No. XI The Good Conduct Prize
I
Going through the school-room of the third, which is my own form, I chanced to see Saunders minor and Fowle there; and, just as I passed them, Saunders minor said that he wished he was dead.
This, from Saunders minor, was a bit out of the common, so I stopped and asked him why. He said—
“It’s only a manner of speaking, Thwaites; but, all the same, I do, because of the Good Conduct Prize.”
“Well,” I said, “you’re a snip for it; everybody knows that.”
“Not now,” he answered. “In fact, it’s all up, and the silver watch and chain are gone.”
Of course, when young Saunders talked about a silver watch and chain, he didn’t mean Dr. Dunstan’s footling Good Conduct Prize, which is always a book of a particularly deadly kind, such as Lays of Ancient Rome; but he meant the special prize his father had promised him if he won the highest marks for good conduct in his class. And he was simply romping home when this happened.
“Of course, it’s that beast Foster,” said Fowle. “I always hated Foster, and now, knowing he couldn’t win by fair means, he made that peculiar face at Saunders just as the Doctor came in to say prayers last night; and Saunders laughed, not knowing the Doctor had actually come in; and the Doctor took off five conduct marks at one fell swoop.”
“Foster must win now,” said Saunders. “But it’s a blackguard thing.”
“And if Foster doesn’t win, you will,” said Fowle to me.
Curiously enough, this was true. I had been going rather strong on good conduct this term for private reasons. In fact, my father had promised me—not a silver watch—but a flogging, or very likely two, if I came home again with a holiday punishment.
You must know that at Merivale there was a putrid system called ‘holiday punishments,’ and if you didn’t get a certain number of good conduct marks in the term, instead of going home in glory with a good report, you went home with a holiday punishment. Well, owing to one thing and another, I had taken home a holiday punishment four terms running; and my father began to get rather nasty about it. As a rule, he is a sort of father who talks very ferociously but doesn’t do much; therefore, when he actually does flog me, which happens now and then, it comes as a great and unpleasant surprise. And I felt, in the matter of the good conduct marks, that if I went back with another holiday punishment, he would certainly keep his word and flog me to the best of his power. Therefore, I bucked up in a very unusual way, and though miles behind Saunders minor and Foster, was miles in front of the others; and when suddenly Fowle said this to me, that if Foster also smashed up as Saunders had done, I must get the Good Conduct Prize in the third, I felt quite giddy. Needless to say, I had never taken home a prize in my life. In fact, it seemed almost too much. My people would never believe it.
Of course, if such a thing really did happen, it would be a frightful score off my father; but then there was Foster. He stood six clear marks ahead of me, and unless some awful catastrophe overtook Foster, it was impossible for me to catch him. Then it seemed to me as Foster, in the most unsporting manner, had made his well-known comic face that always forced Saunders minor to laugh, and so he had got ahead of Saunders by a paltry trick, therefore it was only right that Foster should be scored off too. Needless to say, I was quite prepared to score off Foster myself; but then, very likely that would end by smashing me up, so it seemed to me that the thing to do was to try and get some outside person to score off Foster, like he had scored off Saunders minor.
I thought a lot about it, but I couldn’t see any way that was perfectly sportsmanlike. Then Fowle, who is not sportsmanlike but very cunning, said there was a way. I felt pretty certain his way must be mean and piffling; but for once he thought of rather a good way. At least, it seemed good to me.
“I can’t do anything myself,” Fowle said, “because the last time I was interested in a fight, you will remember, the result was very unpleasant for me; but all the same, in a case like this, there ought to be a fight, and very likely if you explained in a perfectly friendly spirit to Saunders minor that he owes it to himself to fight Foster, he will be much obliged to you, and so into training for it.”
Well, I was bound to admit that for once Fowle seemed to be right. Because, if Saunders minor fought Foster, the marks of battle would appear on Foster, even if he won; and they would be noticed by Browne, who hates fighting, and always takes off half the term’s good conduct marks when he finds a chap who has clearly had a fight.
