Chapter III: Part 3

"When I left you," he said, "I was in a filthy bate, and for once, instead of not wanting to trespass and break bounds, I did want to. And I went straight into the Manor Woods, and badly frightened some pheasants that had gone to roost, and was immediately soothed. They made a fearful row, and I thought a keeper would be sure to spring up from somewhere, and rather hoped one would, in order to afford me an opportunity for an escape. But nothing happened, and I decided to walk on till I came to the drive, and then boldly go along out of the lodge-gate. Well, I walked through the wood to the drive just before it got dark. I was looking out cautiously from the edge of the wood, to see that all was clear, when I observed a man sitting on the edge of the drive. For a moment I thought it was that wretched Soapy William again. He was humped up and nursing his foot which was evidently badly wounded. Then the man gave a sound between a sigh and a groan and a snuffle, and I saw it was Dr. Dunston!

"Of course, it was the moment of my life, and I felt, in a sort of way, that my whole future career depended upon my next action. My first instinct, remembering that Norris and Booth were both flogged when caught here, was a strategic retreat; but then my duty as a Boy Scout occurred to me. It was a fearful choice of evils, you may say; for if I cleared out, I was disgraced for ever, and my mind couldn't have stood it, and if I went forward, I was also disgraced for ever, because to be flogged, to a chap with my opinions, is about the limit. I considered what should be done, and while I was considering, old Dunston groaned again and said out loud:

"'Tut--tut! This is indeed a tragedy!'

"That decided me, because the question of humanity came in, and looking on into the future in rather a remarkable way, I saw at once that if I retreated and heard next morning that old Dr. Dunston was found dead, I should feel the pangs of remorse for evermore, and they would ruin my life. I also felt that, if I saved him, he was hardly likely to flog me, because there would undoubtedly be a great feeling against him if he did."

"You might have done this," I said. "You might have retreated, and then gone down to the lodge and told the woman that there was an injured man, in great agony, lying half-way up the drive. You might have given a false name yourself, and then, when the rescuing party started, you might have cleared out and so remained anonymous. It would have gone down to the credit of the Boy Scouts, and old Dunston would have been the first to see that the particular Boy Scout in question preferred, for private reasons, to keep his identification a secret."

Travers was much impressed by this view.

"I never thought of that," he said. "Probably, if I had, I should have done it. Anyway, I'm sorry I swore at you and called you a fathead, Briggs. You're not a fathead--far from it."

He then continued his surprising narrative in these words:

"Anyway, I decided to rescue the Doctor, and stepped out of ambush and said:

"'Good evening, sir. I'm afraid you're hurt.'

"He was evidently very glad to see me; but you know his iron discipline. He kept it up even then.

"'What boy are you?' he asked, and I told him I was Travers minor from Merivale.

"'And how comes it you are here?' he asked again.

"'I was operating in the woods on my way home, sir, and I heard your cry of distress.'

"'We will investigate your operations on another occasion, then,' said the Doctor. 'For the moment mine are more important. I have had a bad fall and am in great pain. You had better run as quickly as possible to the Manor House, ask to see Sir Neville Carew, and tell him that I have met with a very severe accident half-way down his drive. Whether I have broken my leg, or put out my ankle, it is not for me to determine. I have been drinking tea with Sir Neville and learning his views as to the War. Be as quick as you can. You will never have a better opportunity to display your agility.'

"Then I hooked it and ran the half-mile or so to the Manor House, sprinting all the way. I soon gave the terrible news, and in about ten minutes Sir Neville Carew himself, with his butler and his footman, set off for the Doctor. And the footman trundled a chair which ran on wheels, and which Sir Neville Carew kindly explained to me he uses himself when he gets an attack of gout, which often happens, unfortunately.

"He didn't ask me how I discovered the accident, which was naturally rather a good thing for me; and when we got back to the Doctor, he told me to hasten on in advance and break the evil tidings. So I cleared out. And I've heard no more yet; but no doubt I shall soon."

That was the great narrative of Travers minor, and after morning school Brown gave out that the Doctor's ankle was very badly sprained, but that things would take their course as usual, and a bulletin be put up on the notice-board in the evening.

And it was, and it said the Doctor was better.

Travers minor heard nothing until three days later, when the Doctor appeared on a crutch and read prayers. Then he had Travers up and addressed the school. And Travers saw at a glance that Dr. Dunston was still in no condition to flog him, even if the will was there.

It ended brilliantly for Travers, really, because the Doctor said he had been an instrument of Providence, and he evidently felt you ought not to flog an instrument of Providence, whatever he's been doing. He reproved Travers minor pretty stiffly, all the same, and said that when he considered what a friend Sir Neville Carew was to the school, and how much he overlooked, and so on, it was infamous that any boy should even glance into his pheasant preserves, much less actually go into them. And Travers minor was finally ordered to spend a half-holiday in visiting Sir Neville Carew and humbly apologizing to him for his conduct. Which he did so, and Sir Neville Carew, on hearing from Travers that he would never do it again on any pretext whatever, was frightfully sporting and forgave him freely, and talked about the War, and reminded him about Sir Baden-Powell's brother, and ended by taking Travers minor into a glass-house full of luscious peaches and giving him two.

