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Updated: June 26, 2025
It was certainly the case the little china figure lay over on its side, broken in the manner already described. "Who can have done it?" "I expect I must have upset it the other evening when I was showing you the things," answered Miss Fenleigh. "Never mind, I think I can mend it. Go and fetch my keys, Bar, and we'll see just what's the matter with the little gentleman."
In his wild, reckless manner he dashed his knife down upon the table, and with a parting glare at his accuser, marched straight out of the room. Valentine rose to follow him. "No, Val," said Miss Fenleigh, in an agitated voice. "Leave him to himself for a little while. He'll be calmer directly." Ten minutes later the front door closed with a bang.
The road had been damp and dismal then; to-day it was dry and dusty; but the heart of the man who trod it was no lighter than it had been that evening ten years ago. The old cobbler had been mistaken. It was not Joe Crouch, but Jack Fenleigh, who had just passed the window of the little shop.
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.
An uproarious repetition of the last "Rule, Britannia!" was still in progress as Jack rejoined the Blankshire contingent, and submitted his back to a number of congratulatory slaps. These signs of approval were still being showered down upon him, when Sergeant Sparks touched his elbow. "Here's an officer wants to speak to you, Fenleigh. There he is, standing over by that tree."
"All right, Fenleigh; don't you think you're going to be friends with us any more." "I've no wish to be," answered Jack. "If you want to finish this out any time, I shall be quite ready for you!" "It was jolly good of you to stick up for me like that," said Valentine, as the two cousins hurried off towards the schoolroom. "I should have been a mean cad if I hadn't," returned the other, laughing.
For a time this boast was not considered to imply any definite intention on the speaker's part to play any further pranks on the members of the debating society; but at length a rumour got abroad that something was going to happen. Fenleigh J. and Preston had been seen more than once taking counsel together in out-of-the-way corners, and exchanging mysterious nods and winks.
Perhaps that of Jack Fenleigh, though simple to a degree, was most comical: his colours were described as "red and white," and his costume consisted of his night-shirt, and a large scarlet chest-protector which he had borrowed from a small boy, whose mother fondly believed him to be wearing it according to her instructions, instead of utilizing it to line a box containing a collection of birds' eggs.
She was kneeling upon a chair in front of a funny little semicircular cupboard with a glass door, let into the panelling of the wall, and filled with china, little Indian figures, and all kinds of other odds and ends. "Very well, dear, I will," answered Miss Fenleigh, glad to think of some way of amusing her guests.
The victim was not equal to any one of his three assailants, and stood much less chance of escaping from their combined attack. Fenleigh J. rushed off down the passage on a wild-goose chase after his chum, but nowhere was the latter to be found. As a last resource, he ran into the schoolroom. Valentine's seat was empty, but a boy sat reading at the next desk but one. "Have you seen my cousin?"
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