Chương Chương 8 · Unbending the Bow

. Unbending the Bow

"I pray you, give me leave to go from hence,

I am not well;"

_Merchant of Venice._

"He will not blush, that has a father's heart,

To take in childish plays a childish part;

But bends his sturdy back to any toy

That youth takes pleasure in,--to please his boy."

The football field was a large one, bounded on two sides by tall wooden

palings, and on the other two by a hedge and a new shingled road,

separated from the field by a post and rails.

Two of the younger boys, proud of their office, raced down to the

further end to set up the goal-posts. The rest lounged idly about

without attempting to begin operations, except the new boy Kiffin, who

was seen walking apart from the rest, diligently studying the "rules of

the game of football," as laid down in a small _Boy's Own Pocket Book

and Manual of Outdoor Sports_, with which he had been careful to provide

himself.

At last Tipping suggested that they had better begin, and proposed that

Mr. Blinkhorn and himself should toss up for the choice of sides, and

this being done, Mr. Bultitude presently, to his great dismay, heard his

name mentioned. "I'll have young Bultitude," said Tipping; "he used to

play up decently. Look here, you young beggar, you're on my side, and if

you don't play up it will be the worse for you!"

It was not worth while, however, to protest, since he would so soon be

rid of the whole crew for ever, and so Paul followed Tipping and his

train with dutiful submission, and the game began.

It was not a spirited performance. Mr. Tinkler, who was not an athlete,

retired at once to the post and rails, on which he settled himself to

enjoy a railway novel with a highly stimulating cover. Mr. Blinkhorn,

who had more conscientious views of his office, charged about

vigorously, performing all kinds of wonders with the ball, though

evidently more from a sense of duty than with any idea of enjoyment.

Tipping occasionally took the trouble to oppose him, but as a concession

merely, and with a parade of being under no necessity to do so; and

these two, with a very small following of enthusiasts on either side,

waged a private and confidential kind of warfare in different parts of

the field, while the others made no pretence of playing for the present,

but strolled about in knots, exchanging and bartering the treasures

valuable in the sight of schoolboys, and gossiping generally.

As for Paul, he did not clearly understand what "playing up" might mean.

He had not indulged in football since he was a genuine boy, and then

only in a rudimentary and primitive form, and without any particular

fondness for the exercise. But being now, in spirit at all events, a

precise elderly person, with a decided notion of taking care of himself,

he was resolved that not even Tipping should compel him to trust his

person within range of that dirty brown globe, which whistled past his

ear or seemed spinning towards his stomach with such a hideous

suggestion of a cannon-ball about it.

All the ghastly instances, too, of accidents to life and limb in the

football field came unpleasantly into his memory, and he saw the

inadvisability of mingling with the crowd and allowing himself to be

kicked violently on the shins.

So he trotted industriously about at a safe distance in order to allay

suspicion, while waiting for a good opportunity to put his scheme of

escape into execution.

At last he could wait no longer, for the fearful thought occurred to

him, that if he remained there much longer, the Doctor--who, as he knew

from Dick, always came to superintend, if not to share the sports of his

pupils--might make his appearance, and then his chance would be lost for

the present, for he knew too well that he should never find courage to

ask permission from _him_.

With a beating heart he went up to Mr. Tinkler, who was still on the

fence with his novel, and asked as humbly as he could bring himself to

do:

"If you please, sir, will you allow me to go home? I'm--I'm not feeling

at all well."

"Not well! What's the matter with you?" said Mr. Tinkler, without

looking up.

Paul had not prepared himself for details, and the sudden question

rather threw him off his guard.

"A slight touch of liver," he said at length. "It takes me after meals

sometimes."

"Liver!" said Mr. Tinkler, "you've no right to such a thing at your age;

it's all nonsense, you know. Run in and play, that'll set you up again."

"It's fatal, sir," said Paul. "My doctor expressly warned me against

taking any violent exercise soon after luncheon. If you knew what liver

is, you wouldn't say so!"

Mr. Tinkler stared, as well he might, but making nothing of it, and

being chiefly anxious not to be interrupted any longer, only said, "Oh,

well, don't bother me; I daresay it's all right. Cut along!"

So Mr. Bultitude was free; the path lay open to him now. He knew he

would have little difficulty in finding his way to the station, and,

once there, he would have the whole afternoon in which to wait for a

train to town.

