CHAPTER V
AN ULTIMATUM
"What'll you do?" asked Trendall, breathing heavily as he leaned overRawlings' shoulder in Lower Sixth Form room and perused the ultimatumwhich Clive and his chums had sent. "Lick 'em all straight off, eh? But,of course, you'd have to catch 'em singly. That Feofe cad is as strongas a horse, and though he can't fight as an Englishman can, he'd kicklike a horse."
It seemed likely enough that the lordly Rawlings had considered thatside of the question, or perhaps was even then considering it. For heturned a furrowed brow to his comrade.
"I'm going to lie low," he said. "One thing's certain, the first chanceI get I turn the Darrells away from our place. Of course, you know,Trendall, that we own the whole show that Darrell's father had. He madea mess of things, and my father came in and bought. That's why he hatesme so much. As to this letter, pooh! I'll get even with 'em all beforeI've done. Feofe doesn't frighten me, not a bit."
Certainly not. Yet Susanne had pulled the great Rawlings' nose, and thatbrilliant and magnificent bully had not retaliated. But he would, someday, when the moment was propitious. For the time being he left thelittle quartette alone, and Clive and his fellows were therefore atliberty to forget the feud; which they did promptly. In the meanwhile,Ranleigh had many things of interest to show them.
"Look here, Darrell kid," observed Masters one day, presuming on his twomonths' seniority of Clive, and on the fact that he had been two termsat the school, "I don't mind taking you along to show you the sights.Been to the tuck?"
"What's that? Oh, tuck-shop, I suppose?"
"Of course, booby! You don't suppose it's a sort of place where they dothe washing! Well, suppose we go there and introduce you? Eh?"
Clive agreed readily enough. He was beginning to find that life atRanleigh opened up a wider prospect for him. At home he and Hugh andBert had been the best of chums, and no one had been admitted into theirclose friendship. But here the matter was different, and better. For thedifference in forms separated the chums often enough. True, Bert andHugh were in the same class-room as Clive, for it accommodated the twoMiddle and the two Third Forms. But at Ranleigh every hour saw a changein the class-rooms occupied by the various forms. Sometimes Clive was inMiddle class-room, a little later he'd be in the Lower Fifth, and yetagain in the "Stinks" room, a department that began soon to fascinatehim, and which proved to be the one particular attraction to Susanne.
Circumstances, therefore, separated the chums often enough, for Bert andHugh were in Four South Dormitory. Not that that prevented communicationwhen in their respective dormitories, for the inventive Clive soon had aspecies of life-line manufactured, and this, when Sturton's attentionwas occupied elsewhere, could be tossed over the partition right on toHugh's bed. Notes could thus be dragged backwards and forwards, andcontinuous communication kept up.
"But it can be improved, of course," said Clive, to which Hugh readilyassented. "We'll make a telephone, nail the wires up the walls of thepartition so that no one can see 'em, and then we can talk just as muchas we want."
It never occurred to either of them that they might get all theirchattering over in the daytime. But that is just the little point whichpeople sometimes fail to comprehend. It was the novelty of clandestineconversation which attracted, and set these two inventors to work toconstruct a telephone from plans and descriptions given in a book theyhad managed to borrow.
In One South itself, Clive had Susanne always beside him, and very soona firm friendship grew up between them. While on his other side layMasters, the slug, as Sturton called him, a decent fellow, nevertheless,and now anxious to act as guide and faithful friend to our hero.
They passed along those endless corridors to the back doors, throughwhich law compels the boys to emerge, and sauntered down between theFives Courts. On the left lay the Gym, where Hugh had already beenpractising. Then beside the Tennis Courts, and away across the fieldwhich fronts the school. And who could wish for a better place? Whatfather or mother or fond uncle or guardian could hope to find ahealthier, better spot than Ranleigh? The world has heard of the school.It has made its mark in many a walk of life, so that there is no greatneed to describe it minutely or to mention its precise position. Sufficeto say that it is situated in Surrey, that it projects three parts ofthe way up a sloping hill, which is bathed by the sun on every side.There is not a musty spot about it, not a corner nor a crevice in whichinjurious germs may hide. See it, then, a red-brick pile, clad withcreeper, with its clock tower and its chimneys and pinnacles. Cast youreyes upon the surrounding country, and admit, as admit you must, thatnever was there a more ideal position. For the village is a mile away.The school stands beautifully isolated. Fresh breezes sweep direct frompine tree and heather across its roofs and into its windows. Add tothese charms playing fields which vie with those of schools of greaterantiquity, and you have a description of Ranleigh.
