Many Weston boys who had nothing to do with Slam, who did not care for ratting, and saw no fun in being the proprietor¹ of a dog that could only be seen occasionally and by stealth, took a perfectly² legitimate³ interest in Wobbler as a competitor in the Somersetshire ten-miles championship, and when it became generally known that he was training in the neighbourhood (which was not for some time, nor until the number of boxing lessons subscribed⁴ for by the Saurin class had been pretty well exhausted), a good many repaired when time allowed to the nice bit of straight highroad some two miles off where the pedestrian pounded along daily, with his body inclined somewhat forward, his arms held in front of his chest, a little stick in his right hand, fair heel and toe, at a rate of over seven miles in the hour. A group, of which Penryhn was one, were walking in that direction one afternoon, when Buller overtook them at a sharp run, pulling up alongside his friend.  
“So you have come then after all?” said Penryhn.
 
“Yes,” replied Buller, mopping his forehead. “I finished the task I set myself directly after you started, and thought I could catch you up. But it’s hot!”
 
“Is it true that you have been elected into the house eleven?”
 
“Yes,” replied Buller; “it seems rum, doesn’t it?”
 
“I don’t know why it should. I am sure I am very glad, old fellow, for I know that you wished it.”
 
“Well, yes I did. I am uncommonly⁵ fond of cricket, don’t you see, and have tried hard to improve.”
 
“That you must have done, by Jove! But how was it?”
 
“Well, Robarts said something to Crawley, and Crawley came up to me the day before yesterday and said he had heard that I could bowl a bit; would I come and give him a few balls. So I went and bowled to him for an hour, and the result was that he called a house meeting, and I was put into the eleven.”
 
“You will be in the school eleven next year, you see.”
 
“I don’t know,” replied Buller; “it depends on how I get on, you know. I might make a regular mull of it.”
 
“Bosh! not you; you have gone on improving too steadily⁶ for that,” said Penryhn confidently. “This is one of the milestones⁷ the chap comes to; he will be here presently if we wait. What’s the row over there?”
 
“Oh! one of those men with images, and some of our fellows, Saurin, Edwards, and that lot, chaffing him.”
 
An Italian with a large tray of plaster of Paris figures on his head was tramping from one town to another, and seeing the groups of boys gathered in different parts of the road, thought he might do a stroke of business, so taking down the tray he solicited⁸ attention.
 
“I makes them all myself; I am poor man, but artist.”
 
“Ah! and how do you sell them?” asked Saurin.
 
“Sheap, oh mosh too sheap; what you like to give.”
 
“Will you take a shilling for the whole lot?”
 
“Oh! young gentleman, you make fun, you joke. Ha, ha! One shilling for the beautiful little statues! What joke!”
 
“Too much, is it? I thought so; not but what they would make capital cockshies.”
 
A large pile of flints, hammered into a convenient size and form for missiles, lay handy, ready for repairing the road, and the coincidence caused Saurin’s idea to become popular at once.
 
“Let’s have one for a cockshy. Here’s Bismark.”
 
“He’s a German, and I hate German; most abominable⁹ language I have had to tackle yet. Stick Bismark up on that gate, and we will shy from the other side of the road. Stick him up, I say, you jabbering¹⁰ idiot.”
 
“Oh! sare, what pity to throw stone at the beautiful cast! Buy him and take him home, no break him.”
 
In spite of his remonstrances¹¹ the great chancellor¹² was set up on the five-barred gate, and the boys began to pelt¹³ him from the heap of stones on the opposite side of the road.
 
“And who is to pay me for my beautiful images?” asked the Italian, in some trepidation¹⁴ for his money, it being difficult to say which of all these eccentric young savages¹⁵ was the actual purchaser.
 
“Oh! whoever does not hit it shall owe you for it.”
 
“But I should like that you pay now, before you throw.”
 
“Why, you idiot, how can we tell who hits and who misses beforehand. Stand out of the way can’t you!”
 
“Good shot!” “That was near.” “That has got him!” and down went the bust¹⁶ in fragments. Then a Cupid was exposed to missiles far more substantial than his own, and succumbed¹⁷. His mama was next sent up by these young Goths; fancy Venus herself being put in the pillory¹⁸ and stoned! What one thing after that could they be expected to respect? Not the infant Samuel, who, in spite of his supplicatory¹⁹ attitude, found no pity. Not Sir Garnet Wolseley, who was exposed to as hot a fire as he had ever been under before, with worse luck; not Mr Gladstone, nor Minerva, nor Tennyson. The spirit of mischief²⁰, the thirst for destruction, grew wilder by gratification, and soon the whole stock of models was reduced to a heap of plaster fragments.
 
