“Above all, beware of the cat.” The Ugly Duckling.

“Here, Val, you’re just the man I want! Tell me something to say.”

It was a broiling afternoon. The summer term had once more come round, and Jack, with his coat off, was sitting in a shady corner of the schoolroom wrestling with a letter to Queen Mab.

“I write to her nearly every blessed week,” he continued, “and the consequence is I’ve never got anything to say. I’ve told her how jolly it is to think that in four weeks’ time we shall be at Brenlands again; and now I’m stuck, and I can’t get any further.”

“Have you told her how well you’ve been doing in cricket this season?”

“No.”

“Well, I have; so it doesn’t much matter. Look here! Raymond Fosberton’s outside, and wants to see you.”

“Oh, tell him to go to Bath!” answered Jack, making another stab at the ink-pot with his pen. “I want to finish this letter.”

“No, come along,” answered Valentine, laughing. “You must be civil to the fellow; he’s been waiting about for nearly a quarter of an hour.”

“Do him good,” growled the scribe, reluctantly pitching his untidy epistle into a very disorderly desk. “He only comes here to show off. Just because he’s in a lawyer’s office, he thinks he’s a big pot, and all he does is to write copies like a kid in the Lower School.”

According to his own opinion, Raymond Fosberton had blossomed out into the full-blown man. He wore a light check suit of the very latest fashion, a rosebud adorned his button-hole, and he tapped the toe of his highly-polished, patent-leather boots with the point of a silver-mounted cane.

“Hallo!” he exclaimed; “what the dickens d’you want to keep a chap waiting so long for? I can tell you my time’s more valuable than yours. Look here! I’m sorry I haven’t been able to ask you boys to come and see me before, but nearly every night since I’ve been here I’ve been engaged. However, I want you to get leave to come and have tea at my rooms on Wednesday, and after that we’ll go to the fair. You know what I mean. It’s held once a year in a big field on the other side of the town; there are shows, and round-abouts, and all that sort of thing.”

“Thanks,” answered Valentine, “but I’m afraid we can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Because the rule of the school is that no boys are allowed to go to Melchester Fair. Old Westford is awfully strict about it. Two years ago some fellows went, and had a row with one of the showmen, and it got into the papers.”

“Oh, rubbish! you can say you’re only going out to tea.” Valentine shook his head.

“Oh, yes, you can,” continued Raymond. “By-the-bye, there’s a fellow here called Rosher, isn’t there? My guv’nor knows his people, and told me to ask him out sometimes; tell him to come too, if he can.”

“We can’t do it,” answered Valentine decisively; “while the fair’s on, Westford won’t even give fellows leave to go down into town.”

“Nonsense!” answered Raymond contemptuously. “You leave it to me, and I’ll manage it all right. Now I must cut back to the office. Ta! ta!”

On Wednesday afternoon the two cousins were preparing to start for the cricket field, when a small boy brought them word that the headmaster wished to see them for a moment in his study.

“What’s the row now, I wonder?” said Jack. “’Pon my word, it’s so long since I went to the old man’s study that I feel quite nervous.”

The interview was not of a distressing nature. “I have received a letter from your uncle,” began Mr. Westford, “asking for you to be allowed to go and meet him at the station this afternoon at five o’clock. He wishes also to see Rosher, so you can tell him that he may go. Be back, of course, in time for supper.”

“I wonder what brings Uncle Fosberton to Melchester,” said Valentine to Jack as they walked away together.

“Can’t say,” returned the other. “I don’t want to see him; but I suppose we must go. Let’s hunt up Rosher.”

A few minutes before five, the three boys entered the booking-office at the railway station.

“I wonder which platform it is!” said Jack. “Hallo! there’s Raymond.”

The gentleman in question came forward, flourishing his silver-mounted cane.

“Well, my dear nephews,” he cried, laughing. “How are you to-day? Did old Westford get my letter all right?”

“What letter?” asked Valentine.

“Why, the letter asking for you to come out.”

“But uncle wrote that!”

“Not a bit of it!” answered Raymond triumphantly. “I did it. I had a bit of the manor note-paper, and I sent it to our man to post it from Grenford. Ha! ha! I told you I’d manage the business!”

Rosher chuckled, Jack whistled, but Valentine remained silent.

“Look here, Raymond,” said Valentine, after a moment’s pause, “I tell you straight, I don’t believe in this sort of thing. I’m going back.”

“Don’t be a fool, man,” retorted the other. “You can’t go back now, or they’ll want to know the reason. Come along to my diggings and have some tea, and I’ll bear all the blame.”

With some reluctance Valentine agreed to go with the party to his cousin’s lodgings. Raymond did not seem on very good terms with his landlady. The tea was a long time coming; and when at length it did make its appearance, the fare consisted only of bread and butter, and a half-empty pot of jam.

“Sorry I can’t offer you anything more,” remarked the host, “but just now I’ve run rather short of cash. Better luck next time.”

As soon as the meal was over, Raymond repeated his proposal that they should visit the fair.

