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CHAPTER XIV - A SKIRMISH
Upon consideration Sheen determined to see Linton about that small
matter of the boat without delay. After prayers that night he went to
his study.
"Can I speak to you for a minute, Linton?" he said.
Linton was surprised. He disapproved of this intrusion. When a fellow
is being cut by the house, he ought, by all the laws of school
etiquette, to behave as such, and not speak till he is spoken to.
"What do you want?" asked Linton.
"I shan't keep you long. Do you think you could put away that book for
a minute, and listen?"
Linton hesitated, then shut the book.
"Hurry up, then," he said.
"I was going to," said Sheen. "I simply came in to tell you that I know
perfectly well who sunk my boat this afternoon."
He felt at once that he had now got Linton's undivided attention.
"Your boat!" said Linton. "You don't mean to say that was yours! What
on earth were you doing at the place?"
"I don't think that's any business of yours, is it, Linton?"
"How did you get back?"
"I don't think that's any business of yours, either. I daresay you're
disappointed, but I did manage to get back. In time for lock-up, too."
"But I don't understand. Do you mean to say that that was your boat we
took?"
"Sunk," corrected Sheen.
"Don't be a fool, Sheen. What the dickens should we want to sink your
boat for? What happened was this. Albert--you remember Albert?--followed
us up to the inn, and smashed our boat while we were having tea. When
we got out and found it sunk, we bagged the only other one we could
see. We hadn't a notion it was yours. We thought it belonged to some
fisherman chap."
"Then you didn't sink my boat?"
"Of course we didn't. What do you take us for?"
"Sorry," said Sheen. "I thought it was a queer thing for you to have
done. I'm glad it wasn't you. Good night."
"But look here," said Linton, "don't go. It must have landed you in a
frightful hole, didn't it?"
"A little. But it doesn't matter. Good night."
"But half a second, Sheen--"
Sheen had disappeared.
Linton sat on till lights were turned off, ruminating. He had a very
tender conscience where other members of the school were concerned,
though it was tougher as regarded masters; and he was full of remorse
at the thought of how nearly he had got Sheen into trouble by borrowing
his boat that afternoon. It seemed to him that it was his duty to make
it up to him in some way.
It was characteristic of Linton that the episode did not, in any way,
alter his attitude towards Sheen. Another boy in a similar position
might have become effusively friendly. Linton looked on the affair in a
calm, judicial spirit. He had done Sheen a bad turn, but that was no
reason why he should fling himself on his neck and swear eternal
friendship. His demeanour on the occasions when they came in contact
with each other remained the same. He did not speak to him, and he did
not seem to see him. But all the while he was remembering that somehow
or other he must do him a good turn of some sort, by way of levelling
things up again. When that good turn had been done, he might dismiss
him from his thoughts altogether.
Sheen, for his part, made no attempt to trade on the matter of the
boat. He seemed as little anxious to be friendly with Linton as Linton
was to be friendly with him. For this Linton was grateful, and
continued to keep his eyes open in the hope of finding some opportunity
of squaring up matters between them.
His chance was not long in coming. The feeling in the house against
Sheen, caused by the story of his encounter with Attell, had not
diminished. Stanning had fostered it in various little ways. It was not
difficult. When a house of the standing in the school which Seymour's
possessed exhibits a weak spot, the rest of the school do not require a
great deal of encouragement to go on prodding that weak spot. In short,
the school rotted Seymour's about Sheen, and Seymour's raged
impotently. Fags of other houses expended much crude satire on
Seymour's fags, and even the seniors of the house came in for their
share of the baiting. Most of the houses at Wrykyn were jealous of
Seymour's, and this struck them as an admirable opportunity of getting
something of their own back.
One afternoon, not long after Sheen's conversation with Linton,
Stanning came into Seymour's senior day-room and sat down on the table.
The senior day-room objected to members of other houses coming and
sitting on their table as if they had bought that rickety piece of
furniture; but Stanning's reputation as a bruiser kept their resentment
within bounds.
