Back Aa

Cock-House at Fellsgarth

Close

<h3>Chapter Four.</h3> <h4>A Close Election.</h4> Ever since certain well-meaning governors, two years ago, had succeeded in forcing upon Fellsgarth the adoption of a Modern side, the School had been rent by factions whose quarrels sometimes bordered on civil war. When people squabble about the management of a school outside, the boys are pretty sure to quarrel and take sides against one another inside. The old set, consisting mostly of the Classical boys, felt very sore on the question. It was a case of sentiment, not argument. If boys, said they, wanted to learn science and modern languages, let them; but don’t let them come fooling around at Fellsgarth and spoiling the reputation of a good old classical school. There were plenty of schools where fellows could be brought up in a new-fangled way. Let them go to one of these, and leave Fellsgarth in peace to her dead authors. The boys who used such arguments, it is fair to say, were not always the most profound classical scholars. Most of them, like D’Arcy and Wally Wheatfield, had a painful acquaintance with the masterpieces of old-world literature in the way of impositions, but there their interest frequently ended. The upper Classical boys, however, though not so noisily hostile, had their own strong opinions about the new departure; and when it was discovered that the new Modern side had not only alienated one or two of their old comrades, but, so far from being apologetic, were disposed to claim equal rights with, and in certain cases superior privileges to, the old boys, the relations became strained all round. As it happened, the Modern set consisted of a number of moderate athletes who could not be wholly ignored in the School sports, and had no intention of being ignored. And to add to their crimes they numbered among them a good number of rich boys, who boasted in public of their wealth with a freedom which was particularly aggravating to the Classical seniors, who were for the most part boys to whose parents money was an important consideration. As has been said, the rivalry had been growing acute all last term, and but for Yorke’s determined indifference, it might long ago have come to a rupture. Now, every one felt that at any moment the peace might be broken, and civil war break out between the two sides at Fellsgarth. The School clubs offered a rare opportunity for an exhibition of party feeling, for they were the common ground on which every one was bound to meet every one else on level terms. By an old rule, every member of the House clubs was a member of the School clubs and had the privilege of electing the committee and officers for the year. It was this business which brought together the crowd that flocked into the Hall to-day; and it was in view of this critical event that Mr D’Arcy had carefully shut up five voters of the other side in his study until the election should be over. “Whatever’s to be done?” asked Ashby, with blank countenance. “Nobody but a born idiot would begin to ask riddles just now!” retorted D’Arcy surlily. “Shut up; that’s what’s to be done.” “I expect it will be all right,” persisted the dogged Ashby, venturing on a further remark. “They won’t let him in, if he’s not Wally; or if they do, they’ll go for him.” “I hope they will. Anyhow we’ve done our best. Stick near the door. We may be able to bundle a few of ’em out before the voting comes on. Look out, Yorke’s speaking. Yell as hard as you can.” Whereupon Ashby lay his head back and yelled until D’Arcy kicked him and told him it was time to shut up. Yorke was moving a resolution that the captains, vice-captains, secretaries, and treasurers of each house should form the School sports committee, whose business it would be to arrange matches, keep the ground, make rules, and generally organise the athletics of Fellsgarth. He hoped every one would agree to this. Clapperton, the Modern captain, and head of Forder’s house, rose to second the motion. “Howl away!” said D’Arcy, nudging his protégé. Whereupon Ashby held on to a desk and howled till the windows shook. “That’ll do,” shouted D’Arcy in his ear after a moment or two, and Ashby, thankful for the relief, shut off steam and awaited his next orders. Clapperton was a big, smirking fellow, rather loudly dressed, with a persuasive voice and what was intended to be a condescending manner. Some fellows could never make out why Clapperton did not go down in Fellsgarth. He tried to be civil, he was lavish with his pocket-money, and always disclaimed any desire to quarrel with anybody. And yet no one oared for him, while of course the out-and-out champions of the rival side hated him. He seconded with pleasure the motion of “his friend Yorke,”—(“Cheek!” exclaimed D’Arcy, sotto voce; “what business has he to call our captain his friend!”) This was the old rule of Fellsgarth, and a very good rule. It meant hard work, but he was always