Christmas gold, p.821
Christmas Gold, page 821
Other honourable senators having, when appealed to, returned answers of a no less discouraging character, there seemed to be but one course remaining—that of drawing lots. A resolution to do this was carried, after some discussion: it being agreed that he on whom the lot might fall should decamp on the morrow, and, having found some secure hiding-place, write to one of his schoolmates, or (perhaps preferably) to his own friends, declaring that the step he had taken was prompted by a reluctance to perish of starvation.
The proposed time was subsequently extended to one week, in order that he who drew the fatal lot might have time to try the effect of a touching appeal to his parents or friends, fairly setting forth the treatment we were experiencing. If this answered, well and good. If not, the honourable gentleman (said our chief) "will cut his lucky this day se'nnight."
Lots were then solemnly drawn, in the primitive Homeric fashion, every boy's name—those of the fifth class excepted—being inscribed in a slip of paper, and flung into a hat. There was a strong feeling in favour of exempting Jack Rogers, our president—the Nestor of the school—who, being near seventeen, and about to leave, would, no doubt, have preferred fighting through the remainder of his term, famish as he might. But the good fellow flounced at the idea, as though it had been an insult, and himself cast in his name.
Carefully following our classic model, the hat was then violently shaken. The lot that, in obedience to a fillip from the Fates, first leaped out and touched the earth, was to decide the question. Two flew out, but one of these rested on the shaker's sleeve. There was a decided disinclination to take up the other. It seemed as if nobody had, until this supreme crisis, fully realised the consequences that might ensue from thus abandoning at onee both school and home.
My heart, I confess, stood still for a moment, as Jack Rogers stood forward and picked up the paper. Then I felt the blood mount to my cheeks, as our leader slowly read, "Charles Stuart Trelawny."
"Always in luck, Charley!" he continued, laughing; but I think Jack only intended to keep up my spirits. "Write directly, my boy," he added, in a graver tone, "and, take my advice, write bang up to the governor. Treat it as a matter of business. Mamma is safe to put in her word."
I wrote at once:
"My dear Papa,—I hope you are quite well. I ain't. You know I'm not greedy, and not so foolish as to expect at school such jolly things as at home. So you must not be angry when I say what I'm obliged to say, that we can't eat what Mrs. Glumper says is dinner; and as there's nothing else but slop and a bit of bread, everybody's starving.
"I remain, your dutiful Son,
"C. S. TRELAWNY.
"P.S. If you don't like to speak to Mrs. Glumper, would you mind asking mamma and Agnes, with my love, to send me a big loaf of bread (with Crust, and, if possible, browned) that might last a week?
"Lieut.-Geu. Trelawny, C.B., K.H.,
Penrhyn Court."
I thought this despatch sufficiently businesslike, and waited with some anxiety for the result. If papa only knew what depended on his decision! He ought to put faith in me, for I had never been untruthful, and had done myself no more than justice in reminding him that I was no glutton.
It was, I believe, on the fourth day of suspense that a large parcel was brought into the playground, a crowd of curious and expectant youths escorting it, and witnessing its delivery. Small blame to them!
There resided within the limits of that parcel—for, though mighty, it had its limits—first, a beefsteak-pie, not only composed of real bee£ but enriched with eggs and minor excellences, all trembling in a jellied gravy of surpassing savour. There was, secondly, a chosen company of mince pies, clinging together from sheer richness, in such wise that a very stoic, if hungry, might be reluctant to "sever such sweet friends," and devour them two at a time.
There was revealed, in the third place, a large apple turnover: so called, I should surmise, because a boy might turn it over and over, and back again, and, after all, find himself unable to determine which looked the more enticing—the sugary, or the buttery side. And, finally, there was a cake which I can scarcely repent having characterised, at the moment, as "tremendous!"
There was no letter, but the augury seemed good. Such ambassadors as pies and turnovers speak with tongues of their own. It was not intended that we should perish. We should see the effect of my manly and businesslike appeal, perhaps that very day, in an improved bill of fare, and a diminution of caterpillars. As to husbanding our new supplies, such an idea never occurred to any one. Alas, that we could not all partake! Lots had to be once more drawn, and a lucky party of eighteen, with Jack Rogers and myself, honorary, made extremely short work of the parcel.
