Kitabı oku: «King of Ranleigh: A School Story», sayfa 5

CHAPTER VI
CLIVE AND HIS FRIENDS TRIUMPHANT

That shout for help brought a scurrying crowd swooping over the frozen surface of the lake toward the spot where the ice had broken. It was taken up by more than a hundred. Small boys – kids, as Masters scoffingly designated them – gave voice to the call in high-pitched falsettos. Those of the senior school gave ear to the calls, and bore down upon the spot in silence. Canning – Masters' bête noire– threw away his cigarette and scuttled over the ice at a rate which was marvellous. But Clive was there first, and we speak the truth when we say that he was flabbergasted. Talk about a fellow being trained to be ready to meet any emergency! Clive was out of the running. He hadn't an idea. For at least twenty seconds he stared at Susanne's face, peeping out of the water, as if the sight robbed him of reason. And then his inventive brain set to work.

"Hold on to the edge of the ice," he bellowed. "There's a ladder back over there. We'll send for it. Look out, I'm coming."

Susanne nodded cheerfully. He had his arm round the waist of the lady who had been immersed, and grinned at Clive.

"Hurry up, then," he bellowed. "Don't mind myself, you know, but there's the lady."

What was Trendall doing? Clive saw him grip in frenzied fashion at the ice and slip off. He made another effort, and then stretched his arms over his head. Was he sinking? wondered Clive.

"Look out," he yelled, slipping to his knees and crawling toward the dark and jagged-edged hole. "Look out for Trendall."

Susanne cast his eye over his shoulder, hitched the elbow about the lady on the edge of the ice and gripped Trendall. He pushed him against the edge of the ice, and then finding his own grip slipping, he let go his hold.

"Hold tight there," he shouted.

"Hold to the ice," bellowed Clive, sliding nearer and now flat on his face. "Hold to the ice, Trendall. Get away from Susanne."

But Trendall was not only exhausted; he was in a panic. Slipping from the ice again, he touched Susanne's shoulder, and then gripped it. Out shot the other hand and fastened about him. The three – Trendall, Susanne, and the lady – bobbed down beneath the water.

"Let go! Let go, Trendall, you idiot!" shouted Clive, and then glanced over his shoulder. There was a ring of fellows round the gap in the ice, kept at a respectful distance by two of the prefects. Behind them again were some dozen of the seniors scudding away for the ladder for which Clive now shouted. Harvey was coming in Clive's wake, very cautiously, but not for fear of his own safety, while Rawlings stood irresolute, and when he saw that he was attracting attention, slunk to the rear of the gathering.

"Go quietly there, Darrell," Harvey called. "The ice is awfully rotten and will let you in if you're rash. I'll be as near as possible, and as soon as the ladder comes I'll push it right out to you. Ah! That chap Trendall will drown the lot of them. Leave go there, Trendall!" he shouted peremptorily.

But the fat and greasy senior who had toadied to Rawlings, and who had taken his part against Bert and Hugh and Clive, may be said at the moment to have been completely out of his element. Such a catastrophe as this was just the thing to test a fellow's courage, and Trendall did not shine at all. Susanne, on the contrary, might, but for the awkward turn events had now taken, have been merely enjoying a bath. But matters were too desperate for enjoyment. Trendall had firm hold of him, and though Susanne made a valiant effort, the hulking senior was dragging him down and the lady also. It was then that Clive acted. The crowd gathered behind first held their breath and then cheered him. In his enthusiasm Masters dashed forward, and throwing himself on his face wriggled towards him; while Hugh skated over the ice reckless of the consequences, till a stern command from Mr. Canning caused both to halt. For Clive had plunged forward.

"Look out, Susanne!" he called. "I'm coming in to help. You hand the lady over to me and then tackle Trendall. The fellow's gone stark, staring mad."

Wriggling his way rapidly forward he was near the broken edge within a few seconds, when, as was to be expected, the ice broke with a soft, grating sound, letting him into the freezing water. And it was high time that someone came to Susanne's help, for that young fellow had more to fight against than he had strength for. He struck savagely at Trendall, but without result. He was dragged under by the combined weight of the lady and the lout who had now seized him. Clive even noticed that his face had gone a purply red colour, while when he came to the surface Susanne gasped for breath frantically, showing how immersion was telling upon him.

