Antony Brade :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Something more about the Rosicrucians?” asked
the Rector. “Mr. Wilson has just brought one bit of
information,” and he handed to the last-comer one of
the now long-familiar cards of the “B. R. C.” and the
Red Cross.

“Turn it over,” said Mr. Wilson to his brother-tutor;
and on the back appeared “Cœna Lux. Reg. ap. Hol.
XXIV. Hor. 8½, Hod.”

“It would be astonishing,” said the Rector, “if a
secret society, with feasting, could have been going on
under our noses, and with our leading scholar in it.
I'm told that Gaston calls his room `Holworthy 24,'
after his brother's in college; and this looks like a notification
to supper, there, to-night.”

“And there are only two boys in School that use
Greek or Latin that way, — Gaston and Brade,” added
Mr. Bruce.

“Our two philologists!” said the Rector, with a shake
of the head.

“And I've got something about Brade,” said Mr.
Bruce.

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The Rector looked rather blank at this announcement,
as if the clouds were unexpectedly thickening;
and Mr. Bruce proceeded to tell his story about the
pillage of the lordly turkey, during Brade's and Peters's
visit to the kitchen.

“There's something much wholesomer in it, from its
all being under our own roof, at least,” said the Rector.
“Then Brade and Peters say that they went in to
ask?”

Mr. Bruce explained their story, that Peters went in,
because he was told that he might, and Brade to bring
off Peters.

“Then you'll accept this invitation,” said the Rector
to Mr. Wilson, “(it's at First Bed-time) and we'll wait
for further developments. They'd better be allowed
about three minutes to get comfortably together; but
not more, for they'll be quick.”

This arrangement having been made, the council
broke up.

At tea, Gaston and Hutchins, whom the reader will
remember to have been at the back-kitchen door while
the turkey lay on the dish, ate their supper like other
boys; and certainly, if they had any consciousness of
a coming feast, they did not, by way of preparation,
spare the sliced turkey on the table.

After tea Gaston and Hutchins used the few minutes
of free time as industriously in play as any of the boys.
School went in, and time went on, to first bed-time.
Then Gaston and Hutchins went quietly out with the
lower-form boys.

There was no disorder in entry or room: the younger
fellows had their own subjects of conversation, among
which, as may be supposed, Brade's adventure with

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Peters, and its probable consequences were discussed,
with much prudence about pronouncing any other
names than those of the two.

Among the rooms of larger boys all was quiet; and
about Gaston's room, or “Holworthy 24,” all was particularly
still.

Within a few minutes Mr. Wilson quietly made his
appearance in the passage-way; and then, if any heads
had before been appearing now and then at doorways,
if any occasional missile had before been hurled now
and then from one room to another, all sight and
almost all sound of boyish life was gone.

In this state of things, the Head Tutor walked
silently straight to Gaston's door, and without formality
entered. Two lamps were burning on the
bureau; but, by a contrivance familiar to boys, the
unusual light was hindered from making a more than
usual show by barricades of books.

Four boys — Gaston and Hutchins and Towne and
“Ultimatum” Blake — were standing with their backs
toward the door, or rather with all their faces toward
the well-lighted top of the bureau. Towne had “got
himself up” in what he perhaps considered a holiday
rig; for not only was his hat turned inside out, as we
have seen it before, but he had managed to put on his
coat upside down, with the tails falling like a cape down
his back. Hutchins and Blake were in their usual
dress, — Blake at one end, where half of his face could
be seen drawn into a very comical expression, but
intensely silent, and with his eyes fastened unwaveringly.
Gaston had on what may have been meant for
a priestly garb from old Rome. His chief garment was
a sheet fastened about his neck and trailing to the

322

ground, except where one foot, in a stocking, was thrust
out behind. About his head he had a band of twisted
cotton-batting, and round that a purple neck-tie whose
ends hung down at the back. His face could be seen
in the looking-glass which hung over the chest of
drawers; and it was overflowing with satisfaction. The
glass also showed, what the shoulders of the boys
otherwise hid, the ample remains of a huge roasted
turkey.

