[5]
FARNIE GETS INTO TROUBLE--
It was perhaps only natural that Farnie, having been warned so stronglyof the inadvisability of having anything to do with Monk, should forthat very reason be attracted to him. Nobody ever wants to do anythingexcept what they are not allowed to do. Otherwise there is noexplaining the friendship that arose between them. Jack Monk was not anattractive individual. He had a slack mouth and a shifty eye, and hiscomplexion was the sort which friends would have described as olive,enemies (with more truth) as dirty green. These defects would havemattered little, of course, in themselves. There's many a biliouscountenance, so to speak, covers a warm heart. With Monk, however,appearances were not deceptive. He looked a bad lot, and he was one.
It was on the second morning of term that the acquaintanceship began.Monk was coming downstairs from his study with Danvers, and Farnie wasleaving the fags' day-room.
'See that kid?' said Danvers. 'That's the chap I was telling you about.Gethryn's uncle, you know.'
'Not really? Let's cultivate him. I say, old chap, don't walk so fast.'Farnie, rightly concluding that the remark was addressed to him, turnedand waited, and the three strolled over to the School buildingstogether.
They would have made an interesting study for the observer of humannature, the two seniors fancying that they had to deal with a small boyjust arrived at his first school, and in the grip of that strange, lostfeeling which attacks the best of new boys for a day or so after theirarrival; and Farnie, on the other hand, watching every move, asperfectly composed and at home as a youth should be with the experienceof three public schools to back him up.
When they arrived at the School gates, Monk and Danvers turned to go inthe direction of their form-room, the Remove, leaving Farnie at thedoor of the Upper Fourth. At this point a small comedy took place.Monk, after feeling hastily in his pockets, requested Danvers to lendhim five shillings until next Saturday. Danvers knew this request ofold, and he knew the answer that was expected of him. By replying thathe was sorry, but he had not got the money, he gave Farnie, who wasstill standing at the door, his cue to offer to supply the deficiency.Most new boys--they had grasped this fact from experience--would havefelt it an honour to oblige a senior with a small loan. As Farnie madeno signs of doing what was expected of him, Monk was obliged to resortto the somewhat cruder course of applying for the loan in person. Heapplied. Farnie with the utmost willingness brought to light a handfulof money, mostly gold. Monk's eye gleamed approval, and he stretchedforth an itching palm. Danvers began to think that it would be rash tolet a chance like this slip. Ordinarily the tacit agreement between thepair was that only one should borrow at a time, lest confidence shouldbe destroyed in the victim. But here was surely an exception, a specialcase. With a young gentleman so obviously a man of coin as Farnie, therule might well be broken for once.
'While you're about it, Farnie, old man,' he said carelessly, 'you mightlet me have a bob or two if you don't mind. Five bob'll see me throughto Saturday all right.'
'Do you mean tomorrow?' enquired Farnie, looking up from his heap ofgold.
'No, Saturday week. Let you have it back by then at the latest. Make apoint of it.'
'How would a quid do?'
'Ripping,' said Danvers ecstatically.
'Same here,' assented Monk.
'Then that's all right,' said Farnie briskly; 'I thought perhaps youmightn't have had enough. You've got a quid, I know, Monk, because Isaw you haul one out at breakfast. And Danvers has got one too, becausehe offered to toss you for it in the study afterwards. And besides, Icouldn't lend you anything in any case, because I've only got aboutfourteen quid myself.'
With which parting shot he retired, wrapped in gentle thought, into hisform-room; and from the noise which ensued immediately upon hisarrival, the shrewd listener would have deduced, quite correctly, thathe had organized and taken the leading part in a general rag.
Monk and Danvers proceeded upon their way.
'You got rather left there, old chap,' said Monk at length.
'I like that,' replied the outraged Danvers. 'How about you, then? Itseemed to me you got rather left, too.'
Monk compromised.
'Well, anyhow,' he said, 'we shan't get much out of that kid.'
'Little beast,' said Danvers complainingly. And they went on into theirform-room in silence.
