THE GAYTON
SCHOLARSHIP
A SCHOOL STORY
BY
HERBERT HAYENS
Author of "At the Point of the Sword," "An Emperor's Doom,"
"Clevely Sahib," "Under the Lone Star,"
&c. &c.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
London, Edinburgh, and New York
1904
CONTENTS.
- [THE DEANERY CANDIDATES]
- [THE CHALLENGE SHIELD]
- [A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH]
- [FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR"]
- [JIM STARTS WORK]
- [THE EXAMINATION]
- ["IT'S ALL MY FAULT"]
- ["DID I SAVE HIM?"]
- [THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION]
- [GOING DOWN HILL]
- [IS JIM A THIEF?]
- [WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?]
- [AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE]
- [CURLY AND COMPANY]
- ["WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT"]
- [A FRESH START]
- [A STARTLING SURPRISE]
THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.
CHAPTER I.
THE DEANERY CANDIDATES.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Hartland. Isn't Jim ready? All right; I'll wait for him. Do you think Susie would care for these wild flowers and grasses? I picked them this morning. Rover and I have been for a splendid run over the common, nearly as far as the forest."
"Thanks, Dick," said Mrs. Hartland, with a pleased smile; "Susie will be delighted with them. Poor girl! it's little chance she has to see them growing herself. What a pretty white dog-rose!"
"Isn't it a beauty? I thought Susie would like that.—Hullo, Jim!" as his chum appeared from an inner room; "come on, old lazy-bones. I expected to find you in a tremendous hurry this morning.—Good-bye, Mrs. Hartland; I hope Susie will be pleased with the flowers."
Most people liked Dick Boden. He was a comical youngster, fond of all kinds of fun and frolic, and always keeping an eye on the bright side of things. In school he was a regular pickle, and yet his teachers spoke well of him, for there was nothing mean about Dick, and he was as honest as the day.
"Full of animal spirits and a trifle impetuous, but a good little chap at bottom," said Mr. Holmore, the head-master of the Deanery School.
He was a round-faced, curly-haired fellow, with laughing blue eyes, a most engaging smile, and such an innocent expression that a lady artist once painted his portrait as a study of an angel. This greatly amused the Deaneryites, who promptly dubbed him the Angel.
Of course he was very popular with his school-fellows, but his one particular chum was Jim Hartland, a sailor's son, and one of the head boys in the school.
"Grinding for the exam.?" he asked, as they waved a last adieu to Mrs. Hartland, who stood on the doorstep watching them as they went down the street.
"Hardly," said Jim, "until we know who are to be the candidates."
"Oh, you'll be one for certain, and Perce Braithwaite another."
"And you."
"If Holmore gives me the chance, I'll work like a nigger for the honour of the school. The scholarship wouldn't be any good to me though; it only pays for the fees and books, and you have to stay till you are sixteen. Mother couldn't afford to keep me at school as long as that."
There was at this time great excitement among the boys of the elementary schools in the seaport town of Beauleigh. The governors of Gayton Public School had offered a scholarship, to be competed for by three selected candidates from every school in the town, and the offer had produced a feeling of intense rivalry.
The names of the chosen boys from the Deanery were to be made known that morning, and every one was on the tiptoe of expectation.
"We're late," said Dick, as the two boys turned into the long, straight road leading to the school, "most of the fellows are in the playground. I'll race you to the gate. Ready? One, two, three—off!" and away they sped for a good two hundred yards' run.
Jim was the taller and stronger, but Dick was very nimble, and having got the lead, he kept it. On they went, flushed, panting, and straining every nerve, while a group of boys coming from the opposite direction encouraged them with loud cries.
"Keep it up, Angel!"
"Another spurt, Jim; he's nearly done!"
Dick's legs were getting tottery, and Jim was close on his shoulder, but the open gate was only ten yards off, and the plucky youngster pulled himself together for a last effort.
"Jim's got him!" "No, no; the Angel wins! the Angel wins!"
A yard from the gate they were neck and neck; but then, using up all his remaining strength, Dick flung himself forward—the winner by scarcely half a foot.
Unlucky Dick! In the excitement of the last half-second he had gone like stone from catapult straight against the vest pocket of a portly gentleman who was strolling leisurely across the playground to the gate. Jim's onset completed the mischief, and the three rolled together on the ground.
The boys in the road, unable to see the catastrophe, ran up with a brisk "hurrah." But suddenly every tongue was still.
If you have ever felt the shock of an earthquake, or been shipwrecked, or in a railway collision, you will have some faint idea of the fright which held the handful of Deanery boys spellbound.
