King of Ranleigh: A School Story

  CHAPTER VII

  PLANS FOR AN OUTING

  Round about the "tortoise" stove in the workshop at Ranleigh the tonguesof certain of the boys wagged with a vigour there was no denying and nochecking. Susanne held the post of honour, seated on an up-turned box infront of the stove, his feet on the high, bent-iron fender which keptthe hot cinders from coming into contact with the piles of shavingslittering the floor. Clive lolled back, his shoulders against the cornerof the nearest bench, while Masters occupied a place on the same form.

  "My! They don't smell half good," reflected Hugh, sniffing with decidedappreciation at the roasting apples placed on top of the stove. "There'sapples and apples."

  "And orchards and orchards," chipped in Masters.

  "And some of them are easier to get at than others, eh?" smiled Bert,prodding a baking potato with the broken prongs of an old fork. "Therenever was a place such as this is for a wet day. Of course, when one'sa senior it's easy enough to bag one of the Fives Courts and have agame. But not being a senior, of course----"

  "You have to descend to the workshop," laughed Susanne. "It's goodenough for me, anyway. I suppose if we all did as you'd have us, you'dbe at Fives, Hugh in the Gym, and Clive hammering iron in the forge. Asto Masters----"

  "Ah!" grinned that unabashed youth, "I know what you're going to say. Ofcourse, I'd be sweating at impots for that cad Canning. Now, would youbelieve it? after letting me off the one about a time and a place, thevery day after he set me another. That's Canning all over."

  There was a grimace as he ended. Masters had found Mr. Canning a strangemixture indeed, for whereas he had experienced his benevolence on thenight after the rescue of those who had been plunged into the water, themaster had been down upon him like a ton of bricks on the following day.

  "Masters, you're not attending. What was the passage we were thenconstruing?"

  Masters made a wild shot, one which went very wide of the mark too.

  "And that's what we were doing, then?" asked Mr. Canning sweetly.

  "Yes, sir--at least, that's the best I can remember."

  "Indeed. Your memory is very defective. We were not even dealing withthe page in which that passage occurs. As I said, you were notattending, and as you have thereby lost the benefit of the excellentrendering given us by Martin Secundus, you had better write me out page46, both in Latin and English."

  "The beast!" Masters had muttered. "Always down on me! Wish I'd nevercome to Ranleigh. Talk about freedom and fair treatment! A fellow'sdown-trodden at this place. That Canning's a tyrant."

  But he was whistling within a few minutes, at the end of the lesson, andwould have forgotten the "impot" but for a reminder addressed by one ofhis fellows. That sent him post-haste to discover Martin Secundus.

  "What did you want to give that Canning a rendering for?" he demandedroughly, for Martin was of the small order. "See what you've let me infor, too! I've got to write out page 46 in Latin and English."

  "Sorry, but your own fault," was the retort, small comfort for Masters.

  "Oh, my own fault, eh? Look here, Martin, you've landed me into thisimpot and will have to help."

  "Have?" smiled the other. "I like that!"

  "Like it or not, you'll help," came the answer. "Or----"

  "Or what?" demanded Martin, not in the least put out. He wasn't afraidof Masters, not in the least, for they had had many a scuffle. He ratherliked the fellow, as a matter of fact. But "have"--that was a largeorder.

  "Or----" began the desperate Masters, and then relapsed into a smile."Oh, look here, Martin, you can do these things standing on your head. Ihate Latin. It gives me a headache. Come along to my tuck-box. I had ahamper arrive last week, and we can talk about the impot while we'refeeding."

  Wise Masters! More than one at Ranleigh had found their way to hisnotice, if not to his friendship, by offering food. And here he wasusing the same method of persuasion. However, the "old firm," as Clive,Bert and Hugh, Masters and Susanne had designated themselves, wereengaged in discussion round the workshop stove, and we must not forgetthem.

  "As to Masters," declared Susanne, having been interrupted by that youngfellow, "as to our friend Masters, he'd probably be found asleep, or atthe tuck, or washing himself in ink."

  The sally brought a howl from the others. Masters was not likely soon tobe allowed to forget that incident. The mere mention of it roused himto a fury. He shot up as if he had been kicked and leaned across tostrike at Susanne. But Clive cocked a leg on to the top of the stove andthereby intercepted him.

  "Look here," he began, "do let's talk sense."

  "Then you shut up altogether. That's the only way to make it possible,"retorted the angered Masters, sitting down with a bang.

  "And decide what we're going to do and how it's to be done," went onClive, without notice of the interruption.

  "We've decided to go, then?" demanded Bert.

  "Rather!" cried Hugh.

