Kitabı oku: «King of Ranleigh: A School Story», sayfa 7

CHAPTER VIII
BREAKING BOUNDS

Never before did a distinguished party of strangers come to the ancient town of Guildford more jubilant. Heads were craned over the side of the car which the ruffian Higgins had provided, staring eyes looked in all directions, but mainly skyward.

"Perhaps we'll see 'em flying," suggested Clive breathlessly, for his mechanical mind was stirred to the highest pitch by the thought of seeing men launched into the air.

"Hold hard!" shouted Masters, whose quick eye had lighted on something decidedly alluring, and who was ever alert to make the very utmost of the smallest opportunity. "Hold hard!" he almost shouted as the car crawled jerkily along the high street and past a pastry-cook's window, in which were displayed a tempting mass of tarts and cakes. It was like this greedy fellow. When food was about, when it happened to be anywhere within sight or scent, he had not a soul above eating. What mattered it if there were an aeroplane meeting? What did he care if men were to fly? Food was food, and Masters had always a healthy hunger.

"You chaps," he began, "here's our chance. If we miss it, ten to one we'll be hanging about without so much as a crumb, and I'm jolly empty."

"But – but, Susanne's friend is going to stand a feed," Hugh reminded them. "Don't forget that."

Masters pooh-poohed the suggestion, though on the previous day he had waxed indignant at the thought that such a treat could not be in store. He had called Susanne a sneak. Now, with those alluring cakes within his ken, he chose to forget what had happened. Also there was such a thing as remembering the saying, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." Masters had coins in his pocket, thanks again to Susanne, and, as we have said, he had a perennial appetite.

"Blow Susanne's feed!" he declared. "If it comes off, all the better. I for one'll be ready. But I'm famishing now. So stop her."

The band descended straightway, and without much need for further persuasion. When they mounted the car again sundry well-filled bags accompanied them. Then on to the field. Crowds were making their way thither on foot, others in motors and traps. Outside the gates there was a seething mass of people, through whom Higgins drove the car at reckless speed. And then the gates opened. They were passed in after a nod and a few words between Higgins and the gatekeeper.

"Look out! Duck!" whispered Bert, suddenly, in hoarse tones of alarm. "Bothered if that isn't Old B. Duck, I tell you."

With one accord the car load bent their heads till it appeared as if one and all were engaged with their boot laces. Clive glanced askance into the crowd, and there beheld the tall, bulky form of Mr. Branson, his dormitory master. The sight of that tall, genial giant set him quaking. Not that Mr. Branson was at all of the fierce order. Rather, he was an easy-going fellow, who had as perfect an understanding of boys as ever master had. But he could be roused to anger – anger which as a rule resulted in the bestowal of a cuff, for Mr. Branson took the law into his own hands as a rule, and did not favour sending boys to the Headmaster with one of those short, explanatory notes which resulted in a caning. No, Old B. was a good, slow, well-meaning giant whom all adored, and none more so than Clive. But he feared him also.

"Old B.," he murmured. "Old B. right enough, and looking this way."

"Seen us?" asked Bert desperately.

"Never!" declared Masters. "He's too sleepy for that."

"Then he's spotted the car," suggested Susanne. "He'd know it, as he and others of the masters use it at times. What's he doing?"

"Gone off into the crowd. Looked awfully hard at this car," said Clive, suppressing a shiver. "Smiled, that tired sort of smile of his, and then cut off in the opposite direction."

The statement brought all heads to their normal elevation again, while questioning glances were cast first at the crowd, now left behind, and then at one another.

"What did Old B. mean by that, then?" asked Bert, after a painful pause. "Stared awfully hard, and then sloped off."

"As if to avoid us. As if he guessed there were Ranleigh boys in the car and didn't want to spot 'em," suggested Clive.

"Good Old B.! Just like him," cried Masters, regaining his composure, for the sudden information that Mr. Branson was in the neighbourhood and eyeing them had thrown him into a flutter.

"More impots," he had groaned inwardly. "More drills, and a whacking as a matter of course. Ranleigh's an awful place for a fellow to be sent to. Tyrants, the whole lot of 'em!"

