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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Fifteen.</h3> <h4>Something Wrong in the Accounts.</h4> Fisher major sat in his study after morning class, next morning, the picture of boredom and perplexity. Lists of names, receipt-books, cash-box, bills, and account-books were littered on the table before him. Between these and a cobweb on the ceiling his troubled looks travelled, as he gnawed the end of his pen, and passed his fingers aimlessly through his hair. There was something wrong; and what it was he could not for the life of him make out. To any one familiar with Fisher major’s business—or, rather, unbusiness—habits, there was nothing wonderful in that. He was happy-go-lucky in all his dealings. He could receive a subscription one day, and only remember, in a panic, to enter it a week after. His money he kept all over the place; some in his desk, some in the cash-box, some in the drawer of his inkstand. He had a vague idea that he had a special reason for dividing it thus—that one lot may have belonged to the School clubs, another to the House clubs, and another to something else. But which was which it passed his wit to remember. He had had his doubts of the business all along. His friends had urged him to take the office, and with their help he had persuaded himself its duties were simple and easily discharged. He had determined he would do the thing thoroughly well. He had bought these account-books out of his own private purse, and spent an evening in beautifully ruling them in red ink, with one column for the date, one for the name, and three for pounds, shillings, and pence. He had procured two letter-files, labelled respectively “Club” and “House,” into which to put his receipts. And he had provided himself with a dozen elastic bands and an equal number of paper-fasteners. What more could a treasurer desire? Alas! the beautiful account-books got mixed up with one another, the letter-files remained empty, and the elastic bands somehow did duty as football garters. The Club accounts were scrawled, for the most part, in pencil on the backs of envelopes, awaiting a grand transcription into the books; and the receipts, pending a similar fortunate time, where huddled away in the drawer with Greek verses and letters from the people at home. Things had now come to a pass. The captain had yesterday suggested that, in view of the meeting to-day, it would be well to have the accounts made up, so as to be able, if called upon, to state exactly how they stood financially. “All serene,” said Fisher; “I’ll let you have the lot in ten minutes.” It was now considerably more than ten hours since the rash undertaking had been given, and the accounts were considerably more confused than they had been when Fisher sat down to square them. The Club and House accounts were hopelessly mixed. Some fellows appeared to have paid several times over to both funds, and others not once to either. Worse than that, Fisher could not find his memorandum of what he had paid out in small disbursements since term began. Still worse, when he did come in desperation to lump both funds together, and deduct the total amount he had spent, he found himself between £4 and £5 out of pocket! That was the serious discovery which, on this particular morning, was preying on his spirits and making him look a picture of bewilderment. “I’m bothered if I can make it out,” said he to himself. “Everybody’s marked down as paid—I remember noticing that weeks ago. At that rate I ought to have £25 for the Clubs, and £9 12 shillings for the House. Yes, that’s right—I had that; there’s a note of it; three lots—£15 7 shillings 6 pence on September 1, £7 2 shillings 6 pence on September 13, and £12 2 shillings on another day—that makes the total. There you are. Why on earth did I put them away in separate lots? Then I paid £5 for the new goals, and something else—what was it? Oh, that was for the House balls—oh, but we are lumping the two together. What was it? I know, 17 shillings 6 pence—that’s £5 17 shillings 6 pence; and something else, I know, came to a pound—£6 17 shillings 6 pence. Take that from £34 12 shillings, leaves £27 14 shillings 6 pence—and I’ve only got £22 18 shillings 6 pence! Where, in the name of wonder, has the rest gone?” And once more the dismal operation of adding up, counting, and subtracting began anew, with the same, or almost the same, result—there was a mistake of something like £4 10 shillings, whichever way you looked at it. Dalton, who came in presently, could throw no further light on the problem. He added up the columns, counted the money, subtracted the payments and arrived at the same result. Had the difference been smaller, it might have been accounted for by a few subscriptions omitted or a few payments not entered. But £4 10 shillings was too big a sum to leak away by accident; and, with the