But we are forced to admit that Clive gave not a thought to it. Hescudded across the field with Masters, dashed through the front gatesand away down the road till they came to the tuck. It is a fascinatinglittle shop, and here again we must admit that its contents appealedmore strongly to Clive than did the surroundings.
"Never been in before, eh?" asked Masters slyly, well knowing the factthat Clive had not.
"Never; wish I had. Rippin', ain't it?"
"Not half bad," admitted Masters casually. "A chap can stuff himselffull here for next to nothing. By the way----"
"Eh?" asked Clive, who was regarding a pile of apple tarts with closeattention. "How much, please?" he asked the attendant.
"A penny each, sir."
"Cheap!" murmured Clive. "Oh, what where you saying, Masters?"
He was carefully inspecting the contents of his purse by then, and notlooking particularly at Masters. It was not precisely what that younggentleman wanted. He coughed loudly. "Oh, never mind," he said lamely."I--I didn't say anything."
It was such an obvious fib that Clive stared at him.
"Oh, did I?" then remarked Masters. "Oh, yes, I remember. But it doesn'tmatter."
He thrust his hands into his pockets, turned to the door, and beckonedto Clive. "Come on," he said, somewhat sadly. "Let's clear. I'll takeyou in some other time."
That was just the very thing that Clive could not agree to. He had beenthick-headed before. But now he was beginning to grasp the situation. Itwas awfully nice of Masters, too, he thought, though, to be sure, hedidn't see the smile on the face of the attendant.
"What's up?" he demanded. "You're never going to leave the tuck withouteating something?"
"Must," came the answer.
"Why?"
"Oh, never mind." Masters shrugged his shoulders, and went from thecottage, Clive following. "Fact is," he admitted, once they wereoutside, "I've forgotten to bring money with me. It's a beastlynuisance."
"But it don't matter," cried Clive. "I'll lend you some."
"And then, of course," Masters hurriedly interjected, "it's a sort ofcustom here, you know, for new kids to--oh, never mind, let's clear."
"To what?" demanded Clive, beginning to fathom the mystery.
"Well, if you must know, it's a sort of custom at Ranleigh for new kidsto stand treat the first time they enter the tuck. But it don't matter,as I said. Let's clear. I never borrow money."
The generous-minded Clive could see only one way out of the difficulty.Indeed, he was eager to show his hospitality. And so five minutes laterfound the two youngsters securely seated in the little room beyond thetuck, their feet over a gas fire, their teeth busily engaged with appletarts, while steaming cups of cocoa stood beside them. By then, Masters'modesty had entirely departed. It had been a wrench, of course, to allowa new kid to treat him! But in for a penny in for a pound wasn't a badmotto.
"Tried those big chaps?" he asked, pointing to a box of squares ofchocolate. "Ripping! They're only a penny, and there's different coloursall the way through. Tony--met Tony yet? He's a fellow with red hair inTwo South--well, Tony swe
ars that there's regular pictures worked up inthose squares, and that if you bite carefully you can see 'em. I don'tbelieve it myself, but it's a joke trying."
Clive did know Tony. He was the red-headed fellow who had shouted at himand been so very pugnacious on the first night of the term when Clivehad entered the wrong dormitory. As to the squares, well, it would berather a joke to test this theory of Tony's.
"We'll test 'em, then," he said. "How many, eh?"
"Well, of course," said Masters guardedly, "a fellow could do it withone, I suppose. But he'd have to be clever. Two'd give a chap a betterchance, while----"
"Sixpenn'o'th of those square things, please," demanded Clive, who waswarming to Masters, and who happened to have received a useful presentfrom a distant uncle that very morning. "You try first, Masters."
"And those brandy balls are just the things for prep.," remarkedMasters, some little time later, as if it were an afterthought and hehad not meant Clive to hear. "They're hot with peppermint, and you cansmell 'em all over the class-room. It makes the chaps look round andlong for some themselves, while the prefect who's in charge of the roomgets raging. Come on, Darrell."
It was perhaps a fortunate thing that Clive's stock of sixpennies wasbecoming small, or he would have listened further to the blandishmentsof the crafty Masters. As it was, he purchased a liberal quantity ofbrandy balls, divided them with his friend, and then went off to otherfields.
"Sundy tuck's there," Masters informed him as they skirted the common,where cricket matches are played. "Of course, the Head knows that thereis one, and would give his ears to catch chaps there. My word, theywould get a licking! But he can't succeed, and for a very good reason.You see, a chap can slip in without being seen, and if the Head or anyother inquisitive master happens to come along and suspect, why, you canbolt from the back door, up the garden and over the wall at the end.I've done it. So have other chaps."
