The Headmaster’s forecast of how the school would feel when they woke up on the morning after, and of how they would take the news, was very tolerably correct. Some heard the truth overnight and scarcely slept. But it was not till breakfast-time on the Sunday morning that the report could properly be spread. By dinner-time it had found its way into the farthest corners of the school, and that everybody knew was evident by the bump with which the school’s good spirits fell. Most boys had wakened in excellent humour, refreshed after a good night, eager to talk over with others the outstanding points of that great game, and full of satisfaction at having been at the school during a term when such an historic match had been played. They were ready, too, for fresh sensations. That followed as a matter of course. Very few really believed that that expedition could have taken place without somehow coming to the notice of the Head, and the air was alive with surmise as to what he would do.
The news of what he had already done hit them with a thud.
At first it seemed incredible—that part which concerned Toby, anyway. And then when confirmation of it came from every available source, and there could be no further doubt, the school bowed their heads to the blow, and Harley passed into mourning.
198There were many who could not believe that there was not some way out. The ban on games was not so very terrible. But that, because of that match with Rainhurst, Toby Nicholson should go, and with him the school boxing coach and the gym. instructors, was too shockingly bad to be true. Everybody had known why Toby had gone to town that day. He had known about the match, and so he had kept away. Now he was to pay the penalty for not denouncing it. For a while brains were dulled. The brightest boys could think of no way of escape save humble apology to the Head or open riot. The latter could scarcely save Toby; it might in the end only serve to aggravate the general position, and the former was almost more than they could visualise. It would, in any case, only mean sacrificing Rouse to save Toby.
In every study friends sat together in silent wretchedness. There was scarcely a face in all the school that had not grown noticeably longer since morning. Rouse was little to be seen. A few had passed him walking across the open, with head erect and a face that was quite expressionless, but none except seniors had had a word with him, and even they could not guess accurately what his real feelings were. That he was keeping them to himself, and that he was very badly hit, was the most they could report.
Terence only was with him in his study when Toby knocked quietly at the door, just before dinner-time, and came in, and Rouse got up stiffly and stood at the table watching him as he entered, palpably afraid to hope for any better news.
“Is it true, sir?” said he at last. “Did he mean it?”
Toby rested his hands cheerfully upon his hips.
“It’s true, yes; but after all, term’s nearly over. It’s not so very awful.”
199Rouse drew away.
“But it’s my fault. That’s the trouble. The Head told me so. He got at me.” He paused. There was silence for a moment. Then he said again: “He got at me.”
“How?”
“Somehow he’d come to know that the fellows had planned to share the blame. He said I was afraid to take it on my own shoulders. He said it was my personal vanity that the school would have to suffer for now. Because I was too conceited——”
Toby stopped him.
“He didn’t tell me that. He said that I was clearly too recently a schoolboy to carry proper weight with the fellows here now. His idea was that it would do me a great deal of good to go to another school for a while and gain experience in handling youngsters, and then in a year or so’s time perhaps come back here, with a heavier manner about me, and try again. He considers that half the trouble here this term has been because I have not exercised proper influence with you chaps. He is prepared to recommend me to a post at another school. But to strengthen his own position here, he wants me to go this week and not to wait till the end of the term. That’s all.”
Rouse shook his head.
“No,” said he. “He was right. It’s my fault; and besides, how about Wilcox and the gym. sergeants?”
“Wilcox has had notice,” answered Toby. “The Head is going to recommend him for another job, too. The gym. sergeants are to shut up the gym. and go for a holiday. And they’re to wait instructions. But he doesn’t want me to come back whilst you two are here. He thinks I’ve a bad influence over you somehow or other.”
“What shall we do?” asked Terence, speaking for the first time. “Where will you go?”
200“I shall go for a holiday,” he answered. “And,” he added, “you’ve got to cheer up. You’ve had your good time. You played the match. My biggest regret is that I wasn’t there to see it. I don’t mind my gruelling. You mustn’t mind yours.”
Now there was throughout this mournful Sunday only one study in Harley that held a young man whose countenance was not distressed. Upon this young man’s lips there was, as a matter of fact, a decided smile. He sat at his table looking cheerfully across the room at Christopher Woolf Roe, and when he spoke his voice was light.
“When I first heard it,” he was saying, “I was frightfully fed up, because I’d a pretty decent chance of being captain of boxing next year and I’ve been practising a good deal, whilst there’s been no footer. It seemed to me that this rather upset my apple-cart. I had a sudden vision of boxing being barred next term, just like footer has been this, and I can tell you I didn’t like it. But I can see now that after all it isn’t at all a bad scheme of your father’s. He’s caught them on the hop. To-day everybody will be Rugger mad. And this is the time to get them. You and I may be able to give some colours away even yet. Did you tell your father about my plan?”
