whenever five minutes could be spared, crying, "Come on, old chap, you muffed an easy one yesterday--_catch_!" And the ball would whizz at Jim's toes. But during the last trial match Mark fainted from the heat, and Jim took his place in the slips. That night Archie sent for Jim.

"You can get your 'straw,'" he growled.

"But Mark----"

"Won't take it."

"Won't--take--it?"

"He's right. He hasn't the strength. He might faint at Lord's. We can't run any risks."

Jim went back to his room--confounded. Mark met him and gripped his hands.

"You've g-got it," he cried. "I _am_ glad. Isn't it glorious?"

"_Glorious?_"

Jim sat down and blubbered, like a Fourth Form boy.

However, it seemed certain then that another year would place Mark in the eleven, and also amongst the monitors, but this happy end to his Harrow career was not to be. Archibald, Jim, and he left Billy's at the end of the Easter half. In those days it was hardly possible for a boy to pass into Sandhurst direct from a public school. Billy said that Mark could do it--at the expense of his health; for extra subjects, like geometrical drawing, English literature, history, and so forth, would have had to be learned in addition to the regular school work, which in the Upper Sixth was as stiff as it could be.

"I'm very sorry to lose you," said Billy, when the brothers bade him good-bye. "Samphire major's future I am not concerned about. But I do worry about you, Samphire minor, because you attempt too much, you--er--so to speak--strain at the camel and swallow the gnat. Well, well," he fumbled with his glasses, "I should like to give you the benefit of my experience, but," he pursed up his lips, "I am not sanguine enough to hope that you will profit by it. Some excellent people think I take my duties too lightly. Perhaps I do, per--haps I do. A big house like this represents a force against which one individual is expected to pit his strength. But I realised long ago that what energy I could spare must of necessity prove--er--intermittent, the undisciplined, amorphous resistance would be constant. You--er--take me? Yes. So I governed myself accordingly. The great force which I was invited to control sways hither and thither, veering now to the right, and now--er--to the wrong. The swing of the pendulum, in fine. When it swings to the right I push it, so it swings a little farther; and when it swings the other way I pull behind, and perhaps it does not swing quite so far; but I don't try to stop the swing, because I know that such a feat is beyond my powers. I trust you are following me, Samphire minor. You, I fear, will recklessly expose yourself--and be rolled over, as happened in our house-match against Bashan's. There--I have warned you."

He signed to Archibald to remain behind. For a moment there was silence. Billy leaned back in his chair polishing the lenses of his pince-nez with a fine cambric handkerchief.

"If Mark had your body," he began absently, then, faintly smiling, he added: "Ah, what possibilities lie in that 'if,' which it were vain, quite vain to consider. Well, I hope that nothing will come between you and him, that your brotherly love, which has been a pleasant thing to witness, will continue to grow in strength. Mark has an extravagant affection for you--the greater because he does not wear it on his sleeve. Your success here has sweetened the bitterness of his many disappointments. You will get more from him than you give."

Archibald felt his cheek beginning to burn.

"Don't distress yourself on that account," said Billy kindly; "only take what he gives, _generously_, and so you will best help him to play his part in life."

After this interview followed the farewell supper in the common-room, with its toasts and speeches. Archie made certain that he would break down in his speech. And before the fags! He could see and hear the heartless little beasts snickering! As captain of the eleven and of the Philathletic Club, he was expected to speak about games; as a monitor, it was no less a duty to mention work. Finally he wrote out his speech and submitted it to Mark.

"Just what they'll expect," Mark observed. "You j-j-jolly well crack 'em up, and then let 'em down a peg or two. You tell 'em what they know already--that Billy's is the best house in the school; and then you hope that it will remain so after you have left. No doubt without your moral and physical support, Billy's is likely to go to p-p-pot."

"You make me out an ass."

"Most Englishmen either grunt or bray when they get on to their legs to m-m-make a speech."

"And what are you going to say?"

"Nothing. Mum's the word for a stammerer. I shall bid 'em good-bye, that's all."