"Hand over the lady. Beat that cad off," bellowed Clive, striking out for the trio. "Now Susanne, hand over."

Fellows would have laughed at Clive at any other time, for it was ludicrous to see one of his small stature grasping the waist of a lady decidedly bigger than he. But the event was too serious. Also there was so much movement. For there were others bent on rescue. Harvey was there, and with one glance over his shoulder, and a caution to the prefects to keep the crowd back, he floundered across the ice and broke his way into the dark fluid in which the four were now floating.

"Push that ladder out quick," he shouted, as he sank into the water. "Send young Seymour and Masters forward. They can both swim and are light weights. Ah! Sturton, get together one or two of the senior fellows, and if things get worse come in in a body."

Then he left the edge of the ice and struck out. As for Sturton, if Harvey had not already gone to the rescue, he would have done so most certainly. But as we have said before, he could be counted on always to back up his senior loyally. He swung round on the crowd of boys instantly.

"Newman, you'll do," he said, beckoning a stoutly built fellow to him. "Collins Primus too. There's Jimmy Pritchard. Coming, eh?"

"Rather. Ready for anything," was the quick answer as the young men selected skated forward.

"Then Gaspard also. He's a swimmer, and you, Rawlings."

All came to the front. All? No. Rawlings seemed to be deaf. Sturton had recognised him standing at the back of the crowd, and at the summons Rawlings had sidled away. In the distance, coming towards him at a fast pace, he espied a group of fellows bearing the ladder for which Clive had shouted. In a second he seized upon the opportunity and turned away. But Sturton knew his man, and summoned him again in a voice there was no denying.

"Rawlings," he called. "I shouted for you. You're either deaf and did not hear, or – coming?"

There was no way out of it. The lordly youth who had made matters so disagreeable both at home and at the school for Clive and his friends turned with as good a grace as he could summon, and pushed his way through the crowd.

"Did you call?" he asked lamely.

"Did he call?" echoed one of the prefects satirically, a chum of Sturton's, one, too, who had taken Rawlings' measure long ago. "Every man in the school heard your name."

"But you," interjected Barrold, a puny Sixth Form fellow, who made up for lack of inches by inordinate go and good spirits.

"Perhaps he didn't though," broke in Bagshaw, the scribe of Ranleigh, the scholar who was most often to be seen arm in arm with Harvey. Everyone knew that Bagshaw was the prince of good fellows, always anxious to save a row. They knew, too, that footer and cricket and swimming were forbidden to him. And yet Bagshaw pushed himself forward.

"Here, Sturton," he said brusquely, "let me come. I'm always put in the background. Rawlings is a strong chap and can help to manage the ladder."

And thus the incident was passed over. In the heat and excitement of the moment, too, there was every opportunity for fellows to forget it. Few, indeed, had overheard the satirical words uttered by Barrold and the other prefect. Still fewer had noticed the flush which came to Rawlings' face to hide the pallor with which it had been covered a moment before. And none were witness of the mutterings he gave vent to as he turned to meet the bearers of the ladder. But Sturton knew, the delicate Bagshaw also, that Rawlings had funked. Hugh Seymour learned of it, too, on the morrow.

Meanwhile, all eyes were fixed on the figures struggling in the water. Clive had relieved Susanne of his burden, and clung with his free hand to the ice. As to the jovial Susanne, things were going hard with him. Had he been called upon some three minutes earlier to free himself of the fellow clinging like a limpet to him, he would doubtless have succeeded, though not with ease, for the arms and grip of a drowning man are not quickly to be thrown off. But the young chap had been pulled beneath the surface of the water so often that he was already exhausted. Trendall still clung firmly to him. Even Clive could make no impression on those clawing hands, though he made an attempt to do so, hooking his elbow on the ice as Susanne had done. He was feeling desperate indeed, in his helplessness; for Susanne was more often under the water than above it.

"Supposing he gets under the ice! That chap's drowning him. Hi! Help!" he bellowed.

