Chapter 10 GOING DOWN HILL.

Nowhere was the result of the examination received with greater surprise than at the Deanery School. It is safe to say that every boy looked twice at the published list before admitting Jim Hartland's name was not there.

On the following morning the boys of the upper classes, gathering together in the playground, discussed the matter excitedly.

"It's just what I've always said," exclaimed Simpson; "the chap's no better than the rest of us. Just because he can play cricket a bit, we put him on the top of a monument, and now, down he comes-flop!"

"Well, you needn't be afraid of tumbling," laughed little Macdonald, "because you'll never be put on the top of anything. You're always having a dig at Hartland, because he wouldn't have you in the cricket eleven."

"Well said, Alec!" cried the Angel. "That's the truth. Now look at me. I came out fourth."

"So you did!"

"Good old Angel!"

"You'll be first another time!"

"Oh, what rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Can't you let a fellow speak? What I want to say is that Jim Hartland's twice as good as me."

"He didn't make much show, anyhow," growled Simpson.

"No, he didn't. And why? Because, when his father was drowned, he went to work to help his mother. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have won the 'Gayton' easily."

"Well, he lost it!" growled Simpson; "and through him the Deanery lost it, too!"

"How's that?"

"How's that! Why, wasn't it through his bounce that Dandy Braithwaite got drowned?"

"Don't listen to him, Angel," said Macdonald, for Dick had doubled up his fists, and his eyes were flashing fire.

"Pooh!" said Simpson. "I don't care; everybody knows it's true."

"He owned as much as that himself," chimed in Archer, who owed Jim a grudge.

"Perhaps you think he wanted Braithwaite to get drowned," exclaimed Dick sarcastically, "and that he and I put up the little job between us?"

"I'm not saying anything against you," replied Simpson; "but I do say it's Hartland's fault we lost the 'Gayton,' and you can take it how you like."

This was the view held by many of the Deanery boys, who were very sore that the scholarship had gone to St. Paul's. Thus the subject of the tragedy was brought to the front again, and during the interval at morning school Jim could not help overhearing some of the remarks. Angry and miserable, he went to a corner of the playground, where Dick followed him.

"Look here, Jim," said the Angel cheerily; "don't mope about the 'Gayton.' We've all seen the list, of course, and I'm awfully sorry you aren't in it. It's too ridiculous putting me above you. I know that, and so do the others. It's like turning you out of the eleven to put Simpson in; but buck up, old chap-you'll soon get over it."

"I wasn't thinking about you, Dicky," replied his chum. "I'm jolly glad you're high up."

"What are you looking so miserable about, then?"

"Oh, hang it all!" cried Jim excitedly; "can't you hear what the fellows are saying? They look at me as black as thunder!"

"Let 'em," rejoined the Angel serenely; "that won't hurt you."

"Oh," said Jim, jerking himself away savagely, "it's easy for you to talk! I wish the place was at the bottom of the sea!"

"I don't!" replied Dick. "My mac's worn out, and I shan't get another this side of Christmas. Here's Macdonald coming; don't eat him."

"I say, Hartland," began Alec, who was as red as a turkey-cock, "I'm awfully sorry you didn't get the 'Gayton.' I know from what the Angel has said that you've had jolly hard lines."

"Thanks!" growled Jim. "But I wonder you aren't afraid to be seen speaking to me."

"I wish you didn't feel so cut up about it," returned Macdonald, ignoring Jim's surliness. "You're looking at it through magnifying glasses."

Unfortunately Jim did feel cut up, and by continual brooding made himself more and more miserable. From this time, I fear, he began to go slowly down hill, and the only gleam of good feeling he displayed was with regard to his mother and Susie.

"I'm very sorry, my boy," said his mother, when he told her; "and yet I shall never think of this scholarship without feeling proud of you. I know you had a good chance of winning it, and threw it away for the sake of helping me."

"No, no, mother," cried the boy cheerfully; "you mustn't look at it that way. I mightn't have won the scholarship at all; and anyhow, I couldn't have accepted it."

On Sunday, when at the hospital, he talked to Susie much in the same way, making light of his disappointment so successfully that the girl was quite deceived.

At school, however, he was very different, becoming surly and morose, and making enemies of the boys who would willingly have remained his friends.

Mr. Broad, too, noticed his altered manner; but knowing the circumstances, he said nothing, thinking the trouble would soon blow over; besides, Jim did not neglect his work. He was always punctual, and had such a quick grasp of his duties that he saved his employer a great deal of labour.

His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school.

"Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well."

Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company.

The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside.

"Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?"

"Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I'd come and meet you-that's all. We haven't seen much of each other lately."

"That isn't my fault."

"No; I'm not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though."

Jim's face became red.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum."

"Why shouldn't I? What's the matter with Curly?"

"Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily-"only he's a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you'll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?"

That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,-

"You'll be getting another nickname soon: they'll be calling you the Saint."

"They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I'd make a cleaner saint than Curly."

"That's right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you're like all the rest. Just because the chap's poor and has no friends you're down on him. I've been through it myself."

The Angel laughed genially.

"There's something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter's Court millionaires"-Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter's Court-"don't care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He's dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don't know that he's over honest."

"Well, he hasn't asked for your company," said Jim sullenly.

"No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced against him. And now let's talk about something else. How's Susie?"

"Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."

Let me hasten to place something to the credit side of Jim's account. Whatever evil habits he might have fallen into, he was a good brother. At every opportunity he visited the hospital to cheer his sister. With her he was always kind and bright and cheerful. For her sake he denied himself many little pleasures, saving up his odd coppers in order to buy some little present that would please and delight her.

As for Susie, she thought there was no one like her brother; to her he was the one hero in the world, followed, though at a long distance, by Dick.

On the subject of Susie, therefore, the boys could talk without restraint; but when that was exhausted they became silent, both vaguely realizing that, in some strange way, a barrier was rising up between them, and that the good old times were gradually disappearing.

Both were sorry; yet the mischief appeared unavoidable. Dick tried hard to restore matters to their former footing. He was really fond of Jim, and could not see him drift without an effort to check him. Frequently he waited outside the shop till his chum left, thinking to entice him away from his fresh associates.

One night as they walked away together Curly Peters came towards them.

"You aren't going to stop, are you?" asked Dick anxiously.

"Why not? D'you think he'll give us the plague?"

"Oh, well," said Dick, "I'm off. I'd be ashamed to be seen speaking to him."

Now this was an unfortunate remark, as it reminded Jim of an incident which occurred only the previous evening. Mr. Broad, coming into the shop unexpectedly, had seen Peters slinking out.

"What did that customer want, Hartland?" he asked sharply.

Jim felt cornered for a moment, but replied steadily,-

"He wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a paper job."

This was a lie; but I warned you Jim had sadly deteriorated, and he dared not tell his master that the boy was his friend.

Thinking of this, he turned on Dick savagely, saying,-

"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you."

"All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I know have a lot of taste-all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll have a bath when you get home."

"My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud? Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller, Jimmy, talking to a toff like that."

"Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap better than you or me."

Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation, and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop.

"You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after a time.

"No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last one back."

"You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately. I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow from the old man's till; it's dangerous."

"Borrow from the till? What do you mean?"

"Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday nights."

"Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd rather starve than do that."

"Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?"

"Home," said Jim. "I'm tired."

"All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?"

"I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it."

"What did he say last night, then?"

"Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street."

"All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added, "Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular old-fashioned sort."