Thanks to Mark's criticism, Archie saw and seized an opportunity. He told the house he was convinced that its present prosperous condition was entirely due to his personal exertions, that he trembled for its future after he had left, that, if possible, he promised to run down from time to time for the purpose of giving advice to the Doctor, which he was sure would be appreciated--and so forth. Billy's roared with laughter, although the sneering voice of Nixon minimus was heard: "I say, he's trying to be funny!" When Archie sat down, the head of the house proposed Mark's health. The old common-room rocked with cheers. None doubted his popularity, but this deafening roar of applause lent it extraordinary significance, because such tributes were reserved for famous athletes, and for them alone.

"Thank you," he began; "thank you very much. I suppose you have believed all the p-pleasant things that the head of the house has just told you about me..." Here a dozen voices interrupted, "Yes, we do"; "He didn't lay it on thick enough"; "You're a beast to leave us," and the like. Mark continued, and in his voice there was a curious minor inflection which held attention and silence in thrall: "I am glad you believe them, although he has laid it on too thick. You see we can't get away from f-f-facts, can we? And the fact is I've been a f-f-failure." He paused. "I wanted to play in a cockhouse m-match at footer; I w-wanted to w-win a school race; and I w-w-wanted--by Jove! how b-badly I w-wanted that--I wanted my 'straw.'"

"It was offered him," said Archie.

"It was offered me," repeated Mark. "And if I'd taken it, it might have p-proved the straw which breaks the camel's back. Jim Corrance got it, and we know what back he broke--eh? The b-b-back of the Eton bowling." (A terrible din followed, during which Billy appeared, holding up a protesting hand: "My dear fellows, unless you are more careful you will destroy this ramshackle house!")

Meantime Mark had sat down, but every boy in Billy's respected his silence. He did not wish them good-bye, because he couldn't.

*CHAPTER VI*

*AT BURLINGTON HOUSE*

You may divide the world into those who pipe and those who dance. The pipers, for the most part, envy the dancers; but many a dancer has confessed that the piper, after all, has the best of it.

Mark and Jim Corrance, at this period of their lives, were dancers to lively measures. They lived at home for a year, emancipated youths, enjoying the pleasures of Arcadia. Three times a week they rode across the grey, green downs, "that melt and fade into the distant sky," into Westchester, where a scholar of repute undertook their preparation for Sandhurst. Other days they worked at home, not too hard, and played much tennis--a new game then--and practised arts which please country maidens, amongst whom Betty Kirtling was not. For the Admiral, having no stomach for immature Romeos, sent his niece abroad (in the company of Miss Hazelby) to Dresden and Lausanne, whence letters came describing queer foreign folk with sprightliness and humour, and always ending "your most affectionate--Betty."

As the months passed, Jim became aware how strenuously Mark's heart was set on a soldier's career. One night, for instance, the young fellows were dining with the Randolphs at Birr Wood, when a famous general was present. Mark confessed himself aflame to meet the hero; and the hero, when he met Mark, became interested in him. Who shall say there is not some subtle quality, undetected by the common herd, which reveals itself to genius, because it is part, and not the least part, of genius? And you will notice that if a great man be speaking in general company, his eyes will wander here and there in search of the kindred soul, and when that is found, they wander no more. On this occasion a chance remark led the talk to India. Lord Randolph regretted that so brilliant a soldier as Hodson should have slain the Taimur princes with his own hand. The hero, who had known Hodson intimately, said that the princes had been given no assurance that their lives would be spared, and that their escape would have proved an immeasurable calamity. As he went on to speak of Nicholson and the siege of Delhi, the buzz of prattle round the big table ceased.

"He suffered excruciating pain" (the general was alluding to Nicholson), "but not a complaint, not a sigh, leaked from his lips. During nine awful days of agony, his heroic mind fixed itself upon the needs of his country, to the very last he gave us sound and clear advice. When he died, the grim frontier chiefs, who had witnessed unmoved the most frightful atrocities, stood by his dead body with the tears streaming down their cheeks...."

"What a man!" exclaimed Mark.

"Ay," said the general. He stared at Mark, and continued, giving details of what followed the fall of Delhi: then unpublished history. The speaker had marched with the column despatched to the relief of Cawnpore. "We could only spare," said he, "seven hundred and fifty British and one thousand nine hundred native soldiers, and--let me see--how many field-guns?" He paused with his eyes still on Mark.

"Sixteen field-guns," said Mark.

"Yes, you are right. Sixteen field-guns." Then as he realised from whom he had received this piece of information, he broke into an exclamation: "God bless me! How did _you_ know that?"