And Travers kept one for me, because, he said, if it hadn't been for getting into a wax with me, he would never have trespassed and never have had the adventure at all.

And I said it wasn't so much me as that beast of an old woman who told him his knickers were too tight.

"In strict honesty," I said, "she ought to have this peach."

Then I ate it, and never want to eat a better. In fact, I kept the stone to plant when I went home.

THE HUTCHINGS TESTIMONIAL

Naturally, all Merivale was deeply interested in the adventures of Mr. Hutchings at the Front of the War. Of the three masters who had instantly volunteered, only Hutchings had actually gone to the Front, being a skilled territorial and holding a commission in the Devons; but the other two, Manwaring and Meadows, had to be content with Kitchener's Army, because they were ignorant of the subject of warfare and had to begin at the beginning. Of course, Fortescue would have proudly gone, as his splendid poems on the war and his general valiant feelings showed, and we were very sorry we had misunderstood him; but his aorta being a bit off quite prevented him doing anything except write splendid poems urging everybody else to go; and no doubt many did go because of them. As for Brown, he was five feet nothing, or thereabouts, and so he wasn't wanted, and I believe in secret he thanked God for it, though in public he said it was the bitterest blow of his life. And Rice, who doesn't fear Brown, asked him why he didn't join a Ghurka regiment; and Brown said nothing would have given him greater pleasure, only, unfortunately, owing to caste, and religion, and one thing and another, it was out of the question. He appeared to bar the bantam regiment also, probably not so much as the bantam regiment would have barred him.

So you may say Merivale only had one man at the positive Front, though Jenny Dunston, the Doctor's youngest daughter but two, was engaged to a man in the Welsh Fusiliers, and he was there, and Abbott's father was also there. They were, of course, nothing to us, though no doubt a good deal to Jenny Dunston and Abbott's mother; but all our excitement centred on Hutchings, who was a lieutenant, and was often believed to do the work of a captain when actually under fire. He occasionally sent a postcard to Fortescue, saying that all was well, and I believe Fortescue also got a letter with pieces censored out of it; but he did not show it to us, though he told Travers minor and Briggs that it was anxious work. This was when the British Expedition was falling back, much to its regret. But soon the time came when they got going forward again, and then Fortescue bucked up and, I believe, wrote his best poetry. In fact, Fortescue really was a sort of weather-glass of the War, if you understand me, and chaps in his class said that, after a reverse, you could do simply anything with him, and he didn't seem to have the slightest interest in work, and didn't care if you were right or wrong. And in a way it was equally all right for his class after a victory, for then he was so hopeful and pleased that he never came down on anybody. So we hadn't got to read the papers, because, after seeing Fortescue in the morning, we always knew the general hang of the War. In fact, Mitchell, who was a cunning student of other people's characters, though his own was beastly, said that you had only got to look at Fortescue's neck to know how it was going at the Front. If his head was hanging over his chest, it was certain the Allies had had a nasty knock; and if it was just about normal, you knew nothing had happened to matter either way; and if it was thrown up and straight, and Fortescue's eyes were bright behind his glasses, then you knew that we had scored, or else the French or Russians had. Then a little child could lead Fortescue, as Mitchell said.

And at last came Hill No. 60, and the fearfully sad news that Hutchings was dead or wounded; and many of us would have given a week's pocket-money to know which. Then came the good news under the Roll of Honour that he was only wounded, and after that, many of us would have given a week's pocket-money to know where. Presently we heard from Dr. Dunston that he was in Paris; and then we heard that he was coming to England and going to the private house of some very sporting rich people who had turned their mansion into a hospital for wounded officers.

Then Fortescue heard from Hutchings, and most kindly gave us the information that he had been wounded in two places--the shoulder and the calf of the right leg. And we were thankful that it was no worse.

We were allowed to write to Hutchings, and Barrington, who was head boy now that Travers major had left, composed a letter, and everybody signed it. And I hope he liked it. But then came the great idea of a presentation to Hutchings. I am Blades, and it was my idea, though afterwards Sutherland and Thwaites claimed it. But I promise you it was mine, and we had a meeting in chapel one night before prep., at which Barrington proposed and I seconded the great thought that we should make a collection of money for a memorial to Hutchings.

Barrington said:

"We are met together for a good object, namely, to collect money for a valuable memorial of his bravery in the War for Mr. Hutchings, or I should say Lieutenant Hutchings. Everybody here--even his own class--likes him; and the new boys, who do not know him, would equally like him if they did. No doubt there will be a very fine medal of Hill No. 60 struck and presented to our troops who were in that terrific battle, and no doubt Lieutenant Hutchings will get it; but it often takes years and years before war medals are struck and presented to the heroes of a battle, and I have heard that some of the medals from the Battle of Waterloo are still hanging fire; and many ought to have had them who died a natural death long before they were sent out. So I propose that we make a collection for Mr. Hutchings and present him with a valuable object before he goes back to the War, because, if we leave it till afterwards, it may be too late."