"I've managed that excellently," he thought, as he ran blithely off,

almost like the boy he seemed. "Not the slightest hitch. I defy the

fates themselves to stop me now!"

But the fates are ladies, and--not of course that it

follows--occasionally spiteful. It is very rash indeed to be ungallant

enough to defy them--they have such an unpleasant habit of accepting the

challenge.

Mr. Bultitude had hardly got clear of the groups scattered about the

field, when he met a small flaxen-haired boy, who was just coming down

to join the game. It was Porter, his neighbour of the German lesson.

"There you are, Bultitude, then," he said in his squeaky voice: "I want

you."

"I can't stop," said Paul, "I'm in a hurry--another time."

"Another time won't do," said little Porter, laying hold of him by his

jacket. "I want that rabbit."

This outrageous demand took Mr. Bultitude's breath away. He had no idea

what rabbit was referred to, or why he should be required to produce

such an animal at a moment's notice. This was the second time an

inconvenient small boy had interfered between him and liberty. He would

not be baffled twice. He tried to shake off his persecutor.

"I tell you, my good boy, I haven't such a thing about me. I haven't

indeed. I don't even know what you're talking about."

This denial enraged Porter.

"I say, you fellows," he called out, "come here! Do make Bultitude give

me my rabbit. He says he doesn't know anything about it now!"

At this several of the loungers came up, glad of a distraction.

"What's the matter?" some of them asked.

"Why," whined Porter, "he promised to bring me back a rabbit this term,

and now he pretends he does not know anything about it. Make him say

what he's done with it!"

Mr. Bultitude was not usually ready of resource, but now he had what

seemed a happy thought.

"Gad!" he cried, pretending to recollect it, "so I did--to be sure, a

rabbit, of course, how could I forget it? It's--it's a splendid rabbit.

I'll go and fetch it!"

"Will you?" cried Porter, half relieved. "Where is it, then?"

"Where?" said Paul sharply (he was growing positively brilliant). "Why,

in my playbox to be sure; where should it be?"

"It isn't in your playbox, I know," put in Siggers: "because I saw it

turned out yesterday and there was no rabbit then. Besides, how could a

rabbit live in a playbox? He's telling lies. I can see it by his face.

He hasn't any rabbit!"

"Of course I haven't!" said Mr. Bultitude. "How should I? I'm not a

conjurer. It's not a habit of mine to go about with rabbits concealed on

my person. What's the use of coming to me like this? It's absurd, you

know; perfectly absurd!"

The crowd increased until there was quite a ring formed round Mr.

Bultitude and the indignant claimant, and presently Tipping came

bustling up.

"What's the row here, you fellows?" he said. "Bultitude again, of

course. What's he been doing now?"

"He had a rabbit he said he was keeping for me," explained little

Porter: "and now he won't give it up or tell me what he's done with it."

"He has some mice he ought to give us, too," said one or two new-comers,

edging their way to the front.

Mr. Bultitude was of course exceedingly annoyed by this unlooked-for

interruption, and still more by such utterly preposterous claims on him

for animals; however, it was easy to explain that he had no such things

in his possession, and after that of course no more could be said. He

was beginning to disclaim all liability, when Siggers stopped him.

"Keep that for the present," he said. "I say, we ought to have a regular

trial over this, and get at the truth of it properly. Let's fetch him

along to the goal-posts and judge him!"

He fixed upon the goal-posts as being somehow more formal, and, as his

proposal was well received, two of them grasped Mr. Bultitude by the

collar and dragged him along in procession to the appointed spot between

the two flags, while Siggers followed in what he conceived to be a

highly judicial manner, and evidently enjoying himself prodigiously.

Paul, though highly indignant, allowed himself to be led along without

resistance. It was safest to humour them, for after all it would not

last long, and when they were tired of baiting him he could watch his

time and slip quietly away.

When they reached the goal-posts Siggers arranged them in a circle,

placing himself, the hapless Paul, and his accusers in the centre. "You

chaps had better all be jurymen," he said. "I'll be judge, and unless he

makes a clean breast of it," he added with judicial impartiality, "the

court will jolly well punch his ugly young head off."

