The White Feather Page 8

  "I shall have to walk," he said.

  "It's a long way. You'll be late, won't you?" said Mr Bevan.

  "It can't be helped. I suppose I shall. I wonder who smashed that boat," he added after a pause.

  Passing through the inn on his way to the road, he made inquiries. It appeared that two young gentlemen from the school had been there to tea. They had arrived in a boat and gone away in a boat. Nobody else had come into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested upon them.

  "Do you remember anything about them?" asked Sheen.

  Further details came out. One of the pair had worn a cap like Sheen's. The other's headgear, minutely described, showed him that its owner was a member of the school second eleven.

  Sheen pursued the inquiry. He would be so late in any case that a minute or so more or less would make no material difference; and he was very anxious to find out, if possible, who it was that had placed him in this difficulty. He knew that he was unpopular in the school, but he had not looked for this sort of thing.

  Then somebody suddenly remembered having heard one of the pair address the other by name.

  "What name?" asked Sheen.

  His informant was not sure. Would it be Lindon?

  "Linton," said Sheen.

  That was it.

  Sheen thanked him and departed, still puzzled. Linton, as he knew him, was not the sort of fellow to do a thing like that. And the other, the second eleven man, must be Dunstable. They were always about together. He did not know much about Dunstable, but he could hardly believe that this sort of thing was his form either. Well, he would have to think of that later. He must concentrate himself now on covering the distance to the school in the minimum of time. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes more. If he hurried, he might not be so very late. He wished that somebody would come by in a cart, and give him a lift.

  He stopped and listened. No sound of horse's hoof broke the silence. He walked on again.

  Then, faint at first, but growing stronger every instant, there came from some point in the road far behind him a steady droning sound. He almost shouted with joy. A motor! Even now he might do it.

  But could he stop it? Would the motorist pay any attention to him, or would he flash past and leave him in the dust? From the rate at which the drone increased the car seemed to be travelling at a rare speed.

  He moved to one side of the road, and waited. He could see the lights now, flying towards him.

  Then, as the car hummed past, he recognised its driver, and put all he knew into a shout.

  "Bruce!" he cried.

  For a moment it seemed as if he had not been heard. The driver paid not the smallest attention, as far as he could see. He looked neither to the left nor to right. Then the car slowed down, and, backing, came slowly to where he stood.

  "Hullo," said the driver, "who's that?"

  Jack Bruce was alone in the car, muffled to the eyes in an overcoat. It was more by his general appearance than his face that Sheen had recognised him.

  "It's me, Sheen. I say, Bruce, I wish you'd give me a lift to Seymour's, will you?"

  There was never any waste of words about Jack Bruce. Of all the six hundred and thirty-four boys at Wrykyn he was probably the only one whose next remark in such circumstances would not have been a question. Bruce seldom asked questions—never, if they wasted time.

  "Hop in," he said.

  Sheen consulted his watch again.

  "Lock-up's in a quarter of an hour," he said, "but they give us ten minutes' grace. That allows us plenty of time, doesn't it?"

  "Do it in seven minutes, if you like."

  "Don't hurry," said Sheen. "I've never been in a motor before, and I don't want to cut the experience short. It's awfully good of you to give me a lift."

  "That's all right," said Bruce.

  "Were you going anywhere? Am I taking you out of your way?"

  "No. I was just trying the car. It's a new one. The pater's just got it."

  "Do you do much of this?" said Sheen.

  "Good bit. I'm going in for the motor business when I leave school."

  "So all this is training?"

  "That's it."

  There was a pause.

  "You seemed to be going at a good pace just now," said Sheen.

  "About thirty miles an hour. She can move all right."

  "That's faster than you're allowed to go, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "You've never been caught, have you?"

  "Not yet. I want to see how much pace I can get out of her, because she'll be useful when the election really comes on. Bringing voters to the poll, you know. That's why the pater bought this new car. It's a beauty. His other's only a little runabout."

  "Doesn't your father mind your motoring?"

  "Likes it," said Jack Bruce.

  It seemed to Sheen that it was about time that he volunteered some information about himself, instead of plying his companion with questions. It was pleasant talking to a Wrykinian again; and Jack Bruce had apparently either not heard of the Albert incident, or else he was not influenced by it in any way.

  "You've got me out of an awful hole, Bruce," he began.

  "That's all right. Been out for a walk?"

  "I'd been to the 'Blue Boar'."

  "Oh!" said Bruce. He did not seem to wish to know why Sheen had been there.

  Sheen proceeded to explain.

  "I suppose you've heard all about me," he said uncomfortably. "About the town, you know. That fight. Not joining in."

  "Heard something about it," said Bruce.

  "I went down town again after that," said Sheen, "and met the same fellows who were fighting Linton and the others. They came for me, and I was getting awfully mauled when Joe Bevan turned up."

  "Oh, is Joe back again?"

  "Do you know him?" asked Sheen in surprise.

  "Oh yes. I used to go to the 'Blue Boar' to learn boxing from him all last summer holidays."

  "Did you really? Why, that's what I'm doing now."

  "Good man," said Bruce.

  "Isn't he a splendid teacher?"

  "Ripping."