And then Harvey came into view. The Captain of the School cleft the ice debris and the water with lusty strokes, and was soon close to Susanne. He tugged, too, at those encircling arms, but they defied him. Then, while the crowd watching held their breath, he lifted one arm, doubled his fist, and brought it crash down on the head of Trendall. And that had the desired effect. The grip slackened. The two drowning lads separated. A second or so later there was a loud splash near at hand, and Sturton plunged into the icy water.

"Saw you'd more than you could manage, old chap," he said curtly to Harvey. "So came along to help. You fix that chap Trendall. I'll manage Feofé. Well done, Darrell! One South's looking up, eh? How's the lady?"

"Insensible, I think. She's very heavy. But I can manage. Ah! I'm awfully glad you've got him."

Sturton had gripped Susanne by then, and now had his head clear of the water. The big head of the Frenchman, with its dripping, tousled mat of hair, lay on his shoulder. The face was deadly pale, as pale as that of the lady he had been supporting, as white and blanched as that even of Rawlings as he heard Sturton's summons. His eyes were tightly closed. The cheeks seemed to have fallen in. A frightful feeling of despair assailed Clive Darrell. At that instant he seemed to be able for the first time to measure his friendship for Susanne.

"Hooray for Ranleigh! Hold on to them, you chaps! Well done, Darrell! Three cheers for Harvey and Sturton!"

The crowd went frantic and delirious with delight at the dash and success of their comrades. Now that Harvey and Sturton had gone to help, not one but deemed the rescue certain, if not quite complete. The boys yelled themselves hoarse. Some danced on their skates with excitement. Mr. Canning alone seemed to retain his self-possession. Dodging from side to side all this while, anxiously watching what was passing, he had long ago slipped off coat and waistcoat. Perhaps he was fifty years of age. At any rate, his hair was white at the temples, and from the point of view of the fellows at Ranleigh that stamped him as an old man. But he was active enough, though not so much so as Harvey. Still, he was ready himself to plunge to the rescue should more help be needed, and for the moment he kept the boys back, and kept his head, which was, after all, a more important undertaking.

"Ah! There's the ladder," he exclaimed in tones of relief, as Rawlings and a number of others appeared. "Hand it to me. That's right, slide it flat over the surface. Now, keep that crowd well back. Well done, young Seymour! Hullo, that you, Masters?"

This latter individual gave his form master a curt nod. There was no rudeness meant. Only Masters was intensely excited, intensely eager to see his chum Clive in safety. He answered Mr. Canning just as he would have answered any other fellow at the moment.

"Gently does it. I'm too big a weight to go too far forward. Seymour, you're light enough. If the ice gives and lets you in I'll come after you. Now, on we go. As quick as we can."

Hugh made up his mind how to act in a moment. He stepped on to the rungs of the ladder, lay flat down on it as if it were a sledge, and then called back to Masters and to Mr. Canning.

"Push her along," he said, unwinding the long scarf he had wrapped round his neck. "The ice is cracking a little, but I think it'll bear. Farther. A little farther."

Thrusting the ladder before them, the two behind soon had the satisfaction of seeing Hugh within reach almost of Clive. Then there was an ominous cracking. The surface of the ice sank beneath Hugh and was swamped with water. A moment or two later it gave way, letting him into the lake. Then a coil of rope swished across Masters' shoulder, tossed by a keeper who had suddenly come upon the scene.

"Shunt the ladder round to the far side, sir," he called. "There's a spring over here, and that makes the ice rotten. Shunt it round, then tie the rope and go ahead. You'll have to be quick. Them chaps is more'n half frozen."

Clive felt numbed through already. He could see Harvey's lips shivering, and his teeth chattering. Sturton, too, looked blue, while Hugh, who had swum over to join him, looked pinched and desperately cold. Anxiously they watched as Masters tied the rope to the end of the ladder, and then with Mr. Canning's help changed its position. Once more it was thrust forward, this time with Masters flat upon the narrow end.

"Heave!" shouted the keeper. Masters took the coil and sent it twirling over the group in the water. Harvey caught it.

"Here," he gasped, nodding to Clive. "Take it. Seymour'll help you with the lady."

They made a turn round her waist, and then as Masters drew upon the rope they pushed and helped the body of the unconscious lady on to the ice. A terrific cheer greeted this successful operation. Masters drew the lady toward him, swiftly threw off the rope and tossed it back to his comrades, and then backed with his burden.

