Sinister Street. Compton Mackenzie

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter VII: Randell House

       Table of Contents

      THE preliminaries of Michael's career at St. James' Preparatory School passed in a dream-like confusion of thought and action. First of all he waited anxiously in the Headmaster's study in an atmosphere of morocco-leather and large waste-paper baskets. Like every other room in which Michael had waited, whether of dentist or doctor, the outlook from the window was gloomy and the prospect within was depressing. He was glad when Mr. Randell led him and several other boys towards the First Form, where in a dream, peopled by the swinging legs of many boys, he learnt from a scarlet book that while Cornelia loved Julia, Julia returned Cornelia's affection. When this fact was established in both English and Latin, all the boys shuffled to their desks and the record of a great affection was set down largely and painfully.

      Blotted and smudged and sprawling though it ultimately appeared, Michael felt a great satisfaction in having dealt successfully with two nominatives, two accusatives and a verb. The first part of the morning passed away quickly in the history of this simple love. At eleven o'clock a shrill electric bell throbbed through the school, and Michael, almost before he knew what was happening, was carried in a torrent of boys towards the playground. Michael had never felt supreme loneliness, even at night, until he stood in the middle of that green prairie of recreation, distinguishing nobody, a very small creature in a throng of chattering giants. Some of these giants, who usually walked about arm in arm, approached him.

      "Hullo, are you a new kid?"

      Michael breathed his 'yes.'

      "What's your name?"

      With an effort Michael remembered Rodber's warning and replied simply:

      "Fane."

      "What's your Christian name?"

      This was a terribly direct attack, and Michael was wondering whether it would be best to run quickly out of the playground, to keep silence or to surrender the information, when the quick and authoritative voice of Rodber flashed from behind him.

      "Fish and find out, young Biden."

      "Who are you calling young, young Rodber?"

      "You," said Rodber. "So you'd jolly well better scoot off and leave this kid alone."

      "Church said I was to collar all the new kids for his army," Biden explained.

      "Did he? Well, this kid's in our army, so sucks! And you can tell young Church that Pearson and me are going to jolly well lam him at four o'clock," announced Rodber very fiercely.

      "Why don't you tell him yourself?" asked Biden, whose teeth seemed to project farther and farther from his mouth as his indignation grew.

      "All right, Toothy Biden," jeered Rodber. "We'll tell the whole of your rotten army at four o'clock, when we give you the biggest lamming you've ever had. Come on, young Fane," he went on, and Michael, somewhat perturbed by the prospect of being involved in these encounters, followed at his heels.

      "Look here," said Rodber presently, "you'd better come and show yourself to Pearson. He's the captain of our army; and for goodness' sake look a bit cheerful."

      Michael forced an uncomfortable grin such as photographers conjure.

      Under the shade of a gigantic tree stood Pearson the leader, languidly eating a very small and very unripe pear.

      "Hullo, Pinky," he drawled.

      "I say, Pearson," said Rodber in a reverent voice, "I know this kid at home. He's awfully keen to be allowed to join your army."

      Pearson scarcely glanced at Michael.

      "All right. Swear him in. I've got a new oath written down in a book at home, but he can take the old one."

      Pearson yawned and threw away the core of the pear.

      "He's awfully glad he's going to join your army, Pearson. Aren't you, young Fane?"

      "Yes, awfully glad," Michael echoed.

      "It's the best army," said Pearson simply.

      "Oh, easily," Rodber agreed. "I say, Pearson, that kid Biden said Church was going to lam you at four o'clock."

      The offended Pearson swallowed a large piece of a second unripe pear and scowled.

      "Did he? Tell the army to line up behind the lav. at four o'clock."

      Rodber's eyes gleamed.

      "I say, Pearson, I've got an awfully ripping plan. Supposing we ambush them."

      "How?" enquired the commander.

      "Why, supposing we put young Fane and two or three more new kids by the tuckshop door and tell them to run towards the haunted house, we could cop them simply rippingly."

      "Give the orders before afternoon school," said Pearson curtly, and just then the bell for 'second hour' sounded.

      "Wait for me at half-past twelve," Rodber shouted to Michael as he ran to get into school.

      Michael grew quite feverish during 'second hour' and his brain whirled with the imagination of battles, so that the landing of Julius Cæsar seemed of minor importance. Tuckshops and haunted houses and doors and ambushes and the languid pale-faced Pearson occupied his thoughts fully enough. At a quarter-past twelve Mr. Whichelo the First Form master told Michael and the other new boys to go to the book-room and get their school caps, and at half-past twelve Michael waited outside on the yellow gravel for Rodber, splendidly proud of himself in a blue cap crested with a cockleshell worked in silver wire. He was longing to look at himself in the glass at home and to show Miss Carthew and Stella and Nanny and Cook and Gladys his school cap.

      However, before he could go home Rodber took him round to where the tuckshop ambush would ensue at four o'clock. He showed him a door in a wall which led apparently into the СКАЧАТЬ