"In any case, he's here, and means to watch the flying. A beastly nuisance," reflected Susanne. "Of course, we shall have to keep our eyes open. But I know a dodge to beat him. I'll look out for Levallois, and if he's here, why, he'll invite us to his hangar. Old B.'ll never dare to enter."

Thus relieved for the time being of their fears the party tumbled out of the car, and having agreed with Higgins to meet him precisely two and a half hours later, struck across the huge field in which the meeting was taking place toward the half-dozen hangars in which the flying machines were housed.

"That's Levallois'," said Susanne, pointing to one over which the flag of France flew. "I'll cross direct."

"But – but you can't," Bert told him, for Bert was one of those youths who somewhat lack assurance. He had a huge respect for authority and order. He often envied Masters his cheek, and Clive and Hugh the dash and persistence which carried them through difficulties. "You can't, Susanne. The place is roped off, and there are scores of police."

"Can't! You wait," laughed the Frenchman. "See that bobby. Looks a good chap, eh? See me get round him."

They allowed the voluble Frenchman to go ahead of them a few paces, as if he were not attached to the party, and watched with breathless interest as he nonchalantly ducked under the ropes which kept the crowd back. Susanne, his monocle in position, strolled away across the enclosure.

"Hi! You stand back there!" came the summons from the nearest constable. "Get out of the enclosure, please."

Susanne might have been deaf. It was not until the officer of the law actually had his hand upon his shoulder that the young fellow showed the smallest attention to his order. And then, in the inimitable style of Feofé, a style somewhat spoiled by the jeers and laughter of his schoolfellows, but nevertheless a style which was part and parcel of the young fellow, Susanne raised his hat and swept it from his head. In wonder and amazement his comrades heard him addressing the constable in French, speaking volubly, waving his arms, pointing to the hangars opposite. And then he dived into a waistcoat pocket and produced a card.

"What's this?" demanded the constable, a young man, evidently puzzled. "Can't read it. You're French, eh?"

Susanne nodded energetically. He beckoned to Masters, and at the signal that young fellow dived beneath the rope and ran to join him. At once Susanne fired off a string of words, totally unintelligible to the constable, and mostly so to Masters, who was no great French scholar. But he knew what Susanne wanted, and knew also what he and his friends required. Also Masters was just the youth to carry a matter like this through in splendid style. He had cheek enough for a dozen.

"It's like this, don't you see, constable," he said, smiling sweetly at the officer. "Monsieur Feofé – that's French, you know – Monsieur Feofé comes from France, where all the flying's done, and Monsieur Levallois's one of the flyers. That's his shed over there, with the French flag over it. Well, of course, Monsieur Levallois expects Monsieur Feofé and his friends. We've come here to see him. He wants us over at his place, you see. I'm sorry you can't understand Monsieur Feofé. But that's the worst of these fellows who can't speak English."

An older constable might even have been taken in, though to be sure he might have noticed the half-suppressed grins on the faces of the party of young fellows stationed by the ropes. Also he would certainly have been surprised at the youth of these visitors. But he was a young man, on duty almost for the first time, and somewhat confused.

"I've got my orders, strict," he began.

"Of course, of course!" interjected Masters hurriedly. "Of course, constable, orders to keep the crowd back. Quite right for you to obey 'em. But we're not the crowd. You see, Monsieur Feofé's a swell sort of fellow. It'd be rude to refuse to pass him and his friends through. He wouldn't understand it. Monsieur Levallois would be furious, and I dare say the inspector in charge of the police'd get a wiggin'. So it'll be all right, see?"

That young constable wasn't by any means too sure. But Susanne's apparent ignorance of English, his obvious impatience at this delay, his embarrassing politeness, for he continued to sweep his hat from his head on occasion, while firing off a long string of unintelligible words at Masters, all had their effect. The man wavered.

"My orders is to pass no one – " he began again.

"Come on, you chaps," sang out Masters, whose cheek was tremendous. "The constable understands. We'd best hurry, for Monsieur Levallois is waiting. Thanks, constable. If there's any trouble refer the inspector to me. Sorry to have bothered you."