Siggers' father was an Old Bailey barrister in good and rather sharp

practice, so that it was clearly the son's mission to preside on this

occasion. But unfortunately his hour of office was doomed to be a brief

one, for Mr. Blinkhorn, becoming aware that the game was being still

more scantily supported, and noticing the crowd at the goal, came up to

know the reason of it at a long camel-like trot, his hat on the back of

his head, his mild face flushed with exertion, and his pebble glasses

gleaming in the winter sunshine.

"What are you all doing here? Why don't you join the game? I've come

here to play football with you, and how can I do it if you all slink off

and leave me to play by myself?" he asked with pathos.

"Please, sir," said Siggers, alarmed at the threatened loss of his

dignity, "it's a trial, and I'm judge."

"Yes, sir," the whole ring shouted together. "We're trying Bultitude,

sir."

On the whole, perhaps, Mr. Bultitude was glad of this interference. At

least justice would be done now, although this usher had blundered so

unpardonably that morning.

"This is childish, you know," said Mr. Blinkhorn, "and it's not

football. The Doctor will be seriously angry if he comes and sees you

trifling here. Let the boy go."

"But he's cheated some of the fellows, sir," grumbled Tipping and

Siggers together.

"Well, _you_'ve no right to punish him if he has. Leave him to me."

"Will you see fair play between them, sir? He oughtn't to be let off

without being made to keep his word."

"If there is any dispute between you and Bultitude," said Mr. Blinkhorn,

"I have no objection to settle it--provided it is within my province."

"Settle it without me," said Paul hurriedly. "I've leave to go home. I'm

ill."

"Who gave you leave to go home?" asked the master.

"That young man over there on the rails," said Paul.

"I am the proper person to apply to for leave; you know that well

enough," said Mr. Blinkhorn, with a certain coldness in his tone. "Now

then, Porter, what is all this business about?"

"Please, sir," said Porter, "he told me last term he had a lot of

rabbits at home, and if I liked he would bring me back a lop-eared one

and let me have it cheap, and I gave him two shillings, sir, and

sixpence for a hutch to keep it in; and now he pretends he doesn't know

anything about it!"

To Paul's horror two or three other boys came forward with much the same

tale. He remembered now that during the holidays he had discovered that

Dick was maintaining a sort of amateur menagerie in his bedroom, and

that he had ordered the whole of the livestock to be got rid of or

summarily destroyed.

Now it seemed that the wretched Dick had already disposed of it to these

clamorous boys, and, what was worse, had stipulated with considerable

forethought for payment in advance. For the first time he repented his

paternal harshness. Like the netted lion, a paltry white mouse or two

would have set him free; but, less happy than the beast in the fable, he

had not one!

He tried to stammer out excuses. "It's extremely unfortunate," he said,

"but the fact is I'm not in a position to meet this--this sudden call

upon me. Some other day, perhaps----"

"None of your long words, now," growled Tipping. (Boys hate long words

as much as even a Saturday Reviewer.) "Why haven't you brought the

rabbits?"

"Yes," said Mr. Blinkhorn. "Why, having promised to bring the rabbits

with you, haven't you kept your word? You must be able to give some

explanation."

"Because," said Mr. Bultitude, wriggling with embarrassment, "I--that is

my father--found out that my young rascal of a son--I mean his young

rascal of a son (_me_, you know) was, contrary to my express orders,

keeping a couple of abominable rabbits in his bedroom, and a quantity of

filthy little white mice which he tried to train to climb up the

banisters. And I kept finding the brutes running about my bath-room,

and--well, of course, I put a stop to it; and--no, what am I saying?--my

father, of course, he put a stop to it; and, in point of fact, had them

all drowned in a pail of water."

It might be thought that he had an excellent opportunity here of avowing

himself, but there was the risk that Mr. Blinkhorn would disbelieve him,

and, with the boys, he felt that the truth would do anything but

increase his popularity. But dissembling fails sometimes outside the

copy-books, and Mr. Bultitude's rather blundering attempt at it only

landed him in worse difficulties.

There was a yell of rage and disappointment from the defrauded ones, who

had cherished a lingering hope that young Bultitude had those rabbits

somewhere, but (like Mr. Barkis and his wooden lemon) found himself

unable to part with them when the time came to fulfil his contract. And

as contempt is a frame of mind highly stimulating to one's self-esteem,

even those who had no personal interest in the matter joined in the

execrations with hearty goodwill and sympathy.