exception of the new goals, Fisher major was confident nothing had been spent approaching the figure. Dalton then proposed a fresh hunt through the study, in case the missing sum might be hidden for safety in some corner. So the room was turned upside down; the bed-clothes were shaken out, pockets searched, books turned over, tea-pots peered into; but all to no purpose. The captain looked in while the search was proceeding. “Have you got the— Hullo, what’s up?” “Why,” said Fisher major, “there’s a discrepancy. We ought to have £27 14 shillings 6 pence, and there’s about £4 10 shillings short.” “Do you mean that’s missing in the Club accounts?” “Well, either in that or the House clubs, or in both lumped together. I say, I wish you’d add that up, there’s a good fellow. The addition may be wrong.” But no; the captain made it the same as Dalton. Ranger and Ridgway dropped in while the audit was in progress, and were promptly pounced upon to add the columns too. Evidently the mistake was not there. They made the total precisely the same. “It must be in the payments, then,” said Fisher. So the whole party sat down, and scrutinised the hapless treasurer’s bills and vouchers, and, after allowing him the benefit of every imaginable doubt, still brought the deficit out at the same uncompromising figure. “Let’s have another look round,” suggested Fisher. So once more the study was turned topsy-turvy, and every nook and cranny searched. But no money was there, nor any sign of it. The captain looked grave. “It’s precious awkward,” said he. “It’s sure to turn up,” said Fisher. “I’ll go over the whole thing again, and have the room searched.” “Meanwhile,” said Ranger, “it’s to be hoped no questions are asked by the fellows opposite.” “Not much chance; I hear they are none of them going to turn up,” said Dalton. “That’s their look-out,” responded the captain. Much to their disgust, Ashby and Fisher minor were summoned from the vicinity of the shop that morning to assist the treasurer in his hopeless search. They did not mind turning a study upside down on their own account, but they strongly objected to have to do it for any one else. Fisher major did not at first vouchsafe much information with regard to the missing object. “Look round everywhere,” said he, “and see if you see anything.” Ashby looked, and said he saw a lot of things. “I mean money, of course,” said the treasurer. Whereupon the two simultaneously made a grab at the loose cash on the table, declaring they had found it first go off. “No—not that. It’s some that’s missing.” “How much?” asked Ashby. “Never mind—a pound or two.” “Are you sure it’s about in the room?” “That’s what I want you to look and see, you young donkey!” “Two pounds,” said Ashby; “was it all in silver?” “No—it was three or four pounds—about £4 10. I don’t know what it was in.” “Four pound ten—that’s a lot,” said the young brother. “I thought you said you were hard up?” “So I did. It’s not my money, but the club’s. What’s that to do with it? I want you to see if you can find it while I’m down in class.” Whereupon they set to work. They emptied the contents of every drawer in a glorious heap on the floor. They shook out his socks, and turned the pockets of all his coats inside out. They pulled his bed about the room, and shook out all his sheets. They raked out his fire, and prised up a loose board in the floor. They emptied his basins into his bath, and investigated the works of his eight-day clock. But high or low they could find no money. Fisher’s study did not get over that morning’s quest in a hurry. When the owner returned, he wished devoutly he had never been ass enough to confide the task to a couple of raw Goths like these. Whatever chance there may have been before of discovering any mislaid article, it was now hopelessly and irredeemably gone. He dismissed the two youngsters with a kick, which they felt to be very ungrateful after all the trouble they had taken. Limp in spirits and grimy in personal appearance, they crawled away to the shop to console themselves with ginger-beer and a cheese-cake. “Hullo,” said Lickford, as they arrived, “what have you been up to? Sweeping the chimneys? I heard they wanted it on your side. What’ll you have? We’ve been doing prime. Where have you been?” “We’ve been hunting about in my senior’s study for some club money that’s lost; about four pou—” “Shut up!” said Ashby, nudging his companion. “What do you want to blab all over the place about it for?” “How much?