The Cock-House at Fellsgarth | Page 6

half-crown, was at least passably 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 snigger; "they're all milksops at home. I'd sooner be here."
"I wouldn't," put in the sturdy 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 Classics?"
"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 shell 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.
"I say," said he to Ashby, dropping the patronising for the pathetic, "could you ever lend me half-a-crown? I've--I've lost mine--I'll pay it you back next week faithfully."
"I've only got five bob," said Ashby; "to last all the term, and half a crown of that will go in the clubs to-night."
"But you'll get it back in a week--really you will," pleaded Fisher minor, "and I'll--"
But here there was a sudden interruption. Every one, from the captain down, looked towards the new boys, and a shout of "lamb's singing," headed by Wally Wheatfield, left little doubt as to what it all meant.
"Pass up the new kids down there," called one of the prefects. Whereupon Fisher minor and Ashby, rather pale and very nervous, were hustled up to the top of the