'I saw your young--er--relative in earnest conversation with friendMonk this morning,' said Marriott, later on in the day, to Gethryn; 'Ithought you were going to give him the tip in that direction?'
'So I did,' said the Bishop wearily; 'but I can't always be lookingafter the little brute. He only does it out of sheer cussedness,because I've told him not to. It stands to reason that he can't_like_ Monk.'
'You remind me of the psalmist and the wicked man, surname unknown,'said Marriott. 'You _can't_ see the good side of Monk.'
'There isn't one.'
'No. He's only got two sides, a bad side and a worse side, which hesticks on on the strength of being fairly good at games. I wonder ifhe's going to get his First this season. He's not a bad bat.'
'I don't think he will. He is a good bat, but there are heaps better inthe place. I say, I think I shall give young Farnie the tip once more,and let him take it or leave it. What do you think?'
'He'll leave it,' said Marriott, with conviction.
Nor was he mistaken. Farnie listened with enthusiasm to his nephew'ssecond excursus on the Monk topic, and, though he said nothing, wasapparently convinced. On the following afternoon Monk, Danvers,Waterford, and he hired a boat and went up the river together. Gethrynand Marriott, steered by Wilson, who was rapidly developing into auseful coxswain, got an excellent view of them moored under the shadeof a willow, drinking ginger-beer, and apparently on the best of termswith one another and the world in general. In a brief but moving speechthe Bishop finally excommunicated his erring relative. 'For all Icare,' he concluded, 'he can do what he likes in future. I shan't stophim.'
'No,' said Marriott, 'I don't think you will.'
For the first month of his school life Farnie behaved, except in hischoice of companions, much like an ordinary junior. He played cricketmoderately well, did his share of compulsory fielding at the FirstEleven net, and went for frequent river excursions with Monk, Danvers,and the rest of the Mob.
At first the other juniors of the House were inclined to resent thisextending of the right hand of fellowship to owners of studies andSecond Eleven men, and attempted to make Farnie see the sin and follyof his ways. But Nature had endowed that youth with a fund of vitriolicrepartee. When Millett, one of Leicester's juniors, evolved somelaborious sarcasm on the subject of Farnie's swell friends, Farnie, ina series of three remarks, reduced him, figuratively speaking, to asmall and palpitating spot of grease. After that his actions came infor no further, or at any rate no outspoken comment.
Given sixpence a week and no more, Farnie might have survived an entireterm without breaking any serious School rule. But when, after buying abicycle from Smith of Markham's, he found himself with eight pounds tohis name in solid cash, and the means of getting far enough away fromthe neighbourhood of the School to be able to spend it much as heliked, he began to do strange and risky things in his spare time.
The great obstacle to illicit enjoyment at Beckford was the fouro'clock roll-call on half-holidays. There were other obstacles, such ashalf-holiday games and so forth, but these could be avoided by theexercise of a little judgement. The penalty for non-appearance at ahalf-holiday game was a fine of sixpence. Constant absence was likelyin time to lead to a more or less thrilling interview with the captainof cricket, but a very occasional attendance was enough to stave offthis disaster; and as for the sixpence, to a man of means like Farnieit was a mere nothing. It was a bad system, and it was a wonder, underthe circumstances, how Beckford produced the elevens it did. But it wasthe system, and Farnie availed himself of it to the full.
