The Cock-House at Fellsgarth Part 2

"Well, then, are you Modern or Cla.s.sic?"

"I don't know, really," said Fisher minor, wis.h.i.+ng he knew which he ought to proclaim himself. Then making a bold venture, he said, "I believe Modern."

"Good job for you," said the youth; "saves me the trouble of kicking you. Can you lend me a bob? I'll give it you back to-morrow as soon as I've unpacked."

It did strike Fisher minor as queer that any one should pack s.h.i.+llings up in a trunk, but he was too pleased to oblige this important and fas.h.i.+onable-looking personage to raise any question.

"Yes. Can you give me change out of a half-crown? Or you can pay me the lot back to-morrow, I shan't be wanting it till then," said he.

"All serene, kid; I'm glad you are our side. I shall be able to give you a leg-up with the fellows. Whose house are you in?"

"Wakefield's, the same as my brother."

"What--then you must be a Cla.s.sic! They're all Cla.s.sics at Wakefield's.

Why can't you tell the truth when you're asked, instead of a howling pack of lies?"

"I didn't know, really, I thought--"

"Come, that's a good one. Any idiot knows what side he's on at Fellsgarth."

Fisher minor was greatly confused to stand convicted thus of greenness.

"You see," said he, putting on a little "side" to cover his shame, "I was bound to be stuck on the same side as my brother, you know."

"Nice for you. Not a gentleman among them. All paupers and prigs,"

said this young Modern, waxing eloquent. "You'll suit them down to the ground." Considering that Fisher minor had just lent the speaker half a crown, these taunts struck him as not exactly grateful. At the same time he writhed under the reproach, and felt convinced that Cla.s.sics were not at all the "form" at Fellsgarth.

"Why," pursued the other, pocketing his coin in order to release his hands for a little elocution, "we could boy 'em up twice over. The workhouse isn't in it with Wakefield's. There's not a day but they come cadging to us, wanting to borrow our tin, or our grub, or something.

There, look at that chap going across there! He's one of 'em. Regular casual-ward form about him. He's the meanest, stingiest lout in all Fellsgarth."

"Why," exclaimed Fisher minor, looking in alarm towards this prodigy of baseness, "why, that's--that's Fisher, my brother!"

The Modern youth's jaw fell with a snap, and his cheeks lost what little colour they had.

"What? Why didn't you tell me! Look here, you needn't tell him what I said. It was quite between ourselves, you know. I must be cutting, I say. See you again some day."

And he vanished, leaving Fisher minor considerably more bewildered, and poorer by a cool half-crown, than he had been five minutes ago.

CHAPTER TWO.

LAMB'S SINGING.

Wakefield's house, as Fisher minor entered it under his brother's wing, hardly seemed to the new boy as disreputable a haunt as his recent Modern friend had led him to expect. Nor did the sixty or seventy fellows who cl.u.s.tered in the common room strike him as exactly the lowest stratum of Fellsgarth society. Yorke, the captain, for instance, with his serene, well-cut face, his broad shoulders and impressive voice hardly answered to the description of a lout. Nor did Ranger, of the long legs, with speed written in every inch of his athletic figure, and gentleman in every line of his face, look the sort of fellow to be mistaken for a cad. Even Fisher major, about whom the younger brother had been made to feel decided qualms, could hardly have been the hail- fellow-well-met he was with everybody, had he been all the new boy's informant had recently described him.

Indeed, Fisher minor, when presently he gathered himself together sufficiently to look round him, was surprised to see so few traces of the "casual-ward" in his new house. True, most of the fellows might be poor--which, of course, was highly reprehensible; and some of them might not be connected with the n.o.bility, which showed a great lack of proper feeling on their part. But as a rule they held up their heads and seemed to think very well of themselves and one another; while their dress, if it was not in every case as fas.h.i.+onable as that of the temporary owner of Fisher minor's half-crown, was at least pa.s.sably well fitting.

Fisher minor, for all his doubts about the company he was in, could not help half envying these fellows, as he saw with what glee and self- satisfaction they entered into their own at Wakefield's. They were all so glad to be back, to see again the picture of Cain and Abel on the wall, to scramble for the corner seat in the ingle-bench, to hear the well-known creak on the middle landing, to catch the imperturbable tick of the dormitory clock, to see the top of Hawk's Pike looming out, down the valley, clear and sharp in the falling light.

Fisher minor and Ashby, as they sat dismally and watched all the fun, wondered if the time would ever come when they would feel as much at home as all this. It was a stretch of imagination beyond their present capacity.

To their alarm, Master Wally Wheatfield presently recognised them from across the room, and came over patronisingly to where they sat.

"Hullo, new kids! thinking of your mas, and the rocking-horses, and Nurse Jane, and all that? Never mind, have a good blub, it'll do you good."

Considering how near, in strict secrecy, both the young gentlemen addressed were to the condition indicated by the genial twin, this exhortation was not exactly kind.

They tried to look as if they did not mind it, and Fisher minor naturally did his best to appear knowing.

"I don't mind," said he, with a sn.i.g.g.e.r; "they're all milksops at home.

I'd sooner be here."

"I wouldn't," put in the st.u.r.dy Ashby. "I think it's horrid not to see a face you know."

"There you are; what did I say! Screaming for his mammy," gibed Wally.

"And if I was," retorted Master Ashby, warming up, "she's a lot better worth it than yours, so now!"

Master Wally naturally fired up at this. Such language was hardly respectful from a new junior to an old.

"I'll pull your nose, new kid, if you cheek me."

"And I'll pull yours, if you cheek my mother."

"Booh, booh, poor baby! Who's cheeking your mother? I wouldn't cheek her with a pair of tongs. Something better to do. I say, are both you kids Cla.s.sics?"

"Yes," they replied.

"I thought you must be Moderns, you're both so precious green. All right, there'll be lamb's singing directly, then you'll have to sit up."

"What's lamb's singing?" said Ashby.

"Don't you know?" replied Wally, glad to have recovered the whip hand.

"It's this way. Every new kid has to sing in his house the first-night.

You'll have to."

"Oh," faltered Ashby, "I can't; I don't know anything."

"Can't get out of it; you must," said the twin, charmed to see the torture he was inflicting. "So must you, Hair-parting."

Fisher minor was too knowing a hand to be caught napping. He had had the tip about lamb's singing from his brother last term, and was prepared. He joined in, therefore, against Ashby.

"What, didn't you know that, kid? You must be green. _I_ knew it all along."

"That's all right," said Wheatfield. "Now I'm going. I can't fool away all my evening with you. By the way, mind you don't get taking up with any Modern kids. It's not allowed, and you'll get it hot if you do. My young brother," (each twin was particularly addicted to casting reflections on his brother's age) "is a Modern. Don't you have anything to do with him. And whatever you do, don't lend any of them money, or there'll be a most awful row. That's why we always call up subscriptions for the house clubs on first-night. It cleans the fellows out, and then they can't lend any to the Moderns. You'll have to sh.e.l.l out pretty soon, as soon as Lamb's singing is over. Ta, ta."

This last communication put Fisher minor in a terrible panic. He had evidently committed a gross breach of etiquette in lending that Modern boy (whose name he did not even know) a half-crown; and now, when the subscriptions were called for, he would have to declare himself before all Wakefield's a pauper.