"The inspector!" whispered Tompkins in a tone of awe, and a shiver ran through the little crowd.
Then, as the gentleman and boys rose to their feet, Tompkins, with an imbecile kind of smile, said, "Please, sir, it's only the Angel!"
Only the Angel! Had His Majesty's Inspector been a Deanery boy he would not have required any further information. As it was, the look of surprise in his face deepened.
Now Dick, with all his faults, was a little gentleman. His face was white and his voice husky, but, standing cap in hand, he said bravely, "I am very sorry, sir. We were racing, and Jim Hartland had almost caught me, so I put on a last sprint, and—"
"And won?"
"Yes, sir," answered Dick modestly; "but Jim was close behind."
"Yes," observed the gentleman with a grim smile, "I am painfully aware of the fact. However, there is not much harm done. Ask your master to lend me a brush."
"Isn't he a brick?" said one of the boys as they ran to their places. "He didn't even look angry. Have you hurt your leg, Jim?"
"It's a bit painful—that's all."
"I hope it will be right for the match to-morrow." And then, at sound of the bell, all talking stopped, and the boys marched into the assembly hall.
After prayers, the inspector, looking none the worse for his mishap, came into the room and talked with Mr. Holmore, who then proceeded to make a little speech concerning the Gayton Scholarship.
"You know," he said, "that only one boy can win it, and there will be candidates from nearly every school in the town. We have three good champions, and whether they obtain the great honour for the Deanery or not, I am sure they will do their best. Come to the desk as I call your names. Richard Boden."
There was a hum of pleasure as Dick went up, flushed with joy, yet feeling rather uncomfortable at having to face the inspector a second time that morning.
"Percy Braithwaite."
A well-dressed, spruce-looking boy, known as Dandy Braithwaite, came forward with alacrity and, to the delight of the school, was followed by James Hartland.
"Now, boys," said their master, "I hope your work will show we have made a wise selection. Remember, once your names are given in, we cannot make any alteration." Then turning to the inspector, he added, "These are our candidates, sir."
"Ah," exclaimed that gentleman genially, "I have made the acquaintance of two of them, Mr. Holmore, and I can assure you they are tremendous fellows—at a sprint.—Well, my lads, one thing is certain: this scholarship won't be gained without plenty of hard work. The chosen knights are buckling on their armour in every quarter of the town, and the tournament will be a keen one."
Fortunately, school closed at noon for the day, as the boys were too excited to pay much attention to lessons. They were well satisfied with their master's selection, and many of them at once put down the scholarship as a "good thing" for Jim Hartland.
Some thought Braithwaite might get it, others pinned their faith to Dick Boden, "if the little beggar would work;" and when one wretched urchin hinted that the St. Paul's boys had won a lot of prizes lately, he was promptly "sat on."
"It's bound to come to the Deanery," declared Tompkins, who was himself still struggling with the mysteries of long division. "The only question is, Who's to get it?"
Then the talk turned to the great cricket match fixed for the next day, which was to decide the possession of the challenge shield for the following year. St. Paul's held it, but the Deanery intended having a good try to wrest it from their near and dear rivals.
"Hartland's in fine form," said one. "You should have seen him hit at practice yesterday. If he comes off we ought to stand a chance."
"And the Angel's bowling a treat! I don't think the 'Magpies'" (as the St. Paul's boys were called) "will do much with his curly ones."
"He bowled the inspector out before school, didn't he?"
They were still laughing at the recollection of Dick's mishap when Simpson, the reserve man of the team, came up, trying, but with poor success, to look sorry.
"Heard the news, you fellows?" he asked. "Hartland's cricked his leg and won't be able to play."
The boys gazed at one another blankly, hoping against hope that the news was not true.
"There he is," cried one suddenly; and sure enough there he was, leaning on his chum's arm, and hobbling slowly across the playground.
They crowded around him eagerly, asking more questions than could be answered in a week.
"What's the matter, Jim?"
"Can't you play?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt!" cried Dick scornfully. "Of course not! He is doing this just for fun, you silly duffers."
"It isn't much," exclaimed Jim, "and I'll play to-morrow if I can stand. We'll have that shield yet."
"Anyhow," said Dick, with a laugh, "if Jim can't turn out, we have Simpson to fall back on," at which the Deanery boys shook their heads doubtfully. They had no very high opinion of Simpson's powers.
"I'm awfully sorry," said Dick ruefully, as the two chums went up the road. "There'll be no practice for you this afternoon, at all events."