“Ah! well, I have sell them all quick to-day,” said the Italian, putting a good face on the business, which yet looked to him rather doubtful, and it is very rare for people to indulge in mischief at their own expense. “It is twenty shilling, one pound you owe me, sare,” he added to Saurin.
 
“I owe you!” cried Saurin. “I like that! Why, I hit more of them than anyone else, and it was those who missed the lot who were to be responsible. Go to them, man.”
 
“Oh! gentleman, kind gentleman, you are making fun of me. You speak to me first; you say, ‘Put up the figures for shy.’ I poor man, you gentleman. You laugh! Give me my money, you sare, or you, or you;” and the Italian grasped his long black hair with both hands, and danced about in a manner which amused his tormentors greatly, and their laughter put him a rage.
 
“You rob me,” he cried, “I will go to the police; I will have you put in prison if you no pay me. Give me my money.”
 
“We will make a cockshy of you if you don’t look out,” said one; and another actually threw a stone at him, an example which others were preparing to follow, when Crawley, with a group of boys who had seen nothing of the early part of the business, came up, and seemed inclined to take the Italian’s part. The aggressors dropped their stones quietly and began to slip away.
 
“It’s a beastly shame, and a disgrace to the school,” said Crawley indignantly. Saurin heard him as he hurried off, and if he had had any money in his pocket he would have turned back, thrown it to the image man, and asked Crawley what he meant. But being without funds he was obliged to make off while he could, or the Italian would fix on him and follow him home. For to break away and show him a fair pair of heels across country would be impossible after an altercation²¹ with his school-fellow; it would be putting himself in too humiliating a position. So he walked on at a sharp pace, choking with suppressed passion.
 
“Where he live, that fellow; where he live?” cried the Italian. “Per Baccho, I will have the police to him! You know him, excellenza; tell me where he live?”
 
“I will not tell you that,” said Crawley. “But here’s half-a-crown for you.”
 
A considerable number of boys had now collected, and as example, whether for good or evil, has an extraordinary effect on either boys or men, a collection was started. Some gave a shilling, some sixpence, and a sum of ten shillings was made up altogether, which was probably quite as much as the figures were worth. So the Italian calmed down and dried his eyes, for he had been crying like a child, and with a profusion²² of thanks took up his board and went his way. And it being time to go back to Weston, all the boys started off in that direction, leaving Mr Wobbler to tramp backwards²³ and forwards between his milestones in solitude²⁴. Of course some kind friend told all this to Saurin, and it exasperated²⁵ him still more, if that was possible. One thing he was determined²⁶ upon, Crawley must be repaid the money he had given to the Italian figure-seller at once. After hunting in all his waistcoat pockets and his drawers he could only raise eighteenpence, so he went to Edwards’ room.
 
“Look here, old fellow,” he said; “lend me a shilling till Monday, I want it particularly.”
 
“I’m awfully²⁷ sorry,” replied Edwards, “I have not got one.”
 
“I’ll pay you back on Monday, honour bright.”
 
“I know you would; it isn’t that. I assure you I am not making excuses; you should have it directly if it were possible; but I am as penniless as a fellow can be, not so much as a postage-stamp have I got.”
 
“I must get a shilling somehow; whom to ask?”
 
“Ask Griffiths; he always has money,” suggested Edwards.
 
“Hang the fellow, yes,” said Saurin. “But he will make such a favour of it if he lends it, and he is just as likely as not to refuse. I have it, though! He offered me half-a-crown for my crossbow last term, and I would not let him have it; he shall now.”
 
The crossbow in question was an ingenious little thing about six inches long, the bow of steel, the string of catgut, the stock and barrel of wood, and it projected marbles or spherical²⁸ bullets with very considerable force. It would raise a bump on the head at twenty yards, and break a window at thirty. Griffiths also lived in Mr Cookson’s house, so that Saurin had only to go to his own room, get out, dust, and rub up the article, which had lain in a corner forgotten, and go up the other staircase.
 
“I say, Griffiths,” he began; “in turning out some old things I have just come across this little steel bow which you wanted to buy of me, you know. I am tired of it now, and so you can have it if you like. Half-a-crown, I think, you said that you would give, was it not?”
 
Griffiths coveted²⁹ the toy as much or more than ever he had done, but he was a born dealer³⁰; and when he saw that the other was anxious to sell he assumed indifference³¹ in order to lower the price.
 
