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The old words, "food for powder," came into her mind, and she laid her hand lightly on his rumpled hair. "So you still mean to be a soldier?" "Yes, rather; and father says I may." Miss Fenleigh was silent for a moment.
"I always thought you were noisy enough," answered Miss Fenleigh laughing. "You wouldn't, if you knew some of our fellows," returned the boy. The weeks slipped by, the holidays were approaching, and the far-off haven of home could almost, as it were, be seen with the naked eye.
The moment that word was mentioned he was once more Fenleigh J. of the Upper Fourth. "Home!" he said; "I hate the place. I've got no friends I care for, and the guv'nor's always complaining of something, and telling me he can't afford to waste the money he does on my education, because I don't learn anything. I do think I'm the most unlucky beggar under the sun.
He eyed the would-be recruit with no very favourable expression on his face, as he prepared to take down the answers to the questions on the attestation paper. "Name?" "John Fenleigh." "Is that a nom de guerre?" "No, sir, it's my real name." "Humph! So you speak French?" Jack coloured slightly. "No, sir that is, I learned some at school."
Lawson recognized and spoke to him as he passed. "Well, Fenleigh, they've begun to shake the pepper-box at us; but it'll be our turn to-morrow." There was nothing in the remark itself, but there was something in the cheery tone and manly face of the speaker; something that brought fresh courage to the soldier's heart, and filled it with a sudden determination to emulate the example of his leader.
Basil Fenleigh, to tell the truth, was about to issue an invitation to a "few friends" to join him in starting an advertisement and bill-posting agency business; to be conducted, so said the rough copy of the circular, on entirely novel lines, which could not fail to ensure success, and the drafting out of which had occupied most of his leisure time during the past twelve months.
He was far from being convinced of the truth of this statement. A few mornings later the usual harmony of the breakfast-table was disturbed by the arrival of a letter from Raymond Fosberton. "He writes," said Miss Fenleigh, "to say that his father and mother are going away on a visit, and so he wants to come here for a few days." The announcement was received with a chorus of groans.
The jollification was somehow very different from much of the fun which Fenleigh J. had been accustomed to indulge in, in company with his associates in the Upper Fourth; and though it was not a whit less enjoyable, yet after it was over no one was heard to remark that they'd "had their cake, and now they must pay for it."
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. "One of the little boys took up the tin soldier and threw him into the stove." The Brave Tin Soldier. "Hallo, Fenleigh! You were back precious late last night," said Walker, the Sixth Form boy in charge of the dormitory.
You must know who he is; answer my question immediately." "He told us his name was Hanks," said Jack; "but we don't know him. He came up and spoke to us of his own accord." "And, pray, what did he want to speak to you about?" "I don't know, sir," answered Valentine "that is he wanted to beg some money." "I don't understand your answer, Fenleigh," replied Mr. Westford.
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