it was that obnoxious penny, i believe, which was responsible for my uncle’s continued pursuit of his new lobby, until the hobby itself became an obsession. if we had come home that first day empty-handed, i have little doubt but that his baulked imagination would have found itself some other and more practical outlet. as it was, the discovery was held by him to justify every proverb which values itself upon small beginnings. he was so little cast down by its meagreness, that there was no limit to the golden dreams of which he made it the basis. most crazes, i fancy, are so built upon a pennyworth of fact.
he did not take out the sack again, but replaced it by a sponge-bag, and the bag, later, by a stout leathern purse. finally, he decided that his trouser-pockets would serve all our needs, with the additional advantage that our hands would be freer thereby, and the risk of comment on our proceedings avoided. it may have been, for it had certainly little to feed upon. during those early weeks, beyond some scraps of old iron, we found nothing.
at first, it must be said, uncle jenico was not so entirely possessed by his infatuation, but he found time to experiment in other directions. for days he made our lodgings almost uninhabitable by boiling and decomposing seaweed, until mrs. puddephatt complained that her reputation was suffering by the incessant “hodour of ’ot putrid fish” which emanated from her premises.
the patent, upon which he had expected to realize, turned out, after all, a disappointment, and had never, it appeared, been regarded as other than a joke by the man who, he had supposed, had been going to buy it. he was a little disconsolate at first, but soon brightened up when he thought of the potential riches lying under the shingle.
“we’ll laugh at ’em all by-and-by, richard,” he said. “what a joke it’ll be when we’ve got our own capital to work upon, and these ninnies find out the good things they’ve missed. but we won’t be relentless, my boy, and disinherit the honest labourer because of the shortsightedness of his employer. work for the good of mankind, remember, and you work for your own.”
fine weather, at this time, made him thoughtful and restless. it was only when the wind blew and the waves rose that he cheered up and became excited like a seagull. then he would laugh aloud, and button up his coat and, telling me to follow him when my lesson was over, limp off to the beach, and there untiringly weave his ropes of sand, growing more and more absorbed in his task the faster it melted beneath his hands. the coins were there, he was convinced; and it only needed patience and luck (and he plumed himself upon his being rather a spoilt child of the latter) to hit upon the deposits.
in the meanwhile i was going to my daily lesson, and getting absorbed in my own way. mr. sant was a delectable tutor, inspiring and invigorating, and by-and-by, unconsciously to me, my hour extended itself to two, and sometimes more. so months passed, and then a year, and i was nine.
one morning i was on my way to the rectory when i made a notable acquaintance. i had to pass, on my setting out, the new school, which was now in full activity, and battling its first successful steps in the moral and intellectual reformation of infant dunberry. the children were generally trooping to the bell-call as i started, and i have no doubt that the sense of superiority my consciousness of private tuition gave me made itself apparent to some of them in my air and demeanour.
a little beyond the playstow the road to the rectory, and to the court on the hill, ran up obliquely through the village side, passing very soon into privacy and loneliness. i had almost reached the rectory palings when i saw a boy start out, at sight of me, from the shadow of them and come swiftly on, as if to accost me while yet short of shelter. he was about my own age or a little older, and had a round, freckled face, with dark red hair curled as tight as astrakhan, and a very fat little pug-nose. he was dressed in a brown velveteen jacket and strong corduroy breeches and leathern gaiters, and he looked what, in fact, he was, a miniature gamekeeper. i knew him well enough by sight, having passed him for the last two or three weeks near the school-house, and always, i verily believe, with an odd little tremor of foreboding in my inside. he had proved, on inquiry, to be the only child of harrier, the squire’s gamekeeper, from whom, and that only on his master’s initiative, a scowling consent to his son’s attending the new school had been wrung by mr. sant. but the boy came, though near as rebellious as his father, and had even, until this morning, arrived punctual.
now he advanced, swaggering and whistling, with his hands in his breeches’ pockets, and a fine air of abstraction. i tried to dodge him, but for all that, in spite of his pretended preoccupation, he brought his shoulder smack against mine with a force that knocked me sprawling, and, from the mere pain of it, drove the angry tears to my eyes.
he wheeled round at once, as i gathered myself up, with a mock apology so impudent that i longed to hit him, but was deterred by the front he showed me. he stood square, balancing on his heels, as tight-knit a young mischief as health and muscle could produce.
“mighty!” he said, with a pretence of being scared. “what i done, lor? blest if i ain’t knocked into the dirt the young gen’leman what treats we for sich!”
then my uneasy consciousness understood the nature of this retaliation.
“you did it on purpose,” i said sullenly, trying not to whimper as i dusted myself.