  "I wouldn't miss the show for worlds," declared Clive.

  "There'll be heaps of Frenchmen there," suggested Susanne, with a coolshake of his head. "I'm nearly sure to know some of them. That'd mean afeed, eh?"

  The idea was wonderfully attractive. "Of course," suggested Masters,with furrowed brow, "if you didn't know any of them it wouldn't make anygreat difference. They'd be awfully glad to see you, and----"

  "Me, yes," agreed Susanne. "But my friends--well, that's a tall order."

  There were signs of dissension at once. "But you'd never be such a sneakas to accept a feed and leave us in the lurch," blurted out Hugh. "Ifwe go, we all go together. If there's a feed----"

  "We all feed together," grinned Masters.

  "But we aren't there yet," Clive reminded them. "Now, do let's get tobusiness. There's to be a meeting of aeroplanists at Guildford. That'ssettled."

  They all nodded their agreement. Hugh interrupted further conversationfor the moment to lift the frizzling apples from the stove and hand oneto each of the gathering. "Can't talk without eating," he said. "Nowlet's get on with it. There's an aeroplane meeting."

  "The old firm's going, lock, stock and barrel," interjected Masters,with decision.

  "If it can be arranged."

  "It can," Clive corrected Bert. "What's to prevent us?"

  "The Head! Guildford's out of bounds, in any case. There'd be ructionsif a Ranleigh boy were found there."

  "But one won't, that's just it," asserted Clive. What "it" was exactlyhe failed to explain. However, he soon cleared up the resulting mystery.

  "Who's going to be such an ass as to go in a school cap?" he askedhaughtily. "We'll sneak our bowlers out of store and no one'll be thewiser."

  "But how are we to get there?" asked Bert. "That's the question westarted with. Everyone knows there's to be such a show. Guildford's along step away, and the train's out of the question."

  "Ah, but you've forgotten Higgins. There's Higgins," Clive remindedthem.

  Yes, there was Higgins, one of those artful, ingratiating scoundrelsever the dread of a Headmaster, ever the attraction of fellows atschool. For this man in question, like many another at other schoolsthan Ranleigh, stocked articles contraband at the school but much soughtafter by boys. The master of a sweet-stuff shop, wherein was combined atobacconist business, he could be visited by those who had obtained apass to the village. Stores of cigarettes were obtained from him.Susanne, whose bad habits had commenced with a somewhat liberal or freeeducation in France prior to coming to England, had no difficulty inpurchasing there what smokes he required; while one boy of Clive'sacquaintance had even bought a revolver, though for what purpose even hecould not say.

  "There's Higgins, yes," reflected Clive.

  "Who's all serene. He's offered to take us in a brake he can hire. Wecan join him up at the back of the school and none be the wiser. Callthe trip ten miles there, and the same back. Well, we're on the spot ina little more than an hour."

  Masters turned a glowing countenance to his friends. But Clive showeddisa
pproval.

  "An hour or more. What's the use of wasting all that time on the road?Let's do the thing in style or not at all. Let's go by motor. Higginscan manage that just as easily."

  "At a price! He don't forget to open his mouth too."

  "Well, what price?"

  Clive dragged out all his available coins and counted them carefully.

  "Three bob a head by trap. Five, if there's a motor," said Masters. "Italked it over with him. Not a bad chap, Higgins. He knows how to keephis mouth shut too, which is something."

  The discussion waned for a while, for each one of the group was busywith his finances. Then all eyes went to Susanne. He was the Croesusof the party. Never a day but he had money in abundance, the reasonbeing perhaps that his father was a banker.

  "Wish mine were," Masters had groaned on more than one occasion. "ThenI'd have a few coppers to spend now and again, instead of a beggarlyallowance. My Governor seems to think that a chap hasn't need of cash.He rams thrift and economy down my throat till I'm almost afraid to buyeven a biscuit."

  "Five bob a head," said Bert reflectively. "Is it worth it?"

  "Is it worth it?" they shouted derisively at him.

  "Ever seen an aeroplane?" asked Clive hotly. "Think of being able to saywe'd watched fellows flying. Besides, we might get up in one ourselves.I mean to try."

  "And there's the feed," Hugh reminded them.

  "Feed? What feed?" demanded Masters eagerly. "Higgins don't include itin his price. I tried to make him. Where's the feed?"

  "Susanne's, duffer!"

  "Mine?" asked the astounded Frenchman. "It's the first I've heard ofit."

  "There's a oner. Never heard of it, when only a minute ago he wastelling us of his friends and how they'd ask us to lunch with 'em,"shouted Masters. "Don't tell us you've forgotten, Susanne."

