LITTLE BIG MEN
A Novella by Chris Kent
Prologue
I shall be careful to mortify my feelings severely,
keeping them within the limits of christian modesty;
especially shall I discipline my eyes,
which st ambrose called insidious snares,
and st anthony of padua thieves of the soul.
(A prayer for boys hung over the door at the entrance to New Carthage)
HOME SWEET HOME
"Please, sir, is this New Carthage?" asked a ragged
boy of the man who opened the great gate at which the omnibus had deposited
him.
"Yes, indeed. Who sent you?" said the man, laying a friendly
hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"Mr Blackwood. I've got a letter."
"All right. Go straight up to the house and hand it in.
They'll look after you," he said, ruffling the boy's hair and giving him
a parting pinch on his tight little bottom.
The man spoke pleasantly, and Adam went on, feeling
much cheered by his words. Through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting
grass and budding trees, the boy saw a large square house before him, a
hospitable-looking house, with an old-fashioned porch, broad steps, and lights
shining in many windows. Pausing a moment before he rang, heart-racing, Adam
saw many little shadows dancing on the walls within and the happy hum of
young voices. Could it be true that some of the light and warmth and security
within was for a homeless street urchin like him?
"I pray the gentleman will see me," he thought,
and gave a timid rap on the great bronze knocker, which was in the form of
a jovial ram's head.
A rosy-cheeked lad opened the door, looked Adam up and
down, and smiled as he took the letter silently proffered. The lad seemed
used to receiving strange boys, for he pointed to a seat in the hall, and
said, with a cheery nod, "Sit down there and drip on the rug while I take
this in to the master."
Adam did as he was bid, and found plenty to amuse him
while he waited. He gazed curiously around him, enjoying the view, yet glad
to do so unobserved in the dusky recess by the door.
The house seemed to swarm with boys, beguiling the rainy
twilight with all sorts of amusements. There were boys everywhere,
‘upstairs and downstairs and in my master's chamber', apparently, for
various open doors showed pleasant groups of big boys, little boys, and
middle-sized boys in all stages of relaxation, not to say effervescence.
Two large rooms on the right were evidently school-rooms; desks, maps,
blackboards and books were scattered about; an open fire burned in the hearth,
and several indolent lads lay on their backs before it, engaged in such animated
discussion that their slippers waved in the air.
A flavour of toast was in the air, also hints of baked
apple pie, very tantalizing to one hungry little nose and stomach.
The hall, however, presented the most inviting prospect
of all, for a brisk game of tag was going on in the upper entry. One landing
was devoted to marbles, the other to checkers, while the stairs were occupied
by a boy reading aloud, another lying along the step, head in the reader's
lap, listening, two puppies, a cat, and a constant succession of boys sliding
down the banisters, to the detriment of their clothes and danger to their
limbs.
One very lively boy came down so swiftly that he could
not stop himself and fell off the banisters, landing at Adam's feet with
a mighty thump. Adam gazed down at the fallen rider, expecting to find him
half-dead, or only half-alive. The boy, however, looked up, winked, and lay
calmly studying the new face with a surprised "Hullo!
I'm Truan Tarrant."
"Hullo!" returned Adam, not knowing what else to say,
and thinking that form or reply both brief and easy.
"You'll be a new boy," stated the recumbent youth, without
stirring.
"Don't know yet. Don't know if they'll have me." Truan
sprang to his legs like one suddenly remembering the obligations of hospitality.
"Stand up," he said.
Adam stood up.
"Turn around." Adam turned around.
Truan gave a low whistle.
"Don't worry," he said. "They'll have you." He turned
his gaze up the stairs and called out, "I say, Toby, here's a new boy. Come
and look after him. I'm busy." So saying, the lively Truan returned to his
sport with unabated relish.
At his call, the boy reading on the stairs, looked up
with a pair of big brown eyes, and after an instant's pause, as if a little
shy, motioned his companion away, put the book under his arm and came soberly
down to greet the newcomer. Adam found something very attractive in the pleasant
face of this slender, doe-eyed boy.