Shade follows sunshine. There was no amelioration of the accustomed fare at dinner; but a decided cloud on Mrs. Glumper's haughty brow was interpreted favourably by Jack—a close observer of human nature—as evincing her disgust at the costly reform to which she saw herself committed.
Alas! for once, our leader was wrong. Not that day, nor the following day, nor any other day, so long as that establishment survived, was there any departure from the time-(dis)honoured rules of diet.
It was long before I came into possession of the state papers actually exchanged on this occasion. Premising that my father, busied with his other letters, had handed over mine to my mother, saying,"Do see to this, my dear," here they are:
The Lady Caroline Trelawny to Mrs. Glumper.
"Dear Mrs. Glumper,—I trust that the size of the parcel I forward to my boy, will not alarm you. Charley is growing very rapidly, so rapidly, indeed, that his father drew my attention to the circumstance, not without some misgiving that he might outgrow his strength. You may smile at the anxiety that prompts me to remind one so experienced as yourself in the care of youth, that good, clean, and sufficient food is more than ever necessary to my tall boy. He is not a dainty boy, and the conditions I have mentioned will, I am sure, meet all that he, or I, on his behalf, could desire. With compliments to Dr. Glumper, I am, dear Mrs. Glumper, sincerely yours,
"CAROLINE M. TRELAWNY."
Mrs. Glumper to the Lady Caroline Trelawny.
"Dear Madam,—Perhaps the most satisfactory answer I can make to your obliging note will be conveyed in the assurance that Dr. Glumper, myself, our family, and the masters (except Monsieur Legourmet, who insists on providing his own meals), live invariably with, and as, our boys; and that, in the matter of food, there is neither stint nor compulsion.
" Respectfully yours,
" JEZEBEL GLUMPER."
There was, unfortunately, just sufficient colouring of truth in this to satisfy the consciences of both ladies. They did dine, or rather sit down, with us, and being helped first to the tit-bits, accompanied with hot gravy and et caeteras, at their own cross-table, got on pretty well. As for the good old doctor, he was the most innocent of accomplices in promoting our starvation. He simply did as his wife decreed, caring nothing for himself, and would have starved with his bpys without a murmur.
After it became apparent that our move had failed, all, before the arrival of the fatal day, passed with me like a curious dream. I felt as if I no longer belonged to the school, hardly to myself, and though no verbal reference was made to my impending disappearance, I saw that no one had forgotten it. Significant were the facts, that Percy Pobjoy, who had owed me eightpence from time immemorial, borrowed that sum to repay me; and that another chap, with whom I had had a row, spontaneously asked my pardon.
Saturday—the day—appeared in due course. There remained but one more meal, one more chance for Mrs. Glumper and for me.
"If she gives us but a commonly decent feed to-day," muttered Jack Rogers, pinching my elbow, as we went in, "by Jove, Charley, my boy, we'll stop your nefarious plans!"
No such chance. There it was, the flabby mass of rice, helped first, as a good appetite-choking stuff, to relieve the succeeding dish from any undue pressure.
After rice appeared the much-dreaded pie, glaring yellowly, with its coarse pretentious outside—prototype of many a living humbug—veiling one knows not what of false and vile. O, the contrast to the rich and delicate article—alike only in name—sent by my mother!
The pie was served, and was undergoing the usual suspicious scrutiny, when Mrs. Glumper, with the voice of a herald, proclaimed:
"Master Trelawny will eat every grain of that rice before he receives anything further."
There was a half-audible titter; but I remained firm, and thus ended the last "dinner" at Glumper House.
Jack Rogers put his arm in mine.
"I'm sorry for this, Trelawny," he said.
"I'm not," said I, trying to smile, " exc—except for——" I thought of my mother, and broke down.
"We'll have a Palaver, at all events," said Jack.
In a moment, a large concourse assembled under our favourite elm. If the truth must out, I could have dispensed with this ceremony, which somehow imparted a sensation of being present at one's own burial. But Jack Rogers was not to be denied this splendid opportunity of speech-making.
