Chapter Thirty Four.

A Conspiracy Foiled.

As the feathery snows
Fall frequent on some wintry day...
The stony volleys flew.
 
Cowper.

Yes, Charlie had conquered, thanks to the grace that sustained him, and thanks, secondarily, to a good home training, and to Walter’s strong and excellent influence. And in gaining that one point he had gained all. No one dared directly to molest him further, and he had never again to maintain so hard a struggle. He had resisted the beginnings of evil; he had held out under the stress of persecution; and now he could enjoy the smoother and brighter waters over which he sailed.

His enemies were for the time discomfited, and even the hardy Wilton was abashed. For a week or two there was considerably less bravado in his face and manner, and his influence over those of his own age was shaken. That little rap of the cane which Bliss had given him had a most salutary effect in diminishing his conceit. Hanley retracted his promise to deny all knowledge of anything wrong that went on, and openly defied Wilton; even Elgood ceased to fear him. Charlie had felt inclined to cut him, but, with generous impulse, he forgave all that was past, and, keeping on civil terms with him, did all he could to draw him to less crooked paths.

Mackworth was so ashamed that he hardly ventured to show his face. He had always made Bliss a laughing-stock, had nicknamed him Ass’s Head, and had taught others to jeer at his backwardness. He had presumed on his lazy good humour, and affected to patronise and look down on him. An eruption in a long-extinct volcano could not have surprised him more than the sudden outburst of Bliss’s wrath, and if the two blows which he had received as he fled before him in sight of the whole house had been branded on his back with a hot iron, they could hardly have caused him more painful humiliation. For some time he slunk about like a whipped puppy, and imagined, not without some ground, that no one saw him without an inclination to smile.

Kenrick, too, had reason to blush. Every one knew that it was Bliss, and not he, who had rescued the house from attaching to its name another indelible disgrace; and when he heard the monitors and sixth-form talking seriously among themselves of the bad state into which the Noelites had fallen, he felt that the stigma was deserved, and that he, as being the chief cause of the mischief, must wear the brand.

All Kenrick’s faults and errors had had their root in an overweening pride, a pride which grew fast upon him, and the intensity of which increased in proportion as it grew less and less justifiable. But now he had suffered a salutary rebuke. He had been openly blamed, openly slighted, and openly set aside, and was unable to gainsay the justice of the proceeding. He felt that with every boy in the school, who had any right feeling, Bliss was now regarded as a more upright and honourable—nay, even as a more important and influential, person than himself. Among other mortifications, it galled him especially to hear the warm thanks and cordial praise which Power and Walter and Henderson expressed when first they happened to meet Bliss. He saw Walter wring his hand, and overheard him saying in that genial tone in which he himself had once been addressed so often—“Thank you, Bliss, a thousand times for saving my dear little brother from the hands of those brutes. Charlie and I will not soon forget how much we owe you.” Walter said it with tears in his eyes, and Bliss answered with a happy smile—“Don’t thank me, Walter; I only did what any fellow would have done who was worth anything.”

“And you’ll look after Charlie for me now and then, will you?”

“That I will,” said Bliss; “but you needn’t fear for him—he’s a hero, a regular hero—that’s what I call him, and I’d do anything for him.”

So Kenrick, vexed and discontented, almost hid himself in those days in his own study, the victim of that most wearing of intolerable and sickening diseases—a sense of shame. Except to play football occasionally, he seldom left his room or took any exercise, and fell into a dispirited, broken way of life, feeling unhappy and alone. He had no associates now except his inferiors, for his conduct had forfeited the regard of his equals, and with many of them he was at open feud. The only pleasure left to him was desperately hard work. Not only was he stimulated by a fiery ambition, a mad desire to excel in the half-year’s competition, and show what he was yet capable of, and so to some extent redeem his unhappy position, but also his heart was fixed on getting, if possible, the chief scholarship of Saint Winifred’s—a scholarship sufficiently valuable to pay the main part of those college expenses which it would be otherwise impossible for his mother to bear. He feared, indeed, that he had little or no chance against Power, or even against Walter, who were both competitors, but he would not give up all hope. His abilities were of the most brilliant order, and if he had often been idle at Saint Winifred’s, he had, on the other hand, often worked exceedingly hard during the holidays at Fuzby, where, unlike other boys, he had little or nothing else to amuse him. Mrs Kenrick, sitting beside him silent at her work for long hours, would have been glad enough to see in him more elasticity, more kindliness, less absorption in his own selfish pursuits; but she rejoiced that at home, at any rate, he did not waste his vacant days in idleness, or spend them in questionable amusements and undesirable society.

