It must be confessed that Totty’s school career was marred by periodical outbursts of lawlessness. They grew less frequent as time went on, and, as a prefect, he was the first to uphold authority. But even then, in moments of depression, he would regret the glorious past. I have heard him sigh deeply when he met with what he called an opening. “If one wasn’t a prefect,” he would say, “if only one wasn’t a prefect; if one could regain one’s lost youth!”

He had no respect at all for the rising generation.

“There’s not a trace of originality about them,” he used to say. “A clumsy breaking of obvious rules is about as far as they get. Of course, they want to do what’s wrong. Every healthy-minded schoolboy does. But their idea of wickedness seems to be coming down late in the morning, or shamming illness, or bilking chapel. If they can’t do better than that they should chuck it, and try leading an upright and virtuous life.”

“You are right,” I agreed. “Things are not what they were.”

“Now in our day, Scoop,” be went on, “we made things hum. It’s all over now. But one crowded hour of glorious life is worth a term of this sort of thing. Do you remember Bilger?”

“Bilger,” I observed decidedly, “was a rotter.”

“True,” Totty admitted. “But I was not to blame for that. I did the best I could for him. Wasn’t my fault he took to stealing postal orders.”

Bilger was a unique character. His stay at Willisdean was short and merry, terminating tragically at the end of his fourth term. It must be confessed that there was very little good in Bilger.

He was of a pasty complexion and a slouching habit. His hands were invariably in his pockets (till the time came when he was no longer satisfied with his own pockets—but I prefer to draw a veil over that period). His hair was of a colourless tint, and he wore a defiant, hang-dog expression. Indeed the gallows would seem to have marked him for its own. At one time he appealed to Totty. This was about Totty’s second year. For a time he defied all authority. Rules were made to be broken—prefects to be outwitted. After the affair of the shorthorn heifer, more than one of us feared we should see him no more. The Headmaster remarked in later years that he should undoubtedly have been expelled, but that if he had been, Willisdean would have lost the best head of the school it ever had. But Bilger was a rotter. For though during the year I speak of they worked continually together, there was always a wide difference between them. Totty never delighted in wrong-doing. It was merely the unlawful, the forbidden, that attracted him—while Bilger stuck at nothing and after the dissolution of the partnership came to grief, and departed under a cloud. The inner history of the partnership of Bilger and Grahame has yet to be written. Grahame supplied the imaginative faculty. It was his to invent, but Bilger was his superior in cunning. They did not always work together, it is true. Totty had no share in Bilger’s poaching practices, whereby he slew pheasants with a catapult, and disposed of them in the town. (I must own he was a magnificent shot with a catty.) Again, the exploit of the falcon’s nest was Totty’s alone, Bilger deserting him at the last moment. He arose at midnight, and made his way on a bicycle to the lonely neighbourhood of the Peak, returning in triumph with the eggs, climbing up to his window and appearing as usual at roll-call in the morning. But both of them had a part in the night attack on the big dormitory with syringes and buckets of water; they were equally implicated in the museum row, and many, many other things they did whereof no man hath traced the history.

I remember finding Totty seated on his bed one morning with a book in his hand which he appeared to be studying. I was naturally surprised.

“Working, Totty?” I asked.

“Yes, hard; don’t disturb me.”

“What’s the book?”

“Shut up,” he said. “It’s the Rule Book.”

I was still more puzzled. “What?” I asked. “Going to begin keeping rules?”

“No,” he explained. “It’s a bet. Bilger and I have a competition on. There are fifty-seven rules in this book, beginning with ‘Don’t climb on roofs,’ and ending with ‘No boy may go down town beyond the post-office without leave from his prefect.’ We started yesterday, and the one who breaks the whole fifty-seven first, with the fewest lickings, wins.”

I could not but admire the completeness of the idea. “Who’s winning?” I asked.

“We’re pretty level. I’ve broken thirty-three and been licked twice. Bilger was had over No. 1. He started off too keen and got on to the first roof he saw—the roof of the gym. Of course, he chose the hour when the sixth were inside, silly ass. But since then he’s got to No. 31 without another break. It’s not a bad game. But these rules are rot. Any fool can break them if he chooses his time.”

