The Little Nugget Read online

  Chapter 2

  Sanstead House was an imposing building in the Georgian style. Itstood, foursquare, in the midst of about nine acres of land. Forthe greater part of its existence, I learned later, it had beenthe private home of a family of the name of Boone, and in itsearly days the estate had been considerable. But the progress ofthe years had brought changes to the Boones. Money losses hadnecessitated the sale of land. New roads had come into being,cutting off portions of the estate from their centre. Newfacilities for travel had drawn members of the family away fromhome. The old fixed life of the country had changed, and in theend the latest Boone had come to the conclusion that to keep up solarge and expensive a house was not worth his while.

  That the place should have become a school was the natural processof evolution. It was too large for the ordinary purchaser, and theestate had been so whittled down in the course of time that it wasinadequate for the wealthy. Colonel Boone had been glad to let itto Mr Abney, and the school had started its career.

  It had all the necessary qualifications for a school. It wasisolated. The village was two miles from its gates. It was nearthe sea. There were fields for cricket and football, and insidethe house a number of rooms of every size, suitable for classroomsand dormitories.

  The household, when I arrived, consisted, besides Mr Abney, myself,another master named Glossop, and the matron, of twenty-four boys,the butler, the cook, the odd-job-man, two housemaids, a scullery-maid,and a parlour-maid. It was a little colony, cut off from the outerworld.

  With the exception of Mr Abney and Glossop, a dismal man of nervesand mannerisms, the only person with whom I exchanged speech on myfirst evening was White, the butler. There are some men one likesat sight. White was one of them. Even for a butler he was a man ofremarkably smooth manners, but he lacked that quality of austerealoofness which I have noticed in other butlers.

  He helped me unpack my box, and we chatted during the process. Hewas a man of medium height, square and muscular, with something,some quality of springiness, as it were, that seemed unusual in abutler. From one or two things he said, I gathered that he hadtravelled a good deal. Altogether he interested me. He had humour,and the half-hour which I had spent with Glossop made me set apremium on humour. I found that he, like myself, was a new-comer.His predecessor had left at short notice during the holidays, andhe had secured the vacancy at about the same time that I wassecuring mine. We agreed that it was a pretty place. White, Igathered, regarded its isolation as a merit. He was not fond ofvillage society.

  On the following morning, at eight o'clock, my work began.

  My first day had the effect of entirely revolutionizing what ideasI possessed of the lot of the private-school assistant-master.

  My view, till then, had been that the assistant-master had an easytime. I had only studied him from the outside. My opinion wasbased on observations made as a boy at my own private school, whenmasters were an enviable race who went to bed when they liked, hadno preparation to do, and couldn't be caned. It seemed to me thenthat those three facts, especially the last, formed a pretty goodbasis on which to build up the Perfect Life.

  I had not been at Sanstead House two days before doubts began tocreep in on this point. What the boy, observing the assistant-masterstanding about in apparently magnificent idleness, does not realizeis that the unfortunate is really putting in a spell of exceedinglyhard work. He is 'taking duty'. And 'taking duty' is a thing to beremembered, especially by a man who, like myself, has lived a lifeof fatted ease, protected from all the minor annoyances of life bya substantial income.

  Sanstead House educated me. It startled me. It showed me a hundredways in which I had allowed myself to become soft and inefficient,without being aware of it. There may be other professions whichcall for a fiercer display of energy, but for the man with aprivate income who has loitered through life at his own pace, alittle school-mastering is brisk enough to be a wonderful tonic.

  I needed it, and I got it.

  It was almost as if Mr Abney had realized intuitively how excellentthe discipline of work was for my soul, for the kindly man allowedme to do not only my own, but most of his as well. I have talkedwith assistant-masters since, and I have gathered from them thatheadmasters of private schools are divided into two classes: theworkers and the runners-up-to-London. Mr Abney belonged to thelatter class. Indeed, I doubt if a finer representative of theclass could have been found in the length and breadth of southernEngland. London drew him like a magnet.

  After breakfast he would take me aside. The formula was always thesame.

  'Ah--Mr Burns.'

  Myself (apprehensively, scenting disaster, 'like some wildcreature caught within a trap, who sees the trapper coming throughthe wood'). 'Yes? Er--yes?'

  'I am afraid I shall be obliged to run up to London today. I havereceived an important letter from--' And then he would name someparent or some prospective parent. (By 'prospective' I mean onewho was thinking of sending his son to Sanstead House. You mayhave twenty children, but unless you send them to his school, aschoolmaster will refuse to dignify you with the name of parent.)

  Then, 'He wishes--ah--to see me,' or, in the case of titledparents, 'He wishes--ah--to talk things over with me.' Thedistinction is subtle, but he always made it.

  And presently the cab would roll away down the long drive, and mywork would begin, and with it that soul-discipline to which I havealluded.