“It’s an awful joke,” he said. “I’m going, and you chaps may as well come along too.”

“It’s all very well for you to go,” answered Jack, “but with us it’s different. Any one can see by our hat-bands that we belong to the school; and if it gets to Westford’s ears that we’ve been, we shall stand a jolly good chance of being expelled.”

“Oh, well! if you’re afraid, don’t go,” answered Raymond, with a sneer. “I thought you were a chap who didn’t care for anything. Will you go, Rosher?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Come on, then; don’t let’s stick here all the evening.”

The four boys put on their hats and sauntered out into the street. Valentine said good-night, and turned off in the direction of the school; but Jack lingered behind with the other two.

“That’s right,” said Raymond, taking his arm; “I knew you’d come.”

The evening was always the gayest part of the day at Melchester Fair. Crowds of people from the town and surrounding neighbourhood jostled each other in the open spaces between the tents and booths, while the noise of bands, steam-organs, and yelling showmen was something terrific.

“I say, have either of you fellows got change for a sovereign?” asked Raymond. “You haven’t? well, you pay, and I’ll settle up with you some other time.”

The boys wandered round the field, listening to the cheap Jacks, and the proprietors of various exhibitions, which were all “just a-goin’ to begin.” They patronized a shooting-gallery, where they fired down long tubes with little rifles, which made the marksman’s hands very black, and seemed to carry round the corner. Jack, however, succeeded in hitting the bull’s-eye, and ringing the bell, and was rewarded with a handful of nuts.

“Come on,” said Rosher; “let’s have a turn on the wooden horses,” and the party accordingly moved off in the direction of the nearest round-about. The steeds were three abreast, and Raymond mounted the one on the outside. A little group of factory boys were standing close by, and, just as the engine started, one of them thought fit to enliven the proceedings with a joke.

“Hallo, mister! how much starch d’you put on your weskit?”

“That much!” answered Raymond, snappishly, and leaning outwards in passing he dealt the speaker a sharp cut with his cane.

“Yah! Thatches!” cried the boy, and every time the whirligig brought his assailant into view the shout was repeated.

In the year of grace 1877 some traces still remained of an ancient feud between the school and the boys of the town. The name “Thatches” had been invented by the latter on account of the peculiar pattern of straw hat worn by their adversaries; while the answering taunt always used in those warlike times was, “Hey, Johnny, where’s your apron?” a remark which greatly incensed the small sons of toil, who usually wore this garment.

“What have you been doing to those chaps?” asked Jack, as the horses slowed down and the yell was repeated.

“One of them cheeked me, and I hit him with my stick.”

“Well, we’d better slip away as soon as this thing stops; we don’t want to have a row with them here.”

Unfortunately for the three boys, their steeds stopped just opposite the hostile group. Jack pushed through them with an expression of lofty contempt, an example followed by Rosher; but Raymond was stupidly led into a further exchange of incivilities.

“Don’t you give me any more of your confounded impudence, you miserable little cads, or I’ll give you another taste of this stick.”

The “cads” answered with a shout of derisive laughter, and a few more straggling clansmen joining the band, they followed after the three friends, keeping at a safe distance, and repeating their cries of “Yah! Thatches! Hit one yer own size!” and other remarks of a similar nature.

“We can’t go on like this,” said Jack. “They’ll follow us all round the fair. Shall we charge the beggars?”

“No,” answered Raymond. “Let’s go into the circus, and that’ll put them off the track. You fellows pay, and I’ll owe it you; I don’t want to change my sovereign here.”

Rosher paid for three shilling seats, and the trio entered the big circular tent, thus for the time being effectually escaping from the pursuing band of unfriendly natives.

The performance had just commenced, and though the display was by no means brilliant, yet the boys enjoyed it, and soon forgot the existence of everything except clowns, acrobats, and trained horses.

“I say!” exclaimed Rosher suddenly, “d’you know what the time is? It’s close on nine o’clock!”

“By jingo!” answered Jack, “we must do a bolt.”

“No, don’t go,” interposed Raymond; “you can’t get back in time now, so you may as well stay and see the end. If you’ll come round by my lodgings, I’ll get my guv’nor to write a letter of excuse.”

“I don’t want any more of your letters,” murmured Jack, “it’s too risky. We’d better hook it.”

“No, stay; you can’t get back in time now, so what’s the good of losing part of the performance?”

After some further discussion, Jack and Rosher decided to remain, and so kept their seats until the end of the performance. It was quite dark when they emerged from the tent, and every part of the fair was lit up with flaring paraffin lamps. They had not gone very far when, as ill-luck would have it, a shrill cry of “Hallo! Thatches!” showed that they had been sighted by some small scout of the enemy.

“I’ve got some coppers left,” said Rosher; “let’s have a shot at the cocoa-nuts.”

They stopped opposite a pitch, and began bowling at the fruit. The first two or three shies were unsuccessful; then Jack knocked down a nut.

“I’m not going to let you beat me!” cried Rosher. “Here; mister, give me some more balls.”

