Tom Brown at Rugby Part 33

labelled 'with care--this side up,' and send him back to mamma."

[1] #Pap-bottle#: a nursing-bottle.

"I think I shall make a hand of him, though," said Tom, smiling, "say what you will. There's something about him, every now and then, which shows me he's got pluck somewhere in him. That's the only thing, after all, that'll wash,[2] isn't it, old Scud? But how to get at it and bring it out?"

[2] #Wash#: stand; hold its colors.

Tom took one hand out of his breeches' pocket and stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That young gentleman slapped him on the back, and then put his arm around his shoulders, as they strolled through the quadrangle together. "Tom,"

said he, "blest if you aren't the best old fellow ever was--I do like to see you go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as you do, but I never can get higher than a joke. Everything's a joke. If I was going to be flogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk,[3]

but I couldn't help laughing at it for the life of me."

[3] #In a blue funk#: horribly frightened.

"Brown and East, you go and f.a.g for Jones on the great fives'-court."

"Hullo, though, that's past a joke," broke out East, springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by the collar.

"Here, Tommy, catch hold of him t'other side before he can holla."

AN EPISODE.

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of the quadrangle into the School-house hall. He was one of the miserable little pretty, white-handed, curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink, and use bad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything in this world and the next. One of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took particular delight was in going about and getting f.a.gs for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game. They carried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn't go. The present youth belonged to a house which was very jealous of the School-house, and always picked out School-house f.a.gs when he could find them.

However, this time he'd got the wrong pig by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of the hall, and East put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a shake-up, took away his list, and stood him up on the floor, while he proceeded leisurely to examine that doc.u.ment.

"Let me out! let me go!" screamed the boy in a furious pa.s.sion. "I'll go and tell Jones this minute, and he'll give you both the biggest thras.h.i.+ng you ever had."

"Pretty little dear," said East, patting the top of his hat; "listen to him, Tom. Nicely brought-up young man, isn't he, though?"

"Let me alone----you," roared the boy, foaming with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety.

"Gently, young fellow," said he, "'tisn't improving for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging in such language; so you stop that, or you'll get something you won't like."

"I'll have you both licked when I get out, that I will," rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel.

"Two can play at that game, mind you," said Tom, who had finished his examination of the list. "Now you just listen here. We've just come across the fives'-court, and Jones has four f.a.gs there already, two more than he wants. If he'd wanted us to change, he'd have stopped us himself. And here, you little blackguard, you've got seven names down on your list besides ours, and five of them School-house." Tom walked up to him and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like a whipped puppy.

"Now just listen to me. We aren't going to f.a.g for Jones. If you tell him you've sent us, we'll each of us give you such a thras.h.i.+ng as you'll remember." And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire.

"And mind you, too," said East, "don't let me catch you again sneaking about the School-house, and picking up our f.a.gs. You haven't got the sort of hide to take a sound licking kindly;" and he opened the door and sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, with a parting kick.

"Nice boy, Tommy," said East, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling to the fire.

"Worst sort we breed," responded Tom, following his example. "Thank goodness no big fellow ever took to petting me."

"You'd never have been like that," said East. "I should like to have put him in a museum: Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a drunken sailor! He'd make a respectable public open its eyes, I think."

"Think he'll tell Jones?" said Tom.

"No," said East. "Don't care if he does."

"Nor I," said Tom; and they went back to talk about Arthur.

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest f.a.gs in the school, wouldn't care three straws for any licking Jones might give them, and would be likely to keep their words as to pa.s.sing it on with interest.

LESSON NO. 2.

After the above conversation, East came a good deal to their study, and took notice of Arthur; and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentleman, and would get over his shyness all in good time; which much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having an object in his life, something that drew him out of himself; and, it being the dull time of the year, and no games going about which he much cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying a great deal.

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge was from locking-up till supper-time. During this hour or hour and a half he used to take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance, sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some chorus of merry voices; in fact, blowing off his steam, as we should now call it.

This process was so congenial[4] to his temper, and Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other article essential to his pursuit for the time being, and, while rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure of poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table, and his head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book, on which his tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck.

[4] #Congenial#: agreeable.

"Why, young un! what's the matter?" said he, kindly. "You aren't unhappy, are you?"

"Oh, no, Brown," said the little boy, looking up with great tears in his eyes; "you are so kind to me, I'm very happy."

"Why don't you call me Tom? lots of boys do that I don't like half so much as I do you. What are you reading, then? Hang it, you must come about with me, and not mope yourself," and Tom cast down his eyes on the book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to himself, "Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;" and said, gently:--

"I'm very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the Bible more myself. Do you read it every night before supper, while I'm out?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterward, and then we'd read together.

But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?"

"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive, we always read the lessons[5] after tea; and I love to read them over now, and try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all, and I think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. But it all comes back to me so fresh that I can't help crying sometimes to think that I shall never read them again with him."

[5] #Lessons#: here, portions of Scripture.

ARTHUR'S HOME.

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouraged him to do so, as his blundering schoolboy reasoning made him think that Arthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels and bottled beer; while with very little encouragement Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer-bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them to the hall.

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, and, above all, of his father, who had been dead about a year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did.

Arthur's father had been the clergyman of a parish in the Midland Counties,[6] which had risen into a large town during the war,[7] and upon which the hard years which followed had fallen with fearful weight. The trade had been half ruined; and then came the old sad story of masters reducing their establishments, men turned off, and wandering about, hungry and wan in body, and fierce in soul, from the thought of wives and children starving at home, and the last sticks of furniture going to the p.a.w.nshop: children taken from school, and lounging about the dirty streets and courts,[8] too listless almost to play, and squalid in rags and misery. And then the fearful struggle between the employers and men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long course of oft-repeated crime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire, and the county yeomanry.[9] There is no need here to dwell upon such tales; the Englishman into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the name; you English boys for whom this book is meant (G.o.d bless your bright faces and kind hearts!) will learn it all soon enough.

[6] #Midland Counties#: the central counties.

[7] #The war#: probably the war against Napoleon.

[8] #Courts#: places; short streets closed at one end.

[9] #County yeomanry#: that is, with the calling out of the militia of the county to quell the riots.