“Why, you see,” he said, “last term is not this term. I was pretty flush just then, and had a fancy for the thing. Now the money has gone, and I don’t so much care.”
The boys were gathered about the quadrangle in groups, waiting to go in for eight o’clock school, for the different class-rooms were not open till the master of each came with his key and unlocked the door, by which time all the class were expected to be outside, ready to go in with him. And so it was the custom to assemble rather early, and now, though it was ten minutes to the hour by the big clock, the majority had arrived. Directly Saurin came he looked for Crawley, and saw him standing³² chatting with some other fellows. He walked straight up to him.
 
“Oh, Crawley!” he said, “I hear that you paid that Italian blackguard half-a-crown for his broken crockery yesterday, and since he made his claim upon me, though I owed him nothing, I don’t choose to let it look as if you had paid anything for me, so here is your money back;” and he tendered the half-crown, which the other did not put his hand out to receive. This exasperated Saurin still more. “Take it,” he said; “only I’ll thank you not to be so confoundedly officious again.”
 
“I don’t want your money,” said Crawley quietly. “You are entirely³³ mistaken; I paid nothing for you. If I knew the image man’s address I would forward him your half-crown, but I do not. So you must hunt it up for yourself if you want to make restitution³⁴.”
 
“But you paid him the money.”
 
“That was an act of private charity. The man whom you call a blackguard—I don’t know why, for he had not been destroying any defenceless person’s property—had had a scoundrelly trick played him, and I and some other fellows got up a subscription³⁵ for him, as anyone with a spark of gentlemanly feeling would be inclined to do. I am sorry that your contribution is tendered too late, but so it is.”
 
“So you call me a blackguard and a scoundrel, do you?” hissed³⁶ Saurin, who was quite beside himself with rage; and certainly Crawley’s speech was the reverse of soothing³⁷. “You stuck-up, hypocritical, canting, conceited³⁸ prig, I should like to break your nose for you.”
 
“Break away, my hearty,” said Crawley, putting his hands up; “but I am not a plaster of Paris image, mind you, and can hit back.”
 
The sneer³⁹ was another spur to Saurin’s passion; his temples throbbed⁴⁰ as if they would burst, and his look was as evil as a painter, wanting a model for Mephistopheles, could have desired, as he sprang at his enemy with an inarticulate cry, and struck at him with all his force. The boys closed round them, eager, expectant, those at a distance running up. But blows were hardly exchanged before someone cried, “Look out; here’s the Doctor!” and the combatants were separated, and the crowd dispersed⁴¹ in an instant.
 
“We will meet again, I hope,” said Saurin.
 
“Any time you like,” replied Crawley.
 
“On Saturday afternoon in The Dell, then.”
 
“I shall be there, and I hope we shall not be interrupted.” And they walked off in different directions, trying to look as if nothing was the matter, which was not so easy, Saurin being hardly able to restrain his excitement, and Crawley being flushed about the forehead, where the other’s fist had struck him; otherwise he was no more discomposed than usual, and, being put on to construe⁴² soon after entering the school, acquitted⁴³ himself very well and with the most perfect sang froid. Fortunately Saurin was not subjected to the same ordeal⁴⁴ or he would have been considerably⁴⁵ flustered⁴⁶, if not totally unable to fix his mind on the subject; and he might have excited suspicion as to something unusual going on, which again might have caused inquiry⁴⁷, and so spoiled sport. But he was not called up, the redness of Crawley’s brow remained unnoticed, and all was satisfactory. This was Thursday, so there was a day’s intermission before the fight, which was the general school topic. The weather, which had been very fine in the early part of the term, had broken up, the sodden⁴⁸ grass was unfavourable for cricket and lawn-tennis, so that this little excitement came in just at the convenient time. I wonder why everything connected with fighting is so interesting! Little children love playing at soldiers best of all games, and delight in destroying whole tin armies with pea-shooting artillery⁴⁹. With what silent eagerness the newspapers are devoured⁵⁰ in war-time when the details of a battle appear! If two cocks in a farm-yard get at one another the heaviest bumpkin from the plough-tail, who seems incapable⁵¹ of an emotion, grows animated⁵². I suppose it is because of the animal nature of which we partake which frequently excites us to prey⁵³ on other animals and quarrel with one another. Fights were very rare at Weston, but they took place occasionally, and there was even a traditional spot called the Fairies’ Dell, or more commonly The Dell, where they were brought off. But for a boy of the standing and position of Crawley,—in the highest form, captain of the eleven, secretary and treasurer⁵⁴ of the cricket and football clubs—to be engaged in such an affair was unprecedented⁵⁵, and the interest taken in it was so great as to set the whole school in a ferment⁵⁶. The dislike borne by Saurin to the other was well known, as also that he had attributed his expulsion from the eleven to him, though unjustly, since public opinion had been well nigh unanimous on the point. As for the chances of the combatants, only the small clique⁵⁷ who frequented Slam’s, most of whom had seen him sparring with the gloves, favoured that of Saurin. The general idea was that the latter was mad to try conclusions with one so superior to him in every way, and that Crawley would lick him into fits in about ten minutes. As for the champions themselves, they awaited the ordeal in very different frames of mind. To Crawley the whole thing was an unmitigated bore. It would get him into some trouble with the authorities probably; it was inconsistent with his position in the school, and was setting a bad example; then he could hardly expect to avoid a black eye, and it was only three weeks to the holidays, by which time his bruises⁵⁸ would hardly have time to disappear. His family were staying for the summer at Scarborough, and his sisters wrote him enthusiastic accounts of the lawn-tennis parties there. How could he present himself in decent society, with one of his eyes in mourning? But he saw something comic in his own annoyance⁵⁹, and it did not affect him sufficiently⁶⁰ to interfere⁶¹ with his studies or amusements. He neither feared the contest nor desired it. He had no wish to quarrel with Saurin, a fellow he did not care for, it is true, but whom he did not think sufficiently about to dislike. He thought rather better of him for having the pluck to attack him, and was a little ashamed of his own bitter words which had goaded⁶² the other into doing it. But really the fellow had addressed him in such an overbearing and insolent⁶³ manner that he could not help replying as he did. After all, if he had to fight someone, he would rather it were Saurin than anyone else, since he appeared to hate him so much.
 
