Out-Grabbing the Grabber.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XII, 19 March 1904, Page 60

Out-Grabbing the Grabber.

THE TRUE HISTORY OF “IBBOTSON’S PIECE.” “What are you staring at, boy?” Ibbotson the Impudent surveyed the purple visage of his irate questioner with all solemnity before replying. “Give it up! Ask me another!” Perhaps it was just as well for Ibbotson that a six-foot fence divided old Jasper Grabbem and himself at that particular moment.

Jasper sprang forward and shook the strong rails very much as an infuriated gorilla will shake the bars of his cage. “You young whelp!” he hissed through the fence. “Oh, if I had you by the neck ”

“Which you haven’t!” chuckled Ibbotson.

“I’d make you squirm! You’re a new sample of the boys of Rockburn .School, and a credit to the obstinate little upstart who claims you as a pupil ” “And dares to defy the mighty Grabbem!” suggested Ibbotson. “He won’t defy me much longer!” roared the Squire, now beside himself with fury. “I’ll root him out! I’ll scatter his hornets’ nest ”

“I have heard,” remarked Ibbotson with exasperating calmness, “that hornets are best left alone.”

And, thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, Ibbotson sauntered off, serenely whistling the opening bars of “Rule Britannia.”

To look at him now one would scarcely credit that Ibbotson was quite a new boy. He had, as a matter of faet, only arrived at Rockburn the day before.

He had heard from Charlesworth and Gibbons the story of the long-fought struggle between school and Squire. The latter had bought farm after farm until one morning he discovered that a wedge-shaped piece of land—at the head of which stood Rockburn School and its grounds—cut right into the heart of his estate.

Behind the school grounds came a eouple of small farms owned by Farmers Dixon and Dyke. The latter were not unwilling to sell, and the squire flattered himself that he could buy at any moment, but—and that little “but” sent Squire Grabbem into a fury every time he thought of it —there would still remain “the hornets’ nest” in the middle of the estate.

Dr. Deerby, the gentleman described by Grabbem as the “obstinate little upstart,” had fallen on evil days. He had lost •the savings of a life-time in a recent bank smash. The misfortunes that never come singly included an outbreak of fever in the school. This had been stamped out, and Rockburn School was now one of the healthiest schools in the kingdom, but the effect remained in the shape of sadly depleted dormitories and decreased income.

Still, Ibbotson was informed, the little Doctor was unconquered. Fighting with his back to the wall he hoped for better days, the while he warded off the tempting offers of the covetous Grabbem. “I see,” Ibbotson had remarked with the assurance characteristic of him, “I see! The Head takes his coat off, so to speak, and —what are you fellows doing ?”

There was an impressive silence. Apparently it had never struck the Rockburn boys that they could do anything in the matter. “Afraid of him, ah?” went on Ibbotson. “That’s a mistake! When you encounter a bully, purse-proud or pugilistic, the best thing you can do is to kick him!”

Gibbons and Charlesworth smiled. The idea of kicking Squire Grabbem was dis-

tinctly rich. “Perhaps you think Pm impudent,” continued the new boy, “and perhaps you’re right—the fellows at St. Martin’s entertained a similar opinion. I’m glad you’ve explained the position of affairs, as I intend having something to say in the matter. To begin with, I consider you’ve allowed this grasping old buffer to have too much of his own way. That’s enough to make a bully bumptious. When you’ve known him a little longer you’ll fiud that Ibbotson would rather knock down than knock under! Virtue, my boys, is bound to triumph in tlie end, and there is virtue in a forcible kick—figuratively or literally inflicted! I’ve not the pleasure of Squire Grabebm’s acquaintance. When I do meet him hell probably come to the conclusion that there’s quite a new sort of boy arrived at Rockburn. At any rate, he’ll find that Grabbem the Grasper has no terrors for Ibbotson the Impudent.”

And as we have seen, the new boy was as good as his word.

Ibbotson was busy, very busy, for the next few days. It is, of course, only natural that a boy, on first arriving at a new school, should have a few extra letters to write, but Ibbotson’s correspondence was, as Gibbons put it, “on a wholesale scale.”

“He writes as he talks, by the hour,” said Gibbons to Charlesworth. “I can understand a fellow dropping a line to the pater, but he should confine himself to four pages, Ibbotson’s letter home, however, is simply indecent! I went with him to post it and fully expected to be called upon to assist him to cram the thing into the mouth of the letterbox. Fifty pages or thereabouts as a boy—what on earth will the fellow require as a man? And that was only one of a bundle of letters—some even into the town here —and, I say, Charlesworth, what do you think he asked me?” “To pay the postage?”

“Don’t talk rot! He wanted to know the address of the smartest firm of solicitors in Rockburn. I told him that Pickle and Pottem were reckoned pretty warm, and he promptly sent off another little note —sixteen pages, or I’m a Hottentot—to that firm.”

“Phew!” ejaculated Charlesworth. “Who is the fellow? What is he?” “Hanged if I know!” returned his chum. “I’ve had more talk with him than any boy in the school, but up to the present he hasn’t touched on family affairs. I don’t know whether he’s the son of a marquis, a mountebank, or a millionaire. What I do know is that he’s made up his mind to ‘out-grab Grabbem,’ as he puts it. Moreover, what I’m beginning to strongly suspect is—he’ll do it.”