He did speak, in a manner, and at a length, that must have been remembered in the school long after I—its theme—was forgotten there. In his peroration, he observed that the honour and the well-being of Glumper's could not, in this extremity, have been confided to worthier hands. Nor was it this community alone that was to profit by the important step about to be taken. The eyes of every school in Europe were, or would be, if they knew what was going on, fixed on Glumper House. Mr. Trelawny was about to place his foot on the first rung of the ladder of affluence, fame, and power. What pecuniary means, he would frankly ask, were at my disposal?
I replied, with the like openness, "Eightpence,"
"The precise amount," resumed Jack, triumphantly, "(within one and tenpence) from whence colossal fortunes spring! 'He began his immortal career with half-a-crown.' Or, 'The origin of this eminent citizen was of the humblest; he commenced life with two-and-sixpence.' Or, 'Our modern Croesus began the battle of life with the moiety of a five-shilling piece. He died worth TWO MILLIONS sterling!' Such, are among our most familiar passages in biography. Charles, my boy, again you are in luck." And he shook my hand warmly.
I ventured incidentally to suggest that I was not in possession of the magical amount required.
"Nay, by George, but you shall be!" exclaimed Jack. "Here's sixpence towards it. Think of it when you're a confoundedly crusty old millionnaire, and send old Jack a haunch from one of your deer-parks—the Scotch one. Who'll subscribe to the Trelawny Testimonial?"
Hard up as the good chaps were, so many came forward, that a sum of about nine-and-sixpence was poured into the hands of our chief. But Jack's remark had been working strangely in my mind. Something admonished me to keep strictly to the rule which had, apparently, prospered so well.
In a few words I thanked my mates, therefore, for their kind intentions, but declined to take more than was required to make up the exact fortune-making sum. I would do nothing (I added, in substance) to risk a failure, nor impair the innate vigour, the youthful freshness, of half-a-crown, by dabbling with an adolescent amount like ten-and-twopence: a sum entirely unassociated with any of those encouraging biographies quoted by our president. I would take my half-crown—no more.
As the day was waning, it became necessary to make preparations for my departure. Accordingly, attended by a few faithful friends, I proceeded to make up a small bundle, such as I could conveniently carry, leaving the remainder of my possessions at the disposal of fate. There was one thing I was very loth to abandon. It was a flower-pot, containing the commencement of a very promising scarlet-runner. It had been the source of great interest and consolation. I half resolved to make it the sharer of my fortunes. But Jack Rogers objected. In vain he taxed his memory to recal any one instance in which the successful adventurer had flung himself upon the world with half-a-crown and a scarlet-runner. If the case of Jack and the Beanstalk were relied upon, he (Rogers) would only remark that the present age of inquiry had succeeded in throwing very considerable doubt upon portions of that narrative. This was enough.
About escaping, there was no difficulty. Part of the playing-field was out of sight of the house, and, although it was penal to frequent this portion, and it was the duty of the monitor of the day to report any one so doing, on the present occasion the monitor in person gave me a leg up the wall. There was a last shaking of hands, and a suppressed cheer, when I paused for a moment on the top.
"You'll write that letter tomorrow, then, from—from somewhere?" said Jack, mysteriously. (I nodded.) "All right, old boy?"
"Ye-es," I responded. "All right, you know. Hoor——"
Down I dropped adrift!
That wall seemed to make all the difference. I don't think that, until my feet alighted on the alien ground of Mr. Turfitt's brick-field, I had fully realised the fact of running away. But a runaway I was now; and, to do my boyish courage justice, no thought of returning or seeking the protection of home, ever entered into my imagination. One brief and bitter pang I did experience, as I thought of the probable effect the tidings of my flight might have upon the happy home circle; but I met it with the reflection that the letter I should write must set them at. ease as to my personal safety and prospects. In the mean time, it was obviously desirable to get away.
Dr. Glumper's was situated in an open suburb north of London, and therefore, well on the high road to fortune. I set my face straight towards the quarter in which I concluded the City to lie, and trudged on, vaguely wondering what would happen to me when bedtime came.