Before three weeks of his first term had passed Clive had a noddingacquaintance with all the surroundings of the school, and with most ofthe fellows. Moreover, he had witnessed the first great footer match ofthe season, and his youthful chest had swelled with pride because of theprowess of Harvey and other men. In fact, he was slowly and steadilyimbibing that spirit of _esprit de corps_ which helps a school along. Hewas beginning to understand that self-effacement is a good thing attimes, and that the good of the school as a whole is what should beconsidered. Else, why did Harvey work so hard to train the team whilestill doing his best in school time? Why also did Sturton work soloyally to support him, and still rise at cock-crow every morning so asto prepare his own tasks?
But early frosts somewhat upset the plans of the Captain, and sawletters innumerable despatched to some three hundred homes, demandingthat skates should be sent immediately.
"Another day's frost and we'll be able to go anywhere. They say thecanal's good," said Hugh, who had been making diligent enquiries. "Butmy mark is the lake at Ditton."
"Private, isn't it?" asked Masters, who had joined the little band offriends, and who, in fact, was often with them.
"Yes. But what's it matter? The Delarths are away from home. They'dnever want to keep good ice all to themselves. We'll take french leave."
"Or write and ask. Why not?" ventured Bert mildly.
"Why not?" repeated Susanne, with sparkling eyes. "It will make the funbetter. Besides, it is rude, is it not, to trespass on privateproperty?"
They scoffed at him promptly, and the very mention of rudeness putaside the intention to write.
"It'll be part of the lark to go without being invited," said Hugh. "Iknow the place already, for I've been skirmishing round to discoverlikely spots for nesting. In the spring I'll be there. And if this frostcontinues, I mean to try what it's like on the ice. So there, Susanne."
Two days later, after an intervening thaw of some five hours' duration,whereat the hopes and the faces of every member of the school, save theCaptain and the footer team, fell dismally, the ice was reported to bebearing on neighbouring ponds, and particularly on that one down by thecommon in front of the butcher's shop. It had frozen very hardovernight, and the ground was as hard as a stone. After dinner,therefore, Bert and Hugh and Clive set out, Susanne being in theircompany also, with Masters following behind as soon as he could getaway, an "impot" of some length having detained him. Indeed, theself-same Masters had made a valiant attempt to complete the task duringdinner-hour in Hall. A pen of Clive's own invention had been broughtinto request. Thereon were fixed no fewer than three nibs, all of whichwould write at the same moment.
"You see, it's not one of those clumsy things one's heard of," said thelordly inventor when he produced this wonderful time-saving implement."Anyone can tie three nibs on to one holder and try to write with 'emall. But the blots he makes, my word! One nib rests nicely, but has toomuch ink. A second is too short to reach the paper, while the thirdsticks the point through and tears a hole. This pen gets over all threedifficulties. So long as you dip her carefully, she'll write, for allthe nibs are carried on spring holders. It's a champion. I'm going tobring out a self-filling six-line automatic writer before I've ended.I'll sell 'em by the ton to chaps at school."
No doubt he might if he were fortunate, and if all "impots" were of thesame character as that given to Masters. That worthy having incurred thedispleasure of his form master had been very politely and in dulcettones requested to deliver five hundred repetitions of the followingstatement. "There's a time and a place for everything."
"And all because he scented peppermint," declared Masters hotly, when hereported the matter to his cronies. "That chap Canning's a bounder. He'salways finding fault somewhere."
"But," ventured Bert cynically, "perhaps he doesn't like peppermint."
"Doesn't like peppermint! Rot!" cried Masters. "Who doesn't?"
"Well, you do," grinned Susanne.
"And so does any decent fellow. But that's where it is. Canning isn't adecent fellow. He's always grousing. Masters, you're talking. Masters,you don't answer. Masters, you're a fool. Masters----"
"You're a glutton," grinned Hugh, enjoying the indignation of thatindividual, and receiving a buffet for his pains. "Well, he cobbed yousucking brandy balls, given you by Clive."
"And told me that they were beastly, that I was making a beast of myselfto suck 'em in class time, and that there was a time and a place foreverything. Then gave me an impot."
"Which has to be done."
"That's it, and there's skating this afternoon. I'm going."