"Why did you let him do it? They were ours, not his. What right had your

governor to go and drown our rabbits, eh?" they cried wrathfully.

"What right?" said Paul. "Mustn't a man do as he pleases in his own

house, then? I--he was not obliged to see the house overrun with vermin,

I suppose?"

But this only made them angrier, and they resented his defence with

hoots, and groans, and hisses.

Mr. Blinkhorn meanwhile was pondering the affair conscientiously. At

last he said, "But you know the Doctor would never allow animals to be

kept in the school, if Bultitude had brought them. The whole thing is

against the rules, and I shall not interfere."

"Ah, but," said Chawner, "he promised them all to day-boarders. The

Doctor couldn't object to that, could he, sir?"

"True," said Mr. Blinkhorn, "true. I was not aware of that. Well then,

Bultitude, since you are prevented from performing what you promised to

do, I'm sure you won't object to do what is fair and right in the

matter?"

"I don't think I quite follow you," said Mr. Bultitude. But he dreaded

what was coming next.

"It's very simple. You have taken money from these boys, and if you

can't give them value for it, you ought to return all you took from

them. I'm sure you see that yourself."

"I don't admit that I owe them anything," said Paul; "and at all events

it is highly inconvenient to pay them now."

"If your own sense of honour isn't enough," said Mr. Blinkhorn, "I must

take the matter into my own hands. Let every boy who has any claim upon

him tell me exactly what it is."

One boy after another brought forward his claim. One had entrusted Dick,

it appeared, with a shilling, for which he was to receive a mouse with a

"plum saddle," and two others had invested ninepence each in white mice.

With Porter's half-crown, the total came to precisely five

shillings--all Paul had in the world, the one rope by which he could

ever hope to haul himself up to his lost pinnacle!

Mr. Blinkhorn, naturally enough, saw no reason why the money, being

clearly due, should not be paid at once. "Give me any money you have

about you, Bultitude," he said, "and I'll satisfy your debts with it, as

far as it goes."

Paul clasped his arm convulsively. "No!" he cried hoarsely, "not that!

Don't make me do that! I--I can't pay them--not now. They don't

understand. If they only give me time they shall have double their money

back--waggon-loads of rabbits, the best rabbits money can buy--if

they'll wait. Tell them to wait. My dear sir, don't see me wronged! I

won't pay now!"

"They have waited long enough," said Mr. Blinkhorn; "you must pay them."

"I tell you I won't!" cried Paul; "do you hear? Not one sixpence. Oh, if

you knew! That infernal Garuda Stone! What fools people are!"

Then in his despair he did the most fatal thing possible. He tried to

save himself by flight, and with a violent plunge broke through the

circle and made for the road which led towards the station.

Instantly the whole school, only too glad of the excitement, was at his

heels. The unhappy Colonial Produce merchant ran as he had not run for a

quarter of a century, faster even than he had on his first experience of

Coggs' and Coker's society on that memorable Monday night. But in spite

of his efforts the chase was a short one. Chawner and Tipping very soon

had him by the collar, and brought him back, struggling and kicking out

viciously, to Mr. Blinkhorn, whose good opinion he had now lost for

ever.

"Please, sir," said Chawner, "I can feel something like a purse in his

pocket. Shall I take it out, sir?"

"As he refuses to act with common honesty--yes," said Mr. Blinkhorn.

It was Dick's purse, of course; and in spite of Paul's frantic efforts

to retain it, it was taken from him, its contents equitably divided

amongst the claimants, and the purse itself returned to him--empty.

"Now, Bultitude," said Mr. Blinkhorn, "if you really wish to leave the

field, you may."

Mr. Bultitude lost what little temper he had yet to lose; he flung the

useless purse from him and broke away from them all in a condition

little removed from insanity.

Leave the field! What a mockery the permission was now. How was he to

get home, a distance of more than fifty miles, without a penny in his

pocket? Ten minutes before, and freedom was within his grasp, and now it

had eluded him and was as hopelessly out of reach as ever!

No one pitied him; no one understood the real extent of his loss. Mr.

Blinkhorn and the few enthusiasts went back to their unobtrusive game,

while the rest of the school discussed the affair in groups, the popular

indignation against young Bultitude's hitherto unsuspected meanness

growing more marked every instant.

It might have even taken some decided and objectionable form before

long, but when it was at its height there was a sudden cry of alarm.