  "But I didn't know you boxed, Bruce. You never went in for any of the School competitions."

  "I'm rather a rotten weight. Ten six. Too heavy for the Light-Weights and not heavy enough for the Middles. Besides, the competitions here are really inter-house. They don't want day-boys going in for them. Are you going to box for Seymour's?"

  "That's what I want to do. You see, it would be rather a score, wouldn't it? After what's happened, you know."

  "I suppose it would."

  "I should like to do something. It's not very pleasant," he added, with a forced laugh, "being considered a disgrace to the house, and cut by everyone."

  "Suppose not."

  "The difficulty is Drummond. You see, we are both the same weight, and he's much better than I am. I'm hoping that he'll go in for the Middles and let me take the Light-Weights. There's nobody he couldn't beat in the Middles, though he would be giving away a stone."

  "Have you asked him?"

  "Not yet. I want to keep it dark that I'm learning to box, just at present."

  "Spring it on them suddenly?"

  "Yes. Of course, I can't let it get about that I go to Joe Bevan, because I have to break bounds every time I do it."

  "The upper river's out of bounds now for boarders, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  Jack Bruce sat in silence for a while, his gaze concentrated on the road in front of him.

  "Why go by river at all?" he said at last. "If you like, I'll run you to the 'Blue Boar' in the motor every day."

  "Oh, I say, that's awfully decent of you," said Sheen.

  "I should like to see old Joe again. I think I'll come and spar, too. If you're learning, what you want more than anything is somebody your own size to box with."

  "That's just what Joe was saying. Will you really? I sh
ould be awfully glad if you would. Boxing with Joe is all right, but you feel all the time he's fooling with you. I should like to try how I got on with somebody else."

  "You'd better meet me here, then, as soon after school as you can."

  As he spoke, the car stopped.

  "Where are we?" asked Sheen.

  "Just at the corner of the road behind the houses."

  "Oh, I know. Hullo, there goes the lock-up bell. I shall do it comfortably."

  He jumped down.

  "I say, Bruce," he said, "I really am most awfully obliged for the lift. Something went wrong with my boat, and I couldn't get back in it. I should have been frightfully in the cart if you hadn't come by."

  "That's all right," said Jack Bruce. "I say, Sheen!"

  "Hullo?"

  "Are you going to practise in the music-room after morning school tomorrow?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "I think I'll turn up."

  "I wish you would."

  "What's that thing that goes like this? I forget most of it."

  He whistled a few bars.

  "That's a thing of Greig's," said Sheen.

  "You might play it tomorrow," said Bruce.

  "Rather. Of course I will."

  "Thanks," said Jack Bruce. "Good night."

  He turned the car, and vanished down the road. From the sound Sheen judged that he was once more travelling at a higher rate of speed than the local police would have approved.

  A SKIRMISH

  Upon consideration Sheen determined to see Linton about that small matter of the boat without delay. After prayers that night he went to his study.

  "Can I speak to you for a minute, Linton?" he said.

  Linton was surprised. He disapproved of this intrusion. When a fellow is being cut by the house, he ought, by all the laws of school etiquette, to behave as such, and not speak till he is spoken to.

  "What do you want?" asked Linton.

  "I shan't keep you long. Do you think you could put away that book for a minute, and listen?"

  Linton hesitated, then shut the book.

  "Hurry up, then," he said.

  "I was going to," said Sheen. "I simply came in to tell you that I know perfectly well who sunk my boat this afternoon."

  He felt at once that he had now got Linton's undivided attention.

  "Your boat!" said Linton. "You don't mean to say that was yours! What on earth were you doing at the place?"

  "I don't think that's any business of yours, is it, Linton?"

  "How did you get back?"

  "I don't think that's any business of yours, either. I daresay you're disappointed, but I did manage to get back. In time for lock-up, too."

  "But I don't understand. Do you mean to say that that was your boat we took?"

  "Sunk," corrected Sheen.

  "Don't be a fool, Sheen. What the dickens should we want to sink your boat for? What happened was this. Albert—you remember Albert?—followed us up to the inn, and smashed our boat while we were having tea. When we got out and found it sunk, we bagged the only other one we could see. We hadn't a notion it was yours. We thought it belonged to some fisherman chap."

  "Then you didn't sink my boat?"

  "Of course we didn't. What do you take us for?"

  "Sorry," said Sheen. "I thought it was a queer thing for you to have done. I'm glad it wasn't you. Good night."

  "But look here," said Linton, "don't go. It must have landed you in a frightful hole, didn't it?"

  "A little. But it doesn't matter. Good night."

  "But half a second, Sheen—"

  Sheen had disappeared.

  Linton sat on till lights were turned off, ruminating. He had a very tender conscience where other members of the school were concerned, though it was tougher as regarded masters; and he was full of remorse at the thought of how nearly he had got Sheen into trouble by borrowing his boat that afternoon. It seemed to him that it was his duty to make it up to him in some way.