glad to do what he could for the old School. (It always riled the Classics to hear a Modern talking about “the old School,” and their backs went up at this.) He had been on this committee two years now, and had had the pleasure in a humble way of helping the clubs through one or two of their financial difficulties, and he should be glad to serve again. He seconded the motion. It was a trial to one or two who had listened to see that the names were being put to the vote by Yorke en bloc, without giving them the chance of voting against anybody. Never mind, their chance for that would come! The next business was the election of captain of the clubs; and of course Yorke was chosen by acclamation. No one dared oppose him. Even “his friend Clapperton,” who had the pleasure of proposing him, was sure every one would be as glad as he would to see “his fellow-captain” (oh, how the Classics squirmed and ground their teeth at the expression!) at the head of the clubs. The pent-up feelings of D’Arcy and those of his way of thinking found some relief in the demonstration which accompanied the carrying of this resolution. It was too good a chance to be lost, and for three minutes by the clock the Classics stood on their feet and cheered their champion, glaring defiantly as they did so at the Moderns, who having held up their hands and cheered a little, relapsed into silence and left the noise in the hands of the other side. Then followed the election of vice-captain, which of course had to go to Clapperton. This time the Moderns had their demonstration amid the silence of the Classics, who thought they had never in their lives seen fellows make such asses of themselves. It was twenty minutes past the hour, and D’Arcy and Ashby were both getting uncomfortable and impatient. What did these Modern idiots want to waste the time of everybody by standing there and bellowing! It was scandalous. “Shut up—go on to the next vote,” they cried, but in vain. The Moderns were going to have their full share, if not a little more, of the row, and to stop them before their time was hopeless. “Disgusting exhibition, isn’t it?” said D’Arcy; “never mind. Hullo, I say, there’s some one at the door. It’s those chaps!” No, it was only Fisher minor, who, having waited meekly all this time outside the deserted gymnasium, now ventured, like a degenerate Casabianca, to desert his post and come and see what was going forward in the Hall. As he tried to enter, a Modern boy, seeing by his ribbon that he was on the wrong side, put his foot against the door and tried to turn him back. But his little plot dismally failed. For D’Arcy and Ashby, shocked and horrified witnesses of this scandalous act of corruption, came to the rescue with a hubbub which even made itself heard above the shouting. “Let him in!—howling cheat!—he’s trying to shut out one of our side! Ya-boo! That’s the way you elect your men, is it! Come in, Fisher minor. Let him in, do you hear? All right; come on, you fellows, and kick this Modern chap out for a wretched sneak—(that’ll be seven off their side, counting Wheatfield; and one more to us—bully!) Yah, cheats! turn ’em out!” Amid such cries of virtuous indignation, Fisher minor was hauled in, and his obstructor, by the same coup de main, excluded. Fisher minor might have had his head turned by this triumphal entry, had he not recognised in the ejected Modern boy the gentleman to whom he had lent his half-crown on the previous evening. Any reminder of yesterday’s misfortunes was depressing to him, and his joy at finding himself on the right side of the door now was decidedly damped by the knowledge that his half-crown was on the wrong. However, there was no time for explanations, as the shouting had ceased, and an evidently important event was about to take place. This was the appointment of treasurer, for whom each of the rival sides had a candidate; that of the Classics being Fisher major, and that of the Moderns Brinkman of Forder’s house, a particular enemy of the other side, and reputed to be rich and no gentlemen. Both candidates were briefly proposed and seconded by boys of their own side, and both having declared their intention of going to the vote, a show of hands was demanded. The excitement of our young friends at the end of the Hall while this tedious operation was in progress may well be imagined. The captain had sternly ordained silence during the voting; so that all they could do was to hold up their hands to the very top of their reach, and keep a wild look-out that they were being counted, and that none of the enemy was in any way, moral or physical, circumventing them. As for Fisher minor, he simply trembled with excitement as he cast his eyes round and calculated his brother’s chances. He could not comprehend how any one could dare not to vote for Fisher major; and absorbed in that wonder he continued to hold up his hand long after the two tellers had agreed their