—four pounds?” said a voice near; and looking round, to their horror they saw Dangle. “All right,” said Ashby, trying to save the situation, “it’s bound to turn up. He stuck it in a specially safe place, and can’t remember where. Look sharp with the ginger-beer, young Lickford.” “Money down first,” said Lickford. “Catch me trusting any of you Classic chaps with tick! You’ve got no tin generally, to begin with, and then you go and lose it.” “That’s better than stealing it,” retorted Ashby. “The thing is,” said Dangle, breaking in on these pleasant recriminations, “it wouldn’t matter if it was Fisher’s own money that was lost. But it belongs to all of us.” “I tell you he’s found it by now,” said Ashby. Then, turning to Fisher minor, he whispered, “you howling young ass, you’ve done it! Now there’ll be a regular row, and your brother will have you to thank for it!” “Don’t blame him,” said Dangle. “It’s quite right of him to tell the truth.” With which highly moral pronouncement the Modern senior strolled away. Lickford was too much engrossed by a sudden influx of customers to improve the occasion; and Fisher minor, who never enjoyed ginger-beer less in his life, was allowed to depart in peace to meditate on the evil of his ways, and the possible hot water he had been preparing for his brother. He had sense enough to reflect that he had better make a clean breast of it to his brother at once. To his surprise, the latter took the news that Dangle had heard of the deficiency in the accounts more quietly than he had expected. “I do wish you’d hold your tongue out of doors about things that don’t concern you,” said he. “Will Dangle get you into a row?” asked Fisher minor. “Dangle? I’m not responsible to him more than to any one else. The money’s lost; and unless I can find it or make out where the mistake comes in, I shall have to stump up—that’s all.” “But, I say, you haven’t got money enough,” said the boy. “I know that, you young duffer.” “Whatever will you do?” Fisher major laughed. “I shan’t steal it, if that’s any comfort to you; and I shan’t cook the accounts.” “I say, I wonder if Rollitt could lend it you. He must have some money, for he paid for Widow Wisdom’s new boat, you know.” “I heard of that. I wish I saw my way to paying my debts as well as he did.” “I say, shall I ask him?” “Certainly not. The best thing you can do is to shut up.” Fisher minor felt very grateful to his brother for not thrashing him, and went in to afternoon school meekly, though out of spirits. “Well,” said D’Arcy, as he took his place, “what’s the latest? Who are you going to get into a mess now! Has Yorke been swindling anybody lately, or Ranger been getting tight! You’re bound to have some story about somebody.” “I didn’t mean— It’s not wicked to lose money,” pleaded Fisher minor. “I never thought—” “That’s just it,” said Wally. “You couldn’t if you tried. Dangle will make a nice thing out of it, thanks to you. Classic treasurer been and collared Modern boys’ money—that sort of thing—and they’ll kick him out and stick in one of their own lot, and call it triumph of honesty. Oh, you beauty; you can do things nicely when you try?” “I wish I’d never come up here at all,” moaned Fisher minor. “Humph. That would have been a bad go for Fellsgarth,” said D’Arcy. “Shut up—Forder’s looking. If we’re lagged we shan’t get in to the meeting.” The dreaded misadventure did not occur; and punctually at the hour our four young gentlemen trooped into Hall. Everything was very quiet there. The place was only half full. The Classics had turned up in force, but the mutineering house was so far unrepresented. Presently, however, five juvenile figures might be seen marching arm in arm across the Green, keeping a sharp look-out on every side. Before they arrived in Hall, a solitary figure wearing the Modern colours had made his way up to the seniors’ end. It was Corder, looking very limp and haggard, and with a savage flash of the eyes which told how ill “Coventry” was agreeing with his spirits. The cheers, with which he was greeted, due quite as much to his pluck in coming to-day as to his exploit at the match last Saturday, appeared to disconcert rather than please him, and he took a corner seat as far as possible from the Classic seniors present. When, however, Percy and Co. entered the Hall, a much livelier demonstration ensued. Cheers and compliments and pats on the back showered fast on the youthful “blacklegs,” and tended greatly to exaggerate in their own eyes the importance of their action. “We shall get jolly well welted for it, you fellows,” said Percy, with all the swagger of a popular martyr. “Never mind; we aren’t going to be done out of Hall for anybody.” “At any rate, they won’t hurt you for it,” cried Wally, disparaging. “Kids like you won’t hurt.” “We’ve come to see you cads don’t get it all your own way,” said Cash. “That’s what we’ve come for!” “Ho, ho! Hope you’ve brought your lunch. You’ll be kept here a day or two, if you’re going to wait for that!” When Yorke and the other prefects arrived on the scene there were, of course, loud cheers; but as the opposition was not there to make any counter-demonstration, it was not quite as noisy as on former occasions. Percy did, indeed, attempt to get up a little opposition at this stage by calling for “three cheers for the Moderns”; but as he was left to