“me!” he cried, in beautiful astonishment. “why, howsomever can you charge it to me, master, walking with your nose in the air?”
“it’s you that has your nose in the air,” i retaliated malevolently.
he flushed through his tan, and squared up to me.
“say that agen!” he hissed, lifting his lip like a weasel.
“once is enough,” i answered.
he danced about me, making play in the air with his fists.
“is it!” he gasped, spasmodic. “o yus, o’ course!—i’ll larn you—you dursen’t—foonk!—private poople—yah!—take your lickun, then!”
something must have stirred in the garden at the moment, for he suddenly flounced round and off, his mouth drawn down contemptuous, and his chin stuck out. but i had not done with him by any means.
mr. sant received me that morning, i thought, oddly, and made no allusion to my battered appearance. neither did i, at which, perhaps, he cleared a little.
the next morning harry harrier—for such was the young sportsman’s name—met me as before. i gave him the path, though with anger in my heart; and he openly jeered at me as he went by. the following day it was the same, and for many days after. he would have risked, i believe, ten times the punishment he deserved, and got, for being late, rather than baulk himself of this recurrent treat. presently he altered his tactics in such a way as to eat his cake and have it, so to speak. he did not pass me one day at the usual hour, and i confess i breathed relief, for all my own inefficiency was gall to me. mr. sant’s manner, as was usual now, was chilling almost to repulsion. i was very unhappy. i had grown to brood on my grievance until it almost choked me. dunberry was becoming to me a miserable siberia, and i longed to be out of it, and hinted as much to my uncle. but, to my dejection, he would not understand—could not, perhaps, as pride had always prevented me from revealing my difficulty to him or to any of my real friends. moreover, the picking-up of some trumpery oddments on the beach had by now established him unshakably in his craze, which had been further confirmed by the action of certain unscrupulous dunberryites in palming off on him some faked-up coins, which i could have sworn had never been minted out of my own generation.
the relief i enjoyed on this particular morning was, however, delusive. the cunning little gamekeeper had got himself credited with punctuality, only that he might descend upon me on his return journey as i left the rectory. nor was this the worst; for he came reinforced by half a dozen schoolfellows, the dirty little parasites of his corduroy lordship. i found them awaiting me at a quiet turn of the road, and, before i knew it, was being hustled and insulted. i pushed my way through, however, with a lump swelling in my throat, and was trying to stifle the inclination to run, when a cry from harrier brought me to the roundabout with a scarlet face.
“cowardy-cowardy-custard! dursen’t peach to old crazy, what broke his leg a-kicking of yer!”
i rushed back and faced him.
“he broke his leg falling from a parryshoot. he isn’t crazy. i’m not such a coward as you!” i blazed out in a breath. i was bristling and tingling all over. the worm had turned at last.
harry harrier, whistling softly, took his hands from his pockets.
“yus?” he said. “anythink else?”
“you’re a liar!” i answered, boiling; “you’re a coward and liar!”
i was down and up again in a moment, and rushing blindly at him with a cut lip and bloody mouth. he kept quite cool, and met me over and over again with stunning blows. i didn’t care. i hardly felt them in my rage; my long pent-up feelings had burst their bonds and i was quite beside myself. in the midst i was caught in the leash of a sinewy hand and torn away. for some moments i fought and screamed in my madness; then suddenly desisted, gasping and trembling all over. red seemed to clear from my eyes, and i saw. the parasites were fled; harry harrier stood opposite me, hanging his head and his twitching hands; and in possession of us both was mr. sant.
a little silence followed; then suddenly the clergyman released me and stepped aside.
“you’re a strong boy, harrier,” he said, quietly. “you’ve had the advantage of some training, too. this was hardly brave.”
“he called me a coward, sir,” muttered the boy.
“you’ve got to prove he was wrong, then.”
harrier twitched his shoulders, and gave a defiant upward look.
“what!” said mr. sant. “do you call it proving it to attack him six to one?”
“i takes no count of that raff, sir,” said the boy. “’twas him and me fought.”
“but you used them to provoke him—not content with insulting him yourself day by day as he came to his lesson. yes; i know.”
i looked up amazed, and then down again. certain tell-tale rustlings that had reached my ears occasionally from the back of the rectory palings occurred to me, so that i hung my head with shame.
“well, your reverence,” said the boy, rather insolently, “pay me, and get it over. i takes my capers with my mutton.”
“i shall pay you, sir,” said mr. sant, with, i could have thought, the ghost of a grin, “as one gentleman pays another. you think, perhaps, that master bowen here has told of your bullying him. he has not breathed a word about it to anybody. now that, i think, shows him to be the better man of the two.”
the surprise, the gratification were so great, i could have cried out to him like a silly girl.
the young gamekeeper grinned, incredulous and sarcastic.