The arm of the law passed them through, reluctantly and doubtfully. It was as much as Hugh and Clive could do to suppress their mirth till out of hearing of the policeman, and Susanne's behaviour made the task even more difficult. For that young fellow heartily enjoyed every item in this manœuvre. He bowed low to the constable, covering that unhappy and uncomfortable young fellow with blushes. He swept his hat from his head for perhaps the twentieth time, and rattled off his thanks in French. And then, following sedately across the field, he looked about him with inimitable coolness, and turned to survey the gathering crowds through his monocle, which was still screwed into his eye.

"Of all the cheek!" gasped Bert, to whom such an adventure was a revelation. "Come on, Susanne. Old B.'ll spot you the instant his eyes fall on you. Do stop fooling and come along!"

"Grand!" declared Clive, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. "That bobby was finely flustered. But, I say, supposing Levallois won't have anything to say to us. I've heard that lots of these flying fellows get pestered with people in their hangars and throw them all out. Supposing Levallois don't want us."

"Supposing he ain't there," grinned Hugh, bringing up another difficulty.

The suggestions caused the little band to close in as if for mutual protection.

"Well?" asked Bert desperately. "Supposing Levallois isn't over there, or don't want us?"

Susanne's serenity was undisturbed.

"There's some sort of a Frenchman, anyway," he observed. "He'll be glad to see me in any case. Of course, if he don't want you fellows, it'll be awkward – for you."

He grinned openly at them till Masters could have struck him. It was perhaps just as well that a stop was put to the argument at that moment by the wheeling out of an aeroplane from one of the hangars. That set the party hurrying till they arrived at the line of sheds. Here there was much movement. Officials came and went, more than one eyeing the boys with evident suspicion. An important-looking inspector of police was posted adjacent to the very hangar over which the French flag flew, and promptly pounced upon them.

"What's this?" he asked severely. "No one but gentlemen flying, their mechanics and managers are allowed here. What fool's broken orders by passing you in?"

But again Susanne and Masters saved the situation, the one by his embarrassing politeness and his volubility, the other by his specious explanation.

"Oh, Levallois, that's the French gentleman's name, is it?" asked the inspector, mollified, but not entirely convinced. "Well, if he says that he's asked you here, suppose you must stay. But none of the other flying gents are having friends, least of all youngsters. Still, we don't want to be rough on a foreigner. He might not understand. Here, sir," he called, putting his head into the hangar over which the French flag flew, "here's a parcel of young gents come to see you; and some of them's out for a lark, I'll bet."

A smile stole across his face. Masters' get-up was perfectly ludicrous. As to his fellows, not one but wore his obvious youth in awkward manner, save and excepting Susanne. The composure of that young fellow was wonderful. He stepped into the hangar, leaving his comrades outside to listen in trepidation to his conversation with its invisible owner. It was with a sigh of relief that they saw him appear at the door and beckon.

"It isn't Levallois, after all," he grinned, "but Dubonnet. But it's all right and square, Monsieur Dubonnet's a sportsman. Come into the place and feed. He's going to have a meal now, for the wind's too high as yet for flying."

Masters' eyes were wide open with amazement. Bert could hardly believe his ears. As for Hugh and Clive they were bubbling over with excitement. Nor were they intensely astonished. The latter, at any rate, had seen so much of Susanne as to convince him that what that young fellow took in hand he accomplished. For Feofé had that happy knack of winning friendship, a knack which it behoves all to acquire. Also he was far more at his ease with his elders than any of the others. It seemed almost natural, therefore, to Clive that he should have brought about this introduction. Clive bobbed to the young fellow whom Susanne presented, and then, forgetting all else, stepped up to the aeroplane and began with Hugh's help a close and critical examination. Then a call from the smiling owner sent the two of them to the far corner where a board table was erected, with a ham and a joint of beef upon it, together with other items.

"Help yourselves, gentlemen," said Monsieur Dubonnet. "Accident has given me friends to-day, and I needed them. Now, let's get the meal started and then tell me how you managed this business. I suppose you're from Ranleigh?"

"Yes," admitted Masters, his mouth already half filled with ham, his eyes protruding at the directness of the question.

"Know it?" asked Clive.

"Rather! There myself, you see. Breaking bounds, eh? Well, I don't blame you. But, by the way, I'm expecting one of the masters. My old dormitory master, you know – Old B. Know him? Of course you do."