“Well, I told him you had one, but as a matter of fact he got rather annoyed.”
Coles was decidedly taken aback.
“Annoyed? Why?”
“He seemed to think it was a bit patronising of you to make a plan at all.”
“Oh, nonsense!” snapped Coles. “He didn’t understand. You didn’t explain it properly.”
“I didn’t have time.”
Coles shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, anyway, I shall try it all the same, and then when he finds out how successful it turns out 201perhaps he’ll alter his mind. When I first got the idea I never thought I’d have such a topping chance as this to put it into effect. Just imagine Rouse’s feelings now. If ever he’s going to do what we want, now’s the chance. If he needs anything to help him decide we ought to send it to him. My original idea was just to play on the fact that he’d had his day and he ought to be satisfied, and let the school get on with it. This is twenty times better. It’s a dead snip.” He laughed shortly. After a moment he opened a book upon the table and took from between the pages a sheet of plain paper. This he passed with evident pride to Roe. “Would you recognise that writing?” said he.
Roe peered at it thoughtfully.
“No,” said he at last. “It looks like some kid’s.”
Curiously enough, Terence expressed exactly the same opinion when that sheet of paper was handed to him a few hours later. He added, however, a brief proviso.
“Naturally,” said he, “a fellow who wants to write an anonymous letter doesn’t use his own handwriting.”
Rouse had moved to his side and was reading it through again with solemn eyes. At last he spoke.
“Do you think that’s true? Whoever he is, do you think he’s right?”
“I think he’s off his nut.”
Rouse laid the paper upon the table and carefully smoothed it out. Then he sat down and began to read it through all over again.
It was quite a short note. It had no proper beginning and no ending. It purported to be a mere statement of fact.
“There is a general feeling in the school,” it read, “that as you have had your ambition and led the 202school team on the footer field you ought to give way now. The fellows think that if it’s a question of sacrificing either you or Mr Nicholson, it ought not to be Mr Nicholson who must suffer for what was your idea. Some of us have decided to let you know this.”
For a little while Rouse sat with his head propped in his hands staring at it fixedly, and eventually he sat back.
“Whoever it was,” said he, “he read my thoughts very well indeed. What he’s written down is exactly what I’ve been thinking all day. The only thing I’m afraid of is this. Supposing I go to the Head and give in. Supposing I promise to play under Roe and get the school to recognise him as captain. What will the Head do? Will he play the game? I’ve got a horrible fear at the back of my head that he won’t. I can picture the way he’ll smile. He’ll say that he’s very glad to hear it. And then if I say: ‘Now, will you let Mr Nicholson stay?’ he’ll open his eyes at me and say: ‘Good gracious, boy, I’m not here to make bargains. My decision of last night was not a threat; it was a punishment.’ And then I shall have humbled the school for nothing.”
Terence moved towards him again and gripped him by the shoulders.
“Look here. Don’t you do anything confoundedly idiotic. Leave the Head absolutely alone. We’re not going to let a man win a fight by hitting below the belt. Toby can look after himself. As he says, it’s nearly the end of term already. We’ll see it out. This rotten note is a lie from start to finish. There’s no such feeling in the school at all. Don’t you be guyed by a thing like this.”
“Well, who’s written it?” demanded Rouse. “Tell me that. The thing was left lying on this table. Somebody must have put it there.”
203Terence took it up once more.
“Let’s have another look,” said he.
Next moment there came a gentle tap at the door, and the one who in all the school Rouse would have least wanted to see that note came in, and he sprang up quickly. It was Toby.
Rouse looked at Terence with quick meaning, but Terence ignored him.
“Here, Toby,” said he, “you’re just the chap we want. Have a look at this.”
Rouse sprang towards it.
“No. Give it to me. It’s mine. My mind’s made up. That doesn’t make any difference at all.”
“Yes, it does,” said Terence sharply. “It’s getting at you. You believe it’s true.”
“It is true. Give it to me. I want it.”
Terence pushed him away, then stretched out his hand towards Toby.
“Take it,” he said. “Tell Rouse what you think of a thing like this.”
Toby came towards him with a puzzled manner. He glanced quickly at Rouse, and noting his expression turned to Terence; then in the scramble for possession, he suddenly snatched the sheet of paper out of his hand and moved aside with it. Rouse stopped abruptly and looked at him hopelessly, while Terence, glaring defiantly, sat down at last in a chair and said:
“Don’t be such an ass. Why shouldn’t he see it? It’s only Toby.”
There was a short silence.
At last Toby looked at them each in turn.
“Where did you get this?”
“He found it on the table when he came in after dinner,” said Terence.
“Who do you suppose put it there?”
“I only wish I knew.”