give them by himself—even his own adherents declining to be drawn into cheers for Clapperton—the display fell rather flat. The captain’s speech was short and to the point. Of course they knew why the meeting was called. There had been mutiny at Fellsgarth. Fellows had deliberately set themselves against his authority as captain, which was a minor thing, and against the success of Fellsgarth in sports, which was a low and shabby thing. (Cheers.) He wasn’t going to mention names; but he meant to say this, that they had much better dissolve the club right away—(No, no)—than not all pull together. Last Saturday, as every one knew, they had been left utterly in the lurch; and but for good luck, and the good play of some of the fifteen—amongst whom, he was glad to say, was one fellow who had had the pluck to act on his own judgment of what was due to the School—(loud and prolonged cheers, in the midst of which Corder perked up, and looked pleased)—they had held their own with a very scratch team. They couldn’t expect to do as much again—(Why not?)—and it was not fair to the School to play matches without all their best men in the team. The proposal he had to make was that unless the fellows now standing out chose to return to their allegiance to the School within a week, all future matches for the term should be scratched, and the club dissolved. The captain’s proposal caused considerable consternation. Ridgway rose, and said he considered the motion dealt far too leniently with the mutineers. He would say, drum them out of the club, and reorganise without them. Denton asked if it would not be more honest and straightforward to summon them to the next match, and if they didn’t turn up give them the thrashing they deserved? Fisher major said he supported the captain’s proposal. It was nonsense their playing with scratch teams, and letting it be supposed that was the best the School could do. Some of the fellows on strike were no doubt good players, and that made it all the more discreditable of them to try to damage the School record by crippling the team. They no doubt hoped that they would be begged to rejoin on their—own terms. Rather than that, he was in favour of disbanding the club, and letting the fellows devote their energy to running and jumping, and other sports, where each fellow could distinguish himself independently of what any others chose to do. (Hear, hear.) Ranger also supported Yorke’s motion. Very likely the mutineers would crow, and say the club couldn’t get on without them. No more they could, in a sense. But he, for one, was not going to ask them to come back, and would sooner break up the club, and let them have the satisfaction of knowing they had injured Fellsgarth. Amid loud cheers Corder followed. He was sorry, he said, there was to be no more football, but supposed there was nothing else they could do. He was glad to see some Moderns present, even though they were only juniors. (Laughter.) It showed that there were some fellows on the Modern side that stuck by the School. He fancied these youngsters could take care of themselves. He was glad to hear a human voice again. (Laughter.) It might be fun to some present, but he could assure them it was none to him. No one had spoken to him for four days. He was cut by his house, and had to thank even some of the juniors present for assisting to make his life in Forder’s miserable. He didn’t care much, so far. They might make him cave in, in the long run. (No! Stick out!) Let the fellow who cried “Stick out,” come and try it. His only offence had been that he had played for the School. To do anything for the School was now considered a crime on the Modern side. (Shame.) Anyhow, he should vote for the captain’s motion; and though he wasn’t particularly sweet on the Classics as a body, he was beginning to think they weren’t quite as bad as his own side. Percy hereupon rose, amid derisive cheers. He didn’t know why the names of him and his lot had been brought in; but he just wanted to say that they were here to-day because they had a right to come, and weren’t going to be kept out by anybody—not if they knew it. (Rather not!) He and his lot thought there wasn’t much to choose between anybody, especially the juniors of the Classic side, who thought they were jolly clever, but were about the biggest stuck-uppest louts he— (Order. Kick him out.) He hoped the meeting would rally round the School shop, where every one was treated alike, and got the best grub for the money of any school going. They were going to get some Ribston— (Order. Time.) All right. They shouldn’t hear what he was going to say now. (Loud cheers.) Yorke said they all seemed to be pretty much of the same mind; and he would put his motion to the vote. This accordingly was done, and carried without a dissentient voice. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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