Tom, Dick and Harry Part 11

I nearly jumped out of my chair.

"Oh, don't, please don't, Miss Steele!" said I. "I'll be here to the second, in future, I promise."

"All right," said she, with a smile, and the subject dropped.

This dreadful threat kept me up to the mark for the next few weeks, but even it lost its terrors in time, and my preceptress had to apply the spur in other ways as the time went on.

Once, after I had been particularly slack, and had, moreover, been so rude to her that she ended the lesson abruptly, I thought it was all up.

For, when I presented myself next day, I was informed by the servant that Miss Steele was busy, and had no time to see me.

I was locked out! My dismay knew no bounds. Suppose she had "chucked"

me altogether, what would become of my chance of getting into Low Heath?

I retired home in great perturbation, and confided the state of the case to my mother, who advised me there and then to sit down and write an apology.

I had never done such a thing in my life. Once I had verbally begged Tempest's pardon for some error; but to commit myself in writing to a girl!

"My dear Miss Steele," I wrote,--"I'm sorry. Yours truly, T. Jones."

"That will do very well," said my mother. "It's not too long, at the same time it says what you want to say."

I wasn't altogether pleased with it myself, but allowed the maid to take it up to the school, with instructions to wait for an answer.

In due time she returned with a missive from Miss Steele.

"My dear Jones,--To-morrow as usual. Yours truly, M. Steele."

I am sure no model letter-writer ever said as much in as few words.

This little correspondence cleared the air for the time. No reference was made to it when I turned up as usual the next day; but from the way I worked, and the way she taught, it was evident we had both had a shake.

My next relapse was even more serious. It came early in the spring, after our work had proceeded for about nine months.

I really had made good progress all round. Not in Latin only, but in Greek grammar, arithmetic, and English, and was naturally inclined to feel a little c.o.c.ky of the result.

"Don't crow, Jones," she said; "you've a lot to do yet."

But I did not altogether agree with her, and was inclined to indulge myself a little of an evening when I was supposed to be preparing my work. In an evil day I fell across an old book-shop, and found two books, which helped to undo me. One was a rollicking story of a pirate who swept the Western Main, and captured treasure, and seized youths and maidens, and ran blockades, and was finally brought to book in a sportsmanlike manner by a jolly young English middy, amid scenes of terrific slaughter amids.h.i.+ps. That was one purchase. The other was even more disturbing. It was a "crib" to the arithmetic I was doing, with all the sums beautifully worked out and the answers given.

So--I must make the confession--I astonished Miss Steele greatly for a while by my extraordinary proficiency in arithmetic, and during the same time spent my evenings in imagination on the high seas, flying aloft the black flag, and shooting across the bows of Her Majesty's s.h.i.+ps wherever I sighted them.

This career of duplicity could not be expected to last long. One afternoon Miss Steele brought matters to a crisis by calling upon me to work a sum on the spot which was not in the book.

I failed egregiously.

"That's singular," said she; "it's far simpler than those you brought with you to-day. How long did it take you to do them?"

I looked hard at Miss Steele, and she looked hard at me. The pirate game was up at last.

"About two minutes each," said I.

"_Two_ minutes?"

"Yes--as fast as I could copy them out of the crib. I'm sorry, Miss Steele."

She shut up her book abruptly.

"I didn't expect it of you, Jones," said she; "you've been making a fool of me. I've lost confidence in you; now you can go."

"Oh, I say. Miss Steele, I'm so awfully--"

"Be quiet, sir, and go!" said she, more fiercely than I had ever known her.

I took up my cap and went. She was in no humour to listen to explanations, but it was clear I had done for myself now. After what had happened she was not likely to give me another chance.

I did not care to tell my mother how matters stood this time. It would be difficult to put my case in a favourable light, and I was quite sure my mother could not help me out of my difficulty.

I solemnly burned my crib that night in the parlour fire, after every one was in bed. It took ages to consume, and nearly set the chimney on fire in the operation. But when that was done I was as far off a solution of my difficulty as ever.

I hardly slept a wink, and in the morning my mother added to my discomfort by remarking on my looks.

"You're working too hard, dear boy," said she. "I must ask Miss Steele to give you a little holiday, or you'll be quite knocked up."

"Please don't," said I. "I'm all right."

Here the postman's knock caused a diversion.

"A letter for you, Tommy," said my mother.

It was from Tempest, of all people--the first he had condescended to write me since we had parted company in Plummer's hall nearly a year ago.

It was a rambling, patronising effusion, in his usual style; but every word of it, in my present plight, had a sting for me.

"It's a pity you're not here," wrote he; "it's a ripping place.

Everything about the place is ripping except the drilling master and the dumplings on Mondays, which are both as vile as vile can be. I'm in the upper fifth, and shall probably get my ribbon and perhaps my house after summer. Plummer's was regular tomfooling to this. We've a match on with Rugby this term, and I'm on the reserve for the Eleven. I suppose you know young Brown is coming here; though I'm sorry to say as a day boy. His people are going to live in the town, so he'll be able to come on the cheap. I shall do what I can for him, but I expect he'll have a hot time, for the day boys are rather small beer. The exhibitioners have the best time of it. If Brown could get a junior exhibition and live in school, he could f.a.g for me and have a jolly time. But poor d.i.c.ky hasn't got it in him. I got rather lammed after I got home from Plummer's; but it was all right when Plummer wrote to say that a burglar had shot the dog, and he was sorry there had been a mistake, and hoped I'd go back. Catch me! It's better fun here--as much cricket as you like, and a river, and gymnasium, and all sorts of sprees. It wouldn't be half bad if you were here, kid; but I suppose you're a young gent with a topper and a bag at your guardian's office. I hope it suits you--wouldn't me--" and so on.

How this letter made me long to be at Low Heath, and how it made me realise what an a.s.s I had been to go in for that crib! I really felt too bad to go that day to Miss Steele, even if she would have let me!

and wandered about cudgelling my brains how on earth I could get her to take me back again.

She wouldn't believe my protestations, I knew; but she might believe deeds, not words.

So I shut myself up in my room and took down my arithmetic, and worked out sum after sum all off my own bat, till my brain reeled and I could hardly distinguish one figure from another. Some I knew were wrong, others I hoped were right; all were _bona fide_. I stuck to it till nearly midnight, and then, merely writing my name on the top, put them into an envelope, under the flap of which I wrote, "I've burnt the crib.

Try me this once," and posted them to my offended teacher.

No answer came for twenty-four hours, which I spent on pins and needles, working away frantically during my leisure hours, and occupying part of my business time in personally avenging an insult offered to Miss Steele's name by one of my guardian's junior clerks. I wished she could have seen me. I got a terrible blow on the eye, but I gave him two, and caused him to regret audibly that he had spoken disparagingly of my cruel fair.

Next morning a note came to my mother.

"Please tell your boy I shall be in this afternoon."