The boys introduced themselves. "Have you seen Master
Myles?" asked Toby, as if that was some part of an important ceremony. "I
haven't met anybody yet but you and Truan," explained Adam. "I was told to
wait, so I'm waiting."
"Did Uncle Blackie send you?" continued Toby, politely,
but solemnly. "Mr Blackwood did."
"That's Uncle Blackie; and he always sends nice boys."
Gratified at the remark, Adam smiled in his special way
that lit up his whole face. He did not know what to say next, so the two
boys stood staring at one another in friendly silence till a little boy came
up with a golliwog in his arms. The newcomer was very like Toby, only not
so tall, and he had a plumper, rosier face, and grey-blue eyes.
"This is my brother, Tommy," announced Toby, as if presenting
a rare and precious creature. "Tommy, this is Adam. Adam, this is Tommy."
The boys nodded to one another, the younger boy's face
dimpling with pleasure, as he said, affably, "I hope you'll stay. I hope
you'll play with me. Sometimes I have to play with myself. We have ever such
good times here, don't we, Toby?" Toby frowned and stepped between the
boys.
"How talkative you are, Tommy," he said.
"New Carthage seems a very nice place indeed," observed
Adam, feeling that he must respond to these amiable young persons.
"Now, off you go and play," the older brother told the
younger. "I shall escort Adam to Master Myles."
Tommy disappeared upstairs, banging the golliwog's head
on the stairs as he went, though there appeared no conscious intention to
inflict damage on his little black companion.
With a protective air, Toby took Adam by the hand and
led him into a side room, where a jolly gentleman was frolicking with two
little boys on a sofa.
"Here is Adam, the new boy, Master Myles," cried Toby,
drawing Adam forward to the sofa where the two little boys sprawled across
the gentleman's lap and were still.
"So this is my new boy? Uncle Blackwood was right! I
am glad to see you, my dear, and hope that you'll be happy here," said the
master of the house, drawing Adam to him, and stroking back the hair from
his forehead with a kind hand and a fatherly look, which made Adam's lonely
little heart yearn towards him.
Master Myles was not only a handsome man, younger than
might have been anticipated, but had that merry sort of face that never seems
to have forgotten certain childish ways, any more than his voice and manner
had. These things, hard to describe, but plain to see and feel, made him
a genial, comfortable kind of person, easy to get on with, and generally
‘a good brick', as boys would say. It has been said that some masters
are men amongst boys, and boys amongst men; Master Myles was that curious
creature who managed to remain a boy amongst boys, whatever age he was.
He saw the little tremble of Adam's rosy lips as he smoothed
his hair, and his keen eyes grew softer, but he only drew the ragged figure
nearer and said, smiling, "Up, boys, and meet our new little brother, Adam
Flood, Adam."
The little wrestlers obeyed at once, righted themselves,
stood up and extended their hands to Adam. The boys shook hands with solemn
smiles, as boys everywhere are accustomed to do. "Now then, Truan and Timmy,
run upstairs, run a hot bath—no need to panic, it is for Adam, not for
you—and find a cough-bottle and liniment." The boys exchanged telegrams
with their eyes and sprinted off to be of service.
Master Myles turned to Adam. "Off with your shoes this
minute, Adam Flood!" he ordered. "I'll have some dry things ready for you
in a jiffy," he cried, bustling about so energetically that Adam found himself
in a cosy armchair with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet before he
had time to say Jack Robinson, if he had wanted to try. "Thank you, sir,"
he said, and said it so gratefully that Master Myles' eyes grew soft again,
and he said something merry because he felt so tender to see a boy so
vulnerable.
"Toby, two glasses of blackcurrant cordial, if you please,"
he instructed Adam's self-appointed protector. "You shall
drink with Adam, then see him upstairs to his hot bath, tend his needs and
answer the thousand and one questions he is bursting to ask." Toby slid like
a shadow to his task. "Meanwhile, young sir," he said, turning to Adam, "I
believe you have a communication for me."
"Yes, sir. Indeed I do, sir," said Adam, hurriedly fumbling
in the one ragged pocket that remained in his ragged trousers. He pulled
out a rather grubby envelope and passed it to Master Myles.
