Chapter 5 JIM STARTS WORK.

It wanted ten minutes to nine, and the Deanery boys were pouring into the playground, ready to assemble for morning school. Percy Braithwaite stood just inside the gate talking to a little group of his chums. He was a good-looking, fair-skinned boy, with sharp, keen eyes. Somehow he was not a favourite with the majority, but as his father kept him well supplied with pocket-money, he generally had a certain following which petted and made much of him.

"I had a jolly lark this morning," he was saying. "What d'you think Jimmy Hartland's doing? You'd never guess! He's selling papers. He brought ours round just now, and I answered the door. You'd have died to see him: he went as red as a turkey-cock.

"'Hullo!' said I-'a fresh paper-boy? You're very late. This won't do, you know. Tell your master if you can't come earlier than this we shall have to make a change.'"

"Did you really say that?" asked Simpson, who was sucking one of Braithwaite's bull's-eyes. "He would be wild. The beggar's as proud as Lucifer."

"I don't see why he shouldn't sell papers," said Alec Macdonald. "There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."

"Perhaps not for fellows of his class," said Braithwaite, with a superior air, "but fancy a paper-boy trying for the 'Gayton'! Why, if he got it, all the school would cut him dead. I call it a great piece of cheek."

"Here he comes with the Angel," whispered Simpson, who had finished his bull's-eye, and was hoping to get another before the bell rang. "I say, let's have a lark!" And raising his voice, he cried, "Hevenin' Noos! Hextry Speshul! Paper, sir?"

The others burst into a roar of laughter; and Braithwaite, who thought it an excellent joke, laughed the loudest of all.

The Angel, scenting mischief, laid hold of his chum's arm, saying,-

"Don't take any notice, Jim; it's only the 'Dandy' and his gang."

This was an unfortunate remark, as it would have been safer just then to wave a red flag before a bull than to mention Braithwaite's name to Jim. He was hot and tired and cross, angry with himself and the world in general, and with Braithwaite in particular. The incident of the morning had upset him, and this mocking laughter was, as Dick afterwards said, "the last straw that broke the camel's back."

"Want a hextry, sir? Take the last one!"

Simpson was fairly earning another bull's-eye.

Jim's face was white with passion as he strode over to the group, in the midst of which Braithwaite stood laughing. Blinded by anger, he did not stay to ask questions, but crying, "You beastly cad!" let out straight from the shoulder.

The Angel, though rather alarmed, could not resist the chance of a joke.

"That's a drop of hextry speshul claret!" he sang out, as the blood spurted from Braithwaite's nose.

Instantly there arose a babel of voices.

"Give him one back, Dandy!"

"Off with your coat; I'll hold it!"

"Who has a spare handkerchief?"

I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight, because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained handkerchief.

The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened.

"If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose."

"Is this correct, Hartland?"

"He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me."

"I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly. "Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.-Boden, take that boy to the lavatory."

"Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too tenderly, by the arm.

Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum.

"Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle. I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"

Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply.

"Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be marked dangerous, like a magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer. But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me if I thought his nose was broken."

"I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.

The Angel clapped him on the back.

"There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it," he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into a fit."

Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he was almost himself again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will save time, Mr. Broad says."

"Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down the street.

"No, I shall be home by eight."

"That doesn't leave you much time."

"Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school, and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."

As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without his book.

At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk.

"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised.

"Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper."

"It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so."

"Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it."

He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town.

"'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother."

"Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've finished I've something here for you to do."

"Yes, sir," said Jim.

Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure.

"You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't forget that new brooms sweep clean."

Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.

Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him.

"I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.

This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study.

"Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig you up again."

"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I've made a big move this week."

"Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?"

"Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.

Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the "Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of vegetables, poultry, fish-" And he only pulled up when the suppressed titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter.

"Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away whistling.

That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the evening."

"Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own time.

"But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till tea-time."

"Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs. Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper.

"This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages, mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the air of a millionaire.

"There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the coins. "Your master has made a mistake."

"It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra sixpence for doing my work so well."

"O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that money!"

"It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold. Sit down mother. You look tired to death."

"Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes," observed Susie.

"I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh, "and my eyes feel the strain more."

"When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."

They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his mother to carry Susie to her bedroom.

"I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest."

"I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more time to yourself."