"No," agreed Jim. "I'd better lie by till the morning. Never mind, old chap; it wasn't your fault; and besides, I shall be all right. Mother will see to that, I'm glad the match is to-morrow. We'll have a good try for the shield, and then peg away for the scholarship."
"Won't the Magpies get their monkey up if we pull off both? What a beastly nuisance! There's Temple coming!"
Temple was the captain of the St. Paul's team—a tall, nice-looking lad, immensely proud of his school, and noted for playing the game like a true sportsman.
"Hullo, Hartland!" he cried; "crippled? I say, that's hard lines on the Deanery. I wonder if the committee would put the game off for a week?"
"No, no," said Jim; "it isn't much. I shall turn up in the morning."
"You're a brick, Temple," exclaimed Dick, "and a jolly good sort, though you are a Magpie. 'Pon my word, I'm half sorry we're going to take that shield from you."
"And you're a little humbug," laughed Temple, giving him a playful dig in the ribs.—"Take care of yourself, Jim. I wouldn't give a toss to beat the Deanery if you're out of the team."
"Proper sort of chap, ain't he?" said Dick, when the Magpie passed on. "Just fancy his proposing that the match should be put off! My stars, there aren't many captains who would do that. How's the leg now?"
"Painful rather, but 'twill be better when I lie down."
Dick helped his chum home; and while Mrs. Hartland doctored the bruised limb, he chatted gaily with Susie, telling her all about the match and the scholarship, and making merry jokes for her to laugh at.
Owing to a weak spine, Susie spent most of her time lying on the sofa; but she was a bright, intelligent girl, very fond of mischievous Dick, and immensely proud of her brother.
She was very glad when her mother said Jim's leg would soon be well, for this cricket match was to be a great event in her life—a gleam of gold in a gray sky.
Mrs. Hartland had hired an invalid chair, and the two boys had promised to take her to the county ground, where the game was to be played.
"I do hope it will be fine," she exclaimed rather wistfully, for there were few pleasures in her life.
"It's bound to be," cried Dick, with a merry laugh. "The sun will come out on purpose to see you. Now I must be off for the practice. Give Jim plenty of goose-grease, Mrs. Hartland, and make him stay in bed till the last minute.—I'll be round in good time in the morning, Susie.—Ta, ta, Jimmy. This will teach you not to go about knocking inspectors over in the future."
"I like that," said Jim. "Why, you little fraud—"
But Dick had picked up his hat, and was outside the door before he could finish.
CHAPTER II.
THE CHALLENGE SHIELD.
Susie's eyes sparkled and her face beamed with pleasure as she lay in the invalid-chair, with her head propped up by soft, cozy pillows. The boys had found a splendid spot for the carriage, while her mother and Mrs. Boden sat beside her. And to make her happiness complete, Jim had declared that his leg was not in the least bit painful.
"Isn't it prime?" said Dick, who had come over for a last word. "You'd never have guessed we could be such awful swells. There's the mayor in the pavilion, and no end of big-wigs with him."
"Where's Jim?"
"Oh, he's tossing with Temple, and he's lost too; our fellows are coming out to field."
It was an ideal day for cricket. The sun shone brightly, but a cool breeze tempered its heat, making it pleasant for players and spectators alike. The ground was packed with people, who cheered heartily as Jim led his team into the field.
Hundreds of boys were there, some sporting the Magpie colours, others the blue and white favours of the Deanery, while many of the principal men in the town had come with their wives and children to watch the final struggle for the challenge shield.
Only one innings was to be played by each side, and Dick started the bowling. The opening was sensational: his first ball scattered the batsman's stumps, and in the same over another man was caught and bowled.
Two wickets down and not a run scored! The Deanery boys were wild with delight. They flung their caps in the air, and began debating where it would be best to hang the shield.
Their joy did not last long, however. Temple had gone in, and he was hitting the ball to all parts of the field without giving a chance. In vain Jim changed his bowlers and rearranged his field. Until he had made 69, the doughty batsman defied every attempt to dislodge him. Then, getting hold of a curly one from Dick, he sent it spinning high and hard to the boundary.
The Magpies cheered and clapped their hands; but, as Dick afterwards remarked, they were "a little too previous." Jim was fielding "in the country," and he did not often miss a catch. He had hard work this time though; but he just managed it, and a welcome roar burst from the Deanery boys as he threw the ball into the air.
"Well caught! well caught, Hartland!" they cried, for Temple was their most dangerous opponent, and now that he was gone they felt on better terms with themselves.
Still the score gradually crept up, till, by the time the last man was out, the board showed the respectable total of 157.