The obstacle of roll-call he managed also to surmou
nt. Some recklessand penniless friend was generally willing, for a consideration, toanswer his name for him. And so most Saturday afternoons would findFarnie leaving behind him the flannelled fools at their variouswickets, and speeding out into the country on his bicycle in thedirection of the village of Biddlehampton, where mine host of the 'Cowand Cornflower', in addition to other refreshment for man and beast,advertised that ping-pong and billiards might be played on thepremises. It was not the former of these games that attracted Farnie.He was no pinger. Nor was he a pongster. But for billiards he had adecided taste, a genuine taste, not the pumped-up affectation sometimesdisplayed by boys of his age. Considering his age he was a remarkableplayer. Later on in life it appeared likely that he would have thechoice of three professions open to him, namely, professional billiardplayer, billiard marker, and billiard sharp. At each of the three heshowed distinct promise. He was not 'lured to the green cloth' by Monkor Danvers. Indeed, if there had been any luring to be done, it isprobable that he would have done it, and not they. Neither Monk norDanvers was in his confidence in the matter. Billiards is not a cheapamusement. By the end of his sixth week Farnie was reduced to a singlepound, a sum which, for one of his tastes, was practically poverty. Andjust at the moment when he was least able to bear up against it, Fatedealt him one of its nastiest blows. He was playing a fifty up againsta friendly but unskilful farmer at the 'Cow and Cornflower'. 'Betterlook out,' he said, as his opponent effected a somewhat rustic stroke,'you'll be cutting the cloth in a second.' The farmer grunted, missedby inches, and retired, leaving the red ball in the jaws of the pocket,and Farnie with three to make to win.
It was an absurdly easy stroke, and the Bishop's uncle took it with anabsurd amount of conceit and carelessness. Hardly troubling to aim, hestruck his ball. The cue slid off in one direction, the ball rolledsluggishly in another. And when the cue had finished its run, thesmooth green surface of the table was marred by a jagged and unsightlycut. There was another young man gone wrong!
To say that the farmer laughed would be to express the matter feebly.That his young opponent, who had been irritating him unspeakably sincethe beginning of the game with advice and criticism, should have doneexactly what he had cautioned him, the farmer, against a moment before,struck him as being the finest example of poetic justice he had everheard of, and he signalized his appreciation of the same by nearlydying of apoplexy.
The marker expressed an opinion that Farnie had been and gone and doneit.
''Ere,' he said, inserting a finger in the cut to display itsdimensions. 'Look 'ere. This'll mean a noo cloth, young feller me lad.That's wot this'll mean. That'll be three pound we will trouble youfor, if _you_ please.'
Farnie produced his sole remaining sovereign.
'All I've got,' he said. 'I'll leave my name and address.'
'Don't you trouble, young feller me lad,' said the marker, who appearedto be a very aggressive and unpleasant sort of character altogether,with meaning, 'I know yer name and I knows yer address. Today fortnightat the very latest, if _you_ please. You don't want me to 'ave togo to your master about it, now, do yer? What say? No. Ve' well then.Today fortnight is the time, and you remember it.'
What was left of Farnie then rode slowly back to Beckford. Why he wentto Monk on his return probably he could not have explained himself. Buthe did go, and, having told his story in full, wound up by asking for aloan of two pounds. Monk's first impulse was to refer him back to aprevious interview, when matters had been the other way about, thatsmall affair of the pound on the second morning of the term. Then thereflashed across his mind certain reasons against this move. At presentFarnie's attitude towards him was unpleasantly independent. He made himunderstand that he went about with him from choice, and that there wasto be nothing of the patron and dependant about their alliance. If hewere to lend him the two pounds now, things would alter. And to havegot a complete hold over Master Reginald Farnie, Monk would have paidmore than two pounds. Farnie had the intelligence to carry throughanything, however risky, and there were many things which Monk wouldhave liked to do, but, owing to the risks involved, shirked doing forhimself. Besides, he happened to be in funds just now.
'Well, look here, old chap,' he said, 'let's have strict businessbetween friends. If you'll pay me back four quid at the end of term,you shall have the two pounds. How does that strike you?'
It struck Farnie, as it would have struck most people, that if this wasMonk's idea of strict business, there were the makings of no ordinaryfinancier in him. But to get his two pounds he would have agreed toanything. And the end of term seemed a long way off.
The awkward part of the billiard-playing episode was that thepunishment for it, if detected, was not expulsion, but flogging. AndFarnie resembled the lady in _The Ingoldsby Legends_ who 'didn'tmind death, but who couldn't stand pinching'. He didn't mindexpulsion--he was used to it, but he could _not_ stand flogging.
'That'll be all right,' he said. And the money changed hands.