And I said:

"I beg to second the excellent speech we have just heard, and if anybody is of a different opinion, let him say so."

It was carried.

Then Barrington said we must have a committee of management, with a secretary and treasurer, and it was done.

The committee consisted of me and Barrington and Sutherland and Thwaites; and Rice, who would not have been on such an important thing in the ordinary way, was proposed, because he was enormously popular and would be able to persuade many to subscribe who would not otherwise do so without great pressure. That only left the treasurer, and well knowing Mitchell's financial skill and mastery of arithmetic in general, I proposed him. Some chaps, who owed Mitchell money, were rather shy of voting for him; but finally they decided it was better to have him for a friend than an enemy, and so they voted in his favour. I myself owed Mitchell three shillings, for which I was paying twopence a week, which was a fair interest. And personally I always found him honourable, though firm.

Anyway, he was made treasurer, and he said the subscription lists must be posted in a public place, because in these cases people liked to see their names where other people would also see them, and that publicity was the backbone of philanthropy.

We left it with him, as he thoroughly understood that branch of the testimonial, and meanwhile from time to time the committee met to consider what ought to be bought. And we differed a good deal on the subject. I thought, as Hutchings would certainly go back to the War when he was well, we ought to buy him a complete outfit of comforts, including blankets, tobacco--of which he was very fond--a Thermos flask, a wool helmet, day socks, night socks, a mouth-guard to keep out German stinks, and, in fact, everything to help him through the misery of warfare, including a filter for drinking water. And Sutherland was rather inclined to agree with me, but the others were not.

Thwaites said:

"My dear Blades, you talk as if you were his grandmother. No doubt he's got women relations to look after paltry things like that; but a testimonial rises to a much higher plane, in my opinion. It ought to be something that will last for ever and not wear out and be forgotten."

And Rice said:

"Get the man a revolver."

And Barrington said:

"He's got one."

And Rice said:

"Of course he has. And if we get him another, then he'd have two, and that means six less Germans some day, very likely."

But Barrington didn't approve.

"We want a testimonial that has nothing to do with actual battle," he said. "The War won't last for ever, and we ought to buy something useful, and also ornamental, that Hutchings will be able to employ in everyday life when all is over. We want something that will catch his eye a hundred times a day and pleasantly remind him and his family of his heroic past--and us."

"An heirloom, in fact," said Thwaites.

But I argued that practical comforts at the critical moment would be far better than an heirloom for future use, because if he didn't have the mouth-guard and filter and so on, he might die; and where would the heirloom come in then?

I said:

"What's the good of knowing you've got a silver ink-pot, or a tea-kettle, or a cellaret full of whisky at home, when you're perishing for a wholesome drink on the field?"

And Barrington said that was petty, and so did Thwaites. They seemed to think that the remembrance of our testimonial safe at home would carry Hutchings safely through all the horrors of the campaign.

It turned out that I had rather touched up Barrington, for he had actually been thinking about a silver ink-pot, and Thwaites had been thinking about a cellaret with three bottles of various spirits; but I told them flatly I didn't agree with them. Then they asked Sutherland his idea, and he said it wasn't so much what we should like as what Hutchings would.

He said:

"Perhaps a very fine meerschaum pipe, mounted in silver with an inscription, would do, because there you have a creature comfort of the first class and also a testimonial which would not wear out. And a pipe would be far more to Hutchings, either in war or peace, than an ink-pot, or, in fact, anything of that sort."

And Rice said:

"Why not get the man a sword? He could use it in the War, and, if all went well, he could hang it up in his home afterwards; and if there was blood on it, then he'd have great additional pleasure every time he looked at it. And so would his family."

Barrington rather liked the sword; but he said classy swords were frightfully expensive, and he doubted whether we should run to it. Then the committee broke up, to meet again when we found how the subscriptions came in.

Unfortunately, this department of the testimonial was very slow. Mitchell, with great trouble, wrote out a list of the whole school, and was allowed to put it on the notice-board. Class by class he wrote it--one hundred and thirty-two boys he wrote--with money columns and a line leading from each boy to the money column. On it, in large ornamental letters, Nicholson, who was a dab at printing, put the words--

TESTIMONIAL FUND TO LIEUTENANT HUTCHINGS, FROM MERIVALE SCHOOL.