  It was characteristic of Linton that the episode did not, in any way, alter his attitude towards Sheen. Another boy in a similar position might have become effusively friendly. Linton looked on the affair in a calm, judicial spirit. He had done Sheen a bad turn, but that was no reason why he should fling himself on his neck and swear eternal friendship. His demeanour on the occasions when they came in contact with each other remained the same. He did not speak to him, and he did not seem to see him. But all the while he was remembering that somehow or other he must do him a good turn of some sort, by way of levelling things up again. When that good turn had been done, he might dismiss him from his thoughts altogether.

  Sheen, for his part, made no attempt to trade on the matter of the boat. He seemed as little anxious to be friendly with Linton as Linton was to be friendly with him. For this Linton was grateful, and continued to keep his eyes open in the hope of finding some opportunity of squaring up matters between them.

  His chance was not long in coming. The feeling in the house against Sheen, caused by the story of his encounter with Attell, had not diminished. Stanning had fostered it in various little ways. It was not difficult. When a house of the standing in the school which Seymour's possessed exhibits a weak spot, the rest of the school do not require a great deal of encouragement to go on prodding that weak spot. In short, the school rotted Seymour's about Sheen, and Seymour's raged impotently. Fags of other houses expended much crude satire on Seymour's fags, and even the seniors of the house came in for their share of the baiting. Most of the houses at Wrykyn were jealous of Seymour's, and this struck them as an admirable opportunity of getting something of their own back.

  One afternoon, not long after Sheen's conversation with Linton, Stanning came into Seymour's senior day-room and sat down on the table. The senior day-room objected to members of other houses coming and sitting on their table as if they had bought that rickety piece of furniture; but Stanning's reputation as a bruiser kept their resentment within bounds.

  "Hullo, you chaps," said Stanning.

  The members of the senior day-room made no reply, but continued, as Mr Kipling has it, to persecute their vocations. Most of them were brewing. They went on brewing with the earnest concentration of chefs.

  "You're a cheery lot," said Stanning. "But I don't wonder you've got the hump. I should be a bit sick if we'd got a skunk like that in our house. Heard the latest?"

  Some lunatic said, "No. What?" thereby delivering the day-room bound into the hands of the enemy.

  "Sheen's apologised to Attell."

  There was a sensation in the senior day-room, as Stanning had expected. He knew his men. He was perfectly aware that any story which centred round Sheen's cowardice would be believed by them, so he had not troubled to invent a lie which it would be difficult to disprove. He knew that in the present state of feeling in the house Sheen would not be given a hearing.

  "No!" shouted the senior day-room.

  This was the last straw. The fellow seemed to go out of his way to lower the prestige of the house.

  "Fact," said Stanning. "I thought you knew."

  He continued to sit on the table, swinging his legs, while the full horror of his story sunk into the senior day-room mind.

  "I wonder you don't do something about it. Why don't you touch him up? He's not a prefect."

  But they were not prepared to go to that length. The senior day-room had a great respect both for Drummond's word and his skill with his hands. He had said he would slay any one who touched Sheen, and they were of opinion that he would do it.

  "He isn't in," said one of the brewers, looking up from his toasting-fork. "His study door was open when I passed."

  "I say, why not rag his study?" suggested another thickly, through a mouthful of toast.

  Stanning smiled.

  "Good idea," he said.

  It struck him that some small upheaval of Sheen's study furniture, coupled with the burning of one or tw
o books, might check to some extent that student's work for the Gotford. And if Sheen could be stopped working for the Gotford, he, Stanning, would romp home. In the matter of brilliance there was no comparison between them. It was Sheen's painful habit of work which made him dangerous.

  Linton had been listening to this conversation in silence. He had come to the senior day-room to borrow a book. He now slipped out, and made his way to Drummond's study.

  Drummond was in. Linton proceeded to business.

  "I say, Drummond."

  "Hullo?"

  "That man Stanning has come in. He's getting the senior day-room to rag Sheen's study."

  "What!"

  Linton repeated his statement.

  "Does the man think he owns the house?" said Drummond. "Where is he?"

  "Coming up now. I hear them. What are you going to do? Stop them?"

  "What do you think? Of course I am. I'm not going to have any of Appleby's crew coming into Seymour's and ragging studies."

  "This ought to be worth seeing," said Linton. "Look on me as 'Charles, his friend'. I'll help if you want me, but it's your scene."

  Drummond opened his door just as Stanning and his myrmidons were passing it.

  "Hullo, Stanning," he said.

  Stanning turned. The punitive expedition stopped.

  "Do you want anything?" inquired Drummond politely.

  The members of the senior day-room who were with Stanning rallied round, silent and interested. This dramatic situation appealed to them. They had a passion for rows, and this looked distinctly promising.

  There was a pause. Stanning looked carefully at Drummond. Drummond looked carefully at Stanning.

  "I was going to see Sheen," said Stanning at length.

  "He isn't in."

  "Oh!"

  Another pause.

  "Was it anything special?" inquired Drummond pleasantly.

  The expedition edged a little forward.

  "No. Oh, no. Nothing special," said Stanning.

  The expedition looked disappointed.

  "Any message I can give him?" asked Drummond.

  "No, thanks," said Stanning.

  "Sure?"

  "Quite, thanks."

  "I don't think it's worth while your waiting. He may not be in for some time."

  "No, perhaps not. Thanks. So long."