Part 5

This action alone showed what a proper rage he was in, because he had gone into the Manor Woods, which was not only going out of bounds, but also trespassing--two things he never did. It was a fearful loss of nerve, and I stood quite still for a good minute after he vanished. Then my first idea was to go and lug him back; but discretion was always the better part of valour with me, and always will be, owing to my character; so I left Travers to his fate, and hoped he'd soon cool down and come back without meeting a keeper. It was growing dusk, too, and I went back to Merivale, and decided not to say anything about Travers minor, except that, while we were engaged in some scouting operations, I had missed him.

I only heard the amazing tale of his adventure afterwards, and though everybody had the story in some shape or form, I got the naked truth from Travers minor himself in his own words. Next morning, much to our surprise, it was given out that Dr. Dunston was unwell, and Fortescue read prayers; and during that event Travers told me all.

"When I left you," he said, "I was in a filthy bate, and for once, instead of not wanting to trespass and break bounds, I did want to. And I went straight into the Manor Woods, and badly frightened some pheasants that had gone to roost, and was immediately soothed. They made a fearful row, and I thought a keeper would be sure to spring up from somewhere, and rather hoped one would, in order to afford me an opportunity for an escape. But nothing happened, and I decided to walk on till I came to the drive, and then boldly go along out of the lodge-gate. Well, I walked through the wood to the drive just before it got dark. I was looking out cautiously from the edge of the wood, to see that all was clear, when I observed a man sitting on the edge of the drive. For a moment I thought it was that wretched Soapy William again. He was humped up and nursing his foot which was evidently badly wounded. Then the man gave a sound between a sigh and a groan and a snuffle, and I saw it was Dr. Dunston!

"Of course, it was the moment of my life, and I felt, in a sort of way, that my whole future career depended upon my next action. My first instinct, remembering that Norris and Booth were both flogged when caught here, was a strategic retreat; but then my duty as a Boy Scout occurred to me. It was a fearful choice of evils, you may say; for if I cleared out, I was disgraced for ever, and my mind couldn't have stood it, and if I went forward, I was also disgraced for ever, because to be flogged, to a chap with my opinions, is about the limit. I considered what should be done, and while I was considering, old Dunston groaned again and said out loud:

"'Tut--tut! This is indeed a tragedy!'

"That decided me, because the question of humanity came in, and looking on into the future in rather a remarkable way, I saw at once that if I retreated and heard next morning that old Dr. Dunston was found dead, I should feel the pangs of remorse for evermore, and they would ruin my life. I also felt that, if I saved him, he was hardly likely to flog me, because there would undoubtedly be a great feeling against him if he did."

"You might have done this," I said. "You might have retreated, and then gone down to the lodge and told the woman that there was an injured man, in great agony, lying half-way up the drive. You might have given a false name yourself, and then, when the rescuing party started, you might have cleared out and so remained anonymous. It would have gone down to the credit of the Boy Scouts, and old Dunston would have been the first to see that the particular Boy Scout in question preferred, for private reasons, to keep his identification a secret."

Travers was much impressed by this view.

"I never thought of that," he said. "Probably, if I had, I should have done it. Anyway, I'm sorry I swore at you and called you a fathead, Briggs. You're not a fathead--far from it."

He then continued his surprising narrative in these words:

"Anyway, I decided to rescue the Doctor, and stepped out of ambush and said:

"'Good evening, sir. I'm afraid you're hurt.'

"He was evidently very glad to see me; but you know his iron discipline. He kept it up even then.

"'What boy are you?' he asked, and I told him I was Travers minor from Merivale.

"'And how comes it you are here?' he asked again.

"'I was operating in the woods on my way home, sir, and I heard your cry of distress.'

"'We will investigate your operations on another occasion, then,' said the Doctor. 'For the moment mine are more important. I have had a bad fall and am in great pain. You had better run as quickly as possible to the Manor House, ask to see Sir Neville Carew, and tell him that I have met with a very severe accident half-way down his drive. Whether I have broken my leg, or put out my ankle, it is not for me to determine. I have been drinking tea with Sir Neville and learning his views as to the War. Be as quick as you can. You will never have a better opportunity to display your agility.'

"Then I hooked it and ran the half-mile or so to the Manor House, sprinting all the way. I soon gave the terrible news, and in about ten minutes Sir Neville Carew himself, with his butler and his footman, set off for the Doctor. And the footman trundled a chair which ran on wheels, and which Sir Neville Carew kindly explained to me he uses himself when he gets an attack of gout, which often happens, unfortunately.

"He didn't ask me how I discovered the accident, which was naturally rather a good thing for me; and when we got back to the Doctor, he told me to hasten on in advance and break the evil tidings. So I cleared out. And I've heard no more yet; but no doubt I shall soon."