  "Ask _me_ to lunch. I never said a word about you fellows. It was youwho suggested the thing. Oh, yes, I dare say there'll be a blow-out for_me_," said Susanne complacently. "But for you, doubtful. You fellowshad better sneak some bread and cheese at supper the night before andcarry a store with you."

  He grinned provocatively at them, and then calmly tackled a roastedapple. "Yes," he reflected, "I've no doubt I shall meet one friend atleast. There's Levallois, a flyer. My word, he can fly! He comes fromLyons, and'll be awfully glad to see me."

  "Us," suggested Masters desperately.

  "Me. What's he want to know you for? I shall go off to lunch with him asa matter of course. It'll be sickening to leave you fellows, naturally,and no one'll be more sorry than I, er--er--or you--but then, there itis."

  So saying he buried his teeth in the apple, taking not the smallestnotice of the glaring eyes of his comrades.

  "Of all the selfish beggars!" began Masters, whose energy was alwayspronounced when there was a question of food. "Susanne don't deserve tocome with us. It's sickening to hear him jaw about a feed all forhimself, and to listen to him advising us to take chunks of bread ashard as bricks, and cheese that's only fit for use as cart grease. It'ssimply sickening."

  His disgust was great--so great, in fact, that he might have pressed thequestion still further, thereby bringing about a termination of thehitherto comparatively pleasant nature of the meeting. But the practicalBert intervened.

  "What's the use of grousing," he asked, "and gassing about a feed that'snever been offered? Why, Susanne's friend mayn't be there. He may findno one to invite him."

  "I shall. Certain," declared that individual, grinning. "If there's oneFrenchman there, he is my countryman. He pays toll. That's quiteregular. He'll be awfully glad to meet me."

  "Oh, well, then you get an invite. What's it matter? Bread's good enoughfor me so long as I see the fun. Let's settle the matter. Five bob's aheap. That Higgins is a Shylock. He'll take every cent from me."

  "Same here," asserted Hugh, pulling a face. "I shall be short for therest of the term."

  Susanne produced a sovereign. "How much for the lot?" he asked.

  "Twenty shillings, and five extra for you," cried Masters.

  "Then take it as settled. I'll write home to the people and tell 'emI've had heavy calls. A motor's a call, isn't it?" he asked naively,seeing his friends smile. "I pay the motor. If there isn't a feed, thenwe've something left to buy grub with. How's that? Pass another apple,Clive. You hang over them as if the store belonged to you."

  It got dusk before they had finished talking. The far ends of theworkshop were hidden in gloom before they rose from their places aboutthe stove. And then there came the sound of a scraping match. A flarelit the gloom in the distance. A tall figure stretched upward to aswinging lamp and lit the wick. It was Hole, the school's carpentryinstructor, unchanged after years of service, with an eagle eye for oldfaces and a keen recollection of incidents gone and forgotten by themajority. If only every school existing had such a workshop, and madeattendance there almost compulsory, instead of an extra to be paid forby parents! For there, in the workshop provided by Ranleigh, boyslearned a thousand and one things. Handiness came quickly to them, andbetter than all, perhaps, here was at hand a means to fill many an hourwhich might otherwise have been idle.

  Benches down the centre bore a host of tools, while the special propertyof individuals was housed in lockers near the entrance. The stove wasplaced half-way along the shop, and beyond, one entered a second shopprovided with turning lathes. See Clive there, with the faithful andinterested Hugh in attendance, both lads working the foot pedal withmight and main, while dust and shavings whirled about them. Or followthem to the blacksmith's shop, an adjacent institution. There, dressedin leather aprons, with sleeves tucked to the shoulder, they might beseen many and many a time beating out some piece of spluttering metal onthe anvil. Or the metal-turning lathe held their attention, and theyslowly and laboriously pounded at the pedal while the hardened tooltook off shavings at a pace which was slow to the point of exasperation.

  But there were days also in this shop when flames and sparks flew up thechimney wildly, when either Hugh or Clive, or even Susanne on occasion,turned the handle of the mechanical blower. Coke heaped high on thehearth glowed redly, while the heat within the shop was stifling.Perhaps these conditions existed for an hour; perhaps for longer, Cliveor the shop instructor ever and again lifting the lid of a crucibleburied in the glowing coke. And then, with a joyful shout, it wasannounced that the brass was molten. Think, then, of the joy these youngmechanics experienced. The boxes placed so carefully over in the cornerhad cost them many an hour's labour. Packed with sand, and divided atthe commencement, the two halves of the moulds fashioned from their ownpatterns were now assembled, and the moment had arrived to pour themolten brass into the narrow openings left for that purpose. And imaginethe impatience of these model-makers awaiting the setting of theircastings.

