A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War. Brereton Frederick Sadleir
with a catch in his voice, for the lad was at heart fond of his home and of his guardians. “I will not promise to follow your wishes though. I don’t know why it is, but I loathe the thought of being a clergyman. I love a free and open life; and besides, a clever man is required for the Church, and I am scarcely that. Still, father, I will try my best, and should I do anything wrong, it shall not be such as to cause you to feel any shame.”
“Then we shall see, Philip. But remember my warning,” answered the vicar.
That evening a cab stopped outside a big stone building in Highgate and deposited Phil and his baggage on the pavement.
For a moment he looked round in bewilderment, for this was the first time he had been in the neighbourhood of, or in fact, anywhere near, the great city; but a gruff “Five bob fare, please”, and “that there’s Ebden’s School”, recalled his wandering wits.
Phil paid the money, and then, remembering that he would require someone to help him with his baggage, asked the surly driver to get off his seat.
“Not if I knows it, young un,” was the answer. “I’ve got me fare, and you’ve got to yer journey’s end. So good-day to yer! Hope yer won’t find it too precious warm in there. I passes by most every day and hears horrid yells a-coming from the ’ouse. Get up, won’t yer!” and with a tug and a spiteful lash at his horse, this cheerful Jehu drove off with such a jerk that the dilapidated top hat he wore started backward, and, bounding from the box, was crushed beneath the wheels.
Phil, who had for the moment been somewhat taken aback by the man’s ominous words, roared at the cabman’s discomfiture and at the rage into which he promptly worked himself. Then, taking no notice of his growling, and seeing no one at hand to help him, he shouldered his box, pushed open the iron gate which formed the entrance of his new home, and mounted the steps. A double knock, sounding hollow and rumbling, was answered quickly by an individual who performed at once the duties of butler and general fatigue man of the school.
“Name, sir?” he asked politely.
“Western,” answered Phil.
“Ah! you’re the new boy, sir! Glad to see you. Let me help you with the box;” and in a twinkling Phil was relieved of his baggage.
Then he was ushered into a big room, where he waited, not without some feelings of uneasiness, for the appearance of the master.
“I wonder what he’ll be like!” he thought. “I’ve heard of masters of his sort before. I wonder whether that cabby was rotting! Perhaps he wasn’t, and perhaps I shall really be catching it hot. Never mind. I was happy at Haddington, and will be here too.”
Phil was in the act of sketching for himself a big, heavy-looking man, with a hard unrelenting face, as his master, when there was a quick step outside, the door burst open, and a clean-shaven little gentleman, with a smiling, pleasant face, entered the room.
“By Jove! He’s awfully like Uncle Joe, and would be just his image if he were a little fatter,” Phil thought in an instant.
“Ah, Philip Western, the boy who has been in difficulties, I believe!” said the stranger, extending a hand and shaking Phil’s heartily. “Glad to see you, my lad. Let me look at you. Yes – we shall be good friends, I hope.” Then, murmuring to himself, he continued, “Larky – high-spirited – full of go, but no vice – no vice, I will swear. Yes, we shall be good friends.”
Mr Ebden – for he it was – pushed Phil into the light and rapidly surveyed him, muttering audibly all the while.
“So you are a disappointment to your father!” he continued. “Come, tell me all about it, my lad. Let there be no secrets between us. Tell me the whole trouble; why you have come here, and in what manner you have proved such a deep worry to your people.”
“I can’t help it, sir,” Phil blurted out. “I’ve done my level best to act as father wished, but somehow or other I am always in trouble. They said I was upsetting the discipline of the school, and that is one of the reasons for which I was sent away.” Then he proceeded to describe what had happened, and how he had laid a booby-trap for the mayor, and afterwards played a prank with the town barge.
Mr Ebden listened, and, much to Phil’s relief, laughed heartily when he heard how he and his friends had afforded the townspeople of Riddington one more glance at an old-fashioned relic.
“That was a piece of pure, boyish mischief,” he exclaimed, “and only deserved a lecture; but the other was bad. You ought to have been caned. You would have caught it severely here. However, from this day we start a new book. Turn over that fresh leaf which one so often hears about. I am your friend – remember that, Phil Western. You will meet with no harshness here. A piece of pure frolic I can enjoy; but anything else, any breach of discipline, shall meet with the punishment it deserves. But we will not talk of that. We shall be excellent friends, I feel sure. Now come with me and I will introduce you to your new school-fellows.”
Mr Ebden led Phil along a passage and through another room into a garden, in which were some twenty boys.
“There they are,” he said, giving him a push. “Go and make friends with them too.”
Somewhat bewildered with the very pleasant greeting he had already received, and more than pleased with the difference between his forebodings and the reality, Phil walked forward and looked at the lads before him, wondering which one he should address first.
And they too stared hard at Phil, and summed him up in a moment. Here was a boy with a big loose frame that wanted some filling out, long legs and arms that looked as though a little exertion would push them far through his clothing, and a well-tanned and freckled face; not exactly good-looking, but distinctly pleasing, and possessing eyes which looked straight at you, and a mouth with a queer little line beneath it, which told that, though smiling now, it could become hard and stem on occasion. The whole, capped by close-cropped, almost reddish hair, made up an appearance which was taking.
“A decent chap. He must be a good fellow,” was the half-muttered thought of the boys, the tallest of whom advanced and at once entered into conversation with Phil. The others joined in, and in a few minutes he was quite at his ease, and feeling more certain than ever that the change of schools was decidedly not for the worst.
Time proved that he was right, for there was no doubt that Mr Ebden had a wonderful power over his scholars. From the first he made friends of them, and endeavoured to keep them so. Indeed he seldom failed. A lad who had elsewhere been sullen and morose, and in many cases unmanageable, became under the new regime bright and laughing, and ready at all times to do his best to master his lessons. It was just the difference between the careless neglect and misunderstanding that had been his lot before, and the keen interest in all that concerned him that was shown in every word and act of his new ruler. A little kindness goes a long way with many an awkward, nervous boy, and Mr Ebden had proved this.
“Make a friend of him,” he would say cheerily. “Forget sometimes that you are the master and he the boy. Coax him into trying by taking an interest in all he does, and you can make a convert anywhere.”
He was right, as has been proved over and over again, for nowadays there is scarcely a school where the masters do not join heart and soul with the boys in their games, ay, and feel themselves the happier and the younger for it too?
Thus did Mr Ebden conquer the lads sent to him as a last resource.
Before a week had passed, Phil had become quite popular in the school, and his love of athletics helped him not a little. To these a fair proportion of the day was allotted, and as the school enclosure opened into a large and well-kept garden, which was the common property of the row of houses in which Mr Ebden’s stood, there was plenty of opportunity for cricket. In the centre was a smooth stretch of lawn, with a carefully-laid pitch, and here Ebden’s did battle with sundry neighbouring teams.
But it is not to be supposed that Phil and his comrades were always out of mischief. They were a high-spirited lot, and ever eager for adventure. Indeed, our hero had only been a year at his new home when he was once more in the deepest trouble. It happened in this way. The Highgate Wanderers had taken their departure