“you think not?” said mr. sant. “well, i’ll tell you what i’m going to do—i’m going to back my man to whop you by-and-by.”
the boy looked up at him, breathless now.
“you’ve all the advantage at present, you know,” went on the clergyman. “you’ve got constitution, muscle, and a little of the science—not so much as you think, but still a little. now master bowen isn’t your equal in any of these, as i suspect you knew, or you wouldn’t have attacked him.”
“i would!” said the boy, furiously.
“well,” said mr. sant, smiling, “i’ll take your word for it, because i believe, after all, it’s an honest word. but the point is this. muscle and constitution are slow growers, and while my man was training to improve his, you could be improving yours. science, on the other hand, can be taught, and i mean to teach him science until i consider he’s your equal and better. when that comes about you shall fight again, and i’ll umpire. do you agree?”
“don’t i!” said the boy.
“very well. only i must have an understanding. you must leave him unmolested in the mean time.”
“i’ll do it!” cried the lad. “i’ll do more. i’ll fight any one as putts a finger on un.”
“the right spirit, that,” said mr. sant, with an approving face. “we’ll agree to decide it, then—in a month’s time, say? i’d keep it to myself if i were you. good morning!”
the boy pulled his forelock, hesitated, mumbled with a blush and grin, “you’re a gen’leman, sir,” and casting a saucy, triumphant glance at me, retreated. simultaneously, mr. sant took me by the shoulder, and, hurrying me back to the rectory study, procured cold water and a sponge, and shut himself in with me.
i felt half stupefied between the blows i had received and the prospect of others yet to come, in the matter of which, it appeared, i was to be allowed no choice. but there i was wrong. mr. sant, as he sponged with great consideration my swollen places, took up the tale at once.
“now, richard,” he said, “this is going to be, i think, the first great test of your life. you can refuse it if you like, without any loss of honour. you were bullied by a stronger boy, and you endured your ill-treatment without telling tales. that was to be a gentleman. you suffered insult—a little too long, perhaps—and only resented it when directed against some one whom you very rightly love and respect. well, that was again to be a gentleman.”
i flushed crimson with pleasure, and he mopped hard away, talking all the time.
“you heard the engagement i made for you? well, i tell you, you can decline quite honourably to stand by it. if you do, don’t think i shall blame you. on the contrary, i will see that an effective end is put to this tyranny. you have proved yourself, and that is enough. now, if you would like me to state the facts to your uncle, i will do so at once.”
“yes, please,” i stuttered through the sponge.
“very well,” he answered, but dryly, i thought. “i could have trained you, perhaps, to stand up to this young bruiser; but without doubt you choose the christian part. i will speak to mr. paxton.”
“please, sir,” i said, “i don’t think he’d understand why i’ve got to fight, unless you told him.”
his hand quite bumped my poor nose with the start he gave.
“you want it to come off, then, richard? this is a little shocking, i’m afraid; but perhaps i can’t altogether blame you. he’s a young samson, mind.”
“you said, sir, that science——” i began, but he plugged my mouth hastily, and gave me no opportunity to speak more till he had cleaned my wounds to his satisfaction. then he put me up between his knees and, while dabbing my face spasmodically with a towel, recited to me the fable of the brass and the earthenware pots.
“the brass pot, you see, was the gentleman,” he said. “he illustrated the christian science of self-defence. he didn’t invite an encounter; but, when it was forced upon him, his art got the better of the coarser clay.”
he stretched out my arms and pinched their muscles.
“well enough,” he said; “but that little antaeus owes his to his mother earth. he could lick you with one hand, dicky—easy, he could. aren’t you afraid?”
“yes, i am,” i said, honestly.
he nodded approvingly.
“real courage, dicky, doesn’t mean not being afraid. we must all be afraid sometimes, when we are called upon to fight men or animals who are much stronger and fiercer than we are. but when we know that wrong or unjust things are being done to us by people who do these things just because they are stronger, then, if we fight them in spite of our being afraid, that is the real courage. on the other hand, it isn’t brave to force people to fight who we know are much weaker than we are. but when god has given us good health and strong arms, it is noble to use them to help people who are weaker than we are, and to punish the bullies who would take advantage of their weakness. that’s what it is makes a true gentleman—not riches, nor titles, nor having a tutor instead of a public teacher. the little boy who is just, and very truthful, and who never does anything that he would be ashamed of good people knowing, is on the way to be a gentleman, whether he lives in a palace or a cottage. but if, added to these, he trains all his faculties to oblige other people to repay him the truth and justice and honour which he gives them, then he is a complete gentleman already.”
he broke off to feel me all up and down.
