The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Triple Alliance, by Harold Avery

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Title: The Triple Alliance

Author: Harold Avery

Release Date: November 13, 2003 [eBook #10027]

Language: English

Chatacter set encoding: US-ASCII

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE***

E-text prepared by Lionel G. Sear of Truro, Cornwall, England, and dedicated to the memory of R. F. Mudie, who won the book used as the source for this e-text as Form II First Prize for the Summer Term in 1901 at the Seafield House Preparatory School, Broughty Ferry, Scotland

THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE

ITS TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS

By HAROLD AVERY

CONTENTS.

Chapter.

I. A NEW BOY,

II. THE PHILISTINES,

III. DISCOMFITURE OF THE PHILISTINES,

IV. THE SUPPER CLUB,

V. CATCHING A TARTAR,

VI. GUNPOWDER PLOT,

VII. RONLEIGH COLLEGE,

VIII. THIRD FORM ORATORY,

IX. A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE,

X. A SCREW LOOSE IN THE SIXTH,

XI. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS,

XII. THE WRAXBY MATCH,

XIII. THE ELECTIONS,

XIV. A PASSAGE OF ARMS,

XV. THE READING-ROOM RIOT,

XVI. THE CIPHER LETTER,

XVII. DIGGORY READS THE CIPHER,

XVIII. A SECRET SOCIETY,

XIX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS,

XX. SOWING THE WIND,

XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND,

XXII. WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?

CHAPTER I.

A NEW BOY.

"What's your name?"

"Diggory Trevanock."

The whole class exploded.

"Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broad grin on his own face—"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.—Look here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"

Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his class-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, and immediately rattled out a semi-humorous reply to the master's question,—

"D I G, dig; G O R Y, gory—Diggory: T R E, tre; VAN, van; O C K, ock—Trevanock." Then turning round, he smiled complacently at the occupants of the desks behind, as much as to say: "There, I've done all I can to amuse you, and I hope you're satisfied."

This incident, one of the little pleasantries occasionally permitted by a class master, and which, like a judge's jokes in court, are always welcomed as a momentary relief from the depressing monotony of the serious business in hand—this little incident, I say, happened in the second class of a small preparatory school, situated on the outskirts of the market town of Chatford, and intended, according to the wording of a standing advertisement in the Denfordshire Chronicle, "for the sons of gentlemen."

This establishment, which bore the somewhat suggestive name of "The Birches," was owned and presided over by Mr. Welsby, who, with an unmarried daughter, Miss Eleanor, acting as housekeeper, and his nephew, Mr. Blake, performing the duties of assistant-master, undertook the preliminary education of about a dozen juveniles whose ages ranged between ten and fourteen.

On the previous evening, returning from the Christmas holidays, exactly twelve had mustered round the big table in the dining-room; no new faces had appeared, and Fred Acton, a big, strong youngster of fourteen and a half, was undisputed cock of the walk.

The school was divided into two classes. The first, containing the five elder scholars, went to sit at the feet of Mr. Welsby himself; while the second remained behind in what was known as the schoolroom, and received instruction from Mr. Blake.

It was while thus occupied on the first morning of the term that the lower division were surprised by the sudden appearance of a new boy. Miss Eleanor brought him into the room, and after a few moments' whispered conversation with her cousin, smiled round the class and then withdrew. Every one worshipped Miss Eleanor; but that's neither here nor there. A moment later Mr. Blake put the question which stands at the commencement of this chapter.

The new-comer's answer made a favourable impression on the minds of his companions, and as soon as the morning's work was over, they set about the task of mutual introduction in a far more friendly manner than was customary on these occasions. He was a wiry little chap, with bright eyes, for ever on the twinkle, and black hair pasted down upon his head, so as not to show the slightest vestige of curl, while the sharp, mischievous look on his face, and the quick, comical movements of his body, suggested something between a terrier and a monkey.

There was never very much going on in the way of regular sports or pastimes at The Birches; the smallness of numbers made it difficult to attempt proper games of cricket or football, and the boys were forced to content themselves with such substitutes as prisoner's base, cross tag, etc., or in carrying out the projects of Fred Acton, who was constantly making suggestions for the employment of their time, and compelling everybody to conform to his wishes.

Mr. Welsby had been a widower for many years; he was a grave, scholarly man, who spent most of his spare time in his own library. Mr. Blake was supposed to take charge out of school hours; he was, as every one said, "a jolly fellow," and the fact that his popularity extended far and wide among a large circle of friends and acquaintances, caused him to have a good many irons in the fire of one sort and another. During their hours of leisure, therefore, the Birchites were left pretty much to their own devices, or more often to those of Master Fred Acton, who liked, as has already been stated, to assume the office of bellwether to the little flock.

At the time when our story commences the ground was covered with snow; but Acton was equal to the occasion, and as soon as dinner was over, ordered all hands to come outside and make a slide.

The garden was on a steep slope, along the bottom of which ran the brick wall bounding one side of the playground; a straight, steep path lay between this and the house, and the youthful dux, with his usual disregard of life and limb, insisted on choosing this as the scene of operations.

"What!" he cried, in answer to a feeble protest on the part of Mugford, "make it on level ground? Of course not, when we've got this jolly hill to go down; not if I know it. We'll open the door at the bottom, and go right on into the playground."

"But how if any one goes a bit crooked, and runs up against the bricks?"

"Well, they'll get pretty well smashed, or he will. You must go straight; that's half the fun of the thing—it'll make it all the more