"I've read the d-despatches," said Mark, blushing.

After dinner the general came up to Mark and asked him if he were going to be a soldier. On Mark's eager affirmative, he said deliberately: "When you are gazetted, my boy, come to see me. I'd like to make your better acquaintance."

For a week Mark could talk of nothing save the Indian Mutiny.

"You're too keen," said Jim. "Suppose we don't pass?"

"Not p-p-pass? That's a dead certainty."

"If we did not pass----"

"We could enlist, Jim. I say, you're not going into the Service because, b-b-because I am?"

"You lit the match," Jim admitted. "A fellow must do something. Soldiering's as good as anything else."

"Ten times as good as anything else," Mark exclaimed.

Jim nodded, sensible that Mark cast a glamour over the future. As a child Jim could never listen to tales of smuggling, of hidden treasure, of Captain Kidd and the Spanish Main, without feeling a titillation of the marrow. And now that he was eighteen, with fluff on his lip, Mark could provoke this agreeable sensation whenever he pleased. That he could fire Jim was not surprising, for Jim was tinder to many sparks, but he could fire Archibald also.

"I back you to win big stakes," he would say. "W-w-what did the gipsy predict? You will g-get what you want, because you want it so badly. You've a leg for a g-g-gaiter. And your voice, your v-voice is amazing. I'd sooner hear you sing r-rot than listen to Lord Randolph talking s-sense. You must have the best of singing lessons. Why--you'll charm the b-birds off the trees."

Archie did take lessons; and began to warble at many houses ballads such as "'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay," "Sally in our Alley," and "I saw from the Beach when the Morning was Shining." He grew bigger and stronger and handsomer every day, and Mark's pride in and affection for this splendid elder brother became something of a thorn in the side of his friend Jim. Mark had an ingenuous habit of putting wise words into the mouth of this Olympian. "Old Archie," he would observe, with a beaming face, "thinks so-and-so...." Jim was sorely tempted to retort: "If old Archie thinks that, why the deuce doesn't he say it?" It was plain to Jim that Archie's brains were of a quality inferior to Mark's, but Mark would not allow this, and always waxed warm if anyone dared to speak slightingly of the colossus. Archie, for his part, returned his minor's affection, and not only sought for, but accepted graciously that minor's advice.

A year later Mark and Jim went up to London for the competitive examination, lodging at a family hotel in Down Street, an old-fashioned inn where the name of Samphire was known and respected. The Squire offered to accompany them, but Mark begged him to stay at Pitt Hall. Mark and Jim unpacked their traps, and then looked out of the window over the great world of London.

"Too much smoke for me," said Jim, seeing nothing but dun-coloured roofs and chimney-pots innumerable.

"But think of the f-f-fires," said Mark, "and of the faces round the fires. I am sure I should learn to like London, if it were not so beastly dirty. Why, there are smuts on my cuffs already."

They had a luncheon such as boys love: chops fizzing and sputtering from the gridiron, a couple of tankards of stout, a tart with Devonshire cream, and some Stilton cheese.

"Are you nervous?" said Mark.

Jim admitted a qualm or two.

"We ought to come out amongst the first twenty."

"If I am dead lag, I shall be jolly thankful," said Jim.

After lunch they took a turn down Piccadilly. Mark talked: "I say, what a glorious b-buzzing, like a swarm o' bees in June, and we're in the hive--eh?"

Presently they entered the Burlington Arcade, exchanging greetings with old school-fellows; some of them forlorn of countenance; others bubbling over with self-assurance. The Medical Board had to be passed that afternoon. Disjointed phrases flitted in and out of Mark's ear. "Not got a chance, I tell you, but it pleases my people to see me make an ass of myself--Fancy a rank outsider like that wanting to go into the Service--Yes; seventy-nine, not out--and first-class cricket--Who are those fellows with dirty collars?--If you try to crib and get nailed, you're done--Hullo, Samphire minor! you're going to pass in first, I know--I say, I saw your aunt the other day--What dead?--And a jolly good thing, too--One of the biggest duffers in the school, I tell you--With windgalls and an awful splint--Played for the 'Varsity--And, as luck 'd have it, he hit her favourite cat----"

Outside the Arcade, they shook themselves free of the chatterers.

"I am in a beastly funk," said Jim, as they went up the stairs of Burlington House.