Then we all waited breathlessly for the result in the money column. There was some delay, because everybody, of course, wrote home on the subject and mentioned it in the next Sunday's letters; and we pointed out to the kids that a good and useful thing to write home about, and something at least to fill two pages, would be the Hutchings testimonial. Whether they made the appeal or not, of course, none could tell, but if they did, the response was fearfully feeble. When questioned, they said that their people at home had done such a frightful lot for the War already that further cash for Hutchings was out of the question; while other parents wrote back, not that they had done much for the War, but that the War had done much for them in a very unfavourable manner. The result was apparently the same in each case, and the Lower School, all except Peterson in the Third, responded very badly to the appeal. He produced ten bob, much to our amazement, and there was one other ten bob, secured by Abbott through his mother, because his father was at the Front and still unwounded. As for the Sixth, who headed the list, we all gave three bob to a man, except Barrington, who gave five. The Fifth came out at about one and tenpence a head, which was fair, without being particularly dazzling; but the Fourth fell away a good deal. And after that there was a hideous array of blanks.

Mitchell said it was probably owing to the utter failure of the dividends of the parents of the Lower School; and as we could not apparently make bricks without straw, we considered how to tackle the Lower School. There is no doubt the failure was genuine, for many of them had even their pocket-money reduced; so Pegram--who had only subscribed a shilling himself, by the way--proposed that the kids should be invited to give property instead of cash.

He said:

"If they all yield up something they value, we can collect the goods in a mass and have a sale, and the proceeds of the sale can go to the Hutchings Testimonial."

The committee approved of this, excepting Thwaites, who thought nothing of it; but when asked to give his objections, he merely said:

"Wait and see."

Which we did do, and found that Thwaites was wonderfully right, and had looked on ahead much farther than us. The kids agreed willingly to subscribe in goods, and were only too delighted to do so; but when it came to the point, the goods of the kids proved utterly worthless in the open market. It was a revelation, in a sort of a way, to see the things the kids valued and honestly thought were worth money. In fact, Preston said it was pathetic, and Pegram said we had a good foundation for a rubbish heap, but nothing more. They brought string and screws and nails, also the glass marbles from a certain make of ginger-beer bottle, and knives fearfully out of order, and corkscrews, and padlocks without keys, and a few threadbare story books, and three copies of _Hymns Ancient and Modern_, and two old horseshoes, and catapults and bullets and shot and charms. They also brought three steel watch-chains and one leather one; and Percy Minimus offered a watch-chain made from his mother's hair, so he said; but nobody bid for it, naturally, for who on earth wants a watch-chain made out of somebody else's mother's hair? There was also a bottle imp, fourteen indiarubber balls and seven golf balls--all worn out--two kids' cricket bats unspliced, three pairs of tan gloves--new but small--and one pair of wool ones, eight neckties, not new, and a silk handkerchief, given to Tudor in case he had a cold in his head, but not required up till now, and therefore new. Among other items was half a packet of Sanatogen, also from Tudor, a box of chocolate cigarettes, several conjuring tricks, mostly out of order, and three guinea-pigs alive. Of other live things were included a white rat, with pink eyes and a hairless, pinkish tail, and a dormouse, which Mathers said was hibernating, though Mitchell thought was dead. It proved alive, on applying warmth, and fetched fivepence. Lastly, there was a chrysalis, into which a remarkable caterpillar, found by Hastings on the twenty-first of last September, had turned; and as nobody knew the species of moth to be presently produced by it, Hastings thought it worth money, and put a reserve of two-pence on it. But the chrysalis was long overdue, and so it did not reach the reserve; and so Hastings, who was still hopeful, bought it back for that sum. As a matter of fact, it never turned into anything, and was found to be quite hollow when examined.

There was a good deal of other trash hardly worth mentioning, and many lots at the sale did not produce any offer at all, let alone competition; and the owners of these lots thankfully got them back again, though, of course, sorry that they commanded no market value. And some kids were much surprised to find their rubbish had no value at all in the eyes of the larger world, so to speak.

One way and another, the sale realized eight shillings and fourpence, chiefly owing to the generosity of Rice, who gave the absurd sum of two shillings for the guinea-pigs, which were not even the chrysanthemum variety of pig, with wild and tousled hair, but just sleek, ordinary pigs, and known to be far past their prime. One, in fact, had a bald head.

The Hutchings Testimonial now stood at four pounds fourteen shillings and sevenpence; and thanks to a windfall in the shape of five shillings from Cornwallis, who had a birthday and got a pound for it, we were now practically up to a fiver. In fact, I myself flung in the fivepence. But we were far from satisfied, for, as Mitchell with his mathematical mind pointed out, five pounds spread over one hundred and thirty-two boys amounts to the rather contemptible smallness of ninepence and one-eleventh a boy. We raised the question of inviting the masters to come in, from Dr. Dunston downwards, and some fondly thought that Dunston would very likely give another five pounds to double ours; but Barrington said he had reason to fear this would not happen, because, from rumours dropped between Brown and Fortescue, which he had accidentally overheard while working in Fortescue's study, he believed that a good many parents were putting the moratorium in force on the Doctor; and Fortescue seemed to think that it was quite within human possibility that the Doctor might put the moratorium in force on him and Brown, with very grave results to their financial position. But Brown said the moratorium was over long ago, and could not be revived against them.