Totty, however, was over-confident. He failed on No. 46—’Only one library book may be taken out at a time.’ He was never one to do things by halves, and he took out sixteen one evening, one by one. Even then he would have been all right had he not tried to put them all back at once. His prefect disturbed him at this pious exercise.

“I confess I was wrong,” he said, “and you are quite right to lick me, but I don’t think you appreciate what an amazing reader I am.” So Bilger won.

Towards the end of the summer term, these bright spirits evolved an entirely new and daring project. Bilger was leaning one day upon the railings round the Quad—a large field dotted with trees, which lies to the south of the school-house. Totty joined him, and they stood for a while idly watching the grazing cows.

“Do these cows belong to the school,” said Bilger at last, “or what are they doing here?”

Totty was better informed. “They belong to Williams, the farmer. They are always here in the summer.”

“Peaceful rustic scene,” Bilger went on, “isn’t it? It irritates me to see the brutes lying about as if they had bought the place. Funny thing we never thought of ragging them. We’ve ragged most things about the school. It’s almost a pity to leave out~ the cows.”

“That’s all right,” observed Totty. “But how does one rag a cow?”

“We could milk ‘em.”

“That,” said Totty, suddenly scrupulous, “would be theft. The milk belongs to Farmer Williams. There isn’t a bull, or we might bait it. Don’t see what one can do with a cow.”

“Well, we might ride ‘em.”

“Bilger,” said Totty, “you’ve struck it! We might ride ‘em, and we will ride ‘em. We’ll race ‘em. I’ll race you the length of the Quad for five shillings a side,” and he vaulted the fence forthwith.

“What? Now?” Bilger shouted after him. “Steady, my lad. This thing wants a little arrangement,” so Totty returned. And they walked off arm-in-arm discussing the preliminaries. Totty was enthusiastic.

“It’s the best thing we’ve struck this term,” he maintained. “I can’t think why we didn’t try it before. Mine’s the shorthorn heifer under the oak tree.”

“I shall rely on the old black cow there,” said Bilger. “I like her paces. She moves very free from the hips.”

“Saddles allowed?”

“Any mortal thing’s allowed.”

“When is it to be?”

“Some time to-morrow. But we want a referee and backers and starters and all sorts of people. Let’s beat round, hold a meeting in the Mathy room.”

The terms and conditions were soon arranged. Each competitor was allowed two seconds or supporters (I acted for Totty, with Carter, and Bubby Thompson represented Bilger), whose duty it was to assist him on to his cow, and to encourage, drive, or propel the said cow in any way except by leading it. The course was from one end of the Quad to the other. In the event of neither cow reaching the goal, the rider who retained his seat the longest was to be declared the winner. The time was fixed for half-past five the following morning. We had ascertained that the cows were milked at six.

It is necessary that I should here explain that the wing of the school-house which faced the Quad was part of the old monastery of Willisdean. The ground floor was now divided into studies, and one of them had a french window opening on to the path round the Quad. This study (No. 13) had at one time belonged to one of the junior masters. It was now unoccupied. On the morning in question the little company of sporting enthusiasts congregated there at 5.30 and stepped out through the window into the arena.

It was a noble July morning. I dare say none of us appreciated the dewy freshness and sweet-smelling beauty of things. I only remember that everything wore that unusual appearance which strikes the occasional early riser. The cows were grazing peacefully, and we had no need of Totty’s lasso to capture his steed, for Totty was provided with a perfect arsenal of appliances. He had to discard nearly all of them. His bicycle saddle obviously wouldn’t fit. I could have told him that. Carter induced him to abandon his spurs, and it is hard to say if he gained anything by the two reins, or leading-strings, which be attached to the horns of “Auricula,” as he called his heifer. Bilger came all unprepared, and trusted to luck. He enticed his charger to him with a turnip, while we headed off “Auricula” into a corner of the fence.

The referee then read out the conditions of the event and blew his whistle.

