Chapter 9 THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.

There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning, and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry for the loss of their schoolmate.

As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for being the cause of Braithwaite's death.

"He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into. I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight."

"They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in," exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!"

"Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."

Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything against his popular chum.

All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr. Stewart would be able to do for Susie.

The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the doctor was leaving.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it." And stepping into his gig, he drove off.

Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face.

"O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him. And what do you think he has offered to do?"

"I can't guess," replied the boy.

"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."

"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.

"And he thinks-though, of course, I haven't told Susie-that at the end of six months she may be able to walk! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course."

"What does Susie say about going?"

"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."

Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination.

"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.

"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose-suppose you should be able to walk some day!"

There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim-not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen."

"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."

"Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly.

"Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time. Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."

At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick before I go."

"So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening. Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."

As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with him.

"I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something. Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm gone when you get back."

True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of his little patient.

"There," said he, "now you're comfortable-eh? Oh yes; mother's coming too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have our big brother to see how we're getting on-eh, my lassie?"

Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the affairs of her neighbours.

"As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An' her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"

Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland" written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself later on.

She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.

Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her mother's grief.

The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely.

"You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good."

"Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned myself."

"Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim, 'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows-why, half of them think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!"

"I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily.

"What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"

This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no reason why they should spoil their own lives.

It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.

One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr. Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.

Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type-"The Gayton Scholarship." His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther. Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.

This is the announcement as it appeared in The Beauleigh Evening News:-

"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.-The result of the examination for the Gayton Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible thousand:-

CANDIDATE. SCHOOL. MARKS.

Braithwaite, Percy . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 871

Temple, Hugh . . . . . . . St. Paul's . . . . . 868

Carter, Robert . . . . . . Bath Street Board . . 839

Boden, Richard . . . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 810

Jones, Samuel . . . . . . Royal British . . . . 750

Morris, William Charles . Somerton Board . . . 716

The honour of winning the scholarship thus goes to the Deanery School; but, unhappily, the successful candidate cannot take advantage of his victory. Our readers will, no doubt, remember the sad accident which recently occurred at the Old Fort, in which Percy Braithwaite lost his life. Great sympathy is felt for the sorrowing parents. It is sad to think of the early termination to what evidently might have been a distinguished career. The scholarship will therefore be awarded to the candidate next on the list, Hugh Temple of St. Paul's, who, it will be noticed, is only three marks behind the leader."

At first, Jim could think of nothing but the blow to his own pride. Most of the Deanery boys fully expected him to win the scholarship; they had coupled his name with it as far back as the cricket match for the Challenge Shield; they had looked up to him as their champion. And now the list was out, and he was not even in the first six!

I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told. Jim fairly broke down. He was angry, mortified, and ashamed. He felt the blow with bitter humiliation, and while doing his round that evening he had not the courage to look any one in the face. It seemed as if all the town must be jeering at him as a dead failure.

He could have yielded pride of place to Temple, but to be beaten by Braithwaite, and even by the light-hearted Angel! This was where the sting lay, because, knowing the extent of their abilities, he felt that he was far superior to them.

Of course, he had had hard lines in his father's death, in the necessity for finding work, and again in his mother's illness; but he could not tell all the world that. The Deanery fellows bothered little about his misfortunes; in their eyes the thing would be simple enough: he had failed even to get into the first six, and there was an end of it.

When he got home that night, he said nothing of the news; so that his mother, who rarely bought a paper, did not know that the list was out.

"She will know soon enough," he thought bitterly, "and on Sunday I shall have to tell Susie."