Almost the only boy of whom he saw much now was Wilton, and but for him, I do believe, that in those days he would have changed his whole tone of thought and mode of life. But he had a strange liking for this worthless boy, who kept alive in him his jealousy of Walter, his opposition to the other monitors, his partisanship, his recklessness, and his pride. Sometimes Kenrick felt this. He saw that Wilton was bad as well as attractive, and that their friendship, instead of doing Wilton any good, only did himself harm. But he could not make up his mind to throw him off, for there was no one else who seemed to feel for him as a close and intimate friend. Many of Kenrick’s failings rose from that. He had offended, and rejected, and alienated his early and true friends, and he felt now that it was easier to lose friends than to make them, or to recover their affection when it once was lost.

But the bad set at Saint Winifred’s, though in one house their influence was weakened, were determined not to see it wane throughout the school. Harpour and his associates organised a regular conspiracy against the monitors. When the first light snow fell they got together a very large number of fellows, and snowballed all the monitors except Kenrick, as they came out of morning school. The exception was very much to Kenrick’s discredit, and in his heart he felt it to be so. During the first day or two that this lasted the monitors took it good-humouredly, returning the snowballs, and regarding it as a joke, though an annoying one; but when it became more serious, when some snowballs had been thrown at the masters also, and when some of the worst fellows began to collect snowballs beforehand and harden them into great lumps of ice as hard as stones, and when Brown, who was short-sighted, and was therefore least able to protect himself, had received a serious blow, Power, by the advice of the rest, put up a notice that from that time the snowballing must cease, or the monitors would have to punish the boys who did it. This notice the school tried to resist, but the firmness of Power and his friends put a stop to their rebellion. If the notice was disregarded he determined, by Walter’s, advice, to seize the ringleaders, and not notice the younger boys whom they incited. Accordingly next morning they found the school gathered as usual, in spite of the notice, for the purpose of pelting them, and, saying nothing, they kept their eyes on the biggest fellows in the group. A shower of snowballs fell among them, hitting several of them, and, to the great amusement of the school, knocking over several hats into the snow.

“Harpour,” said Walter, very sternly, “I saw you throw a snowball. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself that you, a fellow at the head of the eleven, should set such a bad example? Don’t suppose that your size or position shall get you off. Come before the monitors directly after breakfast.”

“Hanged if I do,” answered Harpour, with a sulky laugh.

“Well, I daresay you will be hanged in the long-run,” was the contemptuous reply; “but come, or else take the consequences.”

“Tracy,” said Henderson, “I saw you throw a snowball which knocked off Power’s hat. It was a hard one too. You come before the monitors with Harpour.”

“I shall be quaite delaighted,” drawled out Tracy.

“Glad to hear it; I hope you’ll be quaite equally delaighted when you leave us.” The mimicry was so perfect that all the boys broke into a roar of laughter, which was all the louder because Tracy immediately began to chafe and “smoke.”

“And, Jones,” said Power, as the laugh against Tracy subsided, “I think I saw you throw a snowball and hit Smythe. I strongly suspect, too, that you were the fellow who hit Brown yesterday. I think every one will know, Jones, why you chose Smythe and Brown to pelt, instead of any other monitors. You too come to the sixth-form room after breakfast.”

“I didn’t throw one,” said Jones.

“You astounding liar,” said Henderson, “I saw you with my own eyes.”

“Oh, ay; of course you’ll say so to spite me.”

“Spite you,” said Henderson scornfully; “my dear fellow, you don’t enter into my thoughts at all. But mark you, Master Jones, I know moreover that you’ve been the chief getter-up of this precious demonstration. You told the fellows that you’d lead them. I’m not sure that you didn’t quote to them the lines—

“‘Press where ye see my white plume shine amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of—Jones.’”