“there’s good material here,” he said; “very good. we’ll use it to counterbalance brute strength. that’s the fine moral of boxing, little man—to see that the weak don’t go to the wall. now, shall i confess a secret? i love harry harrier pretty equal with you, sir. he’s got the makings of a gentleman—my sort—in him; only no amount of persuasion from me will educate him like a scientific licking from one less than his own size. you don’t see that, perhaps; but, all the same, i look to you to knock him into my fold for me. you are the church’s champion, richard, and you shall gain me a new convert, or i’ll never put faith in the gloves again. now come along with me home.”
uncle jenico received us with surprise, and some consternation over my appearance; nor did the recital of the affray much reassure him. still more was he confounded by the rector’s frank avowal of his object in approaching him.
“he is a mere child, sir,” said my uncle.
“‘the childhood shows the man,’” quoted the other.
“to be sure. but, as he isn’t going to be a prize-fighter——”
“every true christian, sir, is a prize-fighter. he champions the right in order to win heaven.”
“well, where was the right here?”
“i regret to have to confess, sir, in an insulting expression about you, which he very properly resented.”
“me!” cried my uncle, amazed. then suddenly he stumped across to where i stood, and patted my shoulder rather tremulously. “well, well,” he said; “no doubt i’m a funny old fellow. so you stood up for old uncle jenico, dicky?”
his voice shook a little. i wriggled and flushed up crimson.
“it was a lie!” i cried, choking; “and i’m going to fight him and lick him for it.”
mr. sant struck in.
“broughton rules, sir, i pledge my word.”
“eh?” said my uncle. “who’s broughton, and what does he rule?”
“i mean,” said mr. sant, “this little affair shall be conducted strictly according to the regulations of broughton, the famous boxer.”
“o!” exclaimed uncle jenico, palpably misled by the last word, and proportionately relieved. “o, to be sure! ‘mufflers,’ you call ’em, i think?”
“yes, yes!” said mr. sant, hastily. “a contest of science, sir; no vulgar hammering;” and he repeated, with warm conviction, his little dissertation on the true moral courage.
“if richard, sir, don’t assert himself at the outset,” he ended with, “i won’t answer for his life here remaining endurable.”
perhaps this prospect of our moral banishment clinched the matter with uncle jenico, whose attachment to the place was becoming quite morbid. he stipulated only that the umpire should stop the fight the moment it might appear i was getting the worst of it. more or less satisfied on this point, he rubbed his hands, and rallied me on being the young gamecock i was.
“i’ve given some thought, myself, to a new boxing-glove,” he confessed; “one with a little gong inside to record the hits, you know.”
mr. sant lost no time in taking me in hand. he fashioned me a little pair of gloves out of some old ones of his own, and gave me half an hour’s exercise with them every day after lessons. i am not going to record the process. the result was the important thing.
during all this interval, with the single exception of the morning following that of my encounter with harry harrier, i was left in peace by the village boys. on that morning, however, i again found myself in the midst of a little mob of them, who, emboldened by yesterday’s sport, were come to waylay me after school hours. i was not yet so proficient as to regard the situation with equanimity; when, behold! my enemy resolved it for me. he appeared suddenly in the midst, his knees and elbows in a lively state of agitation. one or two fell away, protesting, their hands caressing their injured parts.
“where be a coomen, ’ar-ree!” expostulated one boy, holding his palm to his ear.
“mighty!” exclaimed the young ruffler; “bain’t the road free to none but yourself, jarge? here be a yoong gen’lman waiting to pass, now.”
they took it as aimed at me, and hedged in again. he clawed two by the napes of their necks, and cracking their heads comfortably together, flung both aside. his intentions were quite unmistakable, and his strength a thing to regard. i was painfully conscious of it as i went through the sullen lane the others, discomfited, made for me; but i plucked up courage, as i passed, to express my gratitude.
“thank you, harry!” i said.
he was after me in a moment.
“it’s not a’going to make no differ’,” he whispered fiercely. “you onderstand that?”
“it shan’t, anyhow, till after the fight,” i answered back in his ear, and nodded and ran on.
at last the great day came. mr. sant, in order that my uncle might be saved anxiety, and me the necessity of deception, had given me no warning until the very moment was on me. he had manœuvred to hold me a little longer than usual over my lessons; and suddenly returned to me after a short absence from the room.
“dick,” he said, “harrier’s waiting for you in the garden.”
my heart gave a twist, and for a moment pulled the blood out of my cheeks. then i saw mr. sant looking at me, and was suddenly glowing all over, as if after a cold douche.
