powerful way, he had become as much of a loner as Tommy. All the early cheek and sparkle and mischief had literally been beaten out of him.
The Whippet had made it a personal mission. There had been weeks when he'd summoned Dickie down to the changing room every single night. Dickie seemed to take it as a challenge and would break rules deliberately right under The Whippet's long and twitching nose. On bath nights and in the showers after games, boys would gape at the bruises. His buttocks were an abstract painting of black and blue and purple and yellow, a work in progress that didn't get a chance to heal. Yet never once had anyone seen him cry. All that happened was that with each beating he had become a little quieter, a shade more serious, retreating one small step further into himself. It was like watching the slow yet steady dimming of a light.
They were trudging up the last stretch of driveway now and it was starting to rain again. As the school building loomed over them, Tommy felt a surge of desperation that he was about to lose a second chance of being Dickie's friend.
"Want to see something?" he said.
"What?"
"You have to promise not to tell anyone."
Dickie shrugged.
"Okay."
"Say I promise."
"I promise."
A few minutes later they were tiptoeing along the corridor to Tommy's tuck box. The time when it was permitted to be there had passed. They were supposed to be in their classrooms getting ready for prep. The corridor was dark but they didn't switch on the light. Tommy unlocked his tuck box and lifted the lid.
"Nice pictures."
"That's Diane, my sister."
Dickie nodded his approval then glanced at the picture of Flint.
"And you know who that is."
" 'Course I do. Is that all you wanted to show me?"
Tommy shook his head and reached down into the tuck box and carefully lifted out a large manilla envelope.
"Look," he said, pointing at the postmark.
"Hollywood, California."
"It arrived this morning."
Tommy glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. Then he opened the envelope and gently pulled out a large black-and-white photograph.
"See? It's Red McGraw from Sliprock," he said proudly.
"Bedford, I know who it is, for heaven's sake."
"Yes, but look what he's put on it."
Dickie peered at the large, loopy handwriting.
To Tommy Bedford,
The Quickest Draw in England.
See ya along the trail!
Red
"Did he do this specially for you?"
" 'Course he did."
"Wow."
"And you know what?"
"What?"
"Promise you won't tell anyone."
"Bedford!"
"Cross your heart and hope to die."
Dickie wearily obeyed.
"They had a date."
"What?"
"Diane and Red—well, he's not really called Red. His real name is Ray. Ray Montane. A date is when—"
"Bedford, I know what a date is."
Dickie stared at the picture for a moment. Tommy could tell he was impressed.
"So is she his girlfriend?"
"I don't know. I think so. They had dinner together, I know that. And she says he's really nice."
"Wow."
Suddenly the corridor lights went on.
"What do you two think you're doing in here?"
Charlie Chin was peering at them from the far end of the corridor. Tommy quickly slipped the photo and envelope back into his tuck box.
"Who is it? Speak up, boy!"
"Jessop, sir," Dickie said. "And Bedford. Just putting our library books away, sir."
"You know you're not allowed in here, don't you? Well?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"I'll see you both later. Now get along to your classrooms. Go!"
Two hours later, they were standing outside the changing room in their dressing gowns. It was only the second time Tommy had been beaten. The first was when The Whippet had slippered the whole dorm for talking after lights-out. But Charlie always used the cane. Tommy's knees had gone wobbly with fear. He didn't want to cry or, heaven forbid, wet himself. Not in front of Dickie. He tried to think of Flint but it wasn't much help.
"You'll be all right," Dickie whispered. "The first one hurts a bit but then it's okay. Just grip
The Whippet had made it a personal mission. There had been weeks when