Tom, Dick and Harry | Page 4

the darling of Mrs P. and
the young P.'s? Hector of the teeth, and the snarl, and the snap, the
incorruptible, the sleepless, the unforgiving?
What miscreant hero had dared perform this sacrilegious exploit?
"Perish Hector!" had been an immemorial war-cry at Plummer's; but
Hector had never yet perished. No one had been found daring enough
to bell the cat--that is, to shoot the dog. To what scoundrel was
Dangerfield College now indebted for this inestimable blessing?

Dead silence followed the doctor's announcement. Boys' faces were
studies as they stood there rent in twain by delight at the news and
horror at the inevitable doom of the culprit.
"I repeat," said the head master, "Hector was found this morning shot in
his kennel. Does any boy here know anything about it?"
Dead silence. The master's eyes passed rapidly along the forms, but
returned evidently baffled.
"I trust I am to understand by your silence that none of you know
anything about it. There is no doubt whatever that the guilty person will
be found. I do not say that his name is known yet. If he is in this
room,"--here he most unjustifiably fixed me with his eye--"he knows as
well as I do what will be the consequence to him. Now go to breakfast.
I shall have more to say about this matter presently."
If Dr Plummer had been anxious to save his tea and bread-and-butter
from too fierce an inroad he could hardly have selected a better method.
Dangerfield College was completely "off its feed" this morning. Indeed,
Ramsbottom, the usher, had almost to bully the victuals down the boys'
throats in order to get the meal over. The only boy who made any
pretence to an appetite was the Dux, who ate steadily, much to my
amazement, in the intervals of the conversation.
"It's a bit of a go, ain't it?" observed Dicky Brown, who, despite his
educational advantages, could never quite master the politest form of
his native tongue.
"Rather," said I--"awkward for somebody."
Then, as my eyes fell once more on Tempest, complacently cutting
another slice off the loaf, an idea occurred to me.
"You know, Dicky," said I, feeling that I was walking on thin ice, "I
almost fancied I heard a sound of a gun in the night."
Dicky laughed.

"Trust you for knowing all about a thing after it's happened. It would
have been a rum thing if you hadn't."
This was unfeeling of Dicky. I am sure I have never pretended to know
as much about anything as he did.
"Oh, but I really did--a shot, and a yell too," said I.
"Go it, you're getting on," said Dicky. "You can pile it up, Tom. Why
don't you say you saw me do it while you are about it?"
"Because I didn't."
"All I can say," said the Dux, buttering his bread liberally, "I'm
precious glad the beast is off the hooks. I always hated him. Which of
you kids did it?"
We both promptly replied that he was quite under a wrong impression.
We were pained by the very suggestion.
"All right," said he, laughing in his reckless way, and talking quite loud
enough for Plummer to hear him if he happened to come in, "you've
less to be proud of than I fancied. If you didn't do it, who did, eh?"
That was the question which was puzzling every one, except perhaps
myself, who was undergoing a most uncomfortable mental argument as
I slowly recalled the events of last night.
"Give it up; ask another," said Faulkner. "I'm precious glad I've not got
a pistol." Here the Dux coloured a little, and relapsed into silence. He
disliked Faulkner, and objected to his cutting into the conversation.
"One comfort," said I, endeavouring to change the topic: "we may get
off that brutal Latin exercise if Plummer takes on hard about this
affair."
"Poor old Hector!" said Dicky. "If that's so, we shall owe him one good
turn at least--eh, old Compound Proportion?"

This pointed allusion to my misfortunes disinclined me to hold further
conversation with Richard Brown, and the meal ended in general
silence.
As we trooped back to the schoolroom I overheard Faulkner say to
another of the seniors--
"I say, did you see the way Tempest flared up when I said that about
the pistol just now? Rather awkward for him, I fancy, if he's got one."
"What's the odds if he didn't shoot the dog?" was the philosophical
reply.
For all that, I had observed the Dux's confusion, and the sight of it
made me very uncomfortable on his account. Faulkner was right. It
would be precious awkward for any one who might be discovered to
possess a pistol. The fact that firearms were expressly forbidden at
Dangerfield College was