I was much too busy trying to mount my own man to notice how Bilger was getting on, but I heard afterwards that the old black cow (she was entered as “Black Maria “) permitted him to mount with a calm expression of mild amusement. Farmer Williams told me she had belonged to a lonely Irishman, and had always been treated as a member of the family. She was very fond of children, he said. As for the shorthorn, I held her head and Carter held her tail, while Totty vaulted on to her back. For a moment both riders were “up.” But as I sprang clear a wild and awful scene began. “Auricula’s” left hind foot took Carter beneath the chin, and he dropped like a stone. Totty dug in his knees and flung his arms round her neck, and after two or three terrific plunges, away she went like a cannon-ball. I looked across at Bilger. “Black Maria” remained stolid—motionless, till one of his seconds, in an excess of zeal, struck her quarters with a stick. Then she made short work of poor Bilger, charging under an overhanging tree, and simply rubbing him off, after which she calmly returned to her grazing.

By this time we were in full pursuit of “Auricula.” Tail in air, and bellowing as she went, she headed for the school-house. We could hear the plaintive voice of her rider,” Woa, mare,”” Steady, old bird; steady.” On she went, and others of the herd joined in to make the running till, as they neared the fence, it was a fearsome spectacle to behold—a stampede of cattle with “Auricula” at their head, and Totty hanging on like grim death, and devoutly wishing he was well out of it. The fence was the obvious climax of the situation. Totty relates that when he saw it drawing nearer, looking about the size of the Great Wall of China, it became clear to him that he had had enough, so he gently rolled off on to the grass—lucky to escape the hoofs of the rearguard. But his fiery steed—still mad with terror—took the fence, crashed through the bushes and across the path, and landed at a bound in study No. 13.

We picked up Bilger first. “Jibbed, by Jove,” was his only recorded comment. Totty’s explanation was that he broke his starboard leading-string.

The victory was clearly his.

“Well,” he observed, “just as well nobody’s hurt, and for my part I’m not sorry it’s over.”

“Far from being over,” I remarked, “it has only just begun.”

“What? Any one else going to compete?”

“No; but I want to point out that ‘Auricula’ is at present stabled in study No. 13.

Totty stared.

“The little demon!” he said. “She’s got to come out of that.”

“Mr. Marchbank at the window!“from Bilger. True enough, there he was, doubtless awakened by the noise.

“He didn’t see her go in,” I observed, “but he’ll certainly see her come out.”

Totty looked at his watch. “The deuce is in it,” he said. “It’s a quarter-past six.” Then he looked up again. “He’s gone for the moment,” he said. “Come on. We must get her out of there.”

But “Auricula” had found a safe anchorage, and neither Totty’s blandishments, nor Bilger’s threats, nor yet my stick, could move her.

“J’y suis,” she said, as plainly as cow can speak.

“J’y reste.”

Bobby Williams, the farmer’s son, now appeared upon the scene, and there was nothing for it but to close the shutters. Fortunately he was altogether too sleepy to count up to eighteen, and went off contentedly with the rest of the herd, but by that time servants were moving about, and Mr. Marchbank was shaving at his window.

The serious nature of the situation began to dawn upon us. We held a hasty, whispered council of war. Carter proposed unconditional surrender.

“Can’t afford to climb down like that,” was Totty’s rejoinder. “Bilger and I might be sacked. We’re only hanging here by a thread. No, you fellows, we may as well face it. Here she is, and here she’s got to stay, till we smuggle her out after dark. Carter, look slippy and get some straw from the stable. Shut the shutters and lock the door. Just as well there’s no furniture in the room.”

“Auricula” was soon littered down comfortably, and as Bilger pointed out, the grate might have been made for a manger. We then tied her to the door-handle, asked her by all she held sacred to keep quiet, and decamped as the breakfast-bell began to ring.

The first thing we saw on coming out from breakfast was the fiery countenance of Farmer Williams.

Totty accosted him. “Well, Farmer,” he said. “Fine day.”

“You was out early this morning, wasn’t you?” he asked.

“I was,” said Totty politely. “I was birds’-nesting. It was a sweet morning.”

“Didn’t you see anything of a young cow of mine?”

“Cow?” echoed Totty.

“Yes, young shorthorn. I’ve lost her.”

“Well, that’s a funny thing,” was the reply.

“She isn’t in any of the trees, I suppose?”

“‘Ere, none of your gammon,” said the farmer. “I want my cow.”