So I put it to Saunders minor.
I said, “I come in a perfectly friendly spirit, Saunders minor, and I don’t want to put you to any inconvenience with Foster. But, as he’s knocked you out of the Good Conduct Prize and your silver watch, which your father may never offer again, as they often change their minds, you have a frightful and bitter grievance against Foster.”
“You may also add that Queen Anne is dead,” said Saunders minor.
“I know,” I said. “But the point is that I’m rather worried to see you taking this lying down. It isn’t worthy of the third. We’ve always been a fighting form, and, in fact, you ought to resist this tooth and nail; and I’d be your second like a shot; and West, the champion of the lower school, would referee—to oblige me.”
Saunders minor was a good deal interested.
“D’you think I ought to lick him?” he asked.
“I think you ought to try,” I said; “and you might even succeed if you went into training, and had a bit of luck.”
Saunders minor thought. He was a pale, putty-coloured chap, and when he thought, he frowned terrifically till his forehead got quite wrinkled and old. There was also a very peculiar vein on his temple you could see when he was thinking extra hard, but not at other times.
“The question is what I should gain,” he said.
“Also what he would lose,” I said. This was, of course, Fowle’s idea, but it came in jolly handy here.
“What can he lose unless I lick him?”
“Well, the beauty of it would be,” I explained, “that if you licked him, or if he licked you, it would be all the same as far as the Good Conduct Prize is concerned. If you knock him about a bit and black an eye or so, Browne will pounce upon him for certain, as well as you, and away go half his conduct marks for the term, and bang goes the Good Conduct Prize.”
Saunders minor nodded.
“Did you think of this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said; “with help from Fowle.”
“As a matter of fact, if this happened you’d get the Good Conduct Prize, Thwaites,” said Saunders minor.
“It seems rather a wild idea,” I answered, “but as a matter of fact I should—unless, of course, I come to grief myself before the end of the term. I’ve had to be awful keen on conduct this term, owing to my father, who has rather overdone it about conduct lately; and so I’ve been piling up marks in a small way, but of course such a thing as a good conduct prize is bang out of my line.”
“Or any prize,” added Saunders minor thoughtfully.
“Or any prize, as you truly say,” I answered.
“Well, we’ve always been friendly enough,” kindly remarked Saunders minor.
Needless to say I agreed.
“It would, of course, be a terrific act of kindness on your part to me if you knocked Foster out,” I said; “and also it would be an act of justice to yourself; and also it would be what is expected of third form chaps.”
“You speak as a fighter yourself,” said Saunders minor.
“I am, of course, a great fighter,” I said, “and have only once been beaten, and that by West, who is a champion and nearly two years older than me. But I believe you would be a very good fighter if you cared about it.”
“I never should care about it,” said Saunders minor. “But the point is Foster. Supposing he refuses to fight?”
“My dear chap,” I said, “he couldn’t. You’ve got a frightful grievance against him. The sixth, when they heard, would mighty soon make him fight.”
“You’ll second me, Thwaites, if it comes off?”
“Yes,” I said. “Certainly I will.”
Saunders minor began to think again, and his forehead became much furrowed.
“I’m just wondering, if I explained to my father about it, whether he’d still give me the watch if I succeeded in licking Foster,” he said.
I told him that from what I knew of fathers like his it was very unlikely, and he’d better not hope.
“I have heard you say that your father is a clergyman,” I said. “Don’t buoy yourself up to think that he’ll give you the watch if you lick Foster. Far from it. In the case of Morrison it was very different. His father always gave him half-a-crown if he went home with a black eye, and Morrison generally managed to do so; but then his father was a royal sea captain, and had commanded a first-class battleship. Your father is religious, naturally, and against fighting for certain.”
It happened that just at this moment Foster and some other chaps, including his chum, Tin Lin Chow—commonly called ‘Tinned Cow’—the Chinaman, came by, and Saunders minor, in the excitement of the moment, stopped Foster and spoke—
He said, “I’ve been thinking over losing the Good Conduct Prize, Foster; and as it was your fault, something must be done.”