figure, and the captain had ordered “hands down.” “Fisher major, one hundred and twenty-seven votes; now, hands up for Brinkman.” “Whew!” said D’Arcy, fanning himself with his handkerchief; “it’ll be a close shave. I say, we’d better lean up hard against the door. It’ll keep out the draughts.” “They’ve got it, I’m afraid,” said Ashby, looking round at the forest of hands; “we hadn’t as many as that.” “I say, that cad Brinkman is voting for himself,” said some one. “What a shame! My brother didn’t. He’s too honourable,” said Fisher minor. “Hullo! ‘How now’—you there?” cried Wally. Whereupon, amid great laughter, Fisher minor retired modestly behind the rest. The counting seemed interminable, and every moment, to the guilty ears of Ashby, there seemed to be a sound of footsteps without. At last, however, the cry, “hands down,” came once more, and you might have heard a pin drop. “Fisher major, one hundred and twenty-seven votes; Brinkman, one hundred and twenty-two. Fisher is elected.” Amid the terrific Classic cheers which greeted this announcement, D’Arcy and Ashby exchanged glances. Those five voters, waiting patiently in Wally’s room for the clock to strike the half-hour, would have turned the scale! Ashby wished the majority had been greater or less. But he tried to be jubilant, and in response to D’Arcy’s thumps on the back yelled and roared till he was black in the face. As he did so, he caught sight through the window of a small procession of five or six boys emerging from the door of Wakefield’s house and starting at a trot in the direction of Hall. “I say,” shouted he in D’Arcy’s ear, “here they come!” D’Arcy abruptly ceased shouting and descended from his form. “Come and squash up near the front,” said he, hurriedly; “more room, you know, up there.” “Hoo, hoo! nearly licked that time,” shouted a Modern youth near the door, as they moved forward. “Served you right!” “Never mind, we’ll take it out of you, next vote,” retorted D’Arcy. “Come on, kid; squash up.” Then a happy thought struck him. The boys immediately near the door were mostly Moderns. What a fine bit of electioneering, if he could get them to shut out their own men! So he shouted, “Look out, our side! Mind they don’t keep out any of our chaps. Just the sort of dodge they’d be up to.” Whereupon the Moderns set their backs determinedly against the door and wagged their heads at one another, and were obliged to D’Arcy for the tip. “That’ll do for ’em,” said that delighted schemer; “they won’t let ’em in, you bet. Look out—they’re going to vote for secretary now.” The Classical side candidate for this important office was Ranger, almost as great an idol in his house as the captain himself. His Modern opponent was Dangle, a clever senior, reputed to be Clapperton’s toady and man-of-all-work. It was felt that if he were secretary, there would be a strong Modern bias given to the clubs, which in the opinion of the Classic partisans would be disastrous. The show of hands had been taken for Ranger, and every one was silent to hear the figures, when a hideous clamour arose at the door, with shouts of— “Open the door I let us in. Cheats! Fair play!” To D’Arcy’s satisfaction, as from the safe shelter of a front place he peered down that way, the Moderns held their post at the door and refused to let it open. For a minute it looked as if they would succeed; when suddenly the irate Wally appeared on the scene, followed by Fisher minor, and shouting, “Cheats! cads! Let our fellows in!” went for the obstructionists. “Stupid ass!” growled D’Arcy. “It’s all up now. Why couldn’t he have let them be?” A short and sharp mêlée followed. The Classics were reinforced rapidly, and the Moderns, seeing their plot detected and fearing the intervention of the seniors, sullenly raised the blockade, and allowed the door to open. Whereat in tumbled Percy Wheatfield with five young Moderns at his heels—the very five who had been waiting for the clock to strike in Wally’s study. “What do you mean by keeping us out!” demanded Percy of his brother, who chanced to be the first person he encountered. “What are you talking about?” retorted Wally, extremely chagrined to discover who it was he had been helping. “We were the chaps who let you in! It was your own cads who were keeping you out. Ask them.” “We thought you were Classics,” said one of the offenders, letting the cat out of the bag. “Oh, you beauty! Wait till I get some of you outside,” bellowed the outraged Percy. “Order! Shut up, you kids down there!” was the cry from the front. “Shut up, you kids down there!” echoed D’Arcy and Ashby on their own account. “Ranger one hundred and twenty-three. Hands up for Dangle; and if the youngsters down there don’t make less noise, I’ll adjourn the meeting,” said the captain. This awful threat secured silence while the counting proceeded. D’Arcy’s face grew longer and longer, and Wally at the back began to breathe vengeance on the world