Susie had very hazy notions of cricket, and when Dick came over she wanted to know if the Deanery had won the shield.
"Won!" echoed Dick, opening his eyes wide. "Why, the match isn't over. We have to go in yet. There's Jim just walking to the wicket. Did you see that lovely catch he made? Mr. Barrow, a regular cricketing swell—plays for the county, you know—said it was as neat a bit of work as he'd seen on the ground."
Susie still felt very hazy about it, but she understood Jim had done something clever, and that was enough to make her happy.
Meanwhile the excitement over the match grew very keen. The Deanery innings opened well, fifty runs being scored for the loss of two wickets; but after that matters went badly.
One after the other, the batsmen were caught or bowled; and it seemed as if the captain could not get any one to stay with him for long.
When the seventh wicket fell for exactly a hundred, Dick began to whistle comically.
"There's only Archer to depend on now," said he, "and it isn't often he makes more than a dozen."
"Why don't you go in?" asked Susie.
"Oh, I'm last man. I'm no good with the bat. They only play me for bowling. Oh, well done, Archer! That was a pretty cut for two. I hope he'll get set."
"So do I," said the girl, though rather wondering what to 'get set' meant; and then Dick mystified her more than ever by remarking that if Archer got his eye in he might be good for a score.
"It makes all the difference if a fellow has his eye in, you know," he said; and as this appeared reasonable, Susie agreed.
How the Deanery boys shouted when the board showed 120! And what a roar went up from the Magpies as, without another run added, Archer's bails went tumbling to the ground!
"A beastly yorker!" exclaimed Dick in a tone of deep disgust. "Well, I must be off. That's Crag going to the wicket now. He'd make a lot of runs, only he's so jolly nervous."
"The poor boy looks very pale," said Mrs. Hartland.
"O my aunt!" shouted Dick in an ecstasy of delight, "he's got a two off his first ball. Well done, Crag!"
The strain was intense now. The spectators watched every ball, and there were loud cries of "Play up, Deanery!" as the score kept creeping up.
Mr. Holmore felt as much excited as any of his boys, and he clapped his hands when 130 appeared on the board.
"Only twenty-eight to win," he said; "but I'm afraid the odds are too great."
"Hartland's good for these," said Mr. Laythorne Jim's class-master; "he is playing magnificently."
"Yes, whether we win or lose, it's a great day for him. Ah, I was afraid of it! Crag's out, and we still want twenty-five. Who is the last in?"
"Boden! I think we can abandon all hope of winning the shield this year."
The Deanery boys looked glum, but the Magpies beamed with satisfaction, for they all knew Dick. Though a good bowler, he had batting notions of his own which generally brought him to grief. He treated all balls alike, banging at each with a mighty swipe till a crash in the timber-yard told him it was time to retire.
"For goodness sake, be careful, Dicky," whispered Jim, as his chum passed him; "block everything, and keep your wicket up for once. I'll do the hitting."
"All right," grinned Dick. "I will, if I can remember."
There was a deep hush as he stood facing the bowler, and the Deanery boys hardly dared to breathe, for they knew too well that their erratic schoolfellow had an unhappy knack of missing his first ball. If Dicky played up to his reputation, all hope of winning the shield was at an end.
A profound sigh of relief broke from the friends of the Deanery, and they looked at one another in astonishment. Dicky had actually blocked the ball! The next was the last of the over, and then Mr. Laythorne beamed as Jim stood at the wicket.
A little luck and good management enabled Jim to take every ball in the over and to score eight; but the Magpies, still feeling sure of winning the match, whistled cheerfully. Temple would have Dick out in less than no time.
No boy needs to be reminded of the delightful uncertainty of cricket, and here was a splendid example. The Angel stood as if rooted to the ground, and never once attempted one of his mighty but erratic swipes. The cunning bowler tried every variety of dodge to tempt him, but Dicky was not to be coaxed.
The Magpies became impatient, and perhaps a little bit anxious. When Dick pushed the ball away a foot or two they cheered ironically, crying, "Well hit!" "Nearly a boundary!" etc., and advised him in sarcastic tones to run it out.
Dick grinned. He was enjoying himself immensely, and had no objection to any amount of chaff.
As the game proceeded, a magnetic influence seemed to pervade the air. A deep hush fell over the field; the spectators were afraid to turn their eyes from the wicket a second.
Jim had the ball again, and was playing like a professional. Twelve, ten, eight to win! A beautiful drive all along the ground reduced the required number to four, and the Deanery boys burst into a roar of cheering.
Mr. Holmore's eyes brightened, and he turned with a smile to the St. Paul's master, who stood near him.