Another peal of laughter followed this allusion to Jones’s well-known nickname of White-feather, a nickname earned by many acts of conspicuous cowardice.

“Hush, Flip,” whispered Power, “we mustn’t make this quite a joke. Jones,” he continued aloud, “do you deny throwing a snowball just now at Smythe?”

“I didn’t throw one,” said Jones, turning pale as he heard the hiss, and the murmur of “White-feather again,” which followed his denial.

“Why, what a pitiful, wretched, sneaking coward you are,” burst out Franklin; “I heard you egging on these fellows to pelt the monitors—they wouldn’t have done it but for you and Harpour—and I saw you hit Smythe just now. You took care to pelt no one else, and now you deny it before all of us who saw you. Upon my word, Jones, I feel inclined to kick you, and I will too.”

“Stop, Franklin,” said Walter, laying his hands on his shoulder, “leave him to us now. Do you still deny throwing, Jones?”

“Well, it was only just a little piece of snow,” said Jones, showing in his blotched face every other contemptible passion fused into the one feeling of abject fear.

“Faugh!” said Power, with scorn and disgust curling his lip and burning in his glance; “really, Jones, you’re almost too mean and nasty to have any dealings with. I don’t think we can do you the honour of convening you. You shall apologise to Smythe here and now, and that shall be enough for you.”

“What! do you hesitate?” said Franklin; “you don’t know when you’re well off. Be quick, for we all want our breakfast.”

“Never mind making him apologise,” said Smythe; “he’s sunk quite low enough already.”

“It’s his own doing,” said Walter. “We can’t have lies like his told without a blush at Saint Winifred’s. Apologise he must and shall.”

“Don’t do it,” said Mackworth.

“What!” said Henderson, “is that Mackworth speaking? Ah! I thought so—Bliss isn’t here!”

Henderson’s manner was irresistibly comic; and as Mackworth winced and slunk back to the very outside of the crowd, the loud laugh which followed showed that the complete exposure of the worthlessness of their champions had already turned the current of feeling among the young conspirators, and that they were beginning to regret their unprovoked attack on the upper boys.

“Now then, Jones, this is what you have to read,” said Walter, who had been writing it on a slip of paper—“I humbly beg Smythe’s pardon for pelting him, and the pardon of all present for my abominable lies.”

Jones began to mumble it out, but there arose a general shout of—

“On your knees, White-feather; on your knees, and much louder.”

Franklin, who was boiling over with anger and contempt, sprang forward, took Jones by the neck, and forced him on his knees in the snow, where he made him read the apology, and then let him loose. A shower of snowballs followed him as he ran to the refuge of the breakfast-hall, for there was not a boy present, no matter to what faction he belonged, who did not feel for Jones a very hearty contempt.

“I hope we shall have no more of this, boys,” said Power, before the rest dispersed. “There have been monitors at Saint Winifred’s for a hundred years now, and it’s infinitely better for the school that there should be. I suppose you would hardly prefer to be at the mercy of such a fellow as that,” he said, pointing in the direction of Jones’s flight. “I don’t know why we should be unpopular amongst you. You know that not one of us has ever abused his authority, or behaved otherwise than kindly to you all. But I am sorry to see that you are set on—set on by fellows who ought to know better. Don’t suppose, any of you, that they will frighten us from doing what we know to be right, or that you can intimidate us when we are acting for the good of the school.”

They cheered his few simple words, for they were proud of him as head-monitor. They had never had at Saint Winifred’s a better scholar, or a more honourable boy; and though Harpour and his friends affected to sneer at him, Power was a general favourite, and the firm attitude which he now assumed increased the respect and admiration which he had always inspired.

“No more notice will be taken of this, you little fellows,” said Walter to the crowd of smaller boys; “we know very well that you have merely been the tools in other hands, and that is why we only singled out three fellows. I am quite sure you won’t behave in this way again; but if you do, remember we shan’t pass it over so lightly.”

