A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War

  CHAPTER TWO.

  OLD BUMBLE.

  Mr Western was as good as his word, and within a week of his lastescapade Phil was despatched to a certain school, situated in theoutskirts of London, where only backward and incorrigible lads werereceived.

  "I am thoroughly displeased and disappointed with you," said the vicarseverely, as he lectured Phil just before his departure. "I lifted youfrom poverty, provided you with a home, and for years have devoted allmy spare hours to you. You know what my wishes and hopes were. Theyare still the same. Disappoint me again, get into further disgrace, andI will disown you."

  "I'll do my best to keep out of trouble," Phil answered, with a catch inhis voice, for the lad was at heart fond of his home and of hisguardians. "I will not promise to follow your wishes though. I don'tknow why it is, but I loathe the thought of being a clergyman. I love afree and open life; and besides, a clever man is required for theChurch, and I am scarcely that. Still, father, I will try my best, andshould I do anything wrong, it shall not be such as to cause you to feelany shame."

  "Then we shall see, Philip. But remember my warning," answered thevicar.

  That evening a cab stopped outside a big stone building in Highgate anddeposited Phil and his baggage on the pavement.

  For a moment he looked round in bewilderment, for this was the firsttime he had been in the neighbourhood of, or in fact, anywhere near, thegreat city; but a gruff "Five bob fare, please", and "that there'sEbden's School", recalled his wandering wits.

  Phil paid the money, and then, remembering that he would require someoneto help him with his baggage, asked the surly driver to get off hisseat.

  "Not if I knows it, young un," was the answer. "I've got me fare, andyou've got to yer journey's end. So good-day to yer! Hope yer won'tfind it too precious warm in there. I passes by most every day andhears horrid yells a-coming from the 'ouse. Get up, won't yer!" andwith a tug and a spiteful lash at his horse, this cheerful Jehu droveoff with such a jerk that the dilapidated top hat he wore startedbackward, and, bounding from the box, was crushed beneath the wheels.

  Phil, who had for the moment been somewhat taken aback by the man'sominous words, roared at the cabman's discomfiture and at the rage intowhich he promptly worked himself. Then, taking no notice of hisgrowling, and seeing no one at hand to help him, he shouldered his box,pushed open the iron gate which formed the entrance of his new home, andmounted the steps. A double knock, sounding hollow and rumbling, wasanswered quickly by an individual who performed at once the duties ofbutler and general fatigue man of the school.

  "Name, sir?" he asked politely.

  "Western," answered Phil.

  "Ah! you're the new boy, sir! Glad to see you. Let me help you withthe box;" and in a twinkling Phil was relieved of his baggage.

  Then he was ushered into a big room, where he waited, not without somefeelings of uneasiness, for the appearance of the master.

  "I wonder what he'll be like!" he thought. "I've heard of masters ofhis sort before. I wonder whether that cabby was rotting! Perhaps hewasn't, and perhaps I shall really be catching it hot. Never mind. Iwas happy at Haddington, and will be here too."

  Phil was in the act of sketching for himself a big, heavy-looking man,with a hard unrelenting face, as his master, when there was a quick stepoutside, the door burst open, and a clean-shaven little gentleman, witha smiling, pleasant face, entered the room.

  "By Jove! He's awfully like Uncle Joe, and would be just his image ifhe were a little fatter," Phil thought in an instant.

  "Ah, Philip Western, the boy who has been in difficulties, I believe!"said the stranger, extending a hand and shaking Phil's heartily. "Gladto see you, my lad. Let me look at you. Yes--we shall be good friends,I hope." Then, murmuring to himself, he continued, "Larky--high-spirited--full of go, but no vice--no vice, I will swear. Yes, weshall be good friends."

  Mr Ebden--for he it was--pushed Phil into the light and rapidlysurveyed him, muttering audibly all the while.

  "So you are a disappointment to your father!" he continued. "Come, tellme all about it, my lad. Let there be no secrets between us. Tell methe whole trouble; why you have come here, and in what manner you haveproved such a deep worry to your people."

  "I can't help it, sir," Phil blurted out. "I've done my level best toact as father wished, but somehow or other I am always in trouble. Theysaid I was upsetting the discipline of the school, and that is one ofthe reasons for which I was sent away." Then he proceeded to describewhat had happened, and how he had laid a booby-trap for the mayor, andafterwards played a prank with the town barge.

  Mr Ebden listened, and, much to Phil's relief, laughed heartily when heheard how he and his friends had afforded the townspeople of Riddingtonone more glance at an old-fashioned relic.