A fresh group of town boys were hovering about in the rear, their number being now augmented by one or two of a larger size.

“Yah! Thatch! you can’t hit ’em! Come ’ere and let’s see that stick you was talking about.”

“I say,” whispered Raymond to his cousin, “wouldn’t it be a lark to pretend to make a good shot, and knock that lamp over.” He pointed as he spoke to one of the flaring oil lamps which, fastened to a stake a few feet above the ground, illuminated the line of nuts.

“No, don’t do it,” answered Jack; but the warning came too late. Raymond threw with all his might, and, as ill-luck would have it, the aim was only too true; the heavy wooden ball hit the lamp a sounding whack, dashed it from its stand, and the next moment the canvas screen at the back of the pitch against which it fell was all in a blaze.

In an instant all was confusion. Quick as thought Raymond turned, and slipped away between the wheels of a caravan which stood close by. The proprietor of the pitch sprang forward and seized Jack by the coat.

“’Ere, you did that,” he cried, “and you did it a purpose.”

The crowd of juvenile roughs closed in behind.

“Yes, ’e did it,” they cried; “’e’s the man.”

“I didn’t do it,” retorted the boy. “Leave go!”

Rosher leaned forward, and giving his friend a nudge, uttered the one word,

“Bolt!”

Jack’s blood was up. He wrenched himself free of the man’s grasp, and plunged into the little crowd of riff-raff, striking heavy blows to right and left. Rosher did the same; and the enemy, who were nothing but a pack of barking curs, went down like ninepins, falling over one another in their efforts to escape.

The two fugitives rushed on, stumbling over tent-ropes and dodging round the booths and stalls, until they came to the outskirts of the fair. Then they paused to take breath and consider what was to be done next. The glare of the burning canvas and a noise of distant shouting, which could be clearly distinguished above the other babel of sounds, showed the quarter from which they had come.

“Where’s Raymond?” cried Jack.

“I don’t know,” answered Rosher; “we can’t wait here, or we shall be collared.”

“Didn’t you see what became of him? I don’t like the thought of leaving the fellow ”

The sentence was never finished; for at that moment two men suddenly appeared from behind a neighbouring stall. One was arrayed in a blue uniform with bright buttons, and his companion was at once recognized by the boys as being the proprietor of the cocoa-nut pitch.

“Here they are!” shouted the latter, catching hold of the policeman’s arm; “now we’ve got ’em!”

Quick as thought the two schoolfellows turned and dashed off at the top of their speed. Beyond the outskirts of the fair all lay in darkness; a high hedge loomed in front of them. Jack scrambled up the bank, crashed through the thorn bushes, and fell heavily to the ground on the other side. In an instant he had regained his feet, and was running for his life with Rosher by his side. In this manner they crossed three fields, stumbling over uneven places in the ground, scratching their hands, and tearing their clothes in the hedges, and at length landed nearly up to their knees in a ditch half-full of mud and water.

“It’s no good, Fenleigh, I can’t go any further. I’m completely pumped.”

Struggling on to a bit of rising ground, the fugitives halted and turned round to listen. The glare of light and noise of the fair had been left some distance behind them, and there were no sounds of pursuit. The night was very dark, and everything in their immediate neighbourhood was quiet and still.

“We must get to the town some other way,” said Jack. “Doesn’t the road to Hornalby pass somewhere here on the right?”

“I don’t know,” answered Rosher; “we ought to strike some road or other if we keep going in that direction.”

The boys continued their flight, varying their walk by occasionally breaking into a jog-trot. At length they found themselves in a narrow lane; but after wandering down it for nearly half a mile, their further progress was barred by the appearance of a private gate.

“Botheration!” cried Jack, “we’ve come wrong; this leads to some farm. We shall never get home at this rate.”

Retracing their steps the way they had come, the two unfortunate adventurers at length found themselves on the Hornalby road; but when they reached Melchester, and were hurrying down the side street past “Duster’s” shop, the cathedral clock struck half-past eleven.

“Oh, my!” said Rosher; “how shall we get in? Everybody will be in bed. We shall have to knock up old Mullins at the lodge.”

“No fear,” answered Jack. “We must get into Westford’s garden, and from there into the quad; then we’ll try some of the windows.”

The plan was carried out, and a few moments later the two boys were standing in the dark and deserted playground. Jack made a circuit of the buildings on tiptoe, and then returned to his companion.

“All the classroom windows are fast,” he said, “but there’s one on the first landing belonging to the bathroom that’s open. What we must do is this. Under the bench in the workshop is that ladder thing that Preston and I made last year. We must fetch it, and you must hold it while I get up to the window. Then you must put the ladder back, and I’ll creep down and let you in at the side door. The workshop’s locked, but luckily I’ve got the key in my pocket!”

The scheme was successful, and ten minutes later the two wanderers were creeping up the main staircase. Rosher had a private bedroom; and Jack, moving softly, and undressing in the dark, managed to get into bed without awakening any of the other boys in his dormitory.