"Well, Hudson, we shall give you a fright, at least," he remarked.
"It looks as if we shall have to give you the shield," replied Mr. Hudson ruefully.
Another cheer announced that two more runs had been knocked off; and then, from the very last ball of the over, Jim made it a tie.
The excitement was too intense for the Deanery boys even to cheer; they held their breath and waited.
What would Dicky do?
Mr. Laythorne, who was watching through his field-glass, sighed dolefully.
"The strain's too much for him," he said. "He's trembling fearfully. He'll lose his head and throw his wicket away."
Alas! there was a good deal of truth in the young class-master's words. It was not in Dick's nature to stand for long poking quietly at the ball as he had been doing. His fingers tingled as they closed round bat, and he longed to hit out at something.
Temple saw the youngster's state and took his measures accordingly. He placed his men with great care for a catch, and then sent down a tempting slow. Dick blocked it, and a second of the same sort.
Not a bit discouraged, Temple gave him a third; and this time, as the master had prophesied, Dick lost his head. His friends groaned when they saw his bat go up, and decided it would be only a question of caught or stumped. Dicky afterwards confessed it should have been one or the other.
"I couldn't stand it any longer, and that's the truth," said he. "I forgot all about the shield, and just went for the ball with all my might."
Jim declared his chum shut his eyes before hitting out; but be that as it may, the ball travelled through the air towards the boundary. Travers, the Magpie stationed in that part, ran along the edge of the field in a gallant attempt to bring off a fine catch; but he missed the ball by a hair's-breadth, and the coveted shield passed into the possession of the Deanery for the next twelve months.
"I congratulate you," said the master of St. Paul's, turning to Mr. Holmore. "It has been a splendid fight, and you deserved to win."
The last words were almost drowned in the roar that went up from the field. The Deanery boys swarmed in a mob across to the wicket. Some clutched Jim, others surrounded Dick, and lifting them shoulder-high, carried them off in triumph.
Susie could not leave her chair, so her mother and Mrs. Boden wheeled it over to the edge of the crowd which surrounded the pavilion. Then, to crown her happiness, some warm-hearted boys, whispering, "That's Hartland's crippled sister," cleared a passage, and would not be satisfied till the chair was wheeled right to the front where she could see and hear everything. Susie will never forget that half-hour of her life. The mayor made a pretty speech, and handed the shield to Mr. Holmore amidst an outburst of cheering. Then the Magpies stepped on to the platform to receive the medals which were given to the players on each side; and Jim, carried away by enthusiasm, shouted, "Three cheers for the good old Magpies!" which were given by every one on the ground.
Then it was the turn of the Deanery eleven, and fresh plaudits rang out, especially when Jim went forward. The spectators cheered almost as loudly for Dick; and the ladies said what a pretty, innocent-looking boy he was, with his rosy cheeks and crisp curls.
"Oh, it's splendid! just splendid!" Susie kept saying. In her eyes Jim and his curly-haired chum were real heroes, and she was as proud as if they had performed some glorious action.
It was over at last, and the crowd, still talking over the various events of the day, began to disperse slowly. Everywhere the girl heard her brother's name coupled with Dick's, and her face flushed with real pleasure. Presently she saw the head-master shake Jim's hand and pat Dick on the back; then the two boys left the platform and ran quickly to her side.
"Well, the Deanery's got the shield, thanks to Jim," cried Dick, his eyes sparkling.
"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Boden," said Jim. "He had as much to do with our winning as any one."
"Do let me see your medals," said Susie. "Oh, how nice! You will have to take care of them."
"I'm going to buy a safe and lock mine up in it," said Dick, laughing.—"Now, mother, you go on with Mrs. Hartland. Jim and I will take care of Susie. Hasn't the fresh air done her good? Why, her face is as red as a rose."
CHAPTER III.
A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.
The members of that little party will long remember the walk home from the county ground. It was an ideal summer evening. A few fleecy white clouds flaked the blue of the sky, and the sun's heat was tempered by a gentle breeze blowing up pleasantly from the south. Birds sang in the gardens, and the fragrant odour of flowers filled the air.
Now and again the boys stopped the carriage, so that Susie, looking through the gateways, might see the flowers in all their glory of colour. She did not talk much; she was rather tired by the unusual excitement, and by her long stay in the open air.
Occasionally they passed a group of the Deanery boys, and then there were cries of "Good old Hartland!" "Well done, Angel!" which made Susie prouder than ever.
"I say, Dick," said one urchin, "is it true you've been asked to play for the county?"
The Angel, who loved a joke, laughed back broadly.