"_Cave_, you fellows, here's Grim!" and indeed in the far distance the

Doctor's portly and imposing figure could be seen just turning the

corner into the field.

Mr. Bultitude felt almost cheered. This coming to join his pupils'

sports showed a good heart; the Doctor would almost certainly be in a

good humour, and he cheated himself into believing that, at some

interval in the game, he might perhaps find courage to draw near and

seek to interest him in his incredible woes.

It was quite extraordinary to see how the game, which had hitherto

decidedly languished and hung fire, now quickened into briskness and

became positively spirited. Everyone developed a hearty interest in it,

and it would almost seem as if the boys, with more delicacy than they

are generally credited with, were unwilling to let their master guess

how little his indulgence was really appreciated. Even Mr. Tinkler,

whose novel had kept him spell-bound on his rail all through the recent

excitement, now slipped it hurriedly into his pocket and rushed

energetically into the fray, shouting encouragement rather

indiscriminately to either side, till he had an opportunity of finding

out privately to which leader he had been assigned.

Dr. Grimstone came down the field at a majestic slow trot, calling out

to the players as he came on--"Well done, Mutlow! Finely played, sir!

Dribble it along now. Ah, you're afraid of it! Run into it, sir, run

into it! No running with the ball now, Siggers; play without those petty

meannesses, or leave the game! There, leave the ball to me, will

you--leave it to me!"

And, as the ball had rolled in his direction, he punted it up in an

exceedingly dignified manner, the whole school keeping respectfully

apart, until he had brought it to a reasonable distance from the goal,

when he kicked it through with great solemnity, amidst faint, and it is

to be feared somewhat sycophantic applause, and turned away with the air

of a man surfeited of success.

"For which side did I win that?" he asked presently, whereupon Tipping

explained that his side had been the favoured one. "Well then," he said,

"you fellows must all back me up, or I shall not play for you any more;"

and he kicked off the ball for the next game.

It was noticeable that the party thus distinguished did not seem

precisely overwhelmed with pleasure at the compliment, which, as they

knew from experience, implied considerable exertion on their part, and

even disgrace if they were unsuccessful.

The other side too looked unhappy, feeling themselves in a position of

extreme delicacy and embarrassment. For if they played their best, they

ran some risk of offending the Doctor, or, what was worse, drawing him

over into their ranks; while if, on the other hand, they allowed

themselves to be too easily worsted, they might be suspected of

sulkiness and temper--offences which he was very ready to discover and

resent.

Dr. Grimstone for his part enjoyed the exercise, and had no idea that he

was not a thoroughly welcome and valued playmate. But though it was

pleasant to outsiders to see a schoolmaster permitting himself to share

in the recreation of his pupils, it must be owned that to the latter the

advantages of the arrangement seemed something more than dubious.

Mr. Bultitude, being on the side adopted by the Doctor, found too soon

that he was expected to bestir himself. More than ever anxious now to

conciliate, he did his very best to conquer his natural repugnance and

appear more interested than alarmed as the ball came in his way; but

although (in boating slang) he "sugared" with some adroitness, he was

promptly found out, for his son had been a dashing and plucky player.

It was bitter for him to run meekly about while scathing sarcasms and

comments on his want of courage were being hurled at his head. It

shattered the scanty remnants of his self-respect, but he dared not

protest or say a single word to open the Doctor's eyes to the injustice

he was doing him.

He was unpleasantly reminded, too, of the disfavour he had acquired

amongst his companions, by some one or other of them running up to him

every moment when the Doctor's attention was called elsewhere, and

startling his nerves by a sly jog or pinch, or an abusive epithet hissed

viciously into his ears--Chawner being especially industrious in this

respect.

And in this unsatisfactory way the afternoon dragged along until the

dusk gathered and the lamps were lighted, and it became too dark to see

goal-posts or ball.

By the time play was stopped and the school reformed for the march home,

Mr. Bultitude felt that he was glad even to get back to labour as a

relief from such a form of enjoyment. It was perhaps the most miserable

afternoon he had ever spent in his whole easy-going life. In the course

of it he had passed from brightest hope to utter despair; and now

nothing remained to him but to convince the Doctor, which he felt quite

unequal to do, or to make his escape without money--which would

inevitably end in a recapture.

May no one who reads this ever be placed upon the horns of such a

dilemma!