  Those were the days which Clive enjoyed most. It was after a bout ofcasting that his lessons were worse prepared than on other occasions,while drills and "impots" showered upon him.

  "Darrell, inattentive again," Old B. would exclaim sadly, as if thematter were a personal grief to him. "Half an hour's drill to-morrow."

  Or Harvey, the great Harvey, would rouse his curly, shapely head fromhis desk in the middle of prep., strange sounds having disturbed him.

  "If that isn't young Darrell again," he'd exclaim testily. "Come here,Darrell."

  Fearful of the consequences, but unlikely to be robbed of his love ofmechanics by any amount of punishment, Clive would leave his seat andcome to the front.

  "Well?"

  "I--er----"

  "What's it this time?"

  "Only a wheel. I was just filing it so as to be ready for after school."

  The culprit would hand forth a file of gigantic size, and a casting ofhis own making. Prep., Clive had found, was an excellent time for thedoing of such little jobs. But there was the difficulty of drowningnoise. Harvey had been annoyed on more than one occasion.

  "Oh, only a wheel! Let's see, what was it last time?"
r />   "Another wheel. You see, there are two, and----"

  "There generally are two. Look here, Darrell, I'm sick of this nonsense.You not only shirk your own work, and get into trouble with your formmaster, but you disturb the other fellows and keep them from work. Comealong to the Scholars' room after supper. I shall give you a whacking."

  And, as a matter of course, Masters would be grinning delightedly asClive went back to his seat, while Hugh or Bert or Susanne would passshort notes of compassion to him. Sometimes they were shot over theheads of the others in the form of darts, duly labelled with the name ofDarrell. Or they were passed from hand to hand, or better still, thewily Susanne's invention, they were rolled into the shape of a finepencil, inserted in a pea-shooter, and sent hurtling at the head of theone for whom the correspondence was intended. Let us record, too, thatSusanne became an expert with this instrument. Such was his dexterity,and such his strength of lung, that with the aid of wet blotting-paperrolled into balls, and essentially of red colour, he could actuallyeject them at the high ceilings of the form rooms, where the moistcondition of the shot caused it to adhere, and--so good was the aimafter long practice--that with patience and a sufficiency of these moistpellets Susanne could write his name on the ceiling. That term many aform room ceiling bore in thin lines of red dots the letters Feofe, with"Susanne" close alongside in brackets.

  But there was the question of the aeroplane meeting to be settled.

  "Masters will see Higgins and fix it," Clive explained to Hugh in ahoarse whisper, when they were seated at prep. that evening. "It's luckythat to-morrow's a saint's day. That'll give us heaps of time, for themeeting don't begin till after midday."

  Numerous were the notes which passed between Clive and Masters and Hughduring that hour and a half's prep. The many items to be settled causedthe exchange of missives even when they had reached their dormitories,and that fascinating, home-made telephone being as yet incomplete, and,in fact, stubbornly refusing to work in spite of the scientific aid andknowledge of Susanne, they had recourse yet again to the weird series ofwheels and strings passing over the partition. And, of course, as fatewould have it on this the most important of occasions, Sturtondiscovered what was happening.

  "What the dickens----" he suddenly demanded, swinging round in the chairin which he was seated at the dormitory table. "Here, Darrell, up tosomething more? I told you last week I wouldn't have any furtherchucking of notes over the partition. Suppose it's to young Seymouragain? Bring that note here."

  It was a desperate moment. Clive clambered out of bed and steppedacross to the prefect, the note in his hand.

  "Here it is," he said grudgingly, eyeing Sturton askance, for that notecontained a resume of the details of their escapade of the morrow.Dished up in finished style, as it were, were full particulars of theirintended movements. Anyone glancing through the scrawly and badlyspelled lines could not fail but discover the depths of the conspiracy.

  "Higgins is a brick," the words went. "Masters saw him to-night after prep and just before chapel and Higgins said he was reddy and didn't want twenty five bob but twenty and that's awfully decent of him and the car's going to be wating over by the windmil at twelve. Won't it be ripping, eh. There's heaps of room for the lot of us and Higgins'll have smokes. Susanne says they're nesessary to him and'll make him look like a blud, and Higgins knows a shop where we can get a blow out for next to nothing. There a bob each to pay to go into the plais where the aroplaynes fly, but Higgins can manage to pass us in free as his frend's the gatekeeper. So all's serene and to-morrow'll be ripping.

  "THE FIRM."