  'Taking duty' makes certain definite calls upon a man. He has toanswer questions; break up fights; stop big boys bullying smallboys; prevent small boys bullying smaller boys; check stone-throwing,going-on-the-wet-grass, worrying-the-cook, teasing-the-dog,making-too-much-noise, and, in particular, discourage all formsof _hara-kiri_ such as tree-climbing, water-spout-scaling,leaning-too-far-out-of-the-window, sliding-down-the-banisters,pencil-swallowing, and ink-drinking-because-somebody-dared-me-to.

  At intervals throughout the day there are further feats toperform. Carving the joint, helping the pudding, playing football,reading prayers, teaching, herding stragglers in for meals, andgoing round the dormitories to see that the lights are out, are afew of them.

  I wanted to oblige Cynthia, if I could, but there were momentsduring the first day or so when I wondered how on earth I wasgoing to snatch the necessary time to combine kidnapping with myother duties. Of all the learned professions it seemed to me thatthat of the kidnapper most urgently demanded certain intervals forleisured thought, in which schemes and plots might be matured.

  Schools vary. Sanstead House belonged to the more difficult class.Mr Abney's constant flittings did much to add to the burdens ofhis assistants, and his peculiar reverence for the aristocracy dideven more. His endeavour to make Sanstead House a place where thedelicately nurtured scions of the governing class might feel aslittle as possible the temporary loss of titled mothers led himinto a benevolent tolerance which would have unsettled angels.

  Success or failure for an assistant-master is, I consider, verymuch a matter of luck. My colleague, Glossop, had most of thequalities that make for success, but no luck. Properly backed upby Mr Abney, he might have kept order. As it was, his class-roomwas a bear-garden, and, when he took duty, chaos reigned.

  I, on the other hand, had luck. For some reason the boys agreed toaccept me. Quite early in my sojourn I enjoyed that sweetest triumphof the assistant-master's life, the spectacle of one boy smackinganother boy's head because the latter persisted in making a noiseafter I had told him to stop. I doubt if a man can experience sokeenly in any other way that thrill which comes from the knowledgethat the populace is his friend. Political orators must have thesame sort of feeling when their audience clamours for the ejectionof a heckler, but it cannot be so keen. One is so helpless with boys,unless they decide that they like one.

  It was a week from the beginning of the term before I made theacquaintance of the Little Nugget.

  I had kept my eyes open for him from the beginning, and when Idiscovered that he was not at school, I had felt alarmed. HadCynth
ia sent me down here, to work as I had never worked before,on a wild-goose chase?

  Then, one morning, Mr Abney drew me aside after breakfast.

  'Ah--Mr Burns.'

  It was the first time that I had heard those soon-to-be-familiarwords.

  'I fear I shall be compelled to run up to London today. I have animportant appointment with the father of a boy who is coming tothe school. He wishes--ah--to see me.'

  This might be the Little Nugget at last.

  I was right. During the interval before school, Augustus Beckfordapproached me. Lord Mountry's brother was a stolid boy withfreckles. He had two claims to popular fame. He could hold hisbreath longer than any other boy in the school, and he always gothold of any piece of gossip first.

  'There's a new kid coming tonight, sir,' he said--'an Americankid. I heard him talking about it to the matron. The kid's name'sFord, I believe the kid's father's awfully rich. Would you like tobe rich, sir? I wish I was rich. If I was rich, I'd buy all sortsof things. I believe I'm going to be rich when I grow up. I heardfather talking to a lawyer about it. There's a new parlour-maidcoming soon, sir. I heard cook telling Emily. I'm blowed if I'dlike to be a parlour-maid, would you, sir? I'd much rather be acook.'

  He pondered the point for a moment. When he spoke again, it was totouch on a still more profound problem.

  'If you wanted a halfpenny to make up twopence to buy a lizard,what would you do, sir?'

  He got it.

  Ogden Ford, the El Dorado of the kidnapping industry, enteredSanstead House at a quarter past nine that evening. He waspreceded by a Worried Look, Mr Arnold Abney, a cabman bearing alarge box, and the odd-job man carrying two suitcases. I havegiven precedence to the Worried Look because it was a thing byitself. To say that Mr Abney wore it would be to create a wrongimpression. Mr Abney simply followed in its wake. He was concealedbehind it much as Macbeth's army was concealed behind the woods ofDunsinane.

  I only caught a glimpse of Ogden as Mr Abney showed him into hisstudy. He seemed a self-possessed boy, very like but, if anything,uglier than the portrait of him which I had seen at the HotelGuelph.

  A moment later the door opened, and my employer came out. Heappeared relieved at seeing me.

  'Ah, Mr Burns, I was about to go in search of you. Can you spareme a moment? Let us go into the dining-room.'