That was the great narrative of Travers minor, and after morning school Brown gave out that the Doctor's ankle was very badly sprained, but that things would take their course as usual, and a bulletin be put up on the notice-board in the evening.

And it was, and it said the Doctor was better.

Travers minor heard nothing until three days later, when the Doctor appeared on a crutch and read prayers. Then he had Travers up and addressed the school. And Travers saw at a glance that Dr. Dunston was still in no condition to flog him, even if the will was there.

It ended brilliantly for Travers, really, because the Doctor said he had been an instrument of Providence, and he evidently felt you ought not to flog an instrument of Providence, whatever he's been doing. He reproved Travers minor pretty stiffly, all the same, and said that when he considered what a friend Sir Neville Carew was to the school, and how much he overlooked, and so on, it was infamous that any boy should even glance into his pheasant preserves, much less actually go into them. And Travers minor was finally ordered to spend a half-holiday in visiting Sir Neville Carew and humbly apologizing to him for his conduct. Which he did so, and Sir Neville Carew, on hearing from Travers that he would never do it again on any pretext whatever, was frightfully sporting and forgave him freely, and talked about the War, and reminded him about Sir Baden-Powell's brother, and ended by taking Travers minor into a glass-house full of luscious peaches and giving him two.

And Travers kept one for me, because, he said, if it hadn't been for getting into a wax with me, he would never have trespassed and never have had the adventure at all.

And I said it wasn't so much me as that beast of an old woman who told him his knickers were too tight.

"In strict honesty," I said, "she ought to have this peach."

Then I ate it, and never want to eat a better. In fact, I kept the stone to plant when I went home.

THE HUTCHINGS TESTIMONIAL

Naturally, all Merivale was deeply interested in the adventures of Mr. Hutchings at the Front of the War. Of the three masters who had instantly volunteered, only Hutchings had actually gone to the Front, being a skilled territorial and holding a commission in the Devons; but the other two, Manwaring and Meadows, had to be content with Kitchener's Army, because they were ignorant of the subject of warfare and had to begin at the beginning. Of course, Fortescue would have proudly gone, as his splendid poems on the war and his general valiant feelings showed, and we were very sorry we had misunderstood him; but his aorta being a bit off quite prevented him doing anything except write splendid poems urging everybody else to go; and no doubt many did go because of them. As for Brown, he was five feet nothing, or thereabouts, and so he wasn't wanted, and I believe in secret he thanked God for it, though in public he said it was the bitterest blow of his life. And Rice, who doesn't fear Brown, asked him why he didn't join a Ghurka regiment; and Brown said nothing would have given him greater pleasure, only, unfortunately, owing to caste, and religion, and one thing and another, it was out of the question. He appeared to bar the bantam regiment also, probably not so much as the bantam regiment would have barred him.

So you may say Merivale only had one man at the positive Front, though Jenny Dunston, the Doctor's youngest daughter but two, was engaged to a man in the Welsh Fusiliers, and he was there, and Abbott's father was also there. They were, of course, nothing to us, though no doubt a good deal to Jenny Dunston and Abbott's mother; but all our excitement centred on Hutchings, who was a lieutenant, and was often believed to do the work of a captain when actually under fire. He occasionally sent a postcard to Fortescue, saying that all was well, and I believe Fortescue also got a letter with pieces censored out of it; but he did not show it to us, though he told Travers minor and Briggs that it was anxious work. This was when the British Expedition was falling back, much to its regret. But soon the time came when they got going forward again, and then Fortescue bucked up and, I believe, wrote his best poetry. In fact, Fortescue really was a sort of weather-glass of the War, if you understand me, and chaps in his class said that, after a reverse, you could do simply anything with him, and he didn't seem to have the slightest interest in work, and didn't care if you were right or wrong. And in a way it was equally all right for his class after a victory, for then he was so hopeful and pleased that he never came down on anybody. So we hadn't got to read the papers, because, after seeing Fortescue in the morning, we always knew the general hang of the War. In fact, Mitchell, who was a cunning student of other people's characters, though his own was beastly, said that you had only got to look at Fortescue's neck to know how it was going at the Front. If his head was hanging over his chest, it was certain the Allies had had a nasty knock; and if it was just about normal, you knew nothing had happened to matter either way; and if it was thrown up and straight, and Fortescue's eyes were bright behind his glasses, then you knew that we had scored, or else the French or Russians had. Then a little child could lead Fortescue, as Mitchell said.

And at last came Hill No. 60, and the fearfully sad news that Hutchings was dead or wounded; and many of us would have given a week's pocket-money to know which. Then came the good news under the Roll of Honour that he was only wounded, and after that, many of us would have given a week's pocket-money to know where. Presently we heard from Dr. Dunston that he was in Paris; and then we heard that he was coming to England and going to the private house of some very sporting rich people who had turned their mansion into a hospital for wounded officers.

