scheme were able to divide a substantial sum.
“How are you getting on round your way?” asked Linton of Dunstable at the end of the sixth week of term.
“Ripping. Selling like hot cakes.”
“So are mine,” said Linton. “I’ve almost come to the end of my stock. I ought to have written some more, but I’ve been a bit slack lately.”
“Yes, buck up. We must keep a lot in hand.”
“I say, did you hear that about Merrett in our house?” asked Linton.
“What about him?”
“Why, he tried to start a rival show. Wrote a prospectus and everything. But it didn’t catch on a bit. The only chap who bought any of his lines was young Shoeblossom. He wanted a couple of hundred for Appleby. Appleby was on to them like bricks. Spotted Shoeblossom hadn’t written them, and asked who had. He wouldn’t say, so he got them doubled. Everyone in the house is jolly sick with Merrett. They think he ought to have owned up.”
“Did that smash up Merrett’s show? Is he going to turn out any more?”
“Rather not. Who’d buy ‘em?”
It would have been better for the Lines Supplying Trust if Merrett had not received this crushing blow and had been allowed to carry on a rival business on legitimate lines. Locksley was conservative in its habits, and would probably have continued to support the old firm.
As it was, the baffled Merrett, a youth of vindictive nature, brooded over his defeat, and presently hit upon a scheme whereby things might be levelled up.
One afternoon, shortly before lock-up, Dunstable was surprised by the advent of Linton to his study in a bruised and dishevelled condition. One of his expressive eyes was closed and blackened. He also wore what is known in ring circles as a thick ear.
“What on earth’s up?” inquired Dunstable, amazed at these phenomena. “Have you been scrapping?”
“Yes—Merrett—I won. What are you up to—writing lines? You may as well save yourself the trouble. They won’t be any good.” Dunstable stared.
“The Trust’s bust,” said Linton.
He never wasted words in moments of emotion.
“What!”
“‘Bust’ was what I said. That beast Merrett gave the show away.”
“What did he do? Surely he didn’t tell a master?”
“Well, he did the next thing to it. He hauled out that prospectus, and started reading it in form. I watched him do it. He kept it under the desk and made a foul row, laughing over it. Appleby couldn’t help spotting him. Of course, he told him to bring him what he was reading. Up went Merrett with the prospectus.”
“Was Appleby sick?”
“I don’t believe he was, really. At least, he laughed when he read the thing. But he hauled me up after school and gave me a long jaw, and made me take all the lines I’d got to his house. He burnt them. I had it out with Merrett just now. He swears he didn’t mean to get the thing spotted, but I knew he did.”
“Where did you scrag him!”
“In the dormitory. He chucked it after the third round.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” shouted Dunstable.
Buxton appeared, a member of Appleby’s house.
“Oh, Dunstable, Appleby wants to see you.”
“All right,” said Dunstable wearily.
Mr. Appleby was in facetious mood. He chaffed Dunstable genially about his prospectus, and admitted that it had amused him. Dunstable smiled without enjoyment. It was a good thing, perhaps, that Mr. Appleby saw the humorous rather than the lawless side of the Trust; but all the quips in the world could not save that institution from ruin.
Presently Mr. Appleby’s manner changed. “I am a funny dog, I know,” he seemed to say; “but duty is duty, and must be done.”
“How many lines have you at your house, Dunstable?” he asked.
“About eight hundred, sir.”
“Then you had better write me eight hundred lines, and show them up to me in this room at—shall we say at ten minutes to five? It is now a quarter to, so that you will have plenty of time.”
Dunstable went, and returned five minutes later, bearing an armful of manuscript.
“I don’t think I shall need to count them,” said Mr. Appleby. “Kindly take them in batches of ten sheets, and tear them in half, Dunstable.”
“Yes, sir.”
The last sheet fluttered in two sections into the surfeited waste-paper basket.
“It’s an awful waste, sir,” said Dunstable regretfully.