  'That is a boy called Ford, Mr Burns,' he said, when he had closedthe door. 'A rather--er--remarkable boy. He is an American, theson of a Mr Elmer Ford. As he will be to a great extent in yourcharge, I should like to prepare you for his--ah--peculiarities.'

  'Is he peculiar?'

  A faint spasm disturbed Mr Abney's face. He applied a silkhandkerchief to his forehead before he replied.

  'In many ways, judged by the standard of the lads who have passedthrough my hands--boys, of course, who, it is only fair to add,have enjoyed the advantages of a singularly refined home-life--hemay be said to be--ah--somewhat peculiar. While I have no doubtthat _au fond ... au fond_ he is a charming boy, quite charming,at present he is--shall I say?--peculiar. I am disposed to imaginethat he has been, from childhood up, systematically indulged.There has been in his life, I suspect, little or no discipline.The result has been to make him curiously unboylike. There is acomplete absence of that diffidence, that childish capacity forsurprise, which I for one find so charming in our English boys.Little Ford appears to be completely blase'. He has tastes and ideaswhich are precocious, and--unusual in a boy of his age.... Heexpresses himself in a curious manner sometimes.... He seems to havelittle or no reverence for--ah--constituted authority.'

  He paused while he passed his handkerchief once more over hisforehead.

  'Mr Ford, the boy's father, who struck me as a man of greatability, a typical American merchant prince, was singularly frankwith me about his domestic affairs as they concerned his son. Icannot recall his exact words, but the gist of what he said wasthat, until now, Mrs Ford had had sole charge of the boy'supbringing, and--Mr Ford was singularly outspoken--was tooindulgent, in fact--ah--spoilt him. Indeed--you will, of course,respect my confidence--that was the real reason for the divorcewhich--ah--has unhappily come about. Mr Ford regards this schoolas in a measure--shall I say?--an antidote. He wishes there to beno lack of wholesome discipline. So that I shall expect you, MrBurns, to check firmly, though, of course, kindly, such habits ofhis as--ah--cigarette-smoking. On our journey down he smokedincessantly. I found it impossible--without physical violence--toinduce him to stop. But, of course, now that he is actually at theschool, and subject to the discipline of the school ...'

  'Exactly,' I said.

  'That was all I wished to say. Perhaps it would be as well if yousaw him now, Mr Burns. You will find him in the study.'

  He drifted away, and I went to the study to introduce myself.

  A cloud of tobacco-smoke rising above the back of an easy-chairgreeted me as I opened the door. Moving into the room, I perceiveda pair of boots resting on the grate. I stepped to the light, andthe remainder of the Little Nugget came into view.

  He was lying almost at full length in the chair, his eyes fixed indreamy abstraction upon the ceiling. As I came towards him, hedrew at the cigarette between his fingers, glanced at me, lookedaway again, and expelled another mouthful of smoke. He was notinterested in me.

  Perhaps this indifference piqued me, and I saw him with prejudicedeyes. At any rate, he seemed to me a singularly unprepossessingyouth. That portrait had flattered him. He had a stout body and around, unwholesome face. His eyes were dull, and his mouth droppeddiscontentedly. He had the air of one who is surfeited with life.

  I am disposed to imagine, as Mr Abney would have said, that mymanner in addressing him was brisker and more incisive than MrAbney's own. I was irritated by his supercilious detachment.

  'Throw away that cigarette,' I said.

  To my amazement, he did, promptly. I was beginning to wonderwhether I had not been too abrupt--he gave me a curious sensationof being a man of my own age--when he produced a silver case fromhis pocket and opened it. I saw that the cigarette in the fenderwas a stump.

  I took the case from his hand and threw it on to a table. For thefirst time he seemed really to notice my existence.

  'You've got a hell of a nerve,' he said.

  He was certainly exhibiting his various gifts in rapid order,This, I took it, was what Mr Abney had called 'expressing himselfin a curious manner'.

  'And don't swear,' I said.

  We eyed each other narrowly for the space of some seconds.

  'Who are you?' he demanded.

  I introduced myself.

  'What do you want to come butting in for?'

  'I am paid to butt in. It's the main duty of an assistant-master.'

  'Oh, you're the assistant-master, are you?'

  'One of them. And, in passing--it's a small technical point--you'resupposed to call me "sir" during these invigorating little chatsof ours.'

  'Call you what? Up an alley!'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Fade away. Take a walk.'

  I gathered that he was meaning to convey that he had considered myproposition, but regretted his inability to entertain it.

  'Didn't you call your tutor "sir" when you were at home?'

  'Me? Don't make me laugh. I've got a cracked lip.'

  'I gather you haven't an overwhelming respect for those set inauthority over you.'

  'If you mean my tutors, I should say nix.'

  'You use the plural. Had you a tutor before Mr Broster?'

  He laughed.

  'Had I? Only about ten million.'