"Nothing's been settled yet," said he, "but I may give 'em a hand if they're hard pushed. I can't promise to play regularly, though—at least this season."
"What a pity!" exclaimed the boy; "you would have been such a help."
The town was beginning to fill with the usual Saturday evening crowd when they reached the main street, and the newsboys were lustily shouting, "Evening paper!"
"We must have a paper," said Jim's mother.
"Better wait a bit," observed Dick, with an air of wisdom; "the special edition will be out soon."
Just then Temple, the captain of the Magpies, came along. He was reading a paper, and would have passed our friends had not Dick said, "Hullo, old chap; anything about the match there?"
Temple glanced up hastily, and, with an odd look at Jim, answered slowly,—
"Only the result, and there's no need to tell you that."
"Come on, Dick," said Jim; "he's got the hump."
The Angel was turning round to join his chum when Temple called him back softly.
"Haven't you heard the news?" he asked curiously.
"Haven't heard anything," replied Dick. "We've only just come from the ground. You look as solemn as an owl."
"I am thinking of Hartland."
"Why? He's all right."
Unfolding the paper, Temple pointed with his finger to the space reserved for late news.
Dick read the short paragraph, and immediately his face became clouded.
"Oh, poor old Jim!" he exclaimed. "And fancy, to-day of all the days in the year."
"I'm awfully sorry too," remarked Temple. "Better show him the paper, so that he can tell his mother. Lucky the information came too late to put on the placard."
"They'll have it in big letters on the next lot," replied Dick, slipping the paper inside his flannels.
"Hurry him home as fast as you can," said the other. "Somebody may stop Mrs. Hartland and blurt out the news. There are plenty of fools about."
Dick was off at once, and, overtaking his friends, rather surprised his mother by saying,—
"Step out, mother. You forget it's past tea-time, and Susie here is as hungry as a hunter."
Now, of course Mrs. Boden had no suspicion of the truth, but she guessed from Dick's face that something was wrong, and, being a wise little woman, quickened her pace.
"Fancy Temple taking the hump like that," said Jim as they turned into Cedar Road, where he lived. "Shouldn't have thought he was that sort."
"Oh, it wasn't over the match. But I'll tell you all about it another time." And Dick nodded at the chair, as much as to say, "I don't want Susie to hear."
Jim took the hint, and being rather curious, pushed on quickly to the house. They were all near the little gate when his mother said,—
"How very odd! Mrs. Hunt's blinds are all down, and so are Mrs. Pettifer's. There must be some one dead. I didn't know either of them had any one ill."
"A relative has died suddenly, perhaps," suggested Dick's mother; while the boy, who trembled all over thought Jim would never get the front door open.
At last it swung back, and the two boys lifted the carriage into the passage. Then, between them, they carried Susie into the back room and laid her gently on the couch.
Meanwhile Mrs. Boden had gone on home, leaving word for Dick to follow; so, after wishing Susie and her mother good-bye, he went out, accompanied by Jim.
"Come outside," he whispered, "and pull the door to. There's bad news in the town."
"Bad news!" echoed Jim, wondering why his chum trembled so.
"Yes, that's what upset Temple. It's in the paper; but there's only a line or two, and it mayn't be true."
"But what is it?" asked Jim, and, oddly enough, his voice sank to a whisper, while his face was as white as Dick's.
"It's about the—the Morning Star," gasped the boy.
Then Jim understood in a flash what had happened, and why the neighbours had darkened their windows.
"Give me the paper," said he, "and let me see what it says."
The paragraph was very brief, and ran thus:—
"It is reported at Lloyd's that the barque Morning Star has been lost in a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate, got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship. The Morning Star was owned at Cardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."
Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurred and running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as if raised above the surrounding type.
"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look of pain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."
"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."
Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.
"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.
"Not to-night—thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."
Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently. Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. There was nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularly unfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr. Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his first voyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospital for months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and during the time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had been parted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as the Hartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.
Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount of taste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room which Jim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-white pictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully; the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish; everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness covered the table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence of capable cleaning.
"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea is poured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."
"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.
The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink. His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about the match.
"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success," said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen I could not help wishing that your father had been looking on."
Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle in his pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.
But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it, because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done. His mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.
While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen, there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"
"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from her pocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy's name in print.
Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.
In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "You have overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about has been too much for you."
"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right, mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tell you? It's about the Morning Star, and—and father!"
Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.
"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the paper from his pocket with trembling fingers.
"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down before the end of the first sentence.
Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.
"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.
For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a fresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used to sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood, white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.
"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"
To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole paragraph.