Then two things of considerable importance happened on the subject of the Hutchings Testimonial. Firstly, we heard that Hutchings might come to Merivale for a week or so before returning to his regiment; and, secondly, Mitchell made a very interesting offer concerning the five pounds now deposited with him. He said, very truly, that money breeds money in skilled hands, and that no financier worthy of the name ever lets his talent lie hid in a napkin, but far from it. He said to the committee:

"It's like this. We are now a fortnight from the holidays, and the holidays will be five weeks long. Five and two are seven, therefore it follows that for seven weeks this five pounds is doing nothing whatever. This would be untrue to the science of political economy and banking. Therefore I propose that I send the five pounds to my father and ask him to invest it in his business. My father, John Septimus Mitchell, Esquire, is a member of the Stock Exchange of London, and would, no doubt, very easily turn our five pounds into six, or even seven, in the course of seven weeks. This would greatly increase the power of the committee and the extent of the testimonial for Hutchings. And then, at the beginning of next term, we shall be able to buy and present the testimonial in person to Hutchings."

Well, knowing Mitchell, it was rather a delicate question in a way; but what he said was sound finance, as Barrington admitted, and Barrington himself felt thoroughly inclined to trust Mitchell. We went into a sort of private committee, after Mitchell had gone, and though I and Thwaites voted against, the majority was in favour of agreeing to the suggestion of Mitchell. Therefore it was done.

Then Mitchell sent the five pounds to his father, and gave us the cheering news that his father had received it and agreed to invest it at interest; and Mitchell handed Barrington a document from his father to show all was being rightly managed on the Stock Exchange about it. And Barrington kept the document carefully, as it was legal, and had a penny stamp on it.

We next returned to the question of the testimonial itself, and still could not agree about it, though we were now able to argue on the basis of seven pounds instead of five. We had agreed about a sword, but unfortunately found, on inquiries, that a sword worthy to be called a presentation sword would cost about fifty pounds, and ought to have rubies and emeralds in the handle, which was, of course, out of the question. Many things were suggested, but none, somehow, met the case, and we fairly kicked ourselves to think that a committee like us were such a lot of fatheads. And, of course, dozens of the chaps asked us about it, and were rather surprised we couldn't think of the right thing. Proposals were showered in, but all to no purpose, and the end of the term actually arrived without anything being settled. It was then agreed that we should all think hard about the form of the testimonial during the holidays, and Barrington hoped that events at the Front might develop and help us to hit on a happy idea. And we all hoped so, too. As for Mitchell, he said that he thought very likely Hutchings would rather have the money than anything else; but that was, of course, what Mitchell himself would rather have had, though far below the mind of a patriotic man like Hutchings. And Thwaites said rather scornfully to Mitchell that no doubt he would rather have money than an heirloom to hand down to the future generations; and Mitchell said that he undoubtedly would, because money was out and away the best possible sort of heirloom, and everybody knew it at heart, even though they might pretend different.

Then the holidays took place, and the prizes were decidedly skimpy, which was a disappointment to those who got them and a comfort to those who didn't. Nothing of any consequence occurred to me during the holidays, and I had no idea for Hutchings worth mentioning; and when we all returned, we found the committee as a whole were in the same position as before. There were many suggestions made, certainly, but none that pleased the entire committee. Then a dreadful thing upset the situation, and for three days the darkness of returning to school was made darker still by a sensational rumour. Mitchell did not turn up on the appointed afternoon, and it was whispered that he wasn't coming back at all! Presently the whisper grew into a regular roar, so to speak, and Brown announced the tremendous news that Mitchell had left altogether, and might be going straight into his father's business of being a stockbroker on the Stock Exchange, London.

To add to this, Hutchings was now staying at Merivale with the Doctor for a few days before going back to the War, and he had already heard about the testimonial, and was undoubtedly in a great state of excitement about it. His wounds had taken an unexpectedly long time to heal, but he was now quite ready for renewed activity at the Front, and was, in fact, going back on the following Friday with other healed, heroic men.

Our position had now become extremely grave, and we held a committee meeting instantly, and Thwaites and I were in the position of the late Lord Roberts when he clamoured for an army and couldn't get one, because we had strongly advised that Mitchell should not be allowed to send the money to his father; but the committee had outvoted us. I was dignified myself, and did not remind the committee of my views; but Thwaites did, and there was a good deal of bitterness in the remarks of the committee, till Barrington reminded us of the legal document which we had preserved with such care. He said that he was not in the least alarmed, and felt sure that, whatever Mitchell might be, the father of Mitchell was a man of honour, and would not risk his position on the Stock Exchange of London for a paltry seven pounds.

So we wrote to the address on the legal document, stating the case and saying politely, but firmly, that we expected the seven pounds by return of post. We added that we trusted Mitchell's father implicitly, and that as the matter was very urgent, owing to Mr. Hutchings being just off again to the Front, we hoped that he would be so good as to give it his personal attention the moment he received our letter. This we all signed, to show how many people were interested and that it was a serious affair.