“D’you know who wrote it?”
204“No,” said Terence. “Either someone’s disguised his handwriting or else it’s a mere kid.”
“What does it matter anyway?” said Rouse. “It’s true, and that’s an end of it.”
Toby was reading it through again and looking carefully at the writing.
“As a matter of fact,” he said at last, “I can tell you who wrote this.”
The two chums turned to him.
“There’s only one fellow I know of who makes a ‘T’ like that,” said Toby. “It’s a pretty good effort at hiding his hand, but it’s not quite good enough. I could identify that ‘T’ anywhere. I’ve seen it too often. The fellow who wrote this is in my form.”
He waited a moment as if that were an intentional hint.
“Well?” said Terence.
“Carr wrote this.”
There was a moment’s utter stillness. At last Terence made a peculiar noise in his throat and turned contemptuously away. Rouse moved slowly towards Toby, and taking the note from him again looked at it once more.
Then he said:
“Carr? Why on earth should Carr write a thing like this?”
“Oh, you ass,” cried Terence, jumping up with a wild gesture. “Can’t you see it? Haven’t you tumbled yet? Why, good Lord, man! whose fag is Carr?”
“Coles’,” said Rouse, in a whisper.
“Yes,” repeated Terence, “Coles’.” He waited a moment. “And so,” he added, “Carr wrote that because he was made to. Hasn’t Coles got a hold on the kid? Didn’t Henry tell us that Carr was the only fellow who wasn’t delighted about the match? Do you wonder he wasn’t delighted when he knew 205he’d got to write something like this on the strength of it? Coles probably intended to send you a note like this anyway. The Head’s given him a better opening than he ever bargained for, that’s all. Carr wrote it, yes. And Coles made it up.”
Rouse turned very slowly upon his heel and faced him.
“Then,” said he, “if that’s so, it may have been Coles who let the Head know that all you fellows had promised to share the blame if there were any trouble about this match.”
“I should say it most certainly was. He probably told Roe and got him to pass it on.”
“Yes,” said Rouse thoughtfully. “Yes. I suppose that would be it.”
For a moment or two he stood like a man awaking from a trance. His eyes passed slowly and unseeingly round well-known objects about the study, and came to rest at last upon Toby’s thoughtful countenance.
“Did you want to see me, sir?”
“What I came in about will wait,” said Toby. “But now that I’m here I should just like to say this. If you do anything fat-headed—anything on the lines of that letter—it will be strictly against my wishes, and absolutely against the best interests of the school. If you lose your nerve now you may undo all the good that your example has done for the school throughout this term. I am going to-morrow, and when I leave here I want to be sure that you will carry on the good work you have been doing all the way through the term. I want you to promise me not to give in just because—it hurts. It’s not for your sake, it’s for the good of Harley.”
“Yes, that’s all right, sir,” said Rouse, in a peculiarly small voice. “I quite understand. You can trust me to see that the chaps hang on to the end ... now. I wasn’t thinking of that so much. Only 206if you don’t want me particularly I’d like you to excuse me a moment?” He paused. “I should like,” he added, “to go along and find Coles.”
The brothers Nicholson looked first at him and then at one another. Clearly the same thoughts had entered either mind.
It was Terence who spoke.
“There’s only one thing,” said he. “I ought to just mention it. You haven’t forgotten that Coles is something of a boxer? You remember he won the heavyweights last year?”
Rouse nodded his head.
“I know.”
“That’s all right then,” said Terence. “Would you like me to wait here?”
“You can wait anywhere you like,” said Rouse, “as long as you don’t come too.” He began to walk out of the door, then turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said rather more graciously, “I should rather like you to be here when I come back if you don’t mind waiting.”
He went out and closed the door behind him, then he began to walk quickly along the corridor and down the stairs. Out in the open he became an object of general interest. He was conscious that all who met him glanced at him in curiosity. He gave no sign of his feelings at all. He looked at one or two that he met and nodded to them cheerfully. At last he was opposite Seymour’s, and he went in and mounted the stairs two at a time.
Outside Coles’ study he stopped just for a second and knocked. Then he went in. At first there appeared to be nobody inside. But he glanced into the corner where an easy-chair was placed before the fire and observed a tuft of hair showing above it. He moved forward and leaned over. Coles was sitting there asleep. His mouth was open and his features limp. A plain young man awake, he was 207widely renowned for his extreme ugliness when asleep. Rouse dropped his hand on to his shoulder and shook him vigorously. There came a distant growling. Rouse continued to shake.
“What on earth is it?” muttered the object in the chair, slowly opening his eyes. “Who wants me? Why don’t you——” He recognised Rouse with a start and stopped abruptly. “Hullo!” he said. He rose somewhat foolishly and began to smooth h............