# The White Feather/Chapter 13

It did not occur to Sheen immediately that his boat had actually gone. The full beauty of the situation was some moments in coming home to him. At first he merely thought that somebody had moved it to another part of the bank, as the authorities at the inn had done once or twice in the past, to make room for the boats of fresh visitors. Walking along the lawn in search of it, he came upon the stake to which Dunstable's submerged craft was attached. He gave the rope a tentative pull, and was surprised to find that there was a heavy drag on the end of it.
Then suddenly the truth flashed across him. "Heavens!" he cried, "it's sunk."
Joe Bevan and other allies lent their aid to the pulling. The lost boat came out of the river like some huge fish, and finally rested on the bank, oozing water and drenching the grass in all directions.
Joe Bevan stooped down, and examined it in the dim light.
"What's happened here, sir," he said, "is that there's a plank gone from the bottom. Smashed clean out, it is. Not started it isn't. Smashed clean out. That's what it is. Some one must have been here and done it."
Sheen looked at the boat, and saw that he was right. A plank in the middle had been splintered. It looked as if somebody had driven some heavy instrument into it. As a matter of fact, Albert had effected the job with the butt-end of an oar.
The damage was not ruinous. A carpenter could put the thing right at no great expense. But it would take time. And meanwhile the minutes were flying, and lock-up was now little more than half an hour away.
"What'll you do, sir?" asked Bevan.
That was just what Sheen was asking himself. What could he do? The road to the school twisted and turned to such an extent that, though the distance from the "Blue Boar" to Seymour's was only a couple of miles as the crow flies, he would have to cover double that distance unless he took a short cut across the fields. And if he took a short cut in the dark he was certain to lose himself. It was a choice of evils. The "Blue Boar" possessed but one horse and trap, and he had seen that driven away to the station in charge of a fisherman's luggage half an hour before.
"I shall have to walk," he said.
"It's a long way. You'll be late, won't you?" said Mr Bevan.
"It can't be helped. I suppose I shall. I wonder who smashed that boat," he added after a pause.
Passing through the inn on his way to the road, he made inquiries. It appeared that two young gentlemen from the school had been there to tea. They had arrived in a boat and gone away in a boat. Nobody else had come into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested upon them.
"Do you remember anything about them?" asked Sheen.
Further details came out. One of the pair had worn a cap like Sheen's. The other's headgear, minutely described, showed him that its owner was a member of the school second eleven.
Sheen pursued the inquiry. He would be so late in any case that a minute or so more or less would make no material difference; and he was very anxious to find out, if possible, who it was that had placed him in this difficulty. He knew that he was unpopular in the school, but he had not looked for this sort of thing.
Then somebody suddenly remembered having heard one of the pair address the other by name.
"What name?" asked Sheen.
His informant was not sure. Would it be Lindon?
"Linton," said Sheen.
That was it.
Sheen thanked him and departed, still puzzled. Linton, as he knew him, was not the sort of fellow to do a thing like that. And the other, the second eleven man, must be Dunstable. They were always about together. He did not know much about Dunstable, but he could hardly believe that this sort of thing was his form either. Well, he would have to think of that later. He must concentrate himself now on covering the distance to the school in the minimum of time. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes more. If he hurried, he might not be so very late. He wished that somebody would come by in a cart, and give him a lift.
He stopped and listened. No sound of horse's hoof broke the silence. He walked on again.
Then, faint at first, but growing stronger every instant, there came from some point in the road far behind him a steady droning sound. He almost shouted with joy. A motor! Even now he might do it.
But could he stop it? Would the motorist pay any attention to him, or would he flash past and leave him in the dust? From the rate at which the drone increased the car seemed to be travelling at a rare speed.
He moved to one side of the road, and waited. He could see the lights now, flying towards him.
Then, as the car hummed past, he recognised its driver, and put all he knew into a shout.
"Bruce!" he cried.
For a moment it seemed as if he had not been heard. The driver paid not the smallest attention, as far as he could see. He looked neither to the left nor to right. Then the car slowed down, and, backing, came slowly to where he stood.
"Hullo," said the driver, "who's that?"
Jack Bruce was alone in the car, muffled to the eyes in an overcoat. It was more by his general appearance than his face that Sheen had recognised him.
"It's me, Sheen. I say, Bruce, I wish you'd give me a lift to Seymour's, will you?"
There was never any waste of words about Jack Bruce. Of all the six hundred and thirty-four boys at Wrykyn he was probably the only one whose next remark in such circumstances would not have been a question. Bruce seldom asked questions—never, if they wasted time.
"Hop in," he said.
Sheen consulted his watch again.
"Lock-up's in a quarter of an hour," he said, "but they give us ten minutes' grace. That allows us plenty of time, doesn't it?"
