The Triple Alliance

The Triple Alliance

The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Triple Alliance, by Harold Avery
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Title: The Triple Alliance
Author: Harold Avery
Release Date: November 13, 2003 [eBook #10027]
Language: English
Chatacter set encoding: US-ASCII
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIPLE
ALLIANCE***

E-text prepared by Lionel G. Sear of Truro, Cornwall, England, and
dedicated to the memory of R. F. Mudie, who won the book used as the
source for this e-text as Form II First Prize for the Summer Term in
1901 at the Seafield House Preparatory School, Broughty Ferry,
Scotland

THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE
ITS TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS
By HAROLD AVERY

CONTENTS.
Chapter.
I. A NEW BOY,
II. THE PHILISTINES,
III. DISCOMFITURE OF THE PHILISTINES,
IV. THE SUPPER CLUB,
V. CATCHING A TARTAR,
VI. GUNPOWDER PLOT,
VII. RONLEIGH COLLEGE,
VIII. THIRD FORM ORATORY,
IX. A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE,
X. A SCREW LOOSE IN THE SIXTH,
XI. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS,
XII. THE WRAXBY MATCH,
XIII. THE ELECTIONS,
XIV. A PASSAGE OF ARMS,

XV. THE READING-ROOM RIOT,
XVI. THE CIPHER LETTER,
XVII. DIGGORY READS THE CIPHER,
XVIII. A SECRET SOCIETY,
XIX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS,
XX. SOWING THE WIND,
XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND,
XXII. WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?
CHAPTER I.
A NEW BOY.
"What's your name?"
"Diggory Trevanock."
The whole class exploded.
"Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a
broad grin on his own face--"now, then, there's nothing to laugh
at.--Look here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"
Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his
class-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, and
immediately rattled out a semi-humorous reply to the master's
question,--
"D I G, dig; G O R Y, gory--Diggory: T R E, tre; VAN, van; O C K,
ock--Trevanock." Then turning round, he smiled complacently at the
occupants of the desks behind, as much as to say: "There, I've done all I
can to amuse you, and I hope you're satisfied."

This incident, one of the little pleasantries occasionally permitted by a
class master, and which, like a judge's jokes in court, are always
welcomed as a momentary relief from the depressing monotony of the
serious business in hand--this little incident, I say, happened in the
second class of a small preparatory school, situated on the outskirts of
the market town of Chatford, and intended, according to the wording of
a standing advertisement in the Denfordshire Chronicle, "for the sons
of gentlemen."
This establishment, which bore the somewhat suggestive name of "The
Birches," was owned and presided over by Mr. Welsby, who, with an
unmarried daughter, Miss Eleanor, acting as housekeeper, and his
nephew, Mr. Blake, performing the duties of assistant-master,
undertook the preliminary education of about a dozen juveniles whose
ages ranged between ten and fourteen.
On the previous evening, returning from the Christmas holidays,
exactly twelve had mustered round the big table in the dining-room; no
new faces had appeared, and Fred Acton, a big, strong youngster of
fourteen and a half, was undisputed cock of the walk.
The school was divided into two classes. The first, containing the five
elder scholars, went to sit at the feet of Mr. Welsby himself; while the
second remained behind in what was known as the schoolroom, and
received instruction from Mr. Blake.
It was while thus occupied on the first morning of the term that the
lower division were surprised by the sudden appearance of a new boy.
Miss Eleanor brought him into the room, and after a few moments'
whispered conversation with her cousin, smiled round the class and
then withdrew. Every one worshipped Miss Eleanor; but that's neither
here nor there. A moment later Mr. Blake put the question which stands
at the commencement of this chapter.
The new-comer's answer made a favourable impression on the minds of
his companions, and as soon as the morning's work was over, they set
about the task of mutual introduction in a far more friendly manner
than was customary on these occasions. He was a wiry little chap, with

bright eyes, for ever on the twinkle, and black hair pasted down upon
his head, so as not to show the slightest vestige of curl, while the sharp,
mischievous look on his face, and the quick, comical movements of his
body, suggested something between a terrier and a monkey.
There was never very much going on in the way of regular sports or
pastimes at The Birches; the smallness of numbers made it difficult to
attempt