The bombshell produced an impressive and painful silence. Masters looked desperately across at the door. Even Susanne reddened, and then Monsieur Dubonnet relieved the tension by laughing uproariously.

"Had you all badly," he grinned. "All the same, Old B.'ll be paying me a visit. But we'll make that right. There's a place screened off at the back of the hangar and you can get cover there. I'll post one of you fellows to watch at the door."

And so for the following hour they took it in turn to watch. The meal finished, Clive and Hugh plied Monsieur Dubonnet with questions – questions, too, of such an intelligent nature that they aroused his interest. Indeed, the enthusiasm of these young fellows gained for them an invitation to try a flight.

"You'll like it awfully," declared Monsieur Dubonnet. "Of course, one feels scared at first, but that's natural. Accidents do happen at times, I know, but I don't think you need be fearful."

It was with beating hearts that our two young friends, half an hour later, smuggled themselves into the cab mounted on the machine. Two mechanics appeared and wheeled it from the shed, while Susanne and the others kept carefully in the background.

"See you later," sang out Bert.

"Alive or dead," grinned Masters, who was envying Hugh and Clive greatly. "Think of me, Darrell, when you're falling."

But no amount of chaff had any effect on our two amateur flyers. The starting of the engine brought the red to their cheeks. The rush of air over their heads sent their pulses dancing. The roar of the exhaust passed almost unnoticed as the machine started forward. And then up they went, swooping over the heads of the people gathered to watch the flying. We need not record here their impressions. Suffice it to say that a very proud and gratified couple at length descended from the machine and joined their comrades.

"Time to be off," Masters reminded them. "Higgins'll be wondering what's happened. And besides, if we don't move soon we shall be late for call-over."

Taking care to view their surroundings before issuing from the hangar, and having volubly thanked the great Dubonnet for his kindness, the little party made their way across the enclosure, under the ropes, and so to the spot where the car was to await them. There was no Higgins there on their arrival, but a search discovered him in an adjacent booth where refreshments were provided.

"Looks as if he'd had his full share too," Hugh whispered to Clive. "Suppose he can drive?"

"Hope so," was the laconic answer, though there was doubt in the tones. For Higgins had been refreshing himself with a vengeance. He was none too steady as he issued from the booth and leered at his passengers. However, there was no doing anything in the matter.

"The beast!" growled Bert in tones of disgust. "I've always disliked Higgins, and I hate him now. If it hadn't been for the fact that he could get the use of the car and so make it possible for us to come to this meeting, I'd never have consented. The brute's drunk."

"No, not quite," corrected Susanne. "But the drive home'll be exciting."

It proved to be filled to repletion with excitement, for Higgins scooped through the town of Guildford as if police did not exist and pedestrians had no right to the pavements. His course was followed by howls of rage from passers-by, to all of which he paid no notice. He sent the car whizzing out into the country, and dashed along the high-road at giddy speed, while Clive and his fellows clung to their seats as best they could.

"Settling down nicely to it," reflected Susanne, after a while, for it took a great deal to shake the coolness of the French youth. Indeed, he seemed rather to have enjoyed the recklessness of the driver. "He don't steer into the footpath quite so often, and he isn't going so fast. In another twenty minutes we ought to be back near the common."

"And mighty glad I'll be too," admitted Bert. "Of all the brutes, this Higgins is the biggest. But he does seem to be settling down. No, he doesn't. He's putting on the pace again."

"Racing," ejaculated Masters, as if the admission pained him. "Look, there's a car ahead and Higgins means to pass it."

Perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead they could see the back of another car, one, too, with which the boys of Ranleigh were familiar. For they knew it to be one of the three which plied for hire in the neighbourhood.

"Slow as a beetle. We'll beat 'em easy," declared Hugh, stimulated by the thought of a race.

"Walk past it if Higgins can manage to steer decently," agreed Clive.

"Shove her ahead," cried Susanne, springing to his feet and leaning over the driver. "Keep her straight, Higgins. Now, let her go. We'll beat those other fellows into a cocked hat. Hullo, they're looking back."

There were two passengers in the vehicle in front, and at this moment they looked behind them, and then turned to urge their own driver to greater speed.

"Whew! Did you recognise 'em?" asked Hugh, staring after the other car.

