‘LITTLE BOO”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXII, Issue 19437, 24 October 1925, Page 24 (Supplement)

‘LITTLE BOO”

CHAPTER 7 A SCHOOL EPISODE “Scott, go across to Mrs McNamara, and ask if she will please lend me the largo atlas for a few minutes.” les, sir,’’ said Rodney in reply to the request of his master, and he passed quickly out of the class tyoiu Mrs McNamara was head mistress of the girls’ public school. The two buildings were separated by a high fence. Once out of sight of Mr Breckenridge, Rodney sauntered along, hands in his pockets, whistling merrily. The play-ground of the girls’ school was deserted, &nd tho boy looked longingly at a swing. He shook his head as he withstood the temptation, Sand went on, entering the principal passage of the school. Then he gave a gasp—• and stood still. Kneeling on a form, her face turned to the wall, and hands clasped on her breast, was a girl he knew. Breta Feilding was a pal of sister Maud’s, and Rodney’s heart had often experienced the pangs of calf love for her. He would, however, have endured | diabolical torture rather than admit this feeling to anyone. “Breta!” ho ejaculated in h whisper of amazement. The girl, taken by surprise, almost lost her balance and toppled over. “My!” she cried, jumping up. “My Rodney Scott, what are you doing here?” She started to giggle. Rodney had never before been so close to the lovely Breta. He had not dared to do more than occasionally cast sheepish glances at her from a safe distance. That had been only when he was sure the attention of Maud was otherwise engaged. He stared without speaking into the shining black eyes—and at the fluffy dark hair about her face. Rodney felt the blood mounting to his cheeks and his heart throbbing. He shirffled his feet and moved his hands selfconsciously. “Oh, Rodney Scott, what big pimples you’ve got,” said naughty Breta. Then she laughed so prettily that Rodney forgave her the unkind words. Breta Feilding was a girl in years, but a flirt at heart —in fact, she was altogether a wicked little minx. She knew instinctively that Rodney Scott adored the ground upon which she walked. Her vanity, which was excessive, was greatly pleased. “I’m- being punished,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. “That old scorpion, Miss Maine, sent mo out here—‘To come to your senses,’ mimicked Breta, clasping her hands in front of her, and pursing up her mouth. “I’m to stay in at dinner time. Now we can sit down here and which I am at present missing.” “How unfair!” Rodney managed to articulate. Ho lapsed again into a constrained silence, still gazing with all eyes at Breta. “I was pretending I was St. Elizabeth doing penance—when you came alon£. That was to pass away the time. No wwc can sit down here arid talk,” and she patted the form invitingly. At any other time Breta would have scorned to waste her- sweetness on Rodney Scott, who was small in statue, and whose complexion, in her eves, was the colour of yellow mud. The fact was that Rodney was a m\elooking boy. Breta. however, was a creature who delighted in gorgeous colourings and exotic perfumes. Naturally it followed that sweetness of Ihe typo of “The Sheik” appealed to her. Tn tho present instance, colourless Rodney Scott was better than her own company. “I —l Breta,” he stiamiuer-

ed in reply to her invitation. “Why?” sho demanded. “Because old Breckenridge sent me over to borrow Mrs McNamara’s big atlas. He is waiting for it—and I’ll cop if I don’t hurry back.” Breta frowned. “Five little minutes won’t make any difference. Tell him —that—,” with a brilliant inspiration —“that you fell over and had to wash your hands! Just five teeny weeny minutes,” she wheedled. ‘‘l want to talk to you so much.” The bright eyes gave him a languishing glance, which Rodney could not withstand. He slipped down beside her on the form. “You won’t even tell Maud—or anyone J” “Goodness me —not!” Poor Rodney was lall of a quiver inside, so that he found it difficult to draw his breath. “What shall we talk about?” Breta asked. “Nothin’—l—l just want ot look at you,” he murmured humbly. Breta with difficulty repressed a hearty laugh. She thought how silly he looked. Rodney might have plucked up sufficient courage to hold Breta’s hand —but fate did not give him the chance? Just at that moment a grinning face appeared round a curve in the passage. “So that’s what you’re doing, Rodney Scott! I’ll tell Mr Breckenridge. He’s been waiting for the atlis—and he’s roarin’ like a bull! You’ll cop!” Before the dumbfounded pair could speak, the owner of the face—Billy Jones—had disappeared.