  'Poor devils!' I said.

  'Who's swearing now?'

  The point was well taken. I corrected myself.

  'Poor brutes! What happened to them? Did they commit suicide?'

  'Oh, they quit. And I don't blame them. I'm a pretty toughproposition, and you don't want to forget it.'

  He reached out for the cigarette-case. I pocketed it.

  'You make me tir
ed,' he said.

  'The sensation's mutual.'

  'Do you think you can swell around, stopping me doing things?'

  'You've defined my job exactly.'

  'Guess again. I know all about this joint. The hot-air merchantwas telling me about it on the train.'

  I took the allusion to be to Mr Arnold Abney, and thought itrather a happy one.

  'He's the boss, and nobody but him is allowed to hit the fellows.If you tried it, you'd lose your job. And he ain't going to,because the Dad's paying double fees, and he's scared stiff he'lllose me if there's any trouble.'

  'You seem to have a grasp of the position.'

  'Bet your life I have.'

  I looked at him as he sprawled in the chair.

  'You're a funny kid,' I said.

  He stiffened, outraged. His little eyes gleamed.

  'Say, it looks to me as if you wanted making a head shorter.You're a darned sight too fresh. Who do you think you are,anyway?'

  'I'm your guardian angel,' I replied. 'I'm the fellow who's goingto take you in hand and make you a little ray of sunshine aboutthe home. I know your type backwards. I've been in America andstudied it on its native asphalt. You superfatted millionaire kidsare all the same. If Dad doesn't jerk you into the office beforeyou're out of knickerbockers, you just run to seed. You get tothink you're the only thing on earth, and you go on thinking ittill one day somebody comes along and shows you you're not, andthen you get what's coming to you--good and hard.'

  He began to speak, but I was on my favourite theme, one I hadstudied and brooded upon since the evening when I had received acertain letter at my club.

  'I knew a man,' I said, 'who started out just like you. He alwayshad all the money he wanted: never worked: grew to think himself asort of young prince. What happened?'

  He yawned.

  'I'm afraid I'm boring you,' I said.

  'Go on. Enjoy yourself,' said the Little Nugget.

  'Well, it's a long story, so I'll spare you it. But the moral ofit was that a boy who is going to have money needs to be taken inhand and taught sense while he's young.'

  He stretched himself.

  'You talk a lot. What do you reckon you're going to do?'

  I eyed him thoughtfully.

  'Well, everything's got to have a beginning,' I said. 'What youseem to me to want most is exercise. I'll take you for a run everyday. You won't know yourself at the end of a week.'

  'Say, if you think you're going to get _me_ to run--'

  'When I grab your little hand, and start running, you'll findyou'll soon be running too. And, years hence, when you win theMarathon at the Olympic Games, you'll come to me with tears inyour eyes, and you'll say--'

  'Oh, slush!'

  'I shouldn't wonder.' I looked at my watch. 'Meanwhile, you hadbetter go to bed. It's past your proper time.'

  He stared at me in open-eyed amazement.

  'Bed!'

  'Bed.'

  He seemed more amused than annoyed.

  'Say, what time do you think I usually go to bed?'

  'I know what time you go here. Nine o'clock.'

  As if to support my words, the door opened, and Mrs Attwell, thematron, entered.

  'I think it's time he came to bed, Mr Burns.'

  'Just what I was saying, Mrs Attwell.'

  'You're crazy,' observed the Little Nugget. 'Bed nothing!'

  Mrs Attwell looked at me despairingly.

  'I never saw such a boy!'

  The whole machinery of the school was being held up by this legalinfant. Any vacillation now, and Authority would suffer a set-backfrom which it would be hard put to it to recover. It seemed to mea situation that called for action.

  I bent down, scooped the Little Nugget out of his chair like anoyster, and made for the door. Outside he screamed incessantly. Hekicked me in the stomach and then on the knee. He continued toscream. He screamed all the way upstairs. He was screaming when wereached his room.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later I sat in the study, smoking thoughtfully.Reports from the seat of war told of a sullen and probably onlytemporary acquiescence with Fate on the part of the enemy. He wasin bed, and seemed to have made up his mind to submit to theposition. An air of restrained jubilation prevailed among theelder members of the establishment. Mr Abney was friendly and MrsAttwell openly congratulatory. I was something like the hero ofthe hour.

  But was I jubilant? No, I was inclined to moodiness. Unforeseendifficulties had arisen in my path. Till now, I had regarded thiskidnapping as something abstract. Personality had not entered intothe matter. If I had had any picture in my mind's eye, it was ofmyself stealing away softly into the night with a docile child,his little hand laid trustfully in mine. From what I had seen andheard of Ogden Ford in moments of emotion, it seemed to me thatwhoever wanted to kidnap him with any approach to stealth wouldneed to use chloroform.

  Things were getting very complex.