The White Feather | Page 9

of Jack Bruce. If he had liked,
he could have gone about with quite a suite of retainers. But he was a
quiet, self-sufficing youth, and was rarely to be seen in public. The
engineering side of a public school has workshops and other
weirdnesses which keep it occupied after the ordinary school hours. It
was generally understood that Bruce was a good sort of chap if you
knew him, but you had got to know him first; brilliant at his work, and
devoted to it; a useful slow bowler; known to be able to drive and
repair the family motor-car; one who seldom spoke unless spoken to,
but who, when he did speak, generally had something sensible to say.
Beyond that, report said little.
As he refused to allow the school to work off its enthusiasm on him,
they were obliged to work it off elsewhere. Hence the disturbances
which had become frequent between school and town. The
inflammatory speeches of Mr Saul Pedder had caused a swashbuckling
spirit to spread among the rowdy element of the town. Gangs of youths,
to adopt the police-court term, had developed a habit of parading the
streets arm-in-arm, shouting "Good old Pedder!" When these met some

person or persons who did not consider Mr Pedder good and old, there
was generally what the local police-force described as a "frakkus".
It was in one of these frakkuses that Linton had lost a valuable tooth.
Two days had elapsed since Dunstable and Linton had looked in on
Sheen for tea. It was a Saturday afternoon, and roll-call was just over.
There was no first fifteen match, only a rather uninteresting
house-match, Templar's versus Donaldson's, and existence in the school
grounds showed signs of becoming tame.
"What a beastly term the Easter term is," said Linton, yawning. "There
won't be a thing to do till the house-matches begin properly."
Seymour's had won their first match, as had Day's. They would not be
called upon to perform for another week or more.
"Let's get a boat out," suggested Dunstable.
"Such a beastly day."
"Let's have tea at the shop."
"Rather slow. How about going to Cook's?"
"All right. Toss you who pays."
Cook's was a shop in the town to which the school most resorted when
in need of refreshment.
"Wonder if we shall meet Albert."
Linton licked the place where his tooth should have been, and said he
hoped so.
Sergeant Cook, the six-foot proprietor of the shop, was examining a
broken window when they arrived, and muttering to himself.
"Hullo!" said Dunstable, "what's this? New idea for ventilation? Golly,
massa, who frew dat brick?"
"Done it at ar-parse six last night, he did," said Sergeant Cook, "the
red-'eaded young scallywag. Ketch 'im--I'll give 'im--"
"Sounds like dear old Albert," said Linton. "Who did it, sergeant?"
"Red-headed young mongrel. 'Good old Pedder,' he says. 'I'll give you
Pedder,' I says. Then bang it comes right on top of the muffins, and
when I doubled out after 'im 'e'd gone."
Mrs Cook appeared and corroborated witness's evidence. Dunstable
ordered tea.
"We may meet him on our way home," said Linton. "If we do, I'll give
him something from you with your love. I owe him a lot for myself."
Mrs Cook clicked her tongue compassionately at the sight of the

obvious void in the speaker's mouth.
"You'll 'ave to 'ave a forlse one, Mr Linton," said Sergeant Cook with
gloomy relish.
The back shop was empty. Dunstable and Linton sat down and began
tea. Sergeant Cook came to the door from time to time and dilated
further on his grievances.
"Gentlemen from the school they come in 'ere and says ain't it all a joke
and exciting and what not. But I says to them, you 'aven't got to live in
it, I says. That's what it is. You 'aven't got to live in it, I says. Glad
when it's all over, that's what I'll be."
"'Nother jug of hot water, please," said Linton.
The Sergeant shouted the order over his shoulder, as if he were
addressing a half-company on parade, and returned to his woes.
"You 'aven't got to live in it, I says. That's what it is. It's this everlasting
worry and flurry day in and day out, and not knowing what's going to
'appen next, and one man coming in and saying 'Vote for Bruce', and
another 'Vote for Pedder', and another saying how it's the poor man's
loaf he's fighting for--if he'd only buy a loaf, now--'ullo, 'ullo, wot's
this?"
There was a "confused noise without", as Shakespeare would put it, and
into the shop came clattering Barry and McTodd, of Seymour's, closely
followed by Stanning and Attell.
"This is getting a bit too thick," said Barry, collapsing into a chair.
From the outer