Tom, Dick and Harry | Page 5

his style all over--insult and injury hand in hand. He only practised it on fellows he really liked, too.
"I say, I can't," pleaded I. "Plummer will give it me hot if he catches me again. I've got it pretty bad as it is."
"I know you have; that's why I tell you to look sharp." It was no good arguing with Tempest. I knew he would risk his neck for me any day. That would be much less exertion to him than running upstairs. So I went.
The Dux's locker, I grieve to say, was a model of untidiness. Cricket flannels, eatables, letters, tooth-powders, books, and keepsakes were all huddled together in admired disorder to the full extent of the capacity of the box. The books being well in the rear of the heap, and time being precious, I availed myself of the rough-and-ready method of emptying out the entire contents at one fell swoop and extracting the particular object of my quest from the debris.
I had done so, and was proceeding to huddle up the other things into a compact block of a size to fit once more into the receptacle, when something fell from the pocket of one of the garments with a clatter to the floor. It was a pistol!
With a face as white and teeth as chattering as if I had seen a ghost, I instinctively pounced upon the tell-tale weapon, and whisked it, with a shudder, into my own pocket. Then, with decidedly impaired energy, I punched the bundle back into its place, slammed down the lid, and returned to the schoolroom just in time to regain my place before Dr Plummer made his entry.
"You'll give yourself heart-disease if you rush up and down stairs like that," said Tempest as I handed him the book. "You look fishier than ever."
"Latin grammar, juniors," announced the doctor. "Close books. Jones, stand up and decline gradus."
I declined, and fell. The excitements of the past six hours had demoralised me altogether. I could not remember who or what gradus was--whether it was an active noun or a feminine verb or a plural conjunction, or what. In vain the faithful Dicky prompted me from behind and Graham minor from the side. As they both prompted at the same time, and each suggested different things, I only floundered deeper. I felt myself smiling vacantly first at one, then at the other, then at the doctor. I moved one hand feebly behind me in token of my despairing gratitude to Dicky, and the other I laid convulsively on the collar of Graham's coat. It was all of no avail, and finally, when I had almost reached the stage of laughing aloud, my mother wit came to my rescue and I sat down.
This was the beginning of a tragedy of errors. With the ghost of Hector haunting us, none of us, except the Dux, who always kept his head, could do anything. The doctor's favours were lavishly and impartially distributed. Watkins, the "baby" of the class, made an ingenious calculation that if all the "lines" which were doled out as the result of that morning's work were to be extended in one unbroken length, they would reach exactly from Plummer's desk to the late Hector's kennel. Hector again! Every one's thoughts veered round to the unlucky quadruped and the storm that was brewing over his mangled remains.
Morning school passed, however, without any further official announcement on the subject. When class was dismissed half an hour earlier than usual, it was tacitly understood that this was in consequence of the obsequies of the late lamented, which were attended by the Plummer family and the errand boy, not indeed in crape, but amid every sign of mourning.
We young gentlemen were not invited. Had we been, it is doubtful whether the alacrity with which some of us would have obeyed the summons would have been altogether complimentary to the memory of the deceased.
As it was, we loafed about dismally, discussing the topic of the hour in corners, and wished the storm would break and be done with.
We had not long to wait!
CHAPTER TWO.
A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE.
As for me, I was very poor company for any one that afternoon 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