"Well done! Well done, indeed!" cried Mr. Canning. "Here, Bagshaw and some of you others, carry her away to safety. Ah, they're sending Feofé next."

The ungainly form of the gallant Susanne was slowly hoisted on to the ice and dragged towards the crowd. Bert was the first to make his way to the front to receive him, and once with Bagshaw's help having carried him to the rear of the crowd, he set about reviving him in a manner quite scientific. He rolled and squeezed Susanne till one might have accused him of positive roughness. He worked till his breath came in gasps, and until another of the fellows came in to assist him.

Meanwhile, there remained in the water Trendall and four others, and soon enough the former was sent to safety.

"Now," said Harvey, when the rope came swishing over them again, "Darrell." But Clive showed no keenness.

"Quick!" commanded Harvey. "Off you go."

"Please," began Clive, for to argue with the great Harvey seemed a sacrilege – "please, Harvey – "

"Eh? What on earth's the matter with the kid?" demanded that latter. "Look here, we're all of us jolly well frozen. I am, at any rate. Ranleigh don't want to have to record a death on this occasion. So out you go."

But again Clive objected. "Oh, I say, Harvey, please – " he began. "I – you know – "

Harvey scowled. The pleasant-faced captain of the school actually scowled. Had he been on terra firma and this Darrell dared to disobey his glance even, Harvey would have booted him.

"Yes, I'd boot the little beggar," he said angrily, for he was still fearful of what might happen. But Sturton knew his man to a T. He leaned over, all dripping as he was, and whispered to Harvey.

"Leave the kid," he said. "He was first here, and he makes it a sort of point of honour. Leave the kid, Harvey."

Thereat the Captain grunted. He looked closely at Clive, and then motioned to Sturton.

"You go, then," he said. "But you'll explain. It's the place of the captain of anything, whether ship or school, to go last out of danger. But, dash it, this kid's worth making an exception for. Heave up, Sturton. I'm keen to get out of this water."

And that was how it happened that Clive left the hole in the ice last. The cheers which greeted the coming of each one of them were thunderous. They even brought a chilly blush to Clive's cheeks. But he was given very little time in which to listen.

"Get off back to the school," commanded Sturton. "Here, you Hugh Seymour and Darrell, cut quick. Report to the matron when you're back. Run all the way. I'll boot you if you don't. Do you hear? Skip, then."

"And ask Mrs. Tyndal to have hot bottles and blankets ready," shouted Mr. Canning, who was bustling from Feofé to Trendall, and back to the still unconscious lady. "We'll get some sort of conveyance and send them up. Now, you boys, strip off your skates and help to carry our patients."

Thanks to the fact that the Headmaster of Ranleigh was an enlightened individual and believed in teaching his scholars other things than merely Greek, Latin, and Mathematics, there were numbers of the fellows who, like Bert, had more than a smattering of the art of First-Aid. Still, the surface of a frozen lake is not the best of places on which to revive semi-drowned individuals. And then, unconsciousness in all three cases was due perhaps in great degree to cold and exposure. There were not wanting willing hands to carry Susanne, the lady, and Trendall to the big house adjacent to the lake, where hot baths administered by the housekeeper and her attendants soon helped matters wonderfully. But it was late in the evening before Mr. Canning set out with two blanketed figures. By then Clive and Hugh had put in an appearance, glowing from head to foot after their sharp run up to the school. Sturton and Harvey were not long in following, and by tea time a hot bath had made the glow about their bodies permanent. They descended to the Hall in a body, the school being already assembled, and we record only the truth when we say that their appearance was the signal for an outburst of enthusiasm entirely unprecedented. Never before had Ranleigh been so stirred. Never before had there been an event quite so exciting. Ranleigh was known far and wide for the strength of its lungs, for the liberality and genuineness of its applause. But now the school went mad. Defying fines, boys stood on the tables and cheered as Clive and Hugh and Sturton and Harvey went to their places. The fellows cheered themselves hoarse, and called for speeches. Then the sudden appearance of the Headmaster put a damper for the moment on their enthusiasm.

