Tom, Dick and Harry | Page 6

of
Hector's funeral. Something was burning a hole in my pocket, and I felt
myself in a most uncomfortable fix.
"It's all up with old Dux," said I to myself, "if it's found out. But

suppose it's found on me? Still more precious awkward. I'd either have
to lump it or let out. Don't see much fun in either myself. Seems to me
the sooner I get rid of the beastly thing the better. Fancy his letting it lie
about in his locker! He'd give me a hiding for interfering, I know, if he
only knew. But I wouldn't for anything he got lagged. Old Dux is one
of those chaps that has to be backed up against himself. Sha'n't be my
fault if he isn't."
The reader will have judged by this time that I belonged to the species
prig in my youthful days. Let that pass; I was not a unique specimen.
Full of my noble resolve of saving the Dux from himself, I went out to
take the air, and strolled aimlessly in the direction of the pond. A
professional burglar could not have ordered his footsteps more
circumspectly. I perambulated the pool, whistling a cheerful tune, and
looking attentively at the rooks overhead. Not a soul was in sight. I
began to throw stones into the water, small to begin with, then larger,
then bits of stick about six inches long. Then I smuggled the unlucky
pistol out of my pocket in my handkerchief, and whistled still more
cheerfully. Although no one was looking, it seemed prudent to adopt an
air of general boredom, as if I was tired of throwing sticks into the
pond. I would only throw one more. Even that was a fag, but I would
do it.
What a plump, noisy splash it made, sending out circles far and near,
and gurgling in a sickening way as it sank in a very unsticklike fashion
to the bottom.
My whistling ceased, my air of dejection increased. I must be
unsociable no longer. Let me rejoin my dear schoolfellows, making a
little detour in order to appear to reach them from the direction not of
the pond but of the orchard.
I was sheering off by the lower end of the pond, when, to my horror, I
perceived a boy groping on the grass on all fours, apparently digging
up the ground with a trowel.
On closer inspection I found that it was Dicky.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said he, as I came upon him. "Have you done
chucking things into the pond?"
"Why," said I, taken aback; "why, Dicky, what on earth are you up to?"
"Never mind--an experiment, that's all. I'm glad it's only you. I was
afraid it was some one else. You must be jolly hard up for a bit of fun
to come and chuck things into the pond."
"Oh!" said I, with tell-tale embarrassment, "I just strolled down for the
walk. I didn't know you'd taken to gardening."
"There goes the bell," said Dicky. "Cut up. I'll be there as soon as you."
I obeyed, mystified and uncomfortable. Suppose Dicky had seen the
pistol! I found the fellows hanging about the school door waiting to go
in.
"Been to the funeral, kid?" said the Dux, as I approached. I wished he
would speak more quietly on such dangerous topics when Plummer
was within earshot.
"No, I've been a stroll," said I. "It's rather hot walking."
"I guess it will be hotter before long," said some one. "Plummer looks
as if he means to have it out this afternoon."
"I hope he won't go asking any awkward questions," said Dicky, who
had by this time joined us.
"What's the odds, if you didn't do it?" demanded the Dux.
"Look out," said Faulkner; "here he comes. He's beckoning us in."
"Now we're in for it!" thought we all.
Plummer evidently meant business this time. The melancholy
ceremony at which he had just assisted had kindled the fires within him,
and he sat at his desk glowering as each boy dropped into his place,

with the air of a wolf selecting his victim.
As I encountered that awful eye, I found myself secretly wondering
whether by any chance I might have shot the dog in a fit of absence of
mind. Brown, I think, was troubled by a similar misgiving. Some of the
seniors evidently resented the way in which the head master glared at
them, and tried to glare back. Faulkner assumed an air of real affliction,
presumably for the departed. Tempest, on the other hand, drummed his
fingers indifferently on the desk, and looked more than usually bored
by the whole business.
"Now, boys," began Plummer, in the short sharp tones he used to affect
when he was wont to administer