The principal and proprietor of Adam's new home took
the letter and slipped out the single page it contained. He unfolded the
page and read it slowly as Adam watched him with anxious eyes. Even when
Toby pressed a glass of delicious blackcurrant cordial into his hand, Adam
did not take his eyes for a moment away from the face of his blessed
benefactor.
In the letter which Mr Blackwood had sent with Adam,
he had written:
Dear Myles, Here is a boy after your own heart.
The poor lad is an orphan now, tired and friendless
and without any family of whom he knows. He has been
a street-musician. I found him in a cellar,
mourning for his dead father and his lost violin.
I have kept him for a week. He remains unspoiled. He is
lad of singular innocence and wholly ignorant of the ways of the world.
I think there is something special in him, and
I have a fancy that between us we may mould this little man to the better
fortunes of us all. Cure his over-tasked
body, help his neglected mind, and when he is ready, I'll see if he is a
genius or only a boy with
sufficient talent to earn his daily bread. - Blackie.
Master Myles looked up from the letter. In spite of the
ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, he saw much about Adam
that pleased him. He was a slim, but seemingly strong boy, with blue eyes,
a good forehead under the rough, neglected hair; an anxious face, scared
at times, as if he expected hard words or blows; a sensitive mouth that trembled
when a kind glance fell on him; while a gentle speech called up a look of
gratitude, very sweet to see. "Bless the dear lad," he thought. "He shall
fiddle all day long if he likes." The smile on his face communicated itself
to Adam, who relaxed, returned the smile if shyly, and sipped at the
heart-warming cordial.
Words were few since few words were needed, but as the
boys sipped the last of their cordial, Master Myles spoke more briskly: "Now,
Toby, take Adam upstairs. His bath will be run. Make sure he has a fresh
towel, no, two towels."
"Shall I help him scrub?" asked Toby eagerly. Seeking
the look of a frightened fawn flit across Adam's face, the master said, "No.
Adam is big enough to scrub himself. And I have need of you here. But you
will return to the bathroom in fifteen minutes, take fresh clothes to Adam,
and bring him to supper. Off you, lads. And, Adam, leave your old things
on the bathroom floor. You will not be needing them again."
Twenty minutes later, a great gong rang, and a loud tramping
through the hall announced supper. Bashful, Adam quaked at the thought of
meeting many strange boys but Toby took him by the elbow and escorted him
into the dining room cynosure of all eyed. He wore a baggy pair of black
cotton trousers and a white open-necked shirt that set off his glowing skin
and dark damply-sleeked hair. He wore the same slippers and as yet no socks.
Twelve boys, six on each side, stood behind their chairs,
prancing with impatience to begin, and losing interest in Adam as soon as
the smell of hot pea soup reached their quivering nostrils.
"This is our new boy, Adam Flood," announced Master Myles.
"After supper you can say, How do you do?" A murmur of welcome ran around
the table. The master sat down at the head of the table, Toby on his right,
Adam on his left. The boys whisked into their seats, trying to be orderly
and failing utterly. Two maids swished into the dining room bearing bowls
of soup. The boys fell upon their spoons and the fresh bread scattered in
abundance around the table.
Master Myles generally succeeded in having the lads behave
well at meals times. for his rules were few and sensible, and the boys,
appreciating the freedom, did their best to obey. But there are times when
hungry boys cannot be repressed without real cruelty, and Saturday evening
after a half-holiday was one of those times. It did seem now and again that
the roof was in danger of flying off, but it never did, for a word from Master
Myles could at any time produce a lull, and if necessary absolute silence,
for the lads had learned that liberty did not mean licence. So in spite of
many dark predictions, the institution flourished, and manners and morals
were insinuated without the boys knowing exactly how it happened.
The soup was followed by roast beef, potatoes and broccoli;
this followed by treacle pudding and/or trifle, washed down by flagons of
milk. Conversation was replaced by a choir of assorted munching, crunching,
and sighs of contentment. The meal over, the entire party, maids excepted,
repaired to the main lounge, where boys and man sprawled themselves around
on sofas, armchairs and carpets before a log fire for the post-prandial review
of the day, which, at weekends in particular, often gave way to impromptu
entertainment.