Let us more fully describe the one who held in his hands the administration of Ranleigh. Not tall, as we have said already, not perhaps very striking in appearance, Dr. Layman yet attracted and held the interest and sympathy of any body of people he cared to address. Clean-shaven, save for a pair of whiskers, grey-headed, he presented a face which was the essence of kindness. A pair of twinkling eyes were wont to look down upon the school, whether from his seat in Chapel, or from the dais in Hall. Austere some would have called him, those who looked but once at his face. A jolly, rollicking fellow the boys knew him to be, save when there was occasion for severity. And now he stood of a sudden before them. Did he notice those who, contrary to all regulations, contrary, indeed, to all precedent, had mounted the tables in their enthusiasm? If he did, he showed no sign of having done so, while they slunk back to a more decorous position.

"Boys," he began, shutting his eyes as was his wont when addressing an audience, "boys of Ranleigh, to-day I am a proud man."

They made the old Hall ring with their cheers and shouts. Evans Tertius even, the smallest of all there, raised a shrill voice to swell the cheering of his comrades. And then silence fell again, a silence that was trying.

"Boys of Ranleigh, I feel that I have reason to be proud of this school to-day. For some of your comrades have behaved with heroism, while all have shown coolness in time of danger. I need mention no names. Those who have done best of all are well known to you. I congratulate them, and I congratulate the school on having them amongst us. That is all. Trendall and Feofé and the lady are now recovered, I am glad to say. Boys, there will be no preparation this evening."

Yes, Ranleigh cheered again. The boys shouted themselves hoarse, even when the Doctor had left them. And then, Nature asserting herself, they sat down to discuss the meal, for appetites were keen after the skating. We can believe, too, that the affair was discussed threadbare before evening was ended, while glances turned frequently towards Clive and the others. Some, too, were turned in Rawlings' direction.

"The fellow funked," said Barford deliberately.

"No," corrected Bagshaw politely. "Look here, Barford, don't say that. I'm not too fond of Rawlings, I own. But if the school got to think a thing like that he'd never have another decent minute. Let him have the benefit of the doubt. The thing'll be a lesson to him."

As for Masters, delighted with the ending of such an adventure, and forgetful for the moment of his ill luck when at dinner, he sat down after tea with that wonderful pen of Clive's invention and began upon the task which Mr. Canning had set him.

"Beastly cad," he told himself, but with far less bitterness than on that same afternoon. "But he bucked up awfully well to-day. You could see he was ready to go in and help the others. All the same, what's he want to give me such an impot for? Beast, I call him."

"Oh, hullo," called a voice at the doorway. "That you, Masters?"

The owner of the name admitted the fact with reddened face. "Yes, sir," he said lamely.

"Writing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Home?"

"No, sir."

"Or doing impots?"

Mr. Canning grinned. It was like the cad, thought Masters for a moment. Then, catching something out of the usual in the master's smile, he permitted himself to smile back in return.

"Impots, sir," he said.

"Ah! There's a time and a place for everything, eh, Masters?"

What could the young fellow do but grin? Mr. Canning looked absolutely genial. Now that Masters came to look at him more closely and less severely he was bound to admit that he wasn't a bad sort of fellow.

"Though beastly fond of giving impots," he thought.

"Doing it now, sir," he said.

"But there's no prep.," suggested Mr. Canning.

"Impots aren't prep., sir," came the answer.

"No, but there's a time and a place for everything, and to-night's the time for enjoyment. Leave that impot, boy. I'll take it as presented."

He was gone in a moment, leaving Masters with a very red face indeed. "Well, I'm jiggered!" that young hopeful exclaimed, when at length he had recovered his balance. "I say, Seymour, Canning isn't a bad sort, is he? Did rather well to-day, eh? Not half a bad fellow. Think I shall patronise him in the future."

The climax of all came when they were ranged in order for Chapel. The great Harvey, smiling and serene as ever, passed down the lines of boys, and happened to hit on Masters.

"Hullo," he called. "I say, Masters, thanks."

The words almost caused another paroxysm of cheering. Masters went the colour of a beetroot.

"And, by the way," added Harvey, "about that ink stain. Expect it was an accident. I'll see the right people. Half a crown's too big a fine. Supposing we forget it?"