For three very trying days we heard nothing, and the school was in a fair uproar, and the committee got itself very much disliked. Then, when we had decided to put the matter into the hands of Dr. Dunston, Mitchell himself wrote to me and sent a cheque signed by his father. But it was not for seven pounds, I regret to say. In fact, it was not even for six. His wretched father had merely sent us back our five pounds with sevenpence added! Mitchell explained that we had received four per cent. for our money, and that he was sorry nothing better could be done for the moment, owing to the Stock Exchange being very much upset by the War. And he asked us for a stamped receipt for the money, which we sent him in very satirical language, and said that no doubt his father had made the two pounds himself. And we promised faithfully that when we grew up and had dealings on the Stock Exchange of London, they wouldn't be with Mitchell and his father. Barrington, by the way, wouldn't sign this piece of satire, which was invented by Tracey. All the same, we sent it, but Mitchell never answered it, and soon afterwards he turned up again, having merely been ill and not going to leave at all. Hutchings was going on the following Friday and something had to be done at once. The committee, which was now fairly sick of the sight of one another, met again--for the last time, I'm glad to say--and the question being acute, as Thwaites said, we proposed and seconded that a master, or two, should be invited to help us with ideas. Then I thought of something still better, and suggested that we should simply and straightforwardly go to Hutchings himself and ask him what he most wanted in the nature of an heirloom that could be got for five pounds and sevenpence; and everybody gladly seconded this idea, though, of course, it was not so impressive as making a presentation with a few dignified words and the whole school present, as we had meant to do.

However, we went to Hutchings, and he was much pleased, and said it was ripping of us all, and promised, the morning before he went, to try and get us a half-holiday as a memory of him. This was good, but still better was the great ease with which Hutchings decided what he wanted. He said:

"I'll tell you what I'll do. On my way through London to Dover I'll buy a pair of field-glasses, and I'll have inscribed somewhere on them--

'To LIEUTENANT T. HUTCHINGS,
FROM MERIVALE SCHOOL.'"

We agreed gladly to this, and so did everybody, and several chaps, who had suggested this very thing and been turned down, reminded us afterwards.

At any rate, Hutchings got them, and wrote to Barrington, from a direction he couldn't name, to say he'd got them, inscribed and all, and that they were splendid glasses, and that we might picture him often using them on the field, to mark the enemy's position or sweep the sky for aeroplanes; which was very agreeable to us to hear, and showed all our trouble was by no means in vain. And, in return, we wrote to Hutchings and told him we were very pleased to know about the glasses, and were glad to inform him that we had got the half-holiday, and that though it unfortunately poured without ceasing all the time, it was quite successful in every other way.

THE FIGHT

My name is Rice, and there was only one thing I hated about the War, and even that I had to stop hating, because of England. My first feeling was the War had come too soon, and that if it had only been four years later, I should have been there. But, saying this to Tracey, he pointed out that, from England's point of view, it was lucky the War had come when it did, because every year was making the Germans stronger, while we went gaily down the hill reducing our Navy and our Army too. So it was a jolly good thing the Great War hadn't waited till I went into the Army. In fact, in four years, by all accounts, there mightn't have been any army to go into.

"No doubt you'd have been a host in yourself, Rice," said Tracey in his comical way, meaning a joke, which I easily saw; "but, all the same, as we had to fight Germany, the sooner we did it the better."

So I gave up hating the sad fact of not being there, though it was extra rough on me, because many people seemed to think it was going to be the last war on earth; and if that was so, my occupation was gone, and I might just as well not have been born, except for the simple and rather tame pleasure of being alive. But what's the good of that, if you're not going to do anything worth mentioning from the cradle to the grave, as the saying is?

As far as mere fighting went, I did all I could at Merivale, and, after seven regular fights, got to be cock of the Lower School. And in ordinary times I should have been cock of the whole school; but, curiously enough, there was one chap of very unusual fighting ability at Merivale when I was there, and he was rightly regarded as cock of the school in the science of fighting.

It happened, also, that he and I were tremendous chums--such chums as are seldom seen--for we had similar ideas on all subjects and never differed even on the subject of the boxing art. In fact we only differed because I was going into the Navy and Sutherland minor was going into the Law. He had no taste for soldiering, like his brother, Sutherland major; though great genius for boxing, in which he took after his father, and as his father was in the law and wanted him to go into it, he resolved to obey.

But to me the law seemed a feeble profession, and I often tried to dissuade him from it.

Sutherland minor was sixteen and a half and tall; I was fifteen, and three inches shorter. He had better biceps than me and a longer reach, and he said I had a better punch than him, but less science.

After my third fight, he always let me second him in his fights; but he only had two before this particularly interesting fight I am going to mention; and one was against Blades, which he won after six rounds by excellent science and far superior footwork to Blades; and the other was against a chap called Pengelly, who only came for one term and gave himself frightful airs because he was a Cornishman. But I shouldn't think Cornwall had much use for him.