Foster said, “I’ve apologized. Nothing more can be done.”
But Saunders minor said, “Much more can be done. In fact, I challenge you to fight; and Thwaites is my second, and West will referee.”
Foster was much astonished at this.
“I’m bigger than you,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m bound to lick you if we have a real serious fight.”
“You might lick me, no doubt,” said Saunders minor. “But I shall do a bit first: and I dare say you’ll know what’ll happen then.”
“The only thing that can happen is that you’ll have to give in,” said Foster.
“Something else will happen besides that,” answered Saunders minor. “However, you’ll see. To-morrow week in the wood, if that will suit you.”
He mentioned a half-holiday, and as the first had no match on, West would be able to referee comfortably, while everybody was looking at the second eleven match fixed for that day.
“Saturday week in the wood; but you’d better think twice,” said Foster.
“I have,” said Saunders minor.
And then Foster himself appeared to think twice. At least, Tin Lin Chow reminded him of something, and he came back rather mildly to us after he had walked away in a very cold and haughty manner.
“Look here, Saunders,” he said; “would you mind putting off this fight till next term? I’m not in the least anxious not to oblige you; but for private reasons I would rather not fight this term.”
“Yes, I know,” said Saunders minor; “and for private reasons I rather would. You’ve knocked me out of the Good Conduct Prize when it was a dead certainty for me; and now——”
Foster went away to think; but, needless to say, his thinking didn’t get him out of the mess. In fact, the fight had to come off, though Foster met Saunders minor three times before the day, and once actually sank to offering him a valuable and remarkable knife if he would put off the fight till the next term.
But Saunders minor jolly well scorned to do so.
II
What Foster did in the matter of training I don’t know, but Saunders minor had rather bad luck. We sat together, and I gave up my meat at meals to him in exchange for his pudding. Well, of course, to eat all my meat as well as his own ought to have made him strong. But, unfortunately, it didn’t. He seemed to miss his puddings frightfully, and his tongue went white the day before the fight, and he got a headache. The matron spotted him looking a bit off, and then a frightful thing happened, for the very night before the fight she made him take a huge dose of some beastliness, and of course, instead of being full of solid meat and strength for the fight, when the time came Saunders minor was quite the reverse.
Needless to say, he gave up all hope, and at dinner wouldn’t eat any meat worth mentioning, and wouldn’t give up his apple tart to me, but ate it himself. He said he was bound to lose, so it didn’t matter, especially as apple tart was his favourite food.
The time came, and those in the fight sneaked off to the great wood that runs by Merivale playing-fields, and everything went very smoothly indeed. Saunders minor had me and Saunders minimus for his seconds, and Foster had Tin Lin Chow and Trelawny. And West not only was referee, but he wrote a magnificent description of the fight, like a newspaper. He had read about thousands of proper prize fights in a book of his brother’s at home; so he understood everything about it. And he and Trelawny rather hoped that Masterman, who is the editor of our school magazine, would put the fight in; and if he had, it would have been far and away the best thing that he ever did put in. But Masterman wouldn’t, though he was jolly sorry not to. He said—
“You see, West, the people who read the magazine most are the parents, and they like improving articles about foreign travel and what old boys are doing, and poetry, and so on. If I published this fight, the Doctor would get into an awful bate, because it would be too ferocious, and very likely frighten the parents of future new boys away when they read it.”
Certainly it was a very horrid account written as West wrote it; but as he most kindly let me have the description to copy, I shall write it out again here; because certainly I couldn’t do it half so well as him—him being champion of the lower school, and champion of the upper school, too, when Trelawny goes.
This is word for word what West wrote—
“Description of the fight between Foster and Saunders minor, written by Lawrence Basil West, Esquire, Champion of the Lower School of Merivale, and brother of Lieutenant Theodore Travers West, Middle-weight Boxing Champion of the Army.
“The men came into the ring in pretty good condition, though Foster had the advantage owing to Saunders minor getting a set back in his training the day before the battle. The ring was cleared, and the combatants shook hands for
“THE FIGHT.
