Prefect bullies the new boy

Knox smiled grimly, and twisted the new boy over on the tea-table. Joe yelled and struggled fiercely in the senior’s heavy grasp, but he was helpless. – Extracted from The Boy From The Underworld, by Martin Clifford (a.k.a Frank Richards), The Gem, 6 January 1934. Available to download here.

Joe sat in the study at the tea-table. A smile of beaming and happy contentment was upon Joe’s face.

Joe was, in fact, happy – happier than he had ever been before in his life. Only that morning he had been writhing under the belt of the drunken convict; and here he was in the early evening sitting at Tom Merry’s table, enjoying a hitherto undreamt of luxury – hot, buttered toast.

Joe was enjoying himself immensely.

Joe had no principles to speak of; his training had not given him any. He had learned one thing – to worship Tom Merry, and do whatever Tom Merry told him. And as Tom Merry was as fine a specimen of British boyhood as could be found in the British Isles, Joe could not have had a better guide. To do exactly as Tom Merry wished, and to anticipate his wishes, if possible – that had become Joe’s purpose in life.

Tom Merry had told him to finish his tea; and Joe went on with it, and finished it at last. He revelled in toast, in jam, and marmalade and cake. He had to leave off at last for sheer want of stowage room, and then he moved to the armchair, and sat down in it, with his feet on the fender, and gazed at the blazing fire blissfully.

“Crikey!” he murmured. “This is spiffing! Wipping – ripping!”

Joe had got it right at last.

He gazed at the flames, seeing in them pictures of his old life and fanciful sketches of his new, till the sound of the door opening made him look round. He thought it was Tom Merry returning, but it was not.

Gore came in with Mellish and Crooke. They grinned at the sight of the shiny face of Joe.

“Here he is!” said Mellish.

“Good!” said Crooke. “And those cads are away, so we can ask him a few questions.”

“If he won’t answer ....”

“Oh, we’ll make him answer!”

Joe gazed at his visitors in some alarm. He could see by their looks that they had no friendly intention. There was another step at the door, and a Sixth Former looked in. It was Knox, the prefect, the most unpopular senior in the House.

He glanced at the juniors and started at Joe.

“I hear Tom Merry’s protégé is here,” he said. “Is that it?”

“That’s it, Knox.”

“Pretty looking specimen, I must say. Isn’t Merry here?”

“Oh, he rowing in the quad with the New House chaps!”

Knox grinned, and came into the study and closed the door. Prefect as he was, Knox was always careful how he treated the Terrible Three. He knew that though it was in his power to take advantage of his position in dealing with them, the chums of the Shell would always contrive to give him as good – and as bad – as they received.

It seemed to Knox an excellent opportunity to score over the juniors whom he disliked by bullying the new boy they had taken under their care. And he was really very curious about Joe, too.

“So you’re the new boy?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” said Joe.

The “sir” pleased Knox somewhat, and his tone was a little less bullying as he proceeded. Gore, Mellish and Crooke drew round. They had intended to rag Joe themselves. But they could see that that was Knox’s intention, and they preferred to back up the prefect. For his rank as a prefect would be a shield over them afterwards if the Terrible Three cut up rusty.

“Oh, where did you come from?” asked Knox.

“London, sir!”

“I know that!” snapped Knox. “But what part of London?”

“Blucher’s Building, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Joe, sir.”

“Joe what?”

“Nothing but Joe, sir.”

“Oh, I suppose you never had a father?” said the prefect.

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is his name?”

“Bill, sir.”

“Bill what?”

Joe did not reply.

After the most unfortunate interview with the Head, Tom Merry had cautioned Joe not to be too free giving information about his origin.

He had explained to the little ragamuffin that, while if one gave information it should always be truthful, on the other hand it was always possible to refuse giving information if impertinent questions were asked.

Joe did not yet realise what it meant to him to keep secret the fact that his father had served a term of penal servitude.

In Blucher’s Buildings it had been rather a distinction than otherwise. St Jim’s had ideals different from those of Blucher’s buildings. But Joe had not been long enough at the school to begin even to understand that.

But his faith in Tom Merry was his guide. Tom Merry had told him not to relate the details of his early life. He meant to do as Tom Merry had bidden him.

Knox was gazing at him in astonishment.

“Why don’t you answer, you brat?” he demanded.