There was a momentary squabble for places beside Master
Myles on the sofa, but good grace asserted itself in time to allow Adam that
privilege on his first night at New Carthage; Truan bagged the other side.
The general chatter was interrupted by the entry of a maid carrying a violin.
She handed it to the master and left as gracefully as she'd come. Master
Myles in turn presented the violin to Adam, saying, "We have a little band,
but we have wanted a violin for some time. If you feel up to it, my lad,
give us a little tune." He expected the boy would hesitate, but Adam seized
the old fiddle at once, and handled it with such loving care, it was plain
to see that music was his passion.
"I'll do the best I can, sir," was all he said. He stood,
slipped the fiddle under his chin, then drew the bow across the strings,
is if eager to hear the dear notes again. There was a general murmur of approval
around the room. After a little tuning of the instrument, Adam played softly
to himself, forgetting everything in his relief and delight. It was only
a simple negro melody such as street-musicians play, but it caught the ears
of the boys at once and silenced them, till they sat listening with surprise
and pleasure. The tune tugged at their heart-strings, for like Adam, they
knew what it was like to be abandoned, neglected, abused and alone. Adam
played away and never minded anyone, while his eyes shone, his cheeks glowed,
and his slim fingers flew as he hugged the old fiddle and made it sing the
language that he loved.
A hearty round of applause rewarded him better than a
shower of pennies when he stopped and glanced about him as if to say, "I've
done my best; please like it." "Bravo! First rate!" cried Truan, who considered,
on the principle of finders-keepers, Adam to be his personal
protégé.
"We have found a first fiddle for the band at last,"
announced Master Myles, who added, "Come now, Adam, play something which
we can sing."
It was the proudest, happiest half hour of the poor boy's
life when he was led to the place of honour by the piano. The lads gathered
round him, eyed him speculatively, and waited eagerly to hear him fiddle
again. They chose songs Adam knew, and, after a few comic false starts, they
got going: piano, flute and violin leading a chorus of voices that made the
old roof ring again. It was too much for Adam, more feeble than he knew;
as the final chorus died away, his face began to work, he laid the violin
on the piano, and turning to the curtained window, hid his face and sobbed
like the child that he was.
"It's all right, my dear, it's all right," whispered
Master Myles, holding the stricken boy by the shoulders.
"You are all so kind, and it's been so long since. .
.," sobbed Adam, coughing till he was breathless.
"Come with me, boy. You must go to bed and rest.
You are worn out, and this place is too noisy for you." The master ushered
the boy to his private parlour, where he let him cry himself out Then he
won the boy to tell him all his troubles.
"My child," he said, "you have got a father now, and
this is your home. Don't think of those sad times any more, but get well
and happy. This place is made for all sorts of boys to have a good time in,
and to learn how to help themselves and be useful young men, I hope. You
shall have as much music as you want, only you must get strong first. Now
come up to Nursey and have another bath, and then go to bed, and tomorrow
we will lay some nice little plans together."
The day had been full of surprises for young Adam Flood,
and they were by no means over. For ‘Nursey' turned out to be a young
man, with an odd accent and a face so round and cheery that it looked like
a sort of sun.
"This is Nursey Taylor," explained Master Myles. "Nursey
has been with us for five, no, six years now. He has a gift for looking after
boys, and we appointed him matron, so that he could stay on with us." He
added in a whisper, "Nursey is none too bright, but he has a heart of gold,
and loves all his boys."
As Master Myles spoke, Nursey whipped off Adam's clothes,
leaving the boy standing there as glorious as Nature intended, while the
bathtub filled with warm, splashing, sparkling water. Adam was mortified
and hid his private self as best he could, but realising that master and
matron were apparently ignoring him, he relaxed, sat on the edge of the tub,
and played with the water. There were six tubs, besides foot-baths, basins,
douche-pipes, and all manner of contrivances for cleanliness.
Then Adam climbed into the tub and lay back as Nursey
soaped his back with a sudsy face towel. Adam lay there, eyes closed, luxuriating
in the enveloping warmth as Nursey stroked his neck, shoulders and back with
the soapy cloth. He felt himself drifting away. He felt the cloth stroke
his ankles, calves, legs and inner thighs, but was too pleasantly wearied
to become alarmed.
