Read Ebook: Sinclair's luck by Westerman Percy F Percy Francis

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Ebook has 194 lines and 10423 words, and 4 pages

"HIS FOOT CAUGHT IN THE TRAILING TENDRIL AND HE CRASHED HEAVILY" -- -- -- -- 174

"WE'VE DONE IT, BY JOVE!'" -- -- -- -- -- 230

SINCLAIR'S LUCK

THE TWO CHUMS

"MY last term, Tiny, old son," announced Sinclair dismally.

"What? Never!" replied "Tiny" Desmond, who, at the age of sixteen years and three months, had attained the height of six feet one inch. "Your last term at Stockmere? You're trying to pull my leg."

"Wish I were," rejoined Colin. "But it's a fact. My governor wrote to Dr. Narfield a week ago."

"Why?" inquired Desmond, linking arms with his sturdy, athletically-built chum. "Tell me all about it. Chuck it off your chest."

It was the first day of the summer term. Stockmere was in a state of commotion that is usually associated with the commencement of a new session. There were boys promoted to higher forms, boys remaining in a state of "as you were," new boys wandering about aimlessly like strangers in a strange land, fearful the while lest by word or deed they should transgress the moral and social side of their new school-fellows. There were boys seeking old chums; boys casting about for fresh ones. Housemasters and formmasters were discussing boys; the Head and the Matron were doing likewise. In short, the topic was "Boys."

"Let's get out of this crush," continued Tiny. "Lorrimer and Perkins are cackling away in our study. You know what they are. I vote we push off up on the moors. I'll ask Collier."

The housemaster, recently placed in charge of the Upper Sixth, gave the required permission.

"Very good, Desmond," he replied in answer to Tiny's request. "Back at four, mind. How's that cough of yours, by the bye? Lost it yet?"

"Nearly, sir," replied Tiny, flushing.

"H'm, about time," rejoined Mr. Collier. "All right, carry on."

The two sixth-formers touched their caps and walked away.

"Wish he wouldn't harp on that cough," murmured Desmond. "It's really nothing much; a bit of a bother first thing in the morning. Now, Colin, what's this stunt?"

Sinclair told his story simply and without hesitation. There were no secrets between the two chums. They shared their pleasures, their, for the most part trivial, troubles, their perplexities, and their worldly goods whole-heartedly.

"Fact is," said Colin, "my governor has been losing a lot of money since the War, and he can't afford to keep me at Stockmere after this term. I found out quite accidentally that the pater had been pretty badly hit for some time. I ought to have left a year ago, only he kept it dark and managed to let me stay on. He was hoping for things to improve financially only they didn't. So that's that."

"Hard lines!" ejaculated Desmond sympathetically.

"That's why the governor didn't come up to the sports," resumed Sinclair. "He simply couldn't run to it. And he's sold his car and cut down a lot of things, but he's losing ground, so to speak. His pension was quite all right once upon a time, but now it goes nowhere."

"And what are you going to do?" asked Tiny.

"I hardly know," replied his chum. "Of course, my idea of going to an engineering college is off. After all's said and done, it means earning nothing until a fellow's well over twenty-one, and then he's lucky if he makes as much as a miner or a bricklayer. At any rate, I've got to do something--to earn something. In fact, I don't think I ought to have come back this term."

"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Desmond.

Colin shook his head.

"'Course not," declared Desmond.

"Right-o!" rejoined Sinclair, then, as if he had put the matter out of his mind, he drew himself up, stretched his arms, and sniffed appreciatively at the keen, bracing mountain air.

"My word," he exclaimed, "isn't it tophole? I'll race you to the crest of Shutter Pike."

It was a distance of about four hundred yards to the summit of the hill known as Shutter Pike--a gentle gradient for two-thirds of the way, ending up with a fairly stiff ascent.

For the first fifty yards Tiny led, but gradually Colin recovered the initial advantage his companion had gained, and before the last fifty yards he had drawn up level. Then, putting his whole energy into the race, Sinclair dashed ahead and flung himself upon the grassy knoll at the summit. To his surprise, Tiny had stopped and was holding his hands against his ribs and coughing violently.

"Buck up, man!" Sinclair shouted. "I'm a bit out of training .... Why, what's the matter? Anything wrong?"

Desmond shook his head, but made no attempt to move. His companion jumped to his feet and ran down the slope.

"Did you fall?" he asked anxiously, for the bluish-grey pallor on his chum's face rather took him aback.

"No," spluttered Tiny. "Stitch, or something ... nothing much."

He sat down abruptly, endeavouring to stifle the fit of coughing. At length he succeeded.

"You're not up to the mark, that's evident," said Colin. "What have you been doing these hols? You're right out of condition. You'll have to train, my festive."

"I will," replied Desmond. "I've been slacking a bit, but I'll soon get into form. I say, it's close on four. Let's get a move on."

Hardly a word was exchanged as the pair made their way schoolwards.

"Don't say anything to Collier," said Tiny, as they passed the lodge gates. "About this little cough of mine, I mean."

"'Course not," declared Colin. "Why should I?"

Tea over, Desmond and Sinclair went to the rooms they shared with Lorrimer and "Polly" Perkins. Here everything was in a state of disorder. The furniture had only just been removed from their last term's den; their boxes and trunks, half unpacked, were piled upon the table and chairs, while an assortment of bats, tennis rackets, fishing rods, nets, and other articles inseparable with schoolboys filled every available corner of the room.

"You're a nice pair!" exclaimed Lorrimer. "Mooching off and leaving Polly and me to square things up."

"And a fine square up you've made of it," replied Tiny. "Hullo, what's this? My razor! Polly, you are the absolute limit."

Perkins received the intelligence with as good grace as possible when discovered in the act of using another fellow's razor for the purpose of cutting rope.

"Honest?" inquired Desmond.

"Honest," assented Polly.

At Stockmere that word was sufficient. No fellow ever doubted the genuineness of an assertion thus expressed. Desmond picked up his cap and made his way to Dr. Narfield's study.

The summons did not surprise him. Coupled with the fact that he was one of the head boys, and that this was the first day of a new term, it was not unusual for a youth in Desmond's position to be called to the Head's study.

Dr. Narfield was standing with his back to the empty fireplace in a characteristic attitude, his mortar-board on the back of his head and his hands clasped under the tails of his gown:

"You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes, Desmond," replied the Head, looking at the lad over the top of his spectacles. "I thought, Desmond, that you, a head boy, would be above a senseless practical joke."

He paused. Tiny regarded the doctor dumfoundedly. And then that irritating cough made itself known again.

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