"Do it in seven minutes, if you like."
"Don't hurry," said Sheen. "I've never been in a motor before, and I don't want to cut the experience short. It's awfully good of you to give me a lift."
"That's all right," said Bruce.
"Were you going anywhere? Am I taking you out of your way?"
"No. I was just trying the car. It's a new one. The pater's just got it."
"Do you do much of this?" said Sheen.
"Good bit. I'm going in for the motor business when I leave school."
"So all this is training?"
"That's it."
There was a pause.
"You seemed to be going at a good pace just now," said Sheen.
"About thirty miles an hour. She can move all right."
"That's faster than you're allowed to go, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"You've never been caught, have you?"
"Not yet. I want to see how much pace I can get out of her, because she'll be useful when the election really comes on. Bringing voters to the poll, you know. That's why the pater bought this new car. It's a beauty. His other's only a little runabout."
"Doesn't your father mind your motoring?"
"Likes it," said Jack Bruce.
It seemed to Sheen that it was about time that he volunteered some information about himself, instead of plying his companion with questions. It was pleasant talking to a Wrykinian again; and Jack Bruce had apparently either not heard of the Albert incident, or else he was not influenced by it in any way.
"You've got me out of an awful hole, Bruce," he began.
"That's all right. Been out for a walk?"
"I'd been to the 'Blue Boar'."
"Oh!" said Bruce. He did not seem to wish to know why Sheen had been there.
Sheen proceeded to explain.
"I suppose you've heard all about me," he said uncomfortably. "About the town, you know. That fight. Not joining in."
"Heard something about it," said Bruce.
"I went down town again after that," said Sheen, "and met the same fellows who were fighting Linton and the others. They came for me, and I was getting awfully mauled when Joe Bevan turned up."
"Oh, is Joe back again?"
"Do you know him?" asked Sheen in surprise.
"Oh yes. I used to go to the 'Blue Boar' to learn boxing from him all last summer holidays."
"Did you really? Why, that's what I'm doing now."
"Good man," said Bruce.
"Isn't he a splendid teacher?"
"Ripping."
"But I didn't know you boxed, Bruce. You never went in for any of the School competitions."
"I'm rather a rotten weight. Ten six. Too heavy for the Light-Weights and not heavy enough for the Middles. Besides, the competitions here are really inter-house. They don't want day-boys going in for them. Are you going to box for Seymour's?"
"That's what I want to do. You see, it would be rather a score, wouldn't it? After what's happened, you know."
"I suppose it would."
"I should like to do something. It's not very pleasant," he added, with a forced laugh, "being considered a disgrace to the house, and cut by everyone."
"Suppose not."
"The difficulty is Drummond. You see, we are both the same weight, and he's much better than I am. I'm hoping that he'll go in for the Middles and let me take the Light-Weights. There's nobody he couldn't beat in the Middles, though he would be giving away a stone."
"Have you asked him?"
"Not yet. I want to keep it dark that I'm learning to box, just at present."
"Spring it on them suddenly?"
"Yes. Of course, I can't let it get about that I go to Joe Bevan, because I have to break bounds every time I do it."
"The upper river's out of bounds now for boarders, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Jack Bruce sat in silence for a while, his gaze concentrated on the road in front of him.
"Why go by river at all?" he said at last. "If you like, I'll run you to the 'Blue Boar' in the motor every day."
"Oh, I say, that's awfully decent of you," said Sheen.
"I should like to see old Joe again. I think I'll come and spar, too. If you're learning, what you want more than anything is somebody your own size to box with."
"That's just what Joe was saying. Will you really? I should be awfully glad if you would. Boxing with Joe is all right, but you feel all the time he's fooling with you. I should like to try how I got on with somebody else."
"You'd better meet me here, then, as soon after school as you can."
As he spoke, the car stopped.
"Where are we?" asked Sheen.
"Just at the corner of the road behind the houses."
"Oh, I know. Hullo, there goes the lock-up bell. I shall do it comfortably."
He jumped down.
"I say, Bruce," he said, "I really am most awfully obliged for the lift. Something went wrong with my boat, and I couldn't get back in it. I should have been frightfully in the cart if you hadn't come by."
"That's all right," said Jack Bruce. "I say, Sheen!"
"Hullo?"
"Are you going to practise in the music-room after morning school tomorrow?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I think I'll turn up."
"I wish you would."
"What's that thing that goes like this? I forget most of it."
He whistled a few bars.
"That's a thing of Greig's," said Sheen.
"You might play it tomorrow," said Bruce.
"Rather. Of course I will."
"Thanks," said Jack Bruce. "Good night."
He turned the car, and vanished down the road. From the sound Sheen judged that he was once more travelling at a higher rate of speed than the local police would have approved.