In due course Ibbotson received a reply to that letter described by Gibbons as “simply indecent.” It wasn’t a very long one, but it sufficed to put Ibbotson on remarkably good terms with himself. He promptly saw the doctor, who readily gave him permission to visit the town, where Ibbotson had a lengthy interview with Messrs Pickle and Pottem.

When Ibbotson returned, to again quote Gibbons, “he wore the satisfied smile of the early bird with a worm in view.”

He was still disposed to “talk by the hour” on the subject of new goalposts, or the need of an efficient dressing-room on the footer ground, but of Squire Grabbem, of his visit to Pickle and Pottem, of the matters Charlesworth and Gibbons were particularly curious about, Ibbotson spoke not a word. He was as dumb and close as an oyster.

Ibbotson was a true son of his father, who had succeeded, perhaps, because lie talked trivialities while he transacted business. It is often dangerous to “talk” the latter. 111. “Good morning. Dixon.” “Mornin’, Squire.” As Jasper Grabbe Wi reined in his fiery little cob he noticed that Farmer Dixon looked quite cheerful this morning. Crops turning out well, perhaps. “Surprised to see me so early this morning, eh?” went on Squire Grabbem. “The fact is, I’ve trotted over to tell you that I’ve considered the little matter we talked of, and I’ll take over the farm at the price named- If you’ll call at my solicitors you’ll find everything in readiness, and—”

“Sorry, Squire,” interrupted Dixon, "but ye’re just a trifle late!” “Late? What do you mean?” gasped the Squire. “Farm’s sold this mornin’, sir.” “But,” stuttered Grabbem, “you offered it to me!” “Sartainly!” admitted Dixon. "1 made ye a sartain offer at a sartain time for a sartain price, but ye didn't close for sartain. Now tnis mornin’ I has a sartain offer at a sartain bigger price—an’ I sartainly closed!” For some seconds Squire Grabbem could scarcely believe his ears. The farm purchased under his very nose! “I—l can’t believe it!” he stammered. “Who’s the buyer?” “Ibbotson.” “What Ibbotson?” “Don’t know, an’ don’t care!” returned Dixon cheerfully. “Pickle and Pottem, actin’ for a party o’ the name o’ Ibbotson, bought the farm this mornin’. Shouldn’t wonder, now, if they’re off' to neighbour Dyke’s ” That was quite enough for the squire. Wheeling his cob round he put him at a low fence, and tore off across country in the direction of Dyke’s farm. As he drew rein at the door of Hie farm-house he failed to notice a low buggy just turning out of the sandy lane in the high road. “Your farm!” panted Jasper, when Mr. Dyke appeared in the doorway, “I’ll buv it!” “Ye won’t!” eame the decided reply. “Leastways not from me. ’Taint mine! Ye’d better see Pickle and Pottem, or, better still, the real buyer, Ibootson. I don’t know the gentleman, but no doubt. Pickle and Pot tern’ll ” Squire Grabbem waited to hear no more. In a blind fury he turned his cob’s head and dashed down the sandy lane. Out on the hard frosty road even he did not check the speed of his mount. Instead of the old farmer’s “properly, property, property,” he heard, “Ibbotson. Ibbotson, Ibbotson,” in the clatter of the cob’s hoofs. “Ibbotson? Ibbotson?” he muttered. “Who is this impudent interloper?” On his arrival home, Squire Grabbem fond awaiting him a crowning example of ihe “interloper’s impudence.” in I he form of the following brief note: — “Rockburn School, Dee. 7th. 19—. Squire Grabbem, Sir,—ls it true that you wish to dis pose of your estate? If so, any price in reason will be carefully considered by Messrs. Pickle and Pottem, solicitors, or by Yours truly. Marmaduke Ibbotson. When Squire Grabbem, a veritable vol eano. arrived at Rockburn School, ami requested to see “Ibbotson.” he scarcely expected to be confronted by the cheerful. smiling countenance he had s:ea once before -through the boundary fence. “What’s this tomfoolery?” <1- ilia'■<!<•<! the Squire. "Do you mean to tell me vou’ve bought Dvke’s farm and Dixon’s farm?” “For a third party —yes.” smiled 111 botson cheerfully, “and if your estate is still in the market—oh, very well!” h •

broke off, as the Squire, purple with rage, let out a storm of expletives, ••just as you like, Squire Grabbem! I won’t press you. but you won’t inter fere with the ‘hornet’s nest’ just yet — now. will you?” Jasper Grabbem didn’t promise. He took his departure, and has never been seen within half a mile of the school gates since. Within a very few days the school knew all about Ibbotson. He was the

only son of a prosperous jam manufacturer, who at that time was badly in need of a new fruit farm. On arriving at Rockburn, the centre of a rich fruit-growing country, Ibbotson, junior, at once came to the eoiiclu sion that tlie spare farms would be “just the thing for the pater!” Ibbotson. senior, on recepit of his son's glowing report—albeit of “indecent” length wired Pickle and Pottem. instructing them to make the necessary

inquiries. The firm did so. and mad** a favourable report. Tin* rest we know. One thing more is worthy of mention. Four acres of tine level turf Ibbotson junior’s commission” has been added to the playing grounds. This, in tin- pros pectus of the now flourishing school. is described as •‘The New Portion.” Hockburn boys, however, have another name for it. ami as “lldiotson*s Piece” it will be known for all time.

Tom H. Fowler.