But if Crawley was cool about the matter, his antagonist⁶⁴ was very much the reverse. When his passion expended⁶⁵ itself he was not free from apprehension⁶⁶ of the consequences of what he had done. Supposing he were ignominiously⁶⁷ defeated, after having provoked the contest, what a humiliating position he would be placed in? In every way in which he had competed with Crawley he had hitherto been worsted, and he could not help fearing lest this superiority should still be maintained. However, the die was cast, he was in for it now, and must go through with it as best he could, and, after all, his recently acquired skill must stand him in good stead. Reason in this way as he might, however, he was nervous, and could not settle to anything for long. On Friday night, while Crawley was working in his room, there came a knock at the door, and when he called out, “Come in!” Tom Buller entered.
 
“I have got something I want to tell you, Crawley,” he said. “I have just found out that Saurin has been taking lessons in boxing.”
 
“Oh! of whom? Stubbs, Edwards, or someone equally formidable?”
 
“No; of Wobbler the pedestrian, who was once a pugilist, and who has been giving boxing lessons at Slam’s.”
 
“Oh! I see, that is what has screwed his courage up to the proper pitch. I understand it all now.”
 
“Yes, but avoid wrestling with him; he is good at the cross-buttock, I hear. May I be your second?”
 
“Certainly you may, if you like; Robarts is the other, and thank you for wishing it, Buller.”
 
“You won’t have it then? oh! very well; all right.”
 
“Stop, don’t be in a hurry; I’ll give you eighteenpence for it.”
 
“Make it two shillings,” urged Saurin.
 
“No; eighteenpence or nothing,” Griffiths persisted.
 
“You old Jew! Well, here it is then,” said Saurin.
 
“Have you got a shilling?” asked Griffiths. “I have only got half-a-crown; but if you can give me change—”
 
Saurin took the coin, giving back a shilling without further remark. He was thinking that it would be more effective to offer Crawley the larger coin, instead of fumbling⁶⁸ with small money, and the notion pleased him. Besides he was not particularly disappointed; so long as he got what he wanted at the moment, it was not his nature to look much further. But he did not sleep much that night. Again this Crawley had scored off him, by putting himself in the position of generous benefactor⁶⁹ and chivalrous⁷⁰ defender⁷¹ of the weak, with him (Saurin) for his foil. There was one comfort; he was not so much afraid of Crawley as he did not conceal⁷² from himself that he had once been. Hitherto he had feared that if it came to a quarrel, he would not get the best of it, and this had caused him to restrain himself on many occasions when he had longed to give vent⁷³ to his feelings. But, now that he had skill and science on his side, the case was different, and the balance in his favour; and if this wonderful Crawley, whom everybody made such a fuss about, did not like what he had to say to him, he might do the other thing.