Then Fortescue heard from Hutchings, and most kindly gave us the information that he had been wounded in two places--the shoulder and the calf of the right leg. And we were thankful that it was no worse.

We were allowed to write to Hutchings, and Barrington, who was head boy now that Travers major had left, composed a letter, and everybody signed it. And I hope he liked it. But then came the great idea of a presentation to Hutchings. I am Blades, and it was my idea, though afterwards Sutherland and Thwaites claimed it. But I promise you it was mine, and we had a meeting in chapel one night before prep., at which Barrington proposed and I seconded the great thought that we should make a collection of money for a memorial to Hutchings.

Barrington said:

"We are met together for a good object, namely, to collect money for a valuable memorial of his bravery in the War for Mr. Hutchings, or I should say Lieutenant Hutchings. Everybody here--even his own class--likes him; and the new boys, who do not know him, would equally like him if they did. No doubt there will be a very fine medal of Hill No. 60 struck and presented to our troops who were in that terrific battle, and no doubt Lieutenant Hutchings will get it; but it often takes years and years before war medals are struck and presented to the heroes of a battle, and I have heard that some of the medals from the Battle of Waterloo are still hanging fire; and many ought to have had them who died a natural death long before they were sent out. So I propose that we make a collection for Mr. Hutchings and present him with a valuable object before he goes back to the War, because, if we leave it till afterwards, it may be too late."

And I said:

"I beg to second the excellent speech we have just heard, and if anybody is of a different opinion, let him say so."

It was carried.

Then Barrington said we must have a committee of management, with a secretary and treasurer, and it was done.

The committee consisted of me and Barrington and Sutherland and Thwaites; and Rice, who would not have been on such an important thing in the ordinary way, was proposed, because he was enormously popular and would be able to persuade many to subscribe who would not otherwise do so without great pressure. That only left the treasurer, and well knowing Mitchell's financial skill and mastery of arithmetic in general, I proposed him. Some chaps, who owed Mitchell money, were rather shy of voting for him; but finally they decided it was better to have him for a friend than an enemy, and so they voted in his favour. I myself owed Mitchell three shillings, for which I was paying twopence a week, which was a fair interest. And personally I always found him honourable, though firm.

Anyway, he was made treasurer, and he said the subscription lists must be posted in a public place, because in these cases people liked to see their names where other people would also see them, and that publicity was the backbone of philanthropy.

We left it with him, as he thoroughly understood that branch of the testimonial, and meanwhile from time to time the committee met to consider what ought to be bought. And we differed a good deal on the subject. I thought, as Hutchings would certainly go back to the War when he was well, we ought to buy him a complete outfit of comforts, including blankets, tobacco--of which he was very fond--a Thermos flask, a wool helmet, day socks, night socks, a mouth-guard to keep out German stinks, and, in fact, everything to help him through the misery of warfare, including a filter for drinking water. And Sutherland was rather inclined to agree with me, but the others were not.

Thwaites said:

"My dear Blades, you talk as if you were his grandmother. No doubt he's got women relations to look after paltry things like that; but a testimonial rises to a much higher plane, in my opinion. It ought to be something that will last for ever and not wear out and be forgotten."

And Rice said:

"Get the man a revolver."

And Barrington said:

"He's got one."

And Rice said:

"Of course he has. And if we get him another, then he'd have two, and that means six less Germans some day, very likely."

But Barrington didn't approve.

"We want a testimonial that has nothing to do with actual battle," he said. "The War won't last for ever, and we ought to buy something useful, and also ornamental, that Hutchings will be able to employ in everyday life when all is over. We want something that will catch his eye a hundred times a day and pleasantly remind him and his family of his heroic past--and us."

"An heirloom, in fact," said Thwaites.

But I argued that practical comforts at the critical moment would be far better than an heirloom for future use, because if he didn't have the mouth-guard and filter and so on, he might die; and where would the heirloom come in then?

I said:

"What's the good of knowing you've got a silver ink-pot, or a tea-kettle, or a cellaret full of whisky at home, when you're perishing for a wholesome drink on the field?"

And Barrington said that was petty, and so did Thwaites. They seemed to think that the remembrance of our testimonial safe at home would carry Hutchings safely through all the horrors of the campaign.

It turned out that I had rather touched up Barrington, for he had actually been thinking about a silver ink-pot, and Thwaites had been thinking about a cellaret with three bottles of various spirits; but I told them flatly I didn't agree with them. Then they asked Sutherland his idea, and he said it wasn't so much what we should like as what Hutchings would.

He said:

"Perhaps a very fine meerschaum pipe, mounted in silver with an inscription, would do, because there you have a creature comfort of the first class and also a testimonial which would not wear out. And a pipe would be far more to Hutchings, either in war or peace, than an ink-pot, or, in fact, anything of that sort."