“Round 1.—Some cautious sparring ended by Saunders letting fly with the right and left, and missing with both. Foster then steadied his antagonist with a light blow on the chest. More sparring followed, then, with a round-arm blow, Saunders got home on Foster’s ear, and the men closed. They fell side by side, and on rising instantly prepared to renew the battle; but as the round was over, the referee (Lawrence Basil West, Esquire) ordered them to their corners.
“Round 2.—The men were very fresh and eager for business when time was called. There was some good counter hits, and then Foster received a prop on the nose which drew the claret. First blood for Saunders minor claimed and allowed. The fighting became rather unscientific towards the end of this round, and finally Foster closed and threw Saunders minor with a cross-buttock. Both men were rather exhausted after this round.
“Round 3.—Foster, using his superior height, landed with his right on Saunders minor’s kisser. Then he repeated the dose, and in return caught it on the left optic. Some good milling followed, with no advantage to either side. Saunders minor got pepper towards the end of the round, and when he was finally thrown, his seconds offered to carry him to his corner; but he refused, and walked there.
“Round 4.—Foster came first to the scratch. Both cautious, and Saunders minor very active on his trotters. But he gave some good blows, and managed to hit Foster again on the left peeper. Foster in return landed with the right on Saunders minor’s smelling-bottle, and liberated a plentiful supply of the ruby. A good round. At its conclusion, Thwaites and Saunders minimus wanted Saunders minor to give in; but as he was far from beaten, he very properly refused to do so.
“Round 5.—In this round Saunders minor was receiver general, and received heavy punishment. It was claimed that Foster hit him a clean knock-down blow, but the referee would not allow it. In the wrestle at the close Saunders minor got the best of it, and fell on Foster, much to Foster’s surprise.
“Round 6.—Saunders minor was badly cut up in this round, and received heavy blows on the potato trap and olfactory organs. The fighting was very wild and unscientific, and both men fell exhausted towards the finish.
“Round 7.—Nothing done. Both fell exhausted.
“Round 8.—Some good in-fighting. Saunders minor got his second wind, and, making useful play with his left, landed on Foster’s throat and his right eye. It was nearly a case of shutters up with Foster. They fell side by side with the ruby circulating freely. The sight of so much gore upset Saunders minimus, and he had to leave the ensanguined field. Fortescue took his place by permission of the referee. But the end was now near at hand.
“Round 9.—Both very weak. Referee had to caution both combatants for holding. Nothing much done, except that Saunders minor lost a tooth, said to be loose before the fight.
“Round 10 (and last).—Foster came first to the scratch, and managed to get home on Saunders minor’s forehead and left aural appendage. Saunders minor was almost too tired to put up his hands. He tried to fight, but nature would not be denied, and Saunders minor fell in a very done-up state. He was counted out by the referee, and Thwaites flung up Saunders minor’s sponge in token of defeat.
“When Foster discovered that he had won, he shed tears. But Saunders minor, though defeated, was quite collected in his mind. The men then shook hands and left the field with their friends.
“Remarks—
“We have seen better fights, and we have also seen worse ones. Foster has some good useful blows, but he wants patience and practice. He is not a born fighter, but might improve if he took pains. He had much the best of it in height and weight, including age, being a good deal older than his redoubtable antagonist. Though defeated, Saunders minor was by no means disgraced. He put up a very good fight, and at one time looked like winning; but luck was against him. Saunders minor, however, might give a very good account of himself with a man of his own size, and we hope soon to see him in the ring again. He has the knack of hitting hard and getting away. He was very little marked at the end of the battle, whereas his opponent’s right eye will long bear the marks of his prowess.
(Signed) “LAWRENCE BASIL WEST, Esquire, “Referee.”
I read this to Saunders minor, and he agreed with it all, except the bit about being in the ring again soon. He assured me he did not care about fighting in a general way, or want to live for it, like West and me, but only now and again for some very special reason, as in the case of Foster. At any rate, though the loser, he had done all he wanted to do, and Foster had a caution of an eye that went on turning different colours, like a firework, till the very end of the term.