  "That was a piece of pure, boyish mischief," he exclaimed, "and onlydeserved a lecture; but the other was bad. You ought to have beencaned. You would have caught it severely here. However, from this daywe start a new book. Turn over that fresh leaf which one so often hearsabout. I am your friend--remember that, Phil Western. You will meetwith no harshness here. A piece of pure frolic I can enjoy; butanything else, any breach of discipline, shall meet with the punishmentit deserves. But we will not talk of that. We shall be excellentfriends, I feel sure. Now come with me and I will introduce you to yournew school-fellows."

  Mr Ebden led Phil along a passage and through another room into agarden, in which were some twenty boys.

  "There they are," he said, giving him a push. "Go and make friends withthem too."

  Somewhat bewildered with the very pleasant greeting he had alreadyreceived, and more than pleased with the difference between hisforebodings and the reality, Phil walked forward and looked at the ladsbefore him, wondering which one he should address first.

  And they too stared hard at Phil, and summed him up in a moment. Herewas a boy with a big loose frame that wanted some filling out, long legsand arms that looked as though a little exertion would push them farthrough his clothing, and a well-tanned and freckled face; not exactlygood-looking, but distinctly pleasing, and possessing eyes which lookedstraight at you, and a mouth with a queer little line beneath it, whichtold that, though smiling now, it could become hard and stem onoccasion. The whole, capped by close-cropped, almost reddish hair, madeup an appearance which was taking.

  "A decent chap. He must be a good fellow," was the half-mutteredthought of the boys, the tallest of whom advanced and at once enteredinto conversation with Phil. The others joined in, and in a few minuteshe was quite at his ease, and feeling more certain than ever that thechange of schools was decidedly not for the worst.

  Time proved that he was right, for there was no doubt that Mr Ebden hada wonderful power over his scholars. From the first he made friends ofthem, and endeavoured to keep them so. Indeed he seldom failed. A ladwho had elsewhere been sullen and morose, and in many casesunmanageable, became under the new regime bright and laughing, and readyat all times to do his best to master his lessons. It was just thedifference between the careless neglect and misunderstanding that hadbeen his lot before, and the keen interest in all that concerned himthat was shown in every word and act of his new ruler. A littlekindness goes a long way with many an awkward, nervous boy, and MrEbden had proved this.

  "Make a friend of him," he would say cheerily. "Forget sometimes thatyou are the master and he the boy. Coax him into trying by taking aninterest in all he does, and you can make a convert anywhere."

  He was right, as has been proved over and over again, for nowadays thereis scarcely a school where the masters do not join heart and soul withthe boys in their games, ay, and feel themselves the happier and theyounger for it too?

  Thus did Mr Ebden conquer the lads sent to him as a last resource.

  Before a week had passed, Phil had become quite popular in the school,and his love of athletics helped him not a little. To these a fairproportion of the day was allotted, and as t
he school enclosure openedinto a large and well-kept garden, which was the common property of therow of houses in which Mr Ebden's stood, there was plenty ofopportunity for cricket. In the centre was a smooth stretch of lawn,with a carefully-laid pitch, and here Ebden's did battle with sundryneighbouring teams.

  But it is not to be supposed that Phil and his comrades were always outof mischief. They were a high-spirited lot, and ever eager foradventure. Indeed, our hero had only been a year at his new home whenhe was once more in the deepest trouble. It happened in this way. TheHighgate Wanderers had taken their departure in high dudgeon at the easyvictory that Ebden's had scored over them, and Phil and his friends layon the grass, full length, beneath the shade of a pleasant oak-tree.They were lolling idly and merely waiting for the hour to strike to goin and prepare for tea. Suddenly one of the number, a lad named FatBowen, pointed towards the farther end of the garden and exclaimed in ahigh-pitched voice, "Look, you chaps, there's old Bumble inspecting hisstatues again!"

  All looked in the direction indicated, to see a stout old gentlemanwaddling slowly round an artificial lake, and halting at every otherstep to inspect and admire two statues which stood on pedestals placedin the centre of the water.

  "Good Old Bumble!" cried Phil, with a laugh; "he spends his days inadmiring that plaster Hercules. If you were close to him you would hearhim muttering, `Beautiful! Grand! Masterpieces! I will have two likethese in my own garden'. Poor old boy! he's quite cracked on thesubject. What would happen if they were to disappear?"

  "There'd be a row, that's certain," answered Fred Wheeler, a particularfriend of Phil's. "Yes, there'd be ructions, I expect. But what a jokeit would be to take them away for a time!"

  "Couldn't be done. Too heavy to move," answered Phil promptly. "But wemight do something else," he added, nothing loth for a piece ofmischief. "Now what could we do, you fellows?"

