Darrell's father had. He made a mess of things, and my father came in and bought. That's why he hates me so much. As to this letter, pooh! I'll get even with 'em all before I've done. Feofé doesn't frighten me, not a bit."
Certainly not. Yet Susanne had pulled the great Rawlings' nose, and that brilliant and magnificent bully had not retaliated. But he would, some day, when the moment was propitious. For the time being he left the little quartette alone, and Clive and his fellows were therefore at liberty to forget the feud; which they did promptly. In the meanwhile, Ranleigh had many things of interest to show them.
"Look here, Darrell kid," observed Masters one day, presuming on his two months' seniority of Clive, and on the fact that he had been two terms at the school, "I don't mind taking you along to show you the sights. Been to the tuck?"
"What's that? Oh, tuck-shop, I suppose?"
"Of course, booby! You don't suppose it's a sort of place where they do the washing! Well, suppose we go there and introduce you? Eh?"
Clive agreed readily enough. He was beginning to find that life at Ranleigh opened up a wider prospect for him. At home he and Hugh and Bert had been the best of chums, and no one had been admitted into their close friendship. But here the matter was different, and better. For the difference in forms separated the chums often enough. True, Bert and Hugh were in the same class-room as Clive, for it accommodated the two Middle and the two Third Forms. But at Ranleigh every hour saw a change in the class-rooms occupied by the various forms. Sometimes Clive was in Middle class-room, a little later he'd be in the Lower Fifth, and yet again in the "Stinks" room, a department that began soon to fascinate him, and which proved to be the one particular attraction to Susanne.
Circumstances, therefore, separated the chums often enough, for Bert and Hugh were in Four South Dormitory. Not that that prevented communication when in their respective dormitories, for the inventive Clive soon had a species of life-line manufactured, and this, when Sturton's attention was occupied elsewhere, could be tossed over the partition right on to Hugh's bed. Notes could thus be dragged backwards and forwards, and continuous communication kept up.
"But it can be improved, of course," said Clive, to which Hugh readily assented. "We'll make a telephone, nail the wires up the walls of the partition so that no one can see 'em, and then we can talk just as much as we want."
It never occurred to either of them that they might get all their chattering over in the daytime. But that is just the little point which people sometimes fail to comprehend. It was the novelty of clandestine conversation which attracted, and set these two inventors to work to construct a telephone from plans and descriptions given in a book they had managed to borrow.
In One South itself, Clive had Susanne always beside him, and very soon a firm friendship grew up between them. While on his other side lay Masters, the slug, as Sturton called him, a decent fellow, nevertheless, and now anxious to act as guide and faithful friend to our hero.
They passed along those endless corridors to the back doors, through which law compels the boys to emerge, and sauntered down between the Fives Courts. On the left lay the Gym, where Hugh had already been practising. Then beside the Tennis Courts, and away across the field which fronts the school. And who could wish for a better place? What father or mother or fond uncle or guardian could hope to find a healthier, better spot than Ranleigh? The world has heard of the school. It has made its mark in many a walk of life, so that there is no great need to describe it minutely or to mention its precise position. Suffice to say that it is situated in Surrey, that it projects three parts of the way up a sloping hill, which is bathed by the sun on every side. There is not a musty spot about it, not a corner nor a crevice in which injurious germs may hide. See it, then, a red-brick pile, clad with creeper, with its clock tower and its chimneys and pinnacles. Cast your eyes upon the surrounding country, and admit, as admit you must, that never was there a more ideal position. For the village is a mile away. The school stands beautifully isolated. Fresh breezes sweep direct from pine tree and heather across its roofs and into its windows. Add to these charms playing fields which vie with those of schools of greater antiquity, and you have a description of Ranleigh.
But we are forced to admit that Clive gave not a thought to it. He scudded across the field with Masters, dashed through the front gates and away down the road till they came to the tuck. It is a fascinating little shop, and here again we must admit that its contents appealed more strongly to Clive than did the surroundings.
"Never been in before, eh?" asked Masters slyly, well knowing the fact that Clive had not.
"Never; wish I had. Rippin', ain't it?"
"Not half bad," admitted Masters casually. "A chap can stuff himself full here for next to nothing. By the way – "
"Eh?" asked Clive, who was regarding a pile of apple tarts with close attention. "How much, please?" he asked the attendant.
"A penny each, sir."
"Cheap!" murmured Clive. "Oh, what where you saying, Masters?"
He was carefully inspecting the contents of his purse by then, and not looking particularly at Masters. It was not precisely what that young gentleman wanted. He coughed loudly. "Oh, never mind," he said lamely. "I – I didn't say anything."
It was such an obvious fib that Clive stared at him.
"Oh, did I?" then remarked Masters. "Oh, yes, I remember. But it doesn't matter."
He thrust his hands into his pockets, turned to the door, and beckoned to Clive. "Come on," he said, somewhat sadly. "Let's clear. I'll take you in some other time."
That was just the very thing that Clive could not agree to. He had been thick-headed before. But now he was beginning to grasp the situation. It was awfully nice of Masters, too, he thought, though, to be sure, he didn't see the smile on the face of the attendant.
"What's up?" he demanded. "You're never going to leave the tuck without eating something?"
"Must," came the answer.
"Why?"
"Oh, never mind." Masters shrugged his shoulders, and went from the cottage, Clive following. "Fact is," he admitted, once they were outside, "I've forgotten to bring money with me. It's a beastly nuisance."
"But it don't matter," cried Clive. "I'll lend you some."
"And then, of course," Masters hurriedly interjected, "it's a sort of custom here, you know, for new kids to – oh, never mind, let's clear."
"To what?" demanded Clive, beginning to fathom the mystery.
"Well, if you must know, it's a sort of custom at Ranleigh for new kids to stand treat the first time they enter the tuck. But it don't matter, as I said. Let's clear. I never borrow money."
The generous-minded Clive could see only one way out of the difficulty. Indeed, he was eager to show his hospitality. And so five minutes later found the two youngsters securely seated in the little room beyond the tuck, their feet over a gas fire, their teeth busily engaged with apple tarts, while steaming cups of cocoa stood beside them. By then, Masters' modesty had entirely departed. It had been a wrench, of course, to allow a new kid to treat him! But in for a penny in for a pound wasn't a bad motto.
"Tried those big chaps?" he asked, pointing to a box of squares of chocolate. "Ripping! They're only a penny, and there's different colours all the way through. Tony – met Tony yet? He's a fellow with red hair in Two South – well, Tony swears that there's regular pictures worked up in those squares, and that if you bite carefully you can see 'em. I don't believe it myself, but it's a joke trying."
Clive