"Funk of what?" Mark answered impatiently.

"I don't know," Jim muttered vaguely.

They entered a long, ill-lighted room, and waited their turn. Boy after boy came out grinning, and buttoning up coat and waistcoat.

"Rather a farce this medical exam," whispered Mark; and then, as he spoke, his voice broke into a stammer: "I s-s-say--w-w-who's this?"

A fellow they had known at Harrow was coming through the great double doors. His face was white as a sheet and his lips blue. He was hurrying by, when Mark called him by name.

"They won't have me," he gasped. "I--I thought I was all right," he added piteously, "but I ain't."

"What's wrong?" said Mark.

"Heart. I asked 'em to tell me. They were rather decent, but I'm done. If you don't mind, I'll hook it now. No, don't come with me. I'm not as bad as that. Only it will, it may--grow worse."

He shambled away with the step of an old man. Mark's face was working with sympathy.

"How b-b-beastly!" he said. "And it m-m-might be one of us."

They passed through the doors into a larger room beyond. Here a score or more boys in all stages of dressing and undressing were dotting the floor. Near the window a big, burly man was testing the sight of a slender, round-shouldered youth. "How many fingers do I hold up?" Jim heard him say; and the unhappy youth replied: "Three!" The big man laughed grimly. "Wrong. Come a little nearer, and try again."

Jim was confoundedly pale.

"Pinch your cheeks," Mark whispered.

They were told to strip, and did so, but waited for some time, while the wind from an open window blew cold on their bare backs.

"Let's slip on our coats," Jim suggested.

"The others don't do it," said Mark, glancing at a row of shivering boys, "and we won't."

After what seemed an interminable interval, Jim's name was called. The doctor into whose hands he fell made short work of him. He clapped a stethoscope to his chest and back, looked at his legs, asked a few questions, and smiled pleasantly. "If you can see and hear, you're all right," said he. "_Next!_" Jim went back to where his clothes lay in a heap on the chair. He knew that his sight and hearing were excellent; but why in the name of all that was hateful did not Mark come back? Half-way down the room Jim could see him, standing in front of a small, ferret-faced man, who was talking quickly. Now, Jim had not been asked to run round a table or to perform any other strange exercises, but Mark was treated less kindly. Jim saw him jump on and off a bench; then he began to run, and Jim caught the quick command: "Faster, sir, faster!" And then the stethoscope was laid upon his heaving chest. Jim watched the doctor's impassible face. Suddenly the doctor looked up and beckoned to the man who had examined Jim. The second doctor put his ear to the stethoscope.

"Catch him!" yelled Jim.

A hush fell upon the big room as Jim sprang forward, half clothed and choking with excitement. He had seen Mark quiver and reel, but the tall, thin doctor had seen it too. When Jim reached them, Mark was on his back on the big table. The ferret-faced man was smiling disagreeably, and tapping the palm of his hand with the end of his stethoscope.

"Absolutely unfit," Jim heard him say. "Not a surgeon in London would pass him."

"Not pass him?" Jim said furiously. "He's only fainted; he's done that before, that's nothing."

"Isn't it?" said the little man drily. Then he added malevolently: "When I am ready to receive instruction from you, young sir, I will let you know."

When they got back to the hotel and were alone, Mark flung himself into an armchair. Presently he said quietly: "Let's get seats for the play"; so they walked as far as Mitchell's in Bond Street, and bought two stalls for the _Colleen Bawn_, in which Dion Boucicault was acting. Then they strolled on to Regent's Park. Not a word was said about what passed in Burlington House till they were crossing Portland Place, where a cousin of Mark's had a house.

"I shan't go back to Pitt Hall till your exam is over," Mark said. "I'd sooner stop up here with you."

"I don't care a hang about the exam now," Jim blurted out.

"I know you don't," Mark replied. "All the same, you must do your level best."

This calmness surprised Jim. But after the play, as they were strolling home through the crowded, gas-lit streets, Mark whispered fiercely: "I'd like to get drunk to-night."

"Let's do it," said Jim.

"Good old chap! Do you think I'd let you do it?" He glanced at a handsome roysterer, who was reeling by on the arm of a girl as reckless-looking as her companion. "I can guess how _they_ feel, poor devils!"

"We'll have a nightcap, anyhow," said Jim.