Part 14 (1/2)
dared to apply it!....
The infamy of the Coward spread abroad, was talked of in other Houses, and fellows made special excursions to see the cry-baby, who funked a dead snake, a blooming bottled, potted, dead snake, and who had blubbed aloud in his terror.
And Bully Harberth of the Fifth, learning of these matters, revolved in his breast the thought that he who fears dead serpents must, even more, fear living bullies, put Dam upon his list as a safe and pliant client, and thereby (strange instrument of grace!) gave him the chance to rehabilitate himself, clear the cloud of infamy from about his head, and live a bearable life for the rest of his school career....
One wet Wednesday afternoon, as Dam, a wretched, forlorn Ishmael, sat alone in a noisy crowd, reading a ”penny horrible” (admirable, stimulating books crammed with brave deeds and n.o.ble sentiments if not with faultless English) the Haddock entered the form-room, followed by Bully Harberth.
”That's him, Harberth, by the window, reading a penny blood,” said the Haddock, and went and stood afar off to see the fun.
Harberth, a big clumsy boy, a little inclined to fat, with small eyes, heavy low forehead, thick lips, and amorphous nose, lurched over to where Dam endeavoured to read himself into a better and brighter world inhabited by Deadwood d.i.c.k, Texas Joe, and Red Indians of no manners and nasty customs.
”I want you, Funky Warren. I'm going to torture you,” he announced with a truculent scowl and a suggestive licking of blubber lips.
Dam surveyed him coolly.
Of thick build, the bully was of thicker wit and certainly of no proven courage. Four years older than Dam and quite four inches taller, he had never dreamed of molesting him before. Innumerable as were the stories of his brutalities to the smallest ”squeakers” and of his cruel practical jokes on new boys, there were no stories of his fighting, such as there were about Ormond Delorme, of Dam's form, whose habit it was to implore bigger boys of their courtesy to fight him, and to trail his coat where there were ”chaws” about.
”I'm going to torture you, Funky. Every day you must come to me and _beg_ me to do it. If you don't come and pray for it I'll come to _you_ and you'll get it double and treble. If you sneak you'll get it quadru--er--quadrupedal--and also be known as Sneaky as well as Funky.
See?” he continued.
”How will you torture me, Harberth, please?” asked Dam meekly, as he measured the other with his eye, noted his puffiness, short reach, and inward tendency of knee.
”Oh! lots of ways,” was the reply. ”Dry shaves, tweaks, scalpers, twisters, choko, tappers, digs, benders, s.h.i.+nners, windos, all sorts.”
”I don't even know what they are,” moaned Dam.
”Poor Kid!” sympathized the bully, ”you soon will, though. Dry shaves are beautiful. You die dotty in about five minutes if I don't see fit to stop. Twisters break your wrists and you yell the roof off--or would do if I didn't gag you first with a cake of soap and a towel.
Tappers are very amusing, too, for me that is--not for you. They are done on the side of your knee with a cricket stump. Wonderful how kids howl when you understand knee-treatment. Choko is good too. Makes you black in the face and your eyes goggle out awful funny. Done with a silk handkerchief and a stick. Windos and benders go together and really want two fellows to do it properly. I hit you in the wind and you double up, and the other fellow un-doubles you from behind--with a cane--so that I can double you up again. Laugh! I nearly died over young Berners. s.h.i.+nners, scalpers, and tweaks are good too--jolly good!... but of course all this comes after lamming and tunding....
Come along with me....”
”Nit,” was Dam's firm but gentle reply, and a little pulse began to beat beneath his cheek bone.
”Oh! Ho!” smiled Master Harberth, ”then I'll _begin_ here, and when you're broke and blubbing you'll come with me--and get just double for a start.”
Dam's spirits rose and he felt almost happy--certainly far better than he had done since the hapless encounter with the bottled adder and his fall from grace. It was a positive, _joy_ to have an enemy he could tackle, a real flesh-and-blood foe and tormentor that came upon him in broad daylight and in mere human form.
After countless thousands of centuries of awful nightmare struggling--in which he was bound hand-and-foot and doomed to failure and torture from the outset, the sport, plaything, and victim of a fearful, intangible Horror--this would be sheer amus.e.m.e.nt and recreation. What could mere man do to _him_, much less mere boy! Why, the most awful torture-chamber of the Holy Inquisition of old was a pleasant recreation-room compared with _any_ place where the Snake could enter.
Oh, if the Snake could only be met and fought in the open with free hands and untrammelled limbs, as Bully Harberth could!
Oh, if it could only inflict mere physical pain instead of such agonies of terror as made the idea of any bodily injury--mere cutting, burning, beating, blinding--a trifling nothing-at-all. Anyhow, he could _imagine_ that Bully Harberth was the Snake or Its emissary and, since he was indirectly brought upon him by the Snake, regard him as a myrmidon--and deal with him accordingly....
”How do you like this?” inquired that young gentleman as he suddenly seized the seated and unsuspecting Dam by the head, crushed him down with his superior weight and dug cruelly into the sides of his neck, below the ears, with his powerful thumb and fingers. ”It is called 'grippers'. You'll begin to enjoy it in a minute.” ... In a few seconds the pain became acute and after a couple of minutes, excruciating.
Dam kept absolutely still and perfectly silent.
To Harberth this was disappointing and after a time he grew tired.
Releasing his impa.s.sive victim he arose preparatory to introducing the next item of his programme of tortures.