Without a word of farewell to his beloved Breta, Rodney sped after him, in an endeavour to catch up with the boy and bribe him not to “split.” This was a forlorn hope, however, as the two boys were sworn enemies. As he saw Billy Jones whisk in through the school-room door, Rodney groaned in the bitterness of defeat, end in anticipation of disaster to be. He waited a few minutes to get command of his breath. Ho braced himself to meet the expected storm, and, looking very miserable, faced Mr Breckenridge, who greated him with ominous calm. “What do you mean. Scott, by such disgraceful behaviour?” “I wasn’t doing anything—much—” “Don’t lie to mo!” thundered the schoolmaster. “.Tones saw you with your arm round the waist of a girl—kissing her!” The last two words were uttered with such withering contempt that Rodney swayed lightly—as if he had received a blow. A low hiss of excitement passed round the class room, which was instantly suppressed as the irate Mr Breckenridge commanded—“ Silence! ” “It’s not the truth,” Rodney insisted. “All I was doing was talking.” “You’re a coward and a cur to shield yourself behind a lie in order to save your miserable body!” The taunting words stung Rodney into a sudden passion. His eyes blazed, and his face went as white Us death. Ho clenched his fist, looking as. if he intended pummelling his schoolmaster. “Billy .Tones is the liar!” he shouted. “He’s a ”he stopped. Adjectives—coarse hut suitably explanatory—rushed through his firery mind. “He’s a blasted liar—that’s what he is—and you’re (another for believing him! ” Mr Breckenridge did nothing. He was for a few seconds too dazed to think or to act. Insubordination, such as the present, was an exception in his school. The class was painfullv quiet. The boys considered that Rodney Scott “swanked” a lot. They could not forget that, until the death of his father, he had been !a student at a high school in Auckland. They were glad he was in disgrace; it might take some of the “starch” out of him. Rodney looked round helplessly, frightened at the effect of what he had uttered in his rage. His sensation was that of a criminal about to be led to the gallows. “Come with me to my room, sir. You will remain my prisoner until school is out Jat half past twelve o’clock —when I shall deal with you.” He meekly followed Mr Breckenridge into his prison. The man locked the door—and left him to his sorry meditation. At first Rodney felt exceedingly downcast and contrite. In that mood he would willingly have begged his schoolmaster’s forgiveness, taken his punishment, and even magnanimously clasped Billy Jones to his breast. When, however, he heard the boys at play during the morning recess, land thought of the juicy orange and apple (coaxed from Aunt Roberta) waiting to be eaten, his young soul grew bitter. He rubbed at the frosted windowpane until he jvas rewarded with a clear space for his eye. He could watch his schoolmates without being seen himself. He saw them running tand jumping about, and heard them shouting with enjoyment, and the sight enraged Rodney. He licked his lips hungrily as he espied the detested Billy Jones busily crlamming a huge slice of cake into his mouth. “Sneak,” he muttered darkly. Poor Rodney could no longer bear the sight of the Paradise without. So he removed his eye from the windowpane, rubbing his stomach miserably. The p*angs of hunger were so acute that he thought any moment he might faint. He wondered how Mr Breckenridge would feel if he found him (Rodney) lying white and still in the middle of the floor. He sniffed self-pitingly: “It, isn’t fair! I’ll —I’ll—l’ll do something awful to that dirty, miserable Jones!” Just at the psychological moment his roving glance fell on his master’s bag on the trip of a high press. Rodney aimlessly proceeded to investigate, and found that it contained an appetis ing lunch of assorted sandwiches, a piece of fruit cake, two pears and two bananas. Rodney placed the repast, on the table, and looked at the food longingly. Then, all at once, he thrust out a pale brown bland, and snatched up a. sandwich. He started to eat hungrily—and did not pause until ho had finished Mr Breckenridge’s lunch, with the exception of the banana, skins and the stalks of the pears. He carefully wrapped these up in the serviette, land replaced the bag on the press. Ttc felt much better physically after the repast, although his mind was very ill at ease. Hn tried to persuade himself that he might as well “be killed for a sheep as a lamb.” but it was a very poor attempt at consolation. (To bo continued)