“I ain’t got nothing to say, sir,” said Joe.

“You impudent young whelp!”

Joe looked frightened. Knox was growing very angry, and he was big enough to eat Joe. And Gore and Crooke and Mellish were all ready to pounce upon him at a signal from the prefect; Joe could see that.

“My hat!” ejaculated Knox, in sheer amazement. “If the rotten little guttersnipe isn’t disobeying me!”

“Cheek!” said Mellish.

“Give him a licking!” suggested Crooke.

“I’ll break every bone in his body if he cheeks me!” said Knox. “Look here, young shaver, have you ever been thrashed!”

“Orfen, sir,” said poor Joe.

“Oh, you know what it’s like then, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir. My father used to give me the buckle-end of his strap,” said Joe.

Knox stared at him. The words so full of unconscious pathos of the slum child’s life, would have gone straight to most hearts. But Knox did not feel touched. He felt disgusted, and prided himself upon his disgust, which made him feel aristocratic and superior to common people.

“My word!” he exclaimed. “What sort of a horrible toad has Tom Merry brought to St. Jim’s! Where were you brought up, you snipe?”

Joe looked at him with wide, frightened eyes without replying. He cast a hunted glance at the door. He could have dodged out, but he remembered Tom Merry’s injunction not to leave the study.

True, Tom Merry had been far from foreseeing anything of this sort. But an order from Tom Merry was an order to Joe, and had to be obeyed.

“Oh!” said Knox in a low, unpleasant voice. “So you’ve learned Tom Merry’s cheek already, have you, and you’re taking it upon yourself to disobey a prefect” I might have guessed you’d be taught insolence by those cads.”

Joe’s eyes gleamed.

“Master Tom is better’n you are any day of the week,” he said. Don’t you say nothing against Master Tom. You’re a liar, you are!”

Joe’s language had the painful directness of Blucher’s Buildings.

Knox glared at him for a moment, and then he grasped him by the collar, grinding his knuckles into the boy’s neck.

“You confounded young cad!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to cheek me! Gore, hand me that cricket bat!”

“I’ll lay it on for you, if you like, Knox” said Mellish viciously.

“Good,” said Knox. “I’ll hold him while you lay it on!”

Mellish grinned as he grasped a cricket bat.

“I’ll jolly well make you squirm,” he said. “We’ll show the filthy young rotter that beggars can’t come to St. Jim’s!”

“Ow! You leggo!” roared Joe.

“Quiet, you little greasy pig!”

“Leggo. ’Ang you, leggo! You’re a coward! You’re a beast!”

Knox smiled grimly, and twisted the new boy over on the tea-table. Joe  yelled and struggled fiercely in the senior’s heavy grasp, but he was helpless.

“Now!” Knox hissed to Mellish.

“What-ho!” said the cad of the Fourth cheerfully.

The cricket bat rose and fell. Joe gave a wild howl of pain. He tried to get at Knox with his teeth, but the prefect was too careful. He jammed Joe’s face down upon the table to stifle his yells.

“Lay into him!” he said savagely.

Lash! lash!

There was a sudden rush of footsteps in the passage, and the door of the study was flung open.

“Well, Joe – Hallo!. What! My hat!”

The Terrible Three  had returned. Their appearance showed that they had been through a rough experience. Tom Merry had a swollen nose, and Lowther a discoloured eye, and Manners’ collar was torn and hung by a single stud. Their clothes were dusty and their hair dishevelled. There had been a wild scrimmage in the quadrangle, but the School House had beaten the New House, so the Terrible Three had returned to their study quite contented.

The sight that met their gaze almost petrified them for a moment.

Then Tom Merry rushed fiercely towards Knox.

He did not speak. He drove his clenched fist straight at the prefect, and Knox reeled back. Mellish dashed for the doorway, and Manners and Lowther kicked at him together as he passed, and he crashed down into the passage, with a yell of pain.

Joe rolled off the table, wriggling, jammy, buttery, and in tears. Knox was glaring furiously at the chums of the Shell.

“Tom Merry!” he gasped, choking with rage. “You – you dare to strike me – a prefect!”

“You, you hound!” shouted Tom Merry, facing him with clenched fists and blazing eyes. “And I’ll do it again if you lay a finger on that kid! You bully! You cad!”

 

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