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  CHAPTER II.

  I AM ENTERED AT COPENHAGEN ACADEMY.

  Agreeable, too, as I found it to be whirled between the hedgerowsbehind five splendid horses; to catch the ostlers run out with therelays; to receive blue glimpses of the Channel to southward; to diveacross dingles and past farm-gates under which the cocks and hensflattened themselves in their haste to give us room; to gaze backover the luggage and along the road, and assure myself that the rivalcoach (the Self-Defence) was not overtaking us--yet Falmouth, whenwe reached it, was best of all; Falmouth, with its narrow streets andcrowd of sailors, postmen, 'longshoremen, porters with wheelbarrows,and passengers hurrying to and from the packets, its smells of pitchand oakum and canvas, its shops full of seamen's outfits andinstruments and marine curiosities, its upper windows where parrotsscreamed in cages, its alleys and quay-doors giving peeps of thesplendid harbour, thronged--to quote Miss Plinlimmon again--"withvarieties of gallant craft, between which the trained nautical eyemay perchance distinguish, but mine doesn't."

  The residential part of Falmouth rises in neat terraces above thewaterside, and of these Delamere Terrace was by no means the leastrespectable. The brass doorplate of No. 7--"Copenhagen Academy forthe Sons of Gentlemen. Principal, the Rev. Philip Stimcoe, B.A.(Oxon.)"--shone immaculate; and its window-blinds did Mrs. Stimcoecredit, as Miss Plinlimmon remarked before ringing the bell.

  Mrs. Stimcoe herself opened the door to us, in a full lace cap and amaroon-coloured gown of state. She was a gaunt, hard-eyed woman,tall as a grenadier, remarkable for a long upper lip decorated withtwo moles. She excused her condescension on the ground that thebutler was out, taking the pupils for a walk; and conducted us to theparlour, where Mr. Stimcoe sat in an atmosphere which smelt faintlyof sherry.

  Mr. Stimcoe rose and greeted us with a shaky hand. He was a thin,spectacled man, with a pendulous nose and cheeks disfigured by apurplish cutaneous disorder (which his wife, later on, attributed tohis having slept between damp sheets while the honoured guest of anobleman, whose name I forget). He wore a seedy clerical suit.

  While shaking hands he observed that I was taller than he hadexpected; and this, absurdly enough, is all I remember of theinterview, except that the room had two empty bookcases, one oneither side of the chimney-breast; that the fading of the wallpaperabove the mantelpiece had left a patch recording where a clock hadlately stood (I conjectured that it must be at Greenwich, undergoingrepairs); that Mrs. Stimcoe produced a decanter of sherry--a winewhich Miss Plinlimmon abominated--and poured her out a glassful, withthe remark that it had been twice round the world; that MissPlinlimmon supposed vaguely "the same happened to a lot of things ina seaport like Falmouth;" and that somehow this led us on to Mr.Stimcoe's delicate health, and this again to the subject of dampsheets, and this finally to Mrs. Stimcoe's suggesting that MissPlinlimmon might perhaps like to have a look at my bedroom.

  The bedroom assigned to me opened out of Mrs. Stimcoe's own.("It will give him a sense of protection. A child feels the firstfew nights away from home.") Though small, it was neat, and,for a boy's wants, amply furnished; nay, it contained at least onearticle of supererogation, in the shape of a razor-case on thedressing-table. Mrs. Stimcoe swept this into her pocket with a turnof the hand, and explained frankly that her husband, like mostscholars, was absent-minded. Here she passed two fingers slowlyacross her forehead. "Even in his walks, or while dressing, hisbrain wanders among the deathless compositions of Greece and Rome,turning them into English metres--all cakes especially"--she musthave meant alcaics--"and that makes him leave things about."

  I had fresh and even more remarkable evidence of Mr. Stimcoe'sabsent-mindedness two minutes later, when, the sheets having beenduly inspected, we descended to the parlour again; for, happening toreach the doorway some paces ahead of the two ladies, I surprised himin the act of drinking down Miss Plinlimmon's sherry.

  The interview was scarcely resumed before a mortuary silence fell onthe room, and I became aware that somehow my presence impeded thediscussion of business.

  "I think perhaps that Harry would like to run out upon the terraceand see the view from his new home," suggested Mrs. Stimcoe, withobvious tact.

  I escaped, and went in search of the commodious playground, which Isupposed to lie in the rear of the house; but, reaching a back yard,I suddenly found myself face to face with three small boys, onestaggering with the weight of a pail, the two others bearing a fullwashtub between them; and with surprise saw them set down theirburdens at a distance and come tip-toeing towards me in a singlefile, with theatrical gestures of secrecy.

  "Hallo!" said I.

  "Hist! Be dark as the grave!" answered the leader, in astage-whisper. He was a freckly, narrow-chested child, and neededwashing. "You're the new boy," he announced, as though he hadtracked me down in that criminal secret.

  "Yes," I owned. "Who are you?"

  "We are the Blood-stained Brotherhood of the Pampas, now upon thetrail!"

  "Look here," said I, staring down at him, "that's nonsense!"

  "Oh, very well," he answered promptly; "then we're the 'Backward Sonsof Gentlemen'--that's down in the prospectus--and we're fetchingwater for Mother Stimcoe, because the turncock cut off the company'swater this morning! See? But you won't blow the gaff on the oldgirl, will you?"

  "Are you all there is, you three?" I asked, after considering them amoment.

  "We're all the boarders. My name's Ted Bates--they call me DoggyBates--and my father's a captain out in India; and these are BobPilkington and Scotty Maclean. You may call him Redhead, being toobig to punch; and, talking of that, you'll have to fight BullyStokes."

  "Is he a day-boy?" I asked.

  "He's cock of Rogerses up the hill, and he wants it badly.Stimcoes and Rogerses are hated rivals. If you can whack BullyStokes for us--"

  "But Mrs. Stimcoe told me that you were taking a walk with thebutler," I interrupted.

  Master Bates winked.

  "Would you like to see him?"

  He beckoned me to an open window, and we gazed through it upon a bareback kitchen, and upon an extremely corpulent man in an armchair,slumbering, with a yellow bandanna handkerchief over his head toprotect it from the flies. Master Bates whipped out a pea-shooter,and blew a pea on to the exposed lobe of the sleeper's ear.

  "D--n!" roared the corpulent one, leaping up in wrath. But we werein hiding behind the yard-wall before he could pull the bandanna fromhis face.

  "He's the bailiff," explained Master Bates. "He's in possession.Oh, you'll get quite friendly with him in time. Down in the townthey call him Mother Stimcoe's lodger, he comes so often. But, Isay, don't go and blow the gaff on the old girl."

  On our way to the coach-office that evening I felt--as the sayingis--my heart in my mouth. Miss Plinlimmon spoke sympathetically ofMr. Stimcoe's state of health, and with delicacy of hisabsent-mindedness, "so natural in a scholar." I discovered longafterwards that Mr. Stimcoe, having retired to cash a note for her,had brought back a strong smell of brandy and eighteen-pence lessthan the strict amount of her change. I knew in my heart that my newschoolmaster and his wife were a pair of frauds, and yet I chokeddown the impulse to speak. Perhaps Master Bates's loyalty kept me onmy mettle.

  The dear soul and I bade one another farewell, she not without tears.The coach bore her away; and I walked back through the crowdedstreets with my spirits down in my boots, and my fists thrust deepinto the pockets of my small-clothes.

  In this dejected mood I reached the Market Strand just as CaptainCoffin came up it from the Plume of Feathers public-house, cursingand striking out with his stick at a mob of small boys.