One day Sutherland said that the Cornish might be very good at catching pilchards and digging up tin, but they didn't seem much good at enlisting in Kitchener's Army. And Pengelly said there was a reason for that, though he refused to tell us what the reason was. Then he got into a fearful bate, and, little knowing the truth about Sutherland, challenged him to fight; which, of course Sutherland instantly agreed to. Pengelly was very big and strong, and if he had been able to hit Sutherland as often as he wanted to, the fight might have been interesting, but, having no science whatever, he was useless against Sutherland. By sheer strength he stuck to it for eight rounds, during which time he got a fair doing and Sutherland was hardly marked; but then, though by no means all in, Pengelly realized that he wasn't going to get a knuckle on Sutherland and so he gave up.

He wasn't a bad chap really, though rather foolish about Cornwall, and he even said to me deliberately that a Cornishman was as good as an Irishman, which showed, if anything, that he was weak in his head. And after his fight with Sutherland, we asked him again what the reason was that Cornwall was so slack at enlisting, and he said that the truth was that half of all Cornish chaps go into the Navy, which, owing to Cornwall being almost surrounded by sea, they prefer. But whether that's true, or only a piffling excuse, I don't know.

Anyway, when it came to counting up the most famous men Cornwall ever produced, he could only mention Sir Humphry Davy, who invented the safety-lamp for miners, which was undoubtedly all right in its way, and "Q," who wrote _Dead Man's Rock_, and was knighted for doing so; and nobody ever deserved it more. But that was all, whereas, when it came to Ireland, of course, I could count up thousands of the greatest heroes in creation, including Mr. Redmond, who has just got Home Rule for us after fearful obstacles.

But I never fought Pengelly; there wasn't time. For he only had one term at Merivale, and then, I believe, went to Canada suddenly, to an uncle there.

After that began the curious affair between me and Sutherland. But as it was remarkable in every way and will never be forgotten by our families, I may mention them.

In the first place, Sutherland's mother was a chronical invalid. I said it must be very difficult to love a person who lived in bed and could never be any use out of doors, or ride to hounds, or anything; and he said that it made no difference and that he was accustomed to it, because his mother had always been an utter crock ever since he knew her, and even at her best, when she was feeling unusually fit, she only changed her bed for a sofa in his father's study. Apparently she was just as keen about him as my mother was about me, and though she didn't much care to hear about his fights, she tried to understand the beauty of them like his father did. But naturally this father was more to Sutherland than the mother could be; because his father had been amateur middle-weight champion of England in his time, and held the cup for three years, and had been runner-up twice also. He was, therefore, a very great boxer and fighter, and Sutherland had been taught by his father, which accounted for his genius at it and his style, which was very finished. He would undoubtedly have been a "pro" if he had been in another walk of life; but as it was, he fully intended to do as well as his father had done in the amateur boxing world, though, as he was growing very rapidly and was also a great eater, it looked as if he would end by being a heavy-weight, which his father never was; though, as Sutherland told me, his father had beaten a few good heavy-weights in his time, though he never touched twelve stone in his boxing days.

Sutherland major, by the way, had just left Merivale when the War broke out, and he instantly went into the O.T.C.'s and soon became a second lieutenant and went to France.

This father of Sutherland was a lawyer, and Sutherland regretted to say that the War had done him harm as, owing to it apparently, people were not going to law nearly so much as usual. Still he thought, after the War, he might find a great improvement. He was a lawyer of the sort called a barrister, and wore a wig and gown and pleaded for criminals before the judges and juries on the Western Circuit, often getting them off when it looked jolly bad for them--so Sutherland said.

But my father was quite different, being a gentleman at large, and funnily enough, owing to the War, he made the first money he had ever made in his life, for he had a great knowledge of horses, and the War Office, hearing of this, let him go out and choose and buy horses for it, which he willingly did, and for his trouble he got the enormous sum of a guinea a day!

My mother sent me a sovereign of my father's earnings and told me to keep it and bore a hole in it and put it on my watch-chain, and be proud of it; but this I did not do, because a sovereign is a sovereign, and I simply couldn't see a good sovereign wasting its time, so to speak, on my watch-chain.

Then one day, walking as usual with Sutherland on the way to a footer match in which we were both playing, both being in the first "soccer" team, him at right back and me at right half, we got talking about a fight I rather hoped to have with Briggs. And Sutherland was trying to think of a _casus belli_ which, in English, means a reason for the fight. But, knowing Briggs, he said no _casus belli_ would ever arise; and I said in that case, if Briggs were willing, we might fight for a purse, if anybody would subscribe one.

And then Sutherland reminded me that I should become a "pro," and Briggs also, if that were done.

He said:

"Briggs wouldn't fight just for the sake of fighting, and as you and he are very good friends, and there's no 'needle' in it, it looks difficult."

Then we talked, and then he happened to say--about fighting in general and weights and so on:

"You might just as well think of licking him"--speaking of Hutchings, who had gone to the Front--"as you might of licking me."

"Of course," I said; "it would be absurd."