And Rice said:

"Why not get the man a sword? He could use it in the War, and, if all went well, he could hang it up in his home afterwards; and if there was blood on it, then he'd have great additional pleasure every time he looked at it. And so would his family."

Barrington rather liked the sword; but he said classy swords were frightfully expensive, and he doubted whether we should run to it. Then the committee broke up, to meet again when we found how the subscriptions came in.

Unfortunately, this department of the testimonial was very slow. Mitchell, with great trouble, wrote out a list of the whole school, and was allowed to put it on the notice-board. Class by class he wrote it--one hundred and thirty-two boys he wrote--with money columns and a line leading from each boy to the money column. On it, in large ornamental letters, Nicholson, who was a dab at printing, put the words--

TESTIMONIAL FUND TO LIEUTENANT HUTCHINGS, FROM MERIVALE SCHOOL.

Then we all waited breathlessly for the result in the money column. There was some delay, because everybody, of course, wrote home on the subject and mentioned it in the next Sunday's letters; and we pointed out to the kids that a good and useful thing to write home about, and something at least to fill two pages, would be the Hutchings testimonial. Whether they made the appeal or not, of course, none could tell, but if they did, the response was fearfully feeble. When questioned, they said that their people at home had done such a frightful lot for the War already that further cash for Hutchings was out of the question; while other parents wrote back, not that they had done much for the War, but that the War had done much for them in a very unfavourable manner. The result was apparently the same in each case, and the Lower School, all except Peterson in the Third, responded very badly to the appeal. He produced ten bob, much to our amazement, and there was one other ten bob, secured by Abbott through his mother, because his father was at the Front and still unwounded. As for the Sixth, who headed the list, we all gave three bob to a man, except Barrington, who gave five. The Fifth came out at about one and tenpence a head, which was fair, without being particularly dazzling; but the Fourth fell away a good deal. And after that there was a hideous array of blanks.

Mitchell said it was probably owing to the utter failure of the dividends of the parents of the Lower School; and as we could not apparently make bricks without straw, we considered how to tackle the Lower School. There is no doubt the failure was genuine, for many of them had even their pocket-money reduced; so Pegram--who had only subscribed a shilling himself, by the way--proposed that the kids should be invited to give property instead of cash.

He said:

"If they all yield up something they value, we can collect the goods in a mass and have a sale, and the proceeds of the sale can go to the Hutchings Testimonial."

The committee approved of this, excepting Thwaites, who thought nothing of it; but when asked to give his objections, he merely said:

"Wait and see."

Which we did do, and found that Thwaites was wonderfully right, and had looked on ahead much farther than us. The kids agreed willingly to subscribe in goods, and were only too delighted to do so; but when it came to the point, the goods of the kids proved utterly worthless in the open market. It was a revelation, in a sort of a way, to see the things the kids valued and honestly thought were worth money. In fact, Preston said it was pathetic, and Pegram said we had a good foundation for a rubbish heap, but nothing more. They brought string and screws and nails, also the glass marbles from a certain make of ginger-beer bottle, and knives fearfully out of order, and corkscrews, and padlocks without keys, and a few threadbare story books, and three copies of _Hymns Ancient and Modern_, and two old horseshoes, and catapults and bullets and shot and charms. They also brought three steel watch-chains and one leather one; and Percy Minimus offered a watch-chain made from his mother's hair, so he said; but nobody bid for it, naturally, for who on earth wants a watch-chain made out of somebody else's mother's hair? There was also a bottle imp, fourteen indiarubber balls and seven golf balls--all worn out--two kids' cricket bats unspliced, three pairs of tan gloves--new but small--and one pair of wool ones, eight neckties, not new, and a silk handkerchief, given to Tudor in case he had a cold in his head, but not required up till now, and therefore new. Among other items was half a packet of Sanatogen, also from Tudor, a box of chocolate cigarettes, several conjuring tricks, mostly out of order, and three guinea-pigs alive. Of other live things were included a white rat, with pink eyes and a hairless, pinkish tail, and a dormouse, which Mathers said was hibernating, though Mitchell thought was dead. It proved alive, on applying warmth, and fetched fivepence. Lastly, there was a chrysalis, into which a remarkable caterpillar, found by Hastings on the twenty-first of last September, had turned; and as nobody knew the species of moth to be presently produced by it, Hastings thought it worth money, and put a reserve of two-pence on it. But the chrysalis was long overdue, and so it did not reach the reserve; and so Hastings, who was still hopeful, bought it back for that sum. As a matter of fact, it never turned into anything, and was found to be quite hollow when examined.

There was a good deal of other trash hardly worth mentioning, and many lots at the sale did not produce any offer at all, let alone competition; and the owners of these lots thankfully got them back again, though, of course, sorry that they commanded no market value. And some kids were much surprised to find their rubbish had no value at all in the eyes of the larger world, so to speak.