"What long arms you have, Nursey?" thought Adam to himself.
He forced one eye open and realised Master Myles was soaping his legs and
thighs. "How kind, how very kind," he thought, then panicked as he felt his
most private self stir and stiffen beneath the soapy water.
"Don't let them see it. Oh, please don't let them see
it," prayed Adam. "I am a bad person, truly I am bad. This is how I repay
their kindness." The boy's prayer was answered, at least in part, as the
head of his penis popped through the bathwater.
The door burst open. In trooped five of the younger boys.
They turned on their baths, stripped and stood around chattering like monkeys
at a tea party. Master Myles and Nursey Taylor rose to greet them. Adam relaxed
and watched the performances of the two men, who scrubbed, clean-night-gowned,
and bundled the boys off to their dormitory. "On Saturday nights," explained
the master, "we scrub all the little lads first, and pack them away in bed
before the bigger chaps get through finished."
By the time the scrubbing was finished, Adam was out
of his tub, towelled dry, and into the white and green-striped flannel nightgown
on the wooden chair near the tub. No sooner had the ‘little 'uns' been
shepherded away by Master Myles than a new detachment of boys arrived. While
Nursey trimmed his hair, Adam sat on the wooden chair and watched the new
arrivals make as much splashing noise as a school of young dolphins at play.
He marvelled at the total lack of concern the boys showed about their own
nakedness, but was a little embarrassed by his own interest in two or three
of the bodies, which were markedly more mature than his own.
"You are to share a room with Truan, Toby and Tommy,"
explained a newly-returned Master Myles, "since you have already become friends
with them."
The news delighted Adam. As he lay in bed, his heart
bursting with happiness, he could hardly wait for the arrival of his new-found
friends. His eyelids drooped and he might have slipped away if a momentary
lull in the aquatic exercises next door had not been followed by the sudden
appearance of pillows flying past and through the open door. The battle raged
in several rooms, all down the upper hall, and even surged at intervals into
his own room when some hard-pressed, be-gowned warrior took refuge in there.
No one seemed to mind this explosion in the least; no one forbade it, or
even looked surprised. Nursey went on hanging up towels, sorting undergarments,
and looking out clean clothes, as calmly as if perfect order reigned. Nay,
he even chased one daring boy out of the bathroom and hurled after him the
pillow he had slyly thrown at him.
Nursey entered Adam's room—what a splendid thought:
"Adam's room," thought Adam—and laid the boys' Sunday clothes out. "Won't
they hurt themselves?" asked Adam, who lay laughing with all his might.
"Oh dear, no!" exclaimed Nursey. "We always allow one pillow-fight Saturday
night. The cases are changed tomorrow. And it gets up a glow after the boys'
baths. I rather like it myself."
From below, the dinner gong sounded twice. Silence fell
almost before the final reverberations died away, and the boys staggered
to their rooms. Truan, Toby and Tommy staggered into the room. "Time up,
boys," said Nursey. "Into bed, every man Jack, or pay the forfeit!"
"May I ask what is the forfeit?" asked Adam, sitting
up in his eagerness to know what happened to those wretches who disobeyed
this most peculiar, but public-spirited school matron.
"Lose their fun next time," answered Nursey Taylor. "I
give five minutes to settle down, then put out the lights, and I expect order
and silence. You are honourable lads, and, for the most part, you keep your
words." He swept from the room.
That was evident, for the battle had ended as abruptly
as it began—a parting shot, a final cheer, and a few challenges for
‘next time'. The order prevailed, and nothing but an occasional giggle
or suppressed whisper broke the quiet which followed the Saturday-night frolic.
Nursey Taylor returned, kissed each boy on the forehead, put out the lights,
and left his charges to happy dreams of life at New Carthage.
There was an exchange of goodnights in Adam's room, then
the four boys settled down to sleep. At least three of them did, for Adam,
tired as he was, had become a little too excited to sleep. He lay there,
reviewing the events of the day in his mind, hardly daring to believe he'd
found a home at last, and such a jolly one, too.
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