It followed that Clive's inventive genius was called in to help, andthat day at dinner, Masters, having gobbled up his meal, spent the restof his time crouching over a book resting on his knee, on which wasstretched the paper on which he was operating. And all would have beenwell, for he was making amazing progress with that patent pen, but forthe fact that a sudden and unforeseen difficulty had arisen. The pennybottle of ink he had requisitioned had the most idiotically narrow neck.
"Asses!" he growled, showing the difficulty to Clive, who sat next him."What makes 'em turn out bottles like that? How's a chap to get towork?"
Clive had many brilliant ideas constantly occurring to him.
"Shove it into a spoon," he urged. "A tablespoon. Empty the bottle in,and then you can dip easy. It'll prevent you dipping too deep. Get onwith it."
Masters realised the brilliance of the suggestion, and at once put itinto practice. He took the biggest spoon to be had, buttressed it aroundwith bread-crumbs, and then emptied his ink from the bottle. That wasfamous.
"One gets along like a house on fire," he told Clive triumphantly. "Andthe writing's ripping. Old Canning'll remark on it. George! Darrell, youmight sell him one of your pens. Look! There's fifty of the beastlylines written. Here we go again. 'There's a time and a place foreverything.' So there is, my boy. Hall's the place for writing rottenimpots, specially when there's skating."
Hall, no doubt, was an excellent place. But accidents will happen, andhere with the most sur
prising result. For Masters, after much diligence,had actually managed to complete three hundred lines when his sleeve gotanchored in the handle of the spoon filled with ink. It jerked over,and in one brief instant the writer of the "impot" had the contents ofthe spoon in his lap, while some of the inky mess flowed over the table,making an excellent black map on the cloth.
"What a mess!" he groaned, when he had vainly mopped at his trouserswith his handkerchief. "I'm sopping wet, and as black as a hat. And lookat that beastly tablecloth. Here, Darrell, suggest something."
The best that Clive could do was to propose a covering of bread-crumbsand salt, with which the huge stain was promptly covered. But all to nopurpose. The eagle eye of the Captain of the School going the round ofthe tables in Hall after "knock up," when there was compulsory silence,discovered the map which Masters had painted so unwittingly.
"Whose is that?" he demanded.
"Masters'."
"Ah! Writing at table. An hour's drill to-morrow, Masters. And thatmess'll cost half a crown. Perhaps more. Why, your seat is smotheredalso. You're wet to the skin. Report to the matron afterwards, and get achange. I'll talk to you this evening."
There was Masters in trouble with a vengeance. His "impot" had to becommenced again, for ink had flown liberally over it. His trousers wereruined, and doubtless his under garments. There was half a crown atleast to pay, and a visit to Harvey into the bargain.
"When there'll be a whacking," grinned Bert, always the cynic. "That'llbe merely as a precaution. He'll lay it on hot so as to warm you anddrive off the chill you'll be sure to have contracted."
Masters was not in sufficiently good frame of mind to trust himself toanswer. But skate he meant to. So at the moment when Clive and hisfriends left the building, he was seeking new raiment in his dormitory,having already obtained fresh underclothing from the matron. Then, bydint of running, he caught up the little band who were bent on trespass,just before they reached the ring fence that surrounded the property ofthe Delarths.
"Just look round and make sure there's no one about," cautioned Clive,glancing over his shoulder. "Now, Hugh, you've been here before. Youlead the way."
"Then over the fence. Into that copse at once, and then bang straightahead. The only fellows we have to look out for are the keepers. Ofcourse, they'll hate our going through their covers. But then,something's got to give way when there's skating. Over we go. Last mantake a look round when he's joined us."
It took them perhaps half an hour to creep through the wood into whichHugh led them. Sometimes they imagined they heard voices, and when thatwas the case they cast themselves flat on the frozen ground and listenedwith bated breath. But there was nothing else to alarm them, and pushingon they arrived at length--after much exertion, for the cover was thickand brambles had a peculiar fascination for their persons--at the edgeof the lake on which they proposed to skate.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" declared Hugh, his face flushing, his steamingbreath a cloud all round him. "There's someone on the place already."
"Someone? A dozen people," Bert corrected him.
"And--I wouldn't like to swear to it, but I do believe that that's oldCanning," said Masters, glowering on an individual who suddenly cameinto view from the misty distance and swept across the smooth sheet ofice towards them. "Just like him to set a fellow an impot so as toprevent his skating, and then, when that chap had taken no end of painsto get finished and----"
"Including half drowning himself with ink," grinned Bert, as a gentlereminder.
"And getting a half-crown fine marked up against him," laughed Clive,giggling at his friend's misadventure.