  Various suggestions were offered, but none of them was practicable, andthe hour striking a few moments later, the boys departed to the schooland left the stout gentleman still gazing lovingly at his statues.

  "Old Bumble", as he was generally, known to Ebden's boys, was agentleman of the name of Workman, Mr Julius Workman, a wealthy merchantof the city of London, who owned vast property in the neighbourhood ofHighgate, and, indeed, was landlord of the houses which formed theterrace in which the school stood. Consequently he was a man of someposition; in fact in Mr Ebden's eyes he was one with whom it was wellto be on the best of terms, and to treat with that amount of deferencedue to a man of consequence who holds one's fortune in his hands. Totell the truth, Mr Julius Workman was not altogether an agreeableperson. Fat and ungainly, he was far from being the good-naturedindividual one might have expected. Increasing riches had not softenedhis nature, for he was grumpy and fussy, and apt to ride the high horseon every occasion. His tenants stood in awe of him, and, strange as itmay seem, Mr Ebden, the strong-minded man, who could successfully rulea number of high-spirited boys, feared him more than all the rest. Butthere was good reason for this. For fifteen years Ebden's School hadbeen in existence, and its increasing popularity had been a source ofsatisfaction to its head. Now to change the locality of the school andalter that paragraph in the advertisement which ran "at acharmingly-situated building, in the salubrious neighbourhood ofHighgate" might have been to diminish the popularity of the school.Highgate was thought much of by fond parents, and more than one pupilhad been sent to Ebden's in order that he might be in that part ofLondon. Therefore it was of paramount importance that Mr JuliusWorkman should be kept in good-humour.

  "Boys are nuisances, terrible nuisances," he had often remarked testilyto Mr Ebden, "and 'pon my word those you have nearly worry me out of mylife. There is no peace in the terrace. All day one can hear theirchatter, and, out in the gardens behind, their shouts are simplyunbearable. Be good enough to see that they are less noisy in future,please, for not only do they annoy me, but the neighbours complain, andI have no intention of allowing Silverdale Terrace to be depopulated ontheir account."

  There was always a scarcely-veiled threat about the man's words. If hehad put them into plainer sentences they would have run: "Your boys arenuisances, and if I am worried again, I will give you notice to leave."

  "Bother the surly old chap!" Mr Ebden would exclaim under his breath,"he has me fairly on the hip. I am a good tenant and he knows it, butfor all that I can never have a long lease of the house. Two years isas much as he will allow; if he were to give me notice to quit, I shouldhave precious little time to look about me, and then--supposing I had togo elsewhere--what would become of the school? I should lose half mypupils and half my income at one blow."

  Consequently Mr Ebden took care to conciliate the old man; but not sohis pupils. Amongst those mischievous lads Mr Julius Workman was knownas "old Bumble."

  "Old Bumble" was voted a bore and a cantankerous Johnny, and each lad,finding that a shout annoyed him, took particular pains to lift hisvoice to the highest pitch whenever "Bumble" was in the vicinity.

  Now the old gentleman was inordinately proud of the two plaster statuesin the centre of the lake, and the lads at Ebden's knew it well. Oftenbefore had they thought of playing some practical joke at "Bumble's"expense, but never had they given it such deep consideration as uponthis night. As they filed in to tea each was bothering his brains as tohow a joke could be played upon him, and afterwards, as they sat at"prep." with their books in front of them, the glorious life and deedsof Caesar were forgotten in a vision of "Bumble" surveying his statues.

  "Wheeler, what are you gazing at? Go on with your work, sir," MrEbden's voice suddenly rapped out.

  Wheeler buried his head in his hands, and pretended to be very deep inhis book. There was silence in the big room for a few minutes, and MrEbden once more bent over the letter with which he was occupied. Afaint rustle in a far-off corner then attracted the attention of theboys, and, looking up, Phil watched a lad named Carrol spell off somewords on his fingers.

  "I've got it," they ran. "It's about Old Bumble's statues."

  Then, as the lad's excitement increased, the message becameunintelligible, and Phil sent back, "Can't make it out. Start again."

  By this time all the boys were on the _qui vive_ and staring hard atCarrol. But a sudden movement on Mr Ebden's part and a sharp "Go onwith your work, boys!" disturbed them. Another attempt failed for thesame reason, and then Carrol seemed to give it up altogether. But a fewminutes later, keeping a wary eye upon the master, who was sitting athis desk in the centre of the room, Carrol held up a slate upon whichwas written in large letters, "We'll tar and feather Old B.'s statues."