"Who?" demanded Clive.

"Those fellows?"

"No. Why?"

"Ranleighans," said Hugh with conviction. "Spotted them at once."

"Rawlings and Trendall," declared Susanne. "I knew that it was they all along. Just fancy catching a prefect breaking bounds! Saw 'em at the flying meeting. They were in that booth with Higgins, and slipped out when I went in to fetch him. Anyway, they can't give us away. We're all in the same boat this time, though if it had been different, and Rawlings could have caught us out, there'd have been trouble. We've got him nicely this time."

If it were in fact the two mentioned in the car ahead, then Clive and his friends need have no fear of the consequences of recognition. For what a prefect can do, that also can smaller fry. Also, if Rawlings had broken bounds with Trendall, then his lips were sealed.

"Hooray! He's bound to hold his tongue," cried Masters; "and if he tries it on with any of us after this, why, we've only to rake this matter up. Now let's whop his car, and pass 'em. Go ahead, Higgins."

Higgins needed no encouragement, and to speak the truth the cold air seemed to have steadied him. There were now few of those frightful swervings to which he had treated his passengers earlier on. He kept the centre of the road, and accelerated his engine till the car dithered and vibrated from end to end. As to the driver of the car ahead, he jerked at sundry levers, opened his throttle and tried to make the best of what was a hopeless case. Gradually he was being overhauled. He cast a glance desperately over his shoulder and again jerked at his levers. But all to no purpose. Higgins' car drew abreast, then level, in which position the two cars thundered along for a while, the two sets of passengers glaring at one another.

"Hooray! We win!" shouted Masters, half standing and grimacing at Trendall.

"Pass them! Pass them!" bellowed Susanne, waving his arms in truly French style. And then he must needs lift his hat. The action set Rawlings scowling. He was angry enough already at the thought that he, a prefect, had been discovered in the act of breaking bounds, discovered too by a group of boys who held him as an enemy. And now to be passed by them in a race was more than he could put up with.

"Stop that racing!" he shouted. "There'll be an accident. Order your fellow to slack down and let us go ahead."

"Order your own," responded Masters, careless of the consequences. "We've as much right to go fast as you have. Fall behind. You're the slower car."

Rawlings shook a big fist at them. Susanne acknowledged the threat by once more ironically lifting his hat. Masters grimaced at his seniors. And Higgins stirred his car to even greater efforts. They shot ahead, leaving the occupants of the rival car fuming with rage. All heads were turned to watch them. Faces were reddened with excitement, and eyes shone at the thought of such a brilliant victory. A hoarse cheer was even uttered by Clive and his friends, a reckless cheer, just to let Rawlings know what they thought of him and how little they feared. And then all gave vent to a howl of dismay. For, of a sudden, something went wrong with the following car. It swerved to one side, recovered a straight line, and then turned into the pathway. A moment later the rear end had risen into the air, and as Clive and the others watched, first Rawlings, then Trendall were tossed out into a dense mass of bushes lining the path. The driver followed them, smashing his way through the glass wind screen. They heard his body thud to the ground, while the up-turned car fell on him. Their shouts and shrieks caused Higgins to cram his brakes on and bring their own vehicle to a standstill. A minute later they were gathered about the up-turned car.

"Quick! Pull it off him," commanded Susanne, seemingly as cool as a cucumber. "Now, all together. Ah! He's killed."

"Killed?" It was Rawlings who asked the question, his lips bloodless, his knees almost knocking. "Killed? Then – then what happens? Do we have to appear?"

It was like him to think first of himself, and not of the unfortunate man. But the question he had asked was one which was bound to be asked. It was one which intimately concerned one and all of the boys of Ranleigh who had broken bounds. They turned from the body of the man to one another.

"I'm awfully sorry for that poor chap," said Susanne at last. "As for us, we're in for it, eh?"

"Absolutely," agreed Masters. "Right in the soup."

"Unless – " began Rawlings.

"Unless what?" asked Clive curtly.

"Unless we can get out of the mess by – "

"Telling lies?" asked Hugh, backing Clive up swiftly.

Rawlings nodded ever so little.

"Thanks, Rawlings," said Susanne coldly. "You and Trendall do as you like. We'll be getting onward."