"And," proceeded Masters severely, ignoring the interruption, "and wasworking like a nigger, it's just like this cad Canning to turn up at thevery spot and spoil fun entirely."
That was where the sight of this master affected the whole party. Hisimposition was merely a matter between himself and Masters. Of course,they were all awfully sorry for Masters, though his getting soaked withink was a jolly old joke, whatever he thought of it--but Canning was acad, all the same.
"What's he want to come along here trespassing on our property?"demanded Hugh hotly.
"But--it isn't ours, is it?" asked Bert dryly, whereat Susannethreatened him with violence.
"Of course it's not," the slouching Frenchman answered. "Not actually,you know. But we thought of the place first. We've the most right to it.What's Canning want hanging round the ice we've selected?"
"Cheek! Beastly impudence!" declared Clive grandly, while Masters stillglowered on the unconscious master. For it was Mr. Canning without adoubt, a kill-joy on this occasion. For, having gained the lake aftersuch great trouble, Clive and his friends dared not venture upon the icethey coveted.
"There's that cad Rawlings," suddenly whispered Bert, for Mr. Canningwas close to them, and had sat down to smoke a cigarette.
"And the greasy Trendall. He's always sure to be somewhere withindistance," growled Masters.
"And if that isn't Harvey, with Sturton near him, I'm not worthlistening to," observed Clive, as if he were speaking of a certainty."Yes, there's Harvey, hand in hand with Miss Withers."
"But--I don't understand," said Bert, smiling grimly when some fewminutes had passed. "There are hundreds of our fellows. They're arrivingevery minute. Surely----"
Slowly it began to dawn upon the little band that perhaps all theirsecrecy and all their effort had been wasted.
"Supposing leave was given for the school to skate here," suggestedHugh, aghast at the thought.
"There's Smith Primus. Let's ask him," cried Clive, catching sight of afellow of his acquaintance.
"But there's Canning still there," said Masters, with somethingapproaching a groan. "Supposing leave's been given for the school toskate here----"
"And supposing--which seems a moral certainty--that we've madeout-and-out fools of ourselves," interjected Bert satirically.
"Oh, shut up, do!" growled Masters, while Hugh caught his brother by thecollar. "Supposing that's the case----"
"What?" demanded the incorrigible Bert. "That we've made asses ofourselves? That's dead certain."
Masters looked as if he would gladly slay him. But he was determined tocontinue. Moments were flying as they discussed matters, and if theywere to skate at all they must clear up this mystery.
"Supposing that's so. Well, in any case, these woods are out of boundsand we're trespassing. Unless we can slip out on to the ice without thatcad Canning seeing us, why----"
"Skating's out of the question," groaned Clive. "Look here, you fellows.I'll slip on my skates, wait for Canning to turn his head, and then goswinging past him. If I signal you on, you'll know skating's allowed,and can slip on to the ice one by one as I've done. Eh?"
They agreed to the proposition. Clive, moreover, was successful, and ina little while was diligently waving them on. And then his chumsfollowed, all contriving to escape the eye of the smoking Canning,except Masters.
"Oh, Masters, that you?" he demanded, swinging his head as that younghopeful happened to emerge from the wood and approach the ice. "Beentrespassing, eh? Been into the wood?"
There could be no denial. Masters could merely glance at Mr. Canning asif he wished the most dreadful thing to happen to him.
"Yes, sir," he said curtly.
"Then you've forgotten our little conversation, and the lines you've nodoubt waiting at the school to give to me. Let me see. Yes. 'There's atime and a place for everything.' Those were the words. Well, they'retrue of this occasion. This isn't the time for trespassing when Mr.Delarth has so kindly given the school permission to skate on his lake.He particularly wished that there should be no disturbance of thecovers. Masters, you must have sadly forgotten the lesson I attempted toteach you. Let me have those words written an additional five hundredtimes by to-morrow afternoon."
"There's a beast!" said the unfortunate delinquent, when he rejoined hisfriends. "I'd fifty times rather be sent to the Head with a note andtake a whackin
g. This impot business is breaking my spirit."
But you wouldn't have thought so had you seen him ten minutes later. Hewas hurtling over the surface of the lake at lightning speed, with astring of boys on either side of him. It was an hour later when therecame a shout from a far corner. Clive, dashing in that direction, sawthat the white surface of the ice was broken and flooded. There weredark heads floating above the water. One was that of a girl. Susanne'sface was amongst them. Trendall's, too, fat and oily.
"Help!" shouted Clive, and at once set about a rescue.