  Instantly a suppressed giggle went round the room, and the lads lookedat one another with eyes which clearly said: "By Jove! he's got it.What a joke it will be!"

  That night, when Ebden's was supposed to be buried in profound sleep, acouncil of war was held in Phil's cubicle, at which the details of theplot were worked out.

  "We're certain to catch it hot," Phil remarked, with a smile, as,dressed in a flimsy night-gown, he sat on the edge of his bed, andsurveyed the three lads squatting on the floor in front of him. "OldBumble will suspect us at once, and will do his best to find out whichof us played the joke. But we'll do it, if only to show that we can.By Jove, I wonder what the old boy will do when he sees Hercules dressedlike a hen? He'll simply blow up with rage, and I wouldn't miss thesight for worlds."

  "There's safe to be a ruction," Wheeler broke in complacently, "and someof us will get a licking. But what does it matter? Ebden will talk atus till we feel as limp as rags, and then he'll cane us till we go asstiff as any poker. Then it will all be over, and we'll be as goodfriends as ever. It'll be a fine spree, and I vote we see about itto-morrow."

  "I take a share in it at any rate," cried Carrol, looking round at theothers to see if they agreed, for he was usually left in the background."I invented the joke, remember that, you chaps."

  "We're all four of us in i
t," Phil answered gaily; "and now how aboutthe stuff? The feathers and the tar, I mean. Then we shall want araft. I know we can buy some tar at Streaker's, and a call at thepoultry shop will get us heaps of feathers. We'll manage thatto-morrow, and dress our statue in the evening, between tea and prep."

  The details of the prank to be played were quickly arranged, and soonPhil's companions slipped off like ghosts, and he tumbled into bed andfell into a deep sleep.

  The following evening, after dusk had fallen, four figures, eachcarrying a long school-form, slipped out through the back gate ofEbden's, and stole down to the lake.

  "Now for the raft," whispered Phil. "Place them alongside one anotherand lash them with the rope."

  In a few minutes a raft was constructed, but to the disgust of all thelads it was so light and frail that it was not even sufficient tosupport one of them.

  "We're done. Bother it!" exclaimed Carrol.

  The others stood without a word, and stared at the raft in deepvexation.

  "It's all right. I've got it, you chaps," Phil suddenly cried in tonesof excitement and pleasure. "The lake's only a foot deep. We'll shoveone form out, and then put another in front of it, and so on till wereach the statue. The bottom is made of stone, so there's no fear oftoppling over or sinking in mud."

  A half-suppressed shout of joy answered him, and all at once set to workto make the bridge. It was easier than they had hoped, and before verylong, by means of two extra forms, Hercules was reached. Then began thework of tar-and-feathering, an act of vandalism for which each and everyone of them deserved a good thrashing, done though it was as a piece ofpure boyish mischief, and in all thoughtlessness.

  At length it was finished, and with hands and faces smeared with tar,and feathers sticking to their clothes, Phil and his boon companionsreturned silently to the house, and having hastily washed themselvestook their places in "prep." as though nothing had happened. But ascarcely-suppressed bubble of excitement and huge grins of amusementshowed that all at Ebden's were conscious of the prank, save the worthyhead himself, who, if he had only known, would there and then have goneout and done his best to clean the statue before the light of daydisclosed it to Mr Julius Workman.

  On the following afternoon a game of cricket was in progress, when a cryof "Here's old Bumble!" put a sudden stop to it, and the boys at onceselected the nearest and best hiding-places from which to look on safelyand observe all that happened.

  Stalking pompously down the path leading from his own residence, MrJulius Workman scarcely deigned to acknowledge the polite salute whichtwo of the lads gave him. He walked--or rather waddled--along towardsthe lake, and, arrived there, sniffed, drew his snuff-box from a pocketin the tail of his coat, and helped himself to a liberal pinch. Then hedrew out a highly-coloured silk handkerchief, and, holding it in onehand, was in the act of patting it to his nose, when his eye lit uponthe statue. Unable to believe that what he saw was real, he wiped hisglasses and stared again. Then his face assumed a livid hue, his cheekspuffed out, and for the moment he looked as though he were on the pointof exploding, or of having an apoplectic fit.

  "Tarred and feathered, as I live!" he shouted, dancing from foot to footin his rage, and shaking his stick threateningly. "Some wretch hasdestroyed my statue, the most beautiful I ever saw. It is a piece ofwickedness; yes, wickedness! and I will search Highgate--ay, and eventhe whole of London--to find the culprit."

  For a moment he stopped for lack of breath, and behind their sheltersPhil and his friends enjoyed the scene to their hearts' content.

