Humphrey Bold | Page 3

stung.
I had been less than a year at the school when an event happened which
had a great bearing on my future life. It was in the autumn of the year
1690. I left afternoon school, and walked up Castle Street, intending to
turn down by St. Mary's Church as I was wont to do, and make my way
by Dogpole and Wyle Cop to English Bridge and so home. But just as I
came to the corner I spied Cludde and Vetch waiting for me, as they
sometimes did, at the back end of the church. To avoid them, I went on
till I came to the corner of Dogpole and Pride Hill, hoping thereby to
escape. But Cyrus Vetch's keen eyes had seen me, and when I came to

the turning by Colam's, the vintner's, there were my two tormentors,
posted right in my path.
"Aha, young Bold!" says Cyrus, clutching me roughly by the arm, "so
you thought to give us the slip, did you?"
I could not deny it, and said nothing.
"Hark 'ee, young Bold," Cyrus went on, "you're to bring us tomorrow
morning a good dozen of old Ellery's apples, d'you hear?"
"A good dozen, young Bold," says Cludde, with the precision of an
echo.
"Let me go, please, Vetch," I said, endeavoring to wrench my arm
away.
"Not so fast, bun face," says he, giving my arm a twist. "You'd best
promise, or it will be the worse for you. Now say after me, 'I,
Humphrey Bold, adopted brat of John Ellery'--Speak up now!" "Please
let me go, Vetch," said I, wriggling in his grasp.
"You won't, eh? You're an obstinate pig, eh? You defy us, eh?" and
with every question the bully twisted my arm till I almost screamed
with the pain.
"Don't be a ninny," says Cludde. "What's a few apples! Why, old
Ellery's trees are loaded with 'em."
Vetch's grip somewhat relaxed while Cludde was speaking, and,
seizing the opportunity, I wrenched my arm away with a sudden
movement and took to my heels. Being thin and light of foot, I was a
fleet runner, and though they immediately set off in pursuit, I gained on
them for a few yards, and had some hope of distancing them altogether.
But just as I came to where Dogpole runs into Wyle Cop, a stitch in the
side, which often seized me at inconvenient times, forced me to slacken
speed. Seeing this, they quickened their pace, and in a few moments
they would have had me at their mercy.

But in that predicament I heard Joe Punchard whistling, through the
open door of the shop where he did 'prentice work for old Matthew
Mark, the cooper. I knew Joe well; he had often brought barrels to our
farm, and once or twice on my way home from school I had gone into
the shop and watched him at his work.
Now, as a fox when the hounds are in full cry behind him will run for
shelter into any likely place that offers, so I, hard pressed as I was,
rushed panting into the shop, too breathless at first to explain my need.
"Hallo! What's this!" cried Joe, who was just rolling down his sleeves
before closing work for the day. "What be the matter, Master Bold?
You be all of a sweat and puffing like to burst."
"They're after me! Keep 'em off, Joe!" I gasped.
"After you, be they! Some of your schoolmates worriting of you, eh?
Don't be afeared, lad. I be just going home, and I'll see you safe to
Bridge.
"Ah! there they be," he added, as my pursuers appeared in the doorway.
"Good afternoon to you, and what might you be pleased to want?"
"Out of the road, Joe Punchard!" cries Cludde, walking into the shop.
"I'll teach that little beast to run away."
And he came forward to where I stood, sheltering myself behind Joe's
thick-set body.
"Bide a minute," says Joe, lurching so as to shield me. "What ha'
Master Bold bin doin' to you?"
"What's that to you?" says Cyrus Vetch, edging round him on the other
side. "He's a young sneak, that's what he is, and wants a good basting,
and he'll get it, too."
"Not so fast now," says Joe, sticking out his elbows to broaden himself.
"I know you, Master Vetch, and 'tis my belief you and Master Cludde

are just nought but a brace of bullies, and you ought to be ashamed of
yourselves, Master Cludde in particular, seeing as the little lad be your
own cousin."
"You shut your mouth, Joe Punchard!" shouts Cludde in a passion. "He
my cousin, indeed!--the mean little charity brat!"
"And a blubbering baby, too!" says Vetch, "cries before he is hurt."
"'Tis not much