"Hullo, you chaps," said Stanning.
The members of the senior day-room made no reply, but continued, as Mr
Kipling has it, to persecute their vocations. Most of them were
brewing. They went on brewing with the earnest concentration of
_chefs_.
"You're a cheery lot," said Stanning. "But I don't wonder you've got
the hump. I should be a bit sick if we'd got a skunk like that in our
house. Heard the latest?"
Some lunatic said, "No. What?" thereby delivering the day-room bound
into the hands of the enemy.
"Sheen's apologised to Attell."
There was a sensation in the senior day-room, as Stanning had expected.
He knew his men. He was perfectly aware that any story which centred
round Sheen's cowardice would be believed by them, so he had not
troubled to invent a lie which it would be difficult to disprove. He
knew that in the present state of feeling in the house Sheen would not
be given a hearing.
"No!" shouted the senior day-room.
This was the last straw. The fellow seemed to go out of his way to
lower the prestige of the house.
"Fact," said Stanning. "I thought you knew."
He continued to sit on the table, swinging his legs, while the full
horror of his story sunk into the senior day-room mind.
"I wonder you don't do something about it. Why don't you touch him up?
He's not a prefect."
But they were not prepared to go to that length. The senior day-room
had a great respect both for Drummond's word and his skill with his
hands. He had said he would slay any one who touched Sheen, and they
were of opinion that he would do it.
"He isn't in," said one of the brewers, looking up from his
toasting-fork. "His study door was open when I passed."
"I say, why not rag his study?" suggested another thickly, through a
mouthful of toast.
Stanning smiled.
"Good idea," he said.
It struck him that some small upheaval of Sheen's study furniture,
coupled with the burning of one or two books, might check to some
extent that student's work for the Gotford. And if Sheen could be
stopped working for the Gotford, he, Stanning, would romp home. In the
matter of brilliance there was no comparison between them. It was
Sheen's painful habit of work which made him dangerous.
Linton had been listening to this conversation in silence. He had come
to the senior day-room to borrow a book. He now slipped out, and made
his way to Drummond's study.
Drummond was in. Linton proceeded to business.
"I say, Drummond."
"Hullo?"
"That man Stanning has come in. He's getting the senior day-room to rag
Sheen's study."
"What!"
Linton repeated his statement.
"Does the man think he owns the house?" said Drummond. "Where is he?"
"Coming up now. I hear them. What are you going to do? Stop them?"
"What do you think? Of course I am. I'm not going to have any of
Appleby's crew coming into Seymour's and ragging studies."
"This ought to be worth seeing," said Linton. "Look on me as 'Charles,
his friend'. I'll help if you want me, but it's your scene."
Drummond opened his door just as Stanning and his myrmidons were
passing it.
"Hullo, Stanning," he said.
Stanning turned. The punitive expedition stopped.
"Do you want anything?" inquired Drummond politely.
The members of the senior day-room who were with Stanning rallied round,
silent and interested. This dramatic situation appealed to them. They
had a passion for rows, and this looked distinctly promising.
There was a pause. Stanning looked carefully at Drummond. Drummond
looked carefully at Stanning.
"I was going to see Sheen," said Stanning at length.
"He isn't in."
"Oh!"
Another pause.
"Was it anything special?" inquired Drummond pleasantly.
The expedition edged a little forward.
"No. Oh, no. Nothing special," said Stanning.
The expedition looked disappointed.
"Any message I can give him?" asked Drummond.
"No, thanks," said Stanning.
"Sure?"
"Quite, thanks."
"I don't think it's worth while your waiting. He may not be in for some
time."
"No, perhaps not. Thanks. So long."
"So long."
Stanning turned on his heel, and walked away down the passage. Drummond
went back into his study, and shut the door.
The expedition, deprived of its commander-in-chief, paused irresolutely
outside. Then it followed its leader's example.
There was peace in the passage.
Content of CHAPTER XIV - A SKIRMISH [P G Wodehouse's novel: White Feather]
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