  That was the communication. Sturton handled it and turned it overcuriously. As a matter of fact, he was rather amused at these notes soconstantly passing. It not being so very long since he himself was ayoungster, he had a friendly recollection of his own eccentricities.

  "What's this?" he asked sternly, causing the pyjamaed Clive to quake."One would think you young donkeys hadn't a chance for gassing duringthe daytime. As it is, I know this sort of thing goes on the whole ofprep. time. Look here, Darrell, an hour's drill to-morrow."

  An hour's drill. Why, that meant that Clive, with a number of otherforlorn individuals subjected to the same punishment for their variouscrimes, would have to assemble in the quad after dinner, and there bemarched to and fro and round and round by a prefect as weary of the taskas they were. At least, that was the general rule. Sometimes thecommander of this squad was a martinet. Sometimes the master for theweek wreaked his vengeance on boys in general and these unhappy wightsin particular by taking the quad himself, or standing at the entrance tothe quad, his mere presence stimulating the prefect till the boysundergoing punishment groaned at the numerous orders to "right wheel,""left wheel," "form line," "form fours." Form every sort of formationthat the drill-book allows for or the fertile mind of an ingeniousprefect can devise. And Canning was the master for the week, andRawlings the brute of a prefect who would be on duty on the morrow.

  Clive groaned and shivered.

  "But to-morrow's a saint's day, Sturton," he ventured in tones ofprotest.

  "All the better. You'll want something to do. Time hangs heavy with youyoungsters on saints' days. A drill'll keep you out of mischief."

  "But----"

  "What's in this precious note?" asked Sturton, holding it up to thegaslight. "Secrets? Let's see 'em."

  He handed the note to Clive and invited him to open the folded paper.That young fellow went a sickly yellow colour. The drill could be gotover, he reflected. He could miss it. He'd have to do it every dayafter, that was certain, and Sturton might invite Harvey to give him aslogging. But the cause was worth this sacrifice. But to open the noteand show Sturton the contents meant wrecking the whole affair.

  "It's private," he managed to say at length.

  "Oh, private, and awfully important. Let's see."

  In one second Sturton fell in Clive's eyes from the giddy pinnacle onwhich he had been placed. "Never thought he could be such a cad. Openingfellows' letters. Beastly dodge!" thought Clive, glowering on him.

  "Here, open it and read," said Sturton severely.

  "It's private."

  "Can't help that. Read it."

  "It's private, I tell you."

  Clive was distinctly angry and stubborn.

  "Oh!" Sturton looked him up and down, his brow furrowed. He had not thesmallest intention of opening the note himself, nor even of listening toits contents. He was merely gauging Clive's character. "Then you won't?"he asked coolly.

  "No, I won't."

  "You know what to expect, eh?"

  "Yes. I don't care."

  "Look here, Darrell, don't be a donkey. Fellows don't look at otherchaps' notes, or listen to secrets. You're right not to split. Get backto bed. Promise not to send any more and I'll let you off the drill."

  "Not after this one," said Clive. "It's important."

  Sturton grinned. He could thoroughly sympathise, and he rather likedClive for his show of obstinacy.

  "Pitch it over then," he said, "and let it be the last. I'll whack youif you break your promise."

  "But a chap can telephone, and we'll have to work like niggers to getthat thing going," said Clive, when he had whispered to Susanne.

  "That won't be sending notes. I wouldn't break a promise to anyone,least of all to Sturton. He's a decent fellow."

  The morrow found the Old Firm jubilant and expectant. They slipped offafter Chapel, raced down to the common and espied a panting car over bythe windmill. All together they changed their school caps for bowlersand donned their overcoats. Susanne and Masters, who always did thesethings in superior style, had donned the tallest of tall collars, whilethe former had blossomed forth with an eyeglass. And we are bound toconfess that Susanne thus decked out made quite a handsome andimpressive foreigner. Masters had the appearance of a third-rate actor,for, as we have said, his collar was of the highest, while his fancywaistcoat would have roused
the envy of a Cockney. Patent leather boots,spats, and a cane of huge proportions completed a turn-out which wasdistinctly startling. However, who thought of that, for were they notoff on an expedition which promised huge excitement?

  "I mean to get a lift in one of the machines," said Clive deliberately.

  "While Susanne ain't forgot his promise," interjected Masters.

  "Promise!" exclaimed the gallant Frenchman.

  "A blow-out," Masters reminded him.

  "For me--yes. Rather!" came the tantalising answer.

  "All aboard!" cried the rascal who was to drive them. "Ready? Then offwe go!"

  The engine roared. The clutch went in with a jerk. The car bounded offfor Guildford and the long-anticipated flying meeting which the Old Firmhad determined to patronise.