“for the right, dicky!” he said. “to win your spurs in christendom! remember what i’ve taught you, and keep your head.”
it was all very well to say so, with that part of me like a bladder full of hot air. but i followed him stoutly, trusting to the occasion to inspire me with all the science which, for the moment, had clean deserted me.
there was a little plat of lawn at the back, very snug and private behind some trees; and here we found my adversary waiting, in charge of jacob, the gardener, a grizzled, comfortable old fellow in complete christian subjection to his master. jacob was to second harry, and mr. sant me. the old fellow grinned and ducked as we appeared. there were no other witnesses.
“now,” said mr. sant, “when i say ‘go!’ go; when i call ‘time!’ stop.”
he fell back with the words, and we stood facing one another. i was utterly bemused, at that instant, as to the processes by which i had reached this situation. i could only grasp the one fact that i was put up to batter, if i could (which seemed ridiculous), this confident, taut little figure in the shirt and corduroy smalls and gaiters, who held out, as if for my inspection, two bare brown arms, made all of bone and whipcord; and that i must proceed to try to do this, without any present quarrel—but rather the reverse—to stimulate me. it was so different to the circumstances of that other mad contest. i could have laughed; i——
“go!” said mr. sant.
something cracked on my forehead, and i fell.
“time!” cried mr. sant.
he pulled me to my feet.
“get your wits, dicky,” he said.
i had got them. the bladder seemed to have burst, and let out all the hot air. i was quite cool, now, and pretty savage over this treatment.
“all right, sir,” i said; and i think he understood. he kept me simmering, however, for the regulation three minutes.
i came up to time now, broughton’s commendable pupil. the first round had been, what we call in cricket, a trial ball. this that followed was the game—muscle and a little science against science and a little muscle. the brass pot, i am happy to say, prevailed, and sent the earthenware spinning with a crack on its stubborn little nose. jacob mopped the vanquished, who could hardly be kept still to endure it. as for me, i was cockahoop, crowing inside and out. my second laughed, and let me go on, warning me only that the battle wasn’t won.
it was not, indeed. our bloods were up, and the next round was a hot test of our qualities. it was give and take, and take and give; until, lunging under a loose defence, harry hit me in the wind, and, while i was gasping and staggering, levelled me to the ground with a blow on my mouth. he was mad by now, and was rushing to pummel me, prostrate as i was, when jacob, with a howl, clutched him and bore him struggling away.
“law, ye little warmint!” cried the old man.
“no more of that, harrier!” said mr. sant, from where he was kneeling, nursing and reviving me; “or i take my man away. to hit one that’s down, sir! that’s neither christian nor professional.”
then he whispered in my ear, “three minutes, dicky! can you do it? else i’m bound in honour to throw up the sponge.”
there was an agitation in his voice which he tried vainly to control. i made a desperate effort, and rose as he began to count. i felt a little sick and wild; but the lesson of over-confidence had gone home. this time i played warily, tiring out my adversary. at last the moment came. he struck out furiously, missed, and, as he recovered his guard, i hit him with all my strength between the eyes. he staggered, gave a little cry, and, quite blinded for the moment, began to grope aimlessly with his fists.
“noo, sir!” howled old jacob, excited (i am afraid he was an unsympathetic second); “noo, sir’s your time. walk in and finish en!”
“i won’t,” i cried. “it isn’t fair. he can’t see.”
trying to mark me by my voice, the boy let out a furious blow, and, as his fist whizzed near me, i caught and clutched it in my own.
“harry!” i said hurriedly, “let’s be friends!”
he tore his hand away, stood with his face quivering a moment, then all of a sudden fell upon his knees, and, putting his arm across his eyes, began to sob as if his heart were broken.
a silence and embarrassment fell upon us all. then mr. sant walked over to the boy and addressed some words to him. he turned a deaf ear, repulsing him.
“you have fought like a man,” said the clergyman. “come, take your beating like one.”
the lad started and looked up. he could see again now, but glimmeringly.
“be the three minnuts past?” he said.
“i’m afraid so,” said the other.
the boy got to his feet, sniffing, and, without uttering a word, began rolling down and buttoning his shirt sleeves.
“there’s a good hot dinner waiting for you inside,” said mr. sant. “come now, and do the man’s part by it and by us!”
still he would not speak; but shook his head sullenly, and, fetching his coat and cap, walked off.
“humoursome, humoursome!” said old jacob. “let en go for a warmint.”
“no,” said mr. sant, rather wistfully. “he’s got the stuff in him. we’ll have him on our side yet, richard.”
