On Board the Esmeralda | Page 9

aid of masters not by any means excessive, and the boys' keep not too extravagant, judging by the meals they had. Dr Hellyer was "an ignorant, uncultivated brute," Tom averred, and his degree of "Doctor" was only derived from the fact of his having paid ten dollars to an American university to air this specious prefix to his scholastic name!
The whole school, my new friend told me, was a sham, for, instead of there being some dozen of masters, as stated in the prospectus sent to Uncle George, there were only two besides "The Doctor"--Mr Smallpage, the mathematical master, called by the boys "Smiley," on the lucus a non lucendo principle, I suppose, because his face ever bore an expression of gravity; and Monsieur Achile Phelan, professor of foreign languages and dancing, christened by Tom Larkyns "The Cobbler," on account of his teaching a certain number of extra-paying pupils how to "heel and toe."
Whatever was the reason for "The Doctor's" hardupishness, however, the fact was undeniable; and Tom said that for weeks at a time the establishment would be in a state of siege, from tradespeople coming after their "little accounts," which the master put off settling as long as he could. The old woman who had opened the door to me, my chum stated, was popularly believed to be the principal's maternal relative, as she kept a watchful eye upon the portal, besides presiding over the interior economy of the school. She was so sharp, Tom averred, that she could smell a "dun," experience having so increased the natural keenness of her scent.
Sometimes, too, Tom said, when Dr Hellyer could get no credit with the butcher, they lived on Australian tinned mutton, which he got wholesale from the importers, as long as three months at a stretch; and once, he pledged me his word, when the baker likewise failed to supply any more bread by reason of that long-suffering man's bill not having been paid for a year, Dr Hellyer, not to be beaten, went off to Portsmouth and bought a lot of condemned ship biscuits at a Government sale in the victualling yard, returning with this in triumph to the school, and serving it out to the pupils in rations, the same as if they had been at sea!
In the midst of all these interesting disclosures, a terrible drumming, buzzing noise filled the air.
"What's that din?" I asked Tom.
"Oh, that's the tea-gong," he replied. "We must go in now, as we'll get none if we are late, for the Doctor teaches punctuality by example."
"He told me he had `a way of his own' for making his pupils obey him," said I.
"Did he? Ah, you'll soon find out what a brute he is! Let us look at your nose, though, Martin, before you go in. You recollect what he said about not fighting, eh?"
"Yes; does it look all right now?" I asked, anxiously.
"Pretty well," said Tom, critically examining the damaged organ. "A little bit puffy on the off side but I think it will pass muster, and you'll escape notice if that sneak Slodgers doesn't split about his eye--which I believe you've pretty nicely marked for him."
"Do you think he'll tell?" I whispered to Tom as we ascended the steps and he turned the handle of the door leading into the house.
"More than likely, if the Doctor pitches on to him! He will spin a fine story about your having attacked him, too, to excuse himself; for he's a liar as well as a cur and a bully. But, come on, Martin, look sharp! There's the second gong, and if we're not at table in our seats before it stops, it'll be a case of pickles!"
With these words, Tom dashed into the passage with me after him; and, after racing up a bare, carpetless flight of stairs, I found myself in a wide large room, which, the evening having closed in, was lighted up only by a single gas-burner. This made its bareness all the more apparent; for, with the exception of having a long table stretching from end to end--now covered with a semi-brownish white table-cloth, and cups and saucers and plates, not forgetting a monstrous big tin teapot like a Chinese junk, in the centre, and a couple of narrow deal forms without backs placed on either side for seats--the apartment had no other furniture, a broad shelf attached to the wall opposite the fireplace serving as a buffet, and an armchair at the head of the festal board, for the presiding master, completing its equipment.
Tom had whispered to me as we went up-stairs that either "Smiley" or "The Cobbler" would officiate at the tea-table, those two worthies taking that duty in turn; but this evening, strange to say, whether in honour of my arrival or on