“Gentlemen,” Gaston was saying, in a voice narrowed
down to the necessity of the case, “I bid you welcome
to this auspicious feast! Under the nose of Wilson,
most vigilant of observers; between the hands, as you
may say, of Bruce, most sagacious of tutors, per tela,
per hostes, have I, with the help of Hutchins, borne
this bird. Time fails. Draw swords, and march into
the beast, as I do!” and thereupon he cut a thick
slice of breast and stuffing, and three knives more
assailed the savory meat.

There was a hurried noise of cutting, with a glad
murmur of voices and then a general munching of the
festive viands, all in a moment, when a new voice was
heard: —

“I've come upon this invitation,” said Mr. Wilson,
showing the card, while, before he had spoken three
words, the four feasters had faced about to any quarter
but toward the bureau. Gaston, whose eyes had taken
in the card and the Tutor at once, still kept a good
deal of the merriment in his face, with his cheeks stuffed
full of turkey. Blake increased the drollery of his look
at this unexpected diversion. In one hand stretched
out, he held his knife; in another a large piece of unbitten
flesh from the great fowl.

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“I'm authorized to invite the whole company to the
Rector's study,” said Mr. Wilson, “with the turkey.
Gaston, you'll lead, with the turkey in the napkin; and
all of you follow, just as you are. I'll come behind,
with one of these lights.”

In this order, therefore, the procession set forth;
all but Gaston following Blake's example, in eating
most diligently as they went. Gaston's hands were
so occupied with the larger burden that he was denied
that comfort. Towne, having a leg and drumstick,
could hardly hope, even with the most frantic
efforts, to make his bit much less conspicuous by the
time he reached the Rector's presence.

A strange-looking company they were; but the Rector
maintained his gravity.

“So these are some of our Rosicrucians, are they?”
he asked. “And who's the head of your society?
You, Gaston?”

“There's no society, sir,” said Gaston. “I happened
to have a turkey” —

“Yes, I know the history of the turkey,” said the
Rector. “First explain that card,” — pointing to it
in Mr. Wilson's hand. — “Put all your bits of turkey
here,” he added, spreading several thicknesses of newspapers
on the floor, on which they all made their
deposits. “Now, Gaston, explain that card, if you
please.”

“This side of it is my side,” said the boy. “I don't
know any thing about the other. This is just one that
I picked up.”

“Read and explain your own side, then,” said the
Rector; and Gaston read and explained, a little awkwardly:
—

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“`Cœna regalis luxus, apud Holworthy Vigintiquatuor,
hora octava et dimidia, hodie,'— a supper of
royal luxury, at Holworthy 24, at eight-and-a-half
o'clock, to-day.”

Amid the discomfiture of the feasters, this glowing
announcement fell absurdly.

“Now for the other side of the card, — this stuff
about the Rosicrucians, — who can explain it?”

Here Blake spoke: —

“Nobody knows any thing about that, sir. That's a
sort of ghost: none of the fellows know any thing
about it.”

“None of you know any thing about it?” asked the
Rector.

To this question all gave so definite and evidently
honest an answer in the negative as to make it clear
that Gaston's entertainment had nothing to do with
the Rosicrucians or any other secret society, and that
the “B. R. C.” and the Red Cross were as much mysteries
as ever.

The boys looked down at the booty on the floor.

“A liking for turkey's not a bad taste, Edward,”
said the Rector; “but a liking for turkey that isn't
yours is.”

“Blake and Towne hadn't any thing to do with
getting the turkey,” said Gaston; “and Brade and
Peters. They didn't know any thing about it. — I
don't believe they do yet,” he added, smiling at the
thought.

But the end was come.

The little company of revellers was dealt with, first
of all, by ordering them, just as they were, down to
the kitchen, to restore their stolen food. Their proper
punishment was to come in due course the next day.