“Come here you, Wilton,” said Henderson, as the rest were dispersing. “You’ve been particularly busy, I see. So! six good hard snowballs in your jacket pocket, eh? Now, you just employ yourself in collecting every one of these snowballs that are lying ready here, and throw them into the pond. Don’t let me see one when I come out. Belial junior will have to curtail his breakfast-time this morning, I guess,” he continued to Whalley; “the young villain! shall we ever bring him to a right mind?”

Wilton, in a diabolical frame of mind, began his appointed task, and had just finished it as the boys came out of breakfast. “That will do,” said Henderson. “I must trouble you for one minute more. Come with me.” Shaking with cold and alarm, Wilton obeyed, muttering threats of vengeance, and driven almost frantic by the laughter with which Henderson received them. He walked across to the sixth-form room, and then seeing that all the monitors were assembled, sent him “to tell his friends, Harpour and Tracy, that their presence was demanded immediately.”

“Never mind, Raven,” said Kenrick to him; “it’s a shame of them to bully you.”

“I have made him collect some snowballs which he had a chief hand in making, and with one of which yesterday a monitor was seriously hurt; then I have sent him a message for two worthless fellows, whose counsels he generally follows; both of which things I have done to teach him a mild but salutary lesson. Is that what you call bullying?”

“I believe you spite the boy because you know I like him. It’s just the kind of conduct worthy of you.”

“If it gives you any comfort to say so, Kenrick, pray do; but let me tell you, that after the way you have allowed young Evson and others to be treated in your house, the charge of bullying comes with singularly ill grace from you.”

An angry retort sprang to Kenrick’s lips; but at that moment the two offenders came to the door, and Power said, “Hush, you two. We need unity now, if ever, and it will be very harmful if these fellows find a quarrel going on Kenrick, I wish you would try to—”

“Oh; yes; it’s always Kenrick, of course,” said he angrily. “I’ll have nothing to do with your proceedings;” and, rising, from his place, he flung out of the room, not sorry to be absent from a scene which he thought might compromise his popularity with some of those who excepted him from the list of the monitors, whom they professed to consider as their natural enemies.

Harpour and Tracy had thought that when convened before the monitors they would have an opportunity for displaying plenty of insolence and indifference; but when they found themselves standing in the presence of those fifteen upper boys, each one of whom was in all respects their superior, all their courage evaporated. But they were let off very easily. The monitors were content with the complete triumph they had gained that morning, and with the disgrace to which these fellows had been compelled to submit. All that they now required from them was an expression of regret for what they had done, and a promise not to offend in the same way again; and when these had been extorted, they were dismissed by Power with some good advice, and a tolerably stern reprimand. Power did this with an ease and force which moved the admiration of all his brother monitors; no one could have done it as he did it, who was not supported by the authority of a high and stainless character consistently maintained. What he said was not without effect; even the coarse burly Harpour dared not look up, but could only fix his eyes on the floor and kick the matting in sullen wrath while this virtuous and noble boy looked at him and rebuked him; but Tracy was more deeply moved. Tracy, weak, foolish, and feebly fast as he was, had some elements of good and gentlemanly feeling in him, and, with more wisely chosen associates, would have developed a much less contemptible character. When Power had done speaking, he looked up and said, without one particle of his usual affectation—

“I really am sorry for helping to get up this affair. I see I’ve been in the wrong, and I beg pardon sincerely. You may depend on my not having anything more to do with a thing of this kind.”

“Thank you, Tracy,” said Walter; “that was spoken like a man. We’ve known each other for some time now, and I wish we could get on more unitedly. You might do some good in the school if you chose.”

“Not much, I’m afraid now,” said Tracy, “but I’ll tr(ai)y.”

“Well, then, Tracy, we’ll shake hands on that resolve, and bygones shall be bygones,” said Henderson. “You’ll forgive my making fun of you this morning.”

He shook hands with Henderson and with Walter, while Power, holding out his hand, said, smiling, “It’s never too late to mend.”

“No,” said Tracy, looking at one of his boots, which he had a habit of putting out before the other.

“He applied your remark to his boots, Power,” said Henderson, laughing. “Did you observe how the hole in one of them distressed him.”

So the monitors separated, not without hopes that things were beginning to look a little brighter than before.