Suddenly, a bright thought, suggested by the name on a public-house sign, shot across my mind. I had a friend—Philip Concanen—who resided at Chelsea, nothing of a walk, five miles. Phil had long outgrown Glumper's, though his name and his fame and a very rudely-executed miniature of Mrs. G, carved on the inside of his whilom desk, still survived. He was a middle-aged man now—going on, I should think, for nineteen—and had called once at Glumper's in a gig, driving himself. I had been a favourite of Phil's, and felt convinced that he would not only afford me his counsel, but keep mine. Well over the first steps of my pilgrimage, I had no fears about the remainder.
Philip was already in business with his father and uncle—wealthy brewers and distillers—whose establishment displayed on its river-face a frontage so imposing as almost to justify the tradition that it had once been mistaken for Chelsea Hospital. On the land side, you merely dived down a dark and narrow lane, sole shaft to the gold mine that lay beyond. Down this passage, as evening fell, I groped my way, and, by great good luck, found Philip in sole command (till Monday morning) of "Concanen Brothers, and Concanen."
Philip gave me a cordial welcome, and, thanks to his old housekeeper, a most heart-reviving supper, and listened to my story with all the kindness and interest I had expected; also with a degree of gravity I had not expected. Intercourse with men and vats had already taken off the edge of his romance. There is, in beer, a decided tendency to sap the life of sentiment. In meal, I have since observed, a contrary rule prevails. Your miller's daughter—if he has one—is almost always a heroine.
My friend criticised with some severity the golden visions of Jack Rogers, repudiated belief in the efficacy of half-a-crown as the especial keystone of affluence, and even hinted (though remotely) at the desirability of my making terms with the home authorities, and abandoning my enterprise.
On this point, however, I was firmness itself and after a lengthened discussion the following convention was agreed to:
That the old housekeeper, Mrs. Swigsby, should be admitted to our complete confidence, with a view to my occupancy of the spare bedroom till Monday. That on that day I should transfer my quarters to Philip's own private smoko-harness room, from whence a side portal and a passage, dark at noon, gave upon Paradise-alley, and thence to the privacy of Jew's-road. That I should retain such refuge until I had enjoyed an opportunity of "feeling my way"—which, indeed, would necessarily occur whenever I crossed the threshold. That on the slightest suspicion of my whereabout becoming known, I should depart, so as to avoid compromising my friend. Lastly, that I should at once write to my parents an assurance of my personal safety.
With some difficulty—owing to Mrs. Swigsby's being a deafer human creature than I could have conceived possible—that excellent lady was indoctrinated in the matter, and dismissing from her mind a first idea that I was the nephew of Mr. Arthur Thistlewood, and deeply compromised in certain, then recent, proceedings in Cato-street, promised every assistance. This arranged, I sat down to my letter:
'"My dear Papa and Mama,—I hope you are quite well. We ate up the Pie and other Things you so kindly sent, and then began Starving again. Rice, and Catterpillars, and what they call Beefstake-Pie but Isn't, as usual. I hoped you would have written to Mrs. Glumper, but perhaps you were Afrade. We held a Counsel, and Settled to run away One by One—till the Dinners get better. We drew Lots, and it Fell to me. I knew you would Aprove, for I heard you once say, about Captain Shurker, that it wasn't honourable to Back Out. I have my Second-best suit, some linen, my Bible, and Latin Delectus, and a Sum of Money which is the Beginning of a Fortune. I know what I am Doing—that is, I shall Tomorrow—so I hope you won't be angry and kiss Mama and my love to Agnes and I am your Afectionate Dutiful Son,
"C. S. TRELAWNY."
Early on Monday morning, Phil introduced me to my new quarters in the smoko-harness room, where we found Mrs. Swigsby engaged in constructing what she called a "trumpery" bed. Prom the good lady's demeanour, I could not help fancying that she even now harboured some misgivings concerning me, for she glanced at me now and then as if she expected me to go off like a grenade. It was useless, however, to attempt to enlighten her further. Phil confessed as much, and owned that we must take our chance.
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