"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon, but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and sorrow lying behind it.
A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the lamp, but no one moved.
A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the Morning Star, but contained no further information than had appeared in the evening paper.
"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me first, Jim."
"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly. "He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such things."
Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be considered seriously.
The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for he was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so devotedly, had to think of the living.
Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.
"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole of his life."
CHAPTER IV.
FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."
On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but Jim was in no hurry to start.
"You go on," said he; "I'll come presently."
As a matter of fact he dreaded the meeting with his school-fellows; it would be so different from the scene he had pictured while walking home from the cricket-ground. He had looked forward to a regular triumph, for it must be confessed that Jim was rather vain, though he had the good sense to keep this failing, for the most part, to himself.
"All right!" exclaimed the Angel cheerfully; but he went only a short distance, and waited till his chum came out.
"What a silly chap you are!" said Jim peevishly; "now you'll be late."
"Never mind, my boy; better late than never, as they say in the copy-books. I said that to Laythorne the other day, but he gave me one back. 'Better never late,' said he, as I went to my place."
Prayers were over when they reached the school, but the master made no remark as they passed to their places. He had heard the sad news, and easily understood why the boys were late. At the interval he asked Jim to remain, and told him how sorry he was for his great loss.
"Thank you, sir," said Jim, resolutely keeping the tears from his eyes.
"And, by the way, Hartland," continued the young master kindly, "if there's anything I can do, let me know."
Just then the Head entered the room, and he, too, expressed his sorrow at what had happened, and Jim appreciated the kindness of his masters.
He had dreaded going back to school, but it was not very dreadful after all. Most of the boys looked at him curiously, but only one or two said anything, and then matters resumed their usual course.
At home it was much worse, although Susie, with strange persistence, still cherished the hope that her father had not been drowned.
"We don't know," she argued stoutly—"no one knows. The papers say some of the crew got ashore."
"Don't be stupid," said her brother. "It says plainly enough that father went down with the ship."
"But he might have been picked up afterwards, or got ashore somewhere else."
Even Susie's faith gave way, however, when a fuller account of the wreck came to hand. It was supplied by an A.B. named Davies, who had been picked up by the steamship Cormorant.
"It was on a Friday night," the newspaper report of his narrative ran, "and we were there or thereabout up to the latitude of Cape Horn. I had turned in 'all standing,' for the weather was squally, and I didn't expect to get much of a nap. Sure enough I'd hardly got my eyes shut when there came a crash, and some one sang out, 'All hands, ahoy!' We tumbled up the ladder in a hurry, and I tell you there wasn't a man there who didn't think Davy Jones was calling us. It was a night! The rain was coming down full pelt, and you couldn't keep your feet for the wind. Spars snapped like match-boxes, and the barque lay nearly on her beam-ends. It was dark as pitch just then, though it cleared up afterwards. We did what we could to save the ship; but, bless you, we had no more chance than a parcel of babies. She was settling down like a stone, and the old man sung out that we'd better try the boats. I ran to help clear the port quarter boat, and got in, when a heavy sea broke over her, smashing her in two. Down I went a long way, but at last came up to the surface again, and hammered my right hand against something hard. This turned out to be a top-gallant mast, so I took a firm grip. I couldn't see anything of the Morning Star, but there seemed to be a lot of rigging about, and I heard some men shouting in the distance. I reckoned afterwards it must have been the first mate and the chaps who got away in the other boat. I hulloed back, but they couldn't hear, and I reckoned I was done. Soon after that came another shout close to me, and I yelled back, 'Ahoy, there! Is that you, Mr. Hartland?'
"'Yes. Who are you?'
"'Davies,' I sings out—'on a mast.'
"'Can you hold on?'
"'Not much longer, I'm afeared.'
"'Keep your spirits up,' says he, cheery like, and then it was all quiet. However, we must have drifted pretty close together, for, directly day broke, there he was, not twenty yards off, with a lifebuoy round him, and clinging to a light spar.
"'How goes it now?' says he; and when I tells him I'm nearly done, he says, 'I've a good mind to keep you company. I've some rope here, and a draw or two round the body will keep you tight.' With that he swims over and lashes me to the mast. Presently he says again, quiet as anything, 'Look here, Davies; it's no go! This won't hold us both; I must take my chance. Good-bye, and if you've the luck to be picked up, just let 'em know over in England that I stood by the ship till she went down.'
"Them were his last words. He let go, and the last I saw of him he was striking out towards the shore. Of course he never reached it, though he was a strong swimmer, too. After that I lost count of things, and don't know anything more till my eyes opened aboard the Cormorant. The lashings saved me, or I should have gone under as sure as fate."