  "Ah, I know!" the old gentleman suddenly shouted; "it's one of thoserascally boys. I know it. It must be their work. They shall pay forit, the young scamps, and so shall Ebden!" and, still shaking his stick,and in a towering rage, he went off to the school to interview its head.

  "By George, the fat's in the fire now!" cried Wheeler, with a laughwhich was not altogether cheerful. "Phil, there'll be an awful row.What shall we do?"

  "Wait and see," answered Phil easily. "We've had our joke, and a goodone it was, and perhaps we shall have to pay for it."

  Meanwhile Mr Julius Workman had reached the school, and had asked forMr Ebden. He was shown into the library, and there, as he waited andthought over the matter, his rage, instead of decreasing, grew even moreviolent, so that when the pleasant-faced little master entered, and inhis cheery voice said, "Ah, Mr Workman! this is a pleasure I had notexpected," the stout old gentleman was beyond himself, and couldscarcely speak.

  "Pleasure, sir! Pleasure!" he spluttered at last. "It's no pleasure tome, sir; let me tell you that. I have a serious complaint to make.What have you to say, sir?"

  He stared at Mr Ebden as though the latter had had a hand in the prank.

  "A complaint, Mr Workman? I don't understand," said Mr Ebden withastonishment.

  "Yes, you do, sir; yes, you do," the irate old gentleman shouted rudely."Why don't you look after your boys? I told you they were a nuisance,and now they've played a trick on me and ruined my statue of Hercules."

  When Mr Ebden had heard the full details of the prank he too wasextremely angry, or pretended to be so, and at once accompanied MrWorkman to inspect the ruined statue. Then, with a heavy frown on hisusually pleasant face, he returned and summoned all the boys before him.Mr Julius Workman was also present, and glowered round at them asthough he would like to do everyone some mischief.

  "You've got to find out who did it, or there'll be trouble," he remarkedsignificantly to Mr Ebden, as the latter was about to speak.

  Now, the boys at Ebden's were, naturally, unaware of the peculiar reasontheir master had for keeping on good terms with "Old Bumble", but thisremark struck them as peculiar, and Phil, thinking it over, and being aquick-witted lad, grasped its meaning, and determined at once to givehimself up.

  "I'm the biggest fellow here," he thought, looking round at hiscompanions, "and though I'm not the eldest by some months, I'm usuallythe leader in these scrapes."

  "Boys," said Mr Ebden severely, scrutinising each one of them in turn,and speaking slowly and distinctly, "a foolish and most objectionableprank has been played upon one of the statues in the gardens. MrWorkman declares that one of you is guilty. Is this so?"

  "Of course it is," grunted "Old Bumble" angrily. "What's the good ofasking if they did it? Of course they did!"

  Mr Ebden took no notice of the interruption, but looked at his pupils,who stared guiltily at one another, knowing well that each had been aparty to the plot, and yet waiting for one to give the lead before theothers acknowledged.

  Phil stepped forward in front of his comrades, and with upright head,and eyes fixed straight on Mr Ebden's, said:

  "Yes, sir, it is so. I tarred and feathered the statue, and I'm sorryOld B--Mr Workman--is so angry."

  "Old B! What did the scamp almost call me?" shouted Mr Workman,working himself into another rage. "You are a scamp, sir, and adisgrace to the school!"

  "I am sorry, sir," Phil said again. "I did it for a joke only, and nowI'll clean the statue if Mr Ebden will allow me."

  But this was out of the question. The boys were dismissed, and a longconversation ensued between Mr Ebden and the irate old gentleman.After that work proceeded as usual, but, knowing that it was Mr Ebden'sinvariable rule to allow twenty-four hours to elapse before decidingupon the punishment for any serious offence, Phil did not permit hishopes to rise, or imagine that he was to get off easily.

  And, as it turned out, he was right. After mature consideration MrEbden summoned the boys, and having read them a lecture, gave Phil theseverest caning he had ever experienced in his life, all of which thathigh-spirited lad bore without so much as a whimper. Then he punishedsomewhat more mildly the three others who had helped in the prank, andwho, not to be behindhand or allow one to suffer for the fault of all,had addressed a note to the headmaster the previous evening confessingtheir guilt.

  "I cannot tell you how annoyed I am," said Mr Ebden in cold tones,which hurt his
pupils far more than the cane. "You have aided andabetted one another in destroying a work of art, and you have deeplyoffended one with whom it was a matter of policy for me to be on goodterms. Those four who did the actual tarring will have to pay foranother statue out of their own pockets, and I shall communicate withtheir parents. Now you may go, and let there be no more of thisfoolishness."