Such a wonderful, bulgy and curious eye could not of course be overlooked even by such a blind bat as old Briggs; and, needless to say, Browne jolly soon saw it. Then the truth came out, and that was the end of the Good Conduct Prize as far as Foster was concerned. He was frightfully sick about it; and when it began to appear that owing to these extraordinary things I, of all people, must get the Good Conduct Prize, he was sicker still, and called it a burlesque of justice, whatever that may be.
Anyway, it actually happened, and when prize day came, it was a clear and evident thing that I, Thwaites, had got the Good Conduct Prize in the third form. The Doctor began to read out the name; then, evidently under the idea that he had got it wrong, stopped and whispered to Mr. Warren, our form master; and Mr. Warren nodded, and the Doctor put on a puzzled look. Then he dashed at it and read out my name, and I had to go up and get the prize.
“A pleasing and unexpected circumstance, Geoffrey Thwaites,” said the Doctor. “To be frank, that you should achieve this palm of victory causes me no little astonishment; but I can assure you that my surprise is only equalled by my gratification. You have not forgotten what I said to you last term, and I hope this satisfactory amelioration of manners may, when we reassemble, be followed by a corresponding increase of scholastic achievement. It will be no small gratification to your father, Geoffrey Thwaites, to welcome you under these conditions, instead of with the usual melancholy addition of a holiday punishment.”
Then the Doctor picked up the Good Conduct Prize with a sort of innocent, inquiring air that he always puts on when giving the prizes. He pretends to be frightfully astonished at the beauty and magnificence of each book in turn; which, considering he chooses them all himself, is fearful bosh, and deceives nobody but a few mothers, who sometimes come if their sons happen to have pulled off anything.
Now Dr. Dunstan picked up a tidy-looking book, as far as its outside was concerned.
“What have we here?” he said, as if he had just found a bird’s nest. “Why, no less a classic than Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress! Fortunate boy! Here, bound in scarlet and gold, and richly illustrated, is a copy of that immortal work. Know, Thwaites, that in receiving the Pilgrim’s Progress you become enriched by possession of one among the noblest and most elevated and improving masterpieces in the English language. Take it and read it again and again, my lad; and when you shall have mastered it, lend it to those less fortunate, that they, too, may profit by the wisdom and piety of these luminous pages.”
Then the chaps clapped and stamped, and I bowed and took the book, and shook hands with the Doctor and cleared out.
Needless to say, my father was even more astonished than Dr. Dunstan. I came into his study to wish him good-evening when I got home, and he said, “Well, boy, holidays again? How have you got on? Don’t—don’t tell me there’s any more trouble!”
“Far from it, father,” I said. “I’ve got a prize.”
“Good Heavens!” said my father. “You—a prize. What on earth for?”
“You mightn’t think it, but for good conduct,” I said.
“Good what?” cried out my father.
“Good conduct,” said my mother. “I always told you there was a mistake. A beautiful, expensive-looking book with his name in it, written by Dr. Dunstan himself—the name I mean—not the book.”
“Wonders never cease,” said my father. Then he added, “Well done, capital! I’m more pleased to hear this than you’ve any idea of. You must keep it up through the holidays, though.”
“If Saunders minor had won it, his father was going to give him a silver watch and chain,” I said, just to see how that would strike my father.
“No doubt Saunders minor’s father felt perfectly safe,” said my father.
Which shows how people misunderstand.
However, my father was jolly decent about it; and, in fact, so was everybody.
My sister asked me if I should read the Good Conduct Prize.
“The pictures are ripping,” she said. “Giants and all sorts of things.”
“The pictures, as you say, are ripping,” I told her; “but, unfortunately, the story itself is far from ripping.”
“How do you know if you haven’t read it?” she said.
“By what the Doctor told me,” I answered. “It is one of the noblest and most improving masterpieces in the English language, so, needless to say, I’ve got no use for it.”