The story of her husband's bravery filled Mrs. Hartland with honest pride; but, unfortunately it extinguished the last spark of hope that, almost unknown, had lurked in the recesses of her mind. However, she faced the matter bravely, and talked over her plans with Jim.
"We shall have to leave this house," she said, "and find a cheaper one. Then I must get some kind of work to do."
"What about Susie?" asked Jim.
"Ah, that's the trouble! I can't very well go out and leave her alone. Perhaps I can get some plain sewing."
"Haven't we any money at all, mother?" the boy asked presently.
"Only what is due from your father's wages, and that won't keep us long."
Susie had gone to bed, and there was no one in the room but mother and son. Mrs. Hartland sat by the window with some needlework in her hand, though it was too dark to sew; Jim stood by the mantelpiece, fumbling nervously with a button on his jacket.
Presently he said bravely, "I must leave school and get a place somewhere. I daresay I can earn something, if only a little."
It cost him an effort to say this without breaking down, for he was very ambitious, and had mapped out a great career for himself. In the first place he had made up his mind to win the Gayton Scholarship, which was to be a stepping-stone to fortune. This was all done with now, for even in the event of being successful he could not accept the scholarship.
Mrs. Hartland guessed a part of his thoughts, and, calling him to her side, said,—
"We'll talk about that another time, Jim. There's no need to give up your school at present; I wouldn't like you to do that. I daresay we shall be able to rub along somehow till the next examination."
"But there's no good in trying for the 'Gayton.'"
"Not for yourself, but it would be an honour for your school if you won it. You would leave a good name behind you also."
So, after some further talk, it was decided that Jim should stay on at school; and the next week the family moved to a little house in a much poorer quarter of the town.
Of course Dick went to help, and his bright smile and cheerful humour did much to cheer them.
"Isn't it a poky place?" said Jim, pausing in the work of putting up his sister's bedstead.
"Well, you can't call it exactly a palace," replied Dick, "but it might be worse, you know. O my aunt!" And the Angel finished with a vigorous howl.
"What's the matter?"
"I nipped my hand under that iron bar." And he sucked the tips of his fingers as if they were sticks of sugar-candy. "Just see if you can twist this nut round; I can't move it."
The two friends worked away with a will, making up in zeal what they lacked in experience, and very soon had the room looking quite cozy and comfortable. Then they went downstairs; and before night, as Dick's mother, who had come over to help, put it, "things were beginning to look a bit straight."
Susie, of course, could do nothing herself; but she played the part of superintendent, and ordered the boys about, especially Dick, who good-humouredly obeyed all her commands. He looked on it all as great fun, and announced his intention of worrying his mother until they had a move on their own account.
Mrs. Hartland had faced her trouble bravely, but before long Jim recognized that things were much worse than he had guessed. Beyond his father's wages and the donation of a few pounds from the "Shipwrecked Mariners' Society," they had absolutely no money, and there seemed little prospect of his mother being able to earn sufficient to keep them. Already they had to deny themselves everything in the shape of luxury, and even Susie had to go without various little delicacies which they had been in the habit of providing for her.
"I ought to give up school and go to work," he said; but to this his mother was strongly opposed.
"If you leave school now you can only be an errand boy," she said; "and without education, you will have no chance of doing anything in the world."
Now I have no desire to put James Hartland forward as an uncommonly good boy, because, as you will find for yourselves, he was nothing of the sort; but in this particular case he certainly deserved some credit.
One evening he arrived home very late, which was such an unusual thing that his mother wondered what had kept him.
"Awfully sorry, mother," he cried, looking at the clock; "but I've been up in the town on business."
"For the master?"
"No," replied the boy, with rather a forced smile; "on my own account. I've got a place. Don't be vexed. I shan't have to leave school; it's only mornings and evenings."
"What have you to do?"
"To take the papers to Mr. Broad's customers; and if I help on Saturdays too, he'll give me five shillings a week. What do you think of that? Isn't it splendid?"
"But you will have no time to study for the 'Gayton.'"
"I must work harder at school, and put in an hour extra in the morning. I'll manage, never fear, and the money will just pay the rent. Wasn't it lucky I saw the card in the window? Of course I shan't be able to play in the rest of the cricket matches, but they can easily get some one to take my place."
He spoke cheerfully, but his mother knew what a sacrifice he had made, and hoped, for his sake, that good might come of it.
"Jim," said Susie, plucking his sleeve nervously, "will you have to call out 'Paper!' like the boys who come round here at night?"