That was the whole conversation, and I forgot it while the match was on, and, in fact, it didn't come back to me till I went to bed that night; and then it fairly kept me awake, and I was fearfully sorry I'd said it would be absurd for me to think of licking Sutherland. In fact I got sorrier and sorrier, and then I wondered why the dickens Sutherland thought it was such a mad idea my licking him; and before I went to sleep I felt, in a way, rather sick with Sutherland for having such a poor opinion of me.

In the morning the feeling was still there, and he noticed I was a bit off and asked me if I was all right, and I said I was.

But it weighed fearfully, and I fairly got to hate myself in about two days for having said the idea of my licking Sutherland was absurd. In fact, the more I thought about it, the less absurd it seemed. I knew he was heavier and had a longer reach and was older and more scientific; but he himself had said that I had a fine punch; and if you've got that, you never know what may happen; and many an unlikely thing has come off in the ring owing to unexpected smacks landing at the right moment in the right place.

After a good deal of hard thinking and going down about four in my form, which landed me at the bottom, I felt I must speak to Sutherland, or I should burst.

So when he asked me, for the thousandth time, what was the matter and if anybody had scored off me, or anything, I said:

"Look here, Sutherland, you remember that while going to the footer match last week, you said I might just as well think of licking you as of licking Hutchings?"

And he said:

"Yes, I remember."

And I said:

"I told you it was absurd, didn't I?"

"You did--naturally," answered Sutherland.

"Well," I said, "I was wrong--it wasn't in the least natural for me to say that, and there's nothing absurd about it. It's been on my mind ever since. And now I see it wasn't absurd."

"What wasn't absurd?" asked Sutherland. "The idea of your licking Hutchings, or the idea of your licking me?"

"The idea of my licking you," I said firmly.

For a moment Sutherland was quite silent.

"D'you really think so?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "After considering it quietly--in bed and in chapel and at many other times--I can't see anything absurd about it."

"In fact, Rice, you think you might have a chance against me?" suggested Sutherland.

"I don't say that it would be much of a chance," I told him. "Probably you'd do me, because you're a lot cleverer and more scientific; but when I said 'absurd,' I went too far."

Sutherland considered.

"You're quite right," he admitted. "You might get over a lucky one. It's very unlikely, but you might. Therefore there would be nothing absurd about our fighting, and I oughtn't to have suggested there was. Somehow I never regarded us as in the same street. But, of course, we may be."

"We're not," I said. "As for boxing on points we're not. But fighting is different and--there you are."

He nodded.

"If you feel like that," he said, "of course----"

"I never did feel like that; in fact I never thought of it before," I told Sutherland; "but now----"

He didn't say anything, so I went on:

"It's a matter of honour in a way," I said.

"From your point of view it is, no doubt," he answered.

"Isn't it from yours?" I asked him.

"Not exactly," he explained. "We're very good friends--in fact more than just common or garden friends--and I never thought of fighting you, regarding you as cock of the Lower School and not supposing the question would ever arise between us, as I shall probably leave Merivale before you get into the Upper School--if ever you do. Still, as you feel your honour makes you want to fight me, you must, of course."

"There's no _casus belli_ otherwise," I said, and Sutherland answered that honour was the best _casus belli_ possible. He said:

"Of course, if you honestly feel that I have wounded your honour, Rice, we must fight."

And I said:

"You haven't wounded it exactly. In fact I don't know what the dickens you have done. But you've done something, and though you're my chum and I hope you always will be for evermore, yet I don't believe I shall get over this feeling, or, in fact, be any more good in the world till we've fought."

"As a matter of fact," said Sutherland, "you've wounded your honour yourself, by thoughtlessly agreeing to my suggestion that you couldn't lick me. Still, whatever has done it, the result is the same, I'm afraid."

"I'm afraid it is," I said.

I suppose no two chaps ever arranged a thing of this sort in a more regretful frame of mind, for we had always been peculiarly friendly, and the idea of ever fighting had never occurred to us; but it was just that fatal remark of Sutherland, showing his point of view, and showing me, with only too dreadful clearness, his opinion of me as compared with him. And the queerest thing of all was that I quite agreed with him really, only there was a feeling in me I couldn't possibly let it go at that; and, of course, there was also a secret hope that, after all, Sutherland and I might both be mistaken about his being such a mighty lot better than I was.

So we agreed to fight on the following Saturday afternoon, as there was only a second eleven match on our own ground, and we should have leisure to go into the wood close by, where these affairs were settled.

Needless to say, the world at large was fearfully surprised when it heard we were going to fight. We still pottered about together in our usual friendly way, and when we were asked, as of course we were, what we were fighting for, it was more than I could do to explain, or Sutherland either. Travers major understood the truth of the situation, and I think Thwaites did, and possibly Preston; but to have tried to explain to anybody else the frightfully peculiar situation would have been impossible, for they hadn't the minds to understand it. So we just said in a general sort of way, we were still chums, but felt such a tremendous interest in the question of which was the greatest fighter, that we were going to find out in the most friendly spirit possible.