“Do you think I’ve got your beastly cow in my pocket?” said Totty with asperity.

“Well, Mr. Grahame, I’m going to the ‘eadmaster. I believe you know something about it.”

Farmer Williams strode off.

“Stop a bit,” shouted Totty. “Was it a shorthorn with two white legs?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Well, it’s strayed,” said Totty. “I saw it jump the fence myself.”

“Saw ‘er jump the fence, did you? Well, she always was a terror to jump, that ‘eifer. Thank you, sir. She can’t be far away by this time,” and he set off on his quest.

Just before dinner I stole along to the study. “Auricula “ was lying down, and Totty stood over her.

“My dear old girl,” I heard him say, “if you love me, don’t give me away.”

Now in study No. 1:2, next door, dwelt Swift, the second prefect. Totty had arranged to change places with his fag for the day, to be near the scene of action, and when Swift came in to tea, he found him in attendance. Suddenly an unwonted sound broke upon their ears.

“Mooo—oo----o.” It was” Auricula “protesting at last. Totty’s hair stood on end.

“What the deuce is that? “said Swift. “Sounds like a cow.” Totty was speechless—nonplussed for once.

“Sounded as if it was next door,” Swift went on, half rising.

An inspiration descended upon Totty. He laughed heartily.

“It’s old Bilger,” he explained. “His farmyard imitations are ripping.”

“It must be a cow,” Swift protested.

“A cow in the house?” asked Totty blandly.

“Mooo—oo—o 1”

“It’s uncommon good,” said Swift. “We must get him to do them at the next Sing-song.”

“It’s not bad,” remarked Totty critically. “But you should hear him do a pig. This is nothing to his pig. I’ll go and tell him to shut up.” And he fled to quiet the prisoner. And at last evening came.

Totty and I shared a bedroom in the schoolhouse. As Bilger was in Harrison’s, he could take no part in the final scene. About 11.30 p.m. Totty began to assume his disguise. I did not see the remotest necessity for this, but he revelled in disguises, and always maintained that it was just as well to look the part, and I will not deny that it nearly saved him. He made a very tolerable farm labourer in his large black whiskers and corduroys.

Together we stole downstairs. All was well. The key was in the inside of the bell-tower door, and there I mounted guard. Our charge had only to traverse the length of the passage and turn the corner. Once through the door, she would be left to her own devices. And she came as gently as a lamb. Indeed, as long as I live, I shall regard it as undeserved bad luck that the Headmaster should have selected that particular evening to play bridge with Mr. Marchbank. Already cow and cow-herd had covered half the distance when the door at the far end of the passage opened, illurninating them with a flood of light, and the Head himself appeared on the threshold. He stood there absolutely speechless. One does not expect to find cattle in one’s house at midnight. But the Head was a bold man—he advanced with a steady step. Totty saw that all was over, but he played the game to the end.

“Cow o’ mine, sir,” he explained, touching his hat, “strayed in ‘ere. Just takin’ ‘er out by the bell door.” Totty was ever loyal, and by raising his voice at the last words he gave me a timely warning, for I was round the corner and out of view of these proceedings. Up the tower stairs I sped. Totty even then meant to make a push for it, and it is possible that, thanks to his disguise, he might have escaped, for the door stood open only some fifteen yards away, had not “Auricula,” finding her way barred in front, and being urged on from behind, taken the game into her own hands and charged the Head. He fled up the passage with “Auricula” thundering at his heels, reached Marchbank’s room and banged the door’ while she stopped irresolute on the mat. Totty darted forward to try to get behind her at the moment that the Head, reinforced by Marchbank and Harrison and armed with fire-irons, sallied forth to the attack.

By this time the house was in an uproar. The stairs were covered with white and shivering forms, gazing in bewilderment at the encounter in progress below. In the scrimmage that ensued, hat and whiskers went flying, and Totty stood revealed.

“Grahame,” ejaculated the Head. “Always Grahame!”

The one-sided contest was soon over. Finding the forces massing in her rear, “Auricula” turned. And the captive was driven forth bellowing into the night. Thus ended the last operation of the firm of Bilger and Grahame. It was a very near thing with Totty.