at large. “Hands down.” The captain turned and said something to Clapperton; and Fisher major, who overheard what was said, looked very glum. Every one knew what was coming. “Ranger one hundred and twenty-three votes, Dangle one hundred and twenty-four. Dangle is—” The shouts of the Moderns drowned the last words, and the captain had to wait a minute before he could finish what he had to say. “The votes are very close,” said he. “If any one would like, we can count again.” “No, no!” cried Ranger. “It’s all right. I don’t dispute it.” “That concludes the elections,” said the captain. And amid loud cheers and counter-cheers the meeting dispersed. The prefects of Wakefield’s house met that evening in Yorke’s study to talk over the events of the afternoon. The captain was the only person present who appeared to regard the result of the elections with equanimity. “After all,” said he, “though I’m awfully sorry about old Ranger, it seems fairer to have the officers evenly divided. There’s much less chance of a row than it we were three to their one.” “That’s all very well,” said Fisher, whose pleasure in his own election had been completely spoiled by the defeat of his friend, “if we could count on fair play. You know Dangle as well as I do. I’d sooner resign myself than have him secretary.” “What rot!” said Ranger. “You’d probably only give them another man. No, we shall have to see we get fair play.” “And give it, too,” said the captain. “They simply packed the meeting,” said Dalton, “and fetched up five juniors at the very end, who turned the scale. If our fellows had done the same, we should have been all right.” “I don’t see the use of growling now it’s well over,” said Yorke; “the great thing is to see we get the best men into the teams, and that they play up.” “We hardly need go outside Wakefield’s for that,” said Fisher major; “they’ve not a man worth his salt in a football scrimmage.” “Look out that they haven’t more than we have, that’s all,” said the captain, gloomily. “I tell you what, you fellows,” added he, with a touch of temper in his voice, “if our house is to be Cock-House at Fellsgarth, we can’t afford to make fools of ourselves. The School’s a jolly sight more important than any one house, and as long as I’m captain of the School clubs I don’t intend to inquire what house a man belongs to so long as he can play. We can keep all our jealousy for the House club if you like; but if it’s to be carried into the School sports we may as well dissolve the clubs and scratch all our matches at once.” “I wonder if Clapperton is giving vent to the same patriotic sentiments to his admirers,” said Ridgway, laughing. “Fancy him, and Dangle, and Brinkman conspiring together for the glory of the School.” “Why not!” said the captain, testily. “Why won’t you give anybody credit for being decent outside Wakefield’s?” “I’m afraid old Yorke hardly gives any one credit for being decent in it. For pity’s sake don’t lecture any more to-night, old man,” said Dalton. “I’ll agree to anything rather than that.” “There’s just one more thing,” said Yorke, “which you may take as lecture or not as you like. Clapperton said something about helping out the clubs with money. Fisher major, you are the treasurer; don’t have any of that. Don’t take more than the regular subscription from anybody, and don’t take less. If there’s a deficit let’s all stump up alike. We don’t want anybody’s charity.” This sentiment was generally applauded, and restored the captain in the good opinion of every one present. After all, old Yorke’s bark was always worse than his bite. He wasn’t going to be put upon by the other side, however much he seemed to stick up for them. Ranger waited a few minutes after the others had gone. “Look here, Ranger,” said the captain, “you must back me up in this. You can afford to do it, because you’ve been beaten. I only wish you were in my place. I know you hate those fellows, and are cut up to have lost the secretaryship.” “I’m not going to break my heart about that,” said Ranger. “Of course not. You’re going to do what will be a lot more useful. You’re going to work as hard for the School as if you were secretary and captain in one; and you’re going to back me up in keeping the peace, aren’t you?” “Would you, if you were in my shoes?” said Ranger. “I might find it hard, but I almost think I should try. And if I had your good temper, I should succeed too.” Ranger laughed. “I didn’t think you went in for flattery, Yorke. Anyhow, I believe you are right. I’ll be as affectionate as I can to those Modern chaps. Ugh! good night.” After the day’s excitement Fellsgarth went to bed early. But no one dreamed, least of all the heroes of the exploit themselves, how much was to depend during the coming months on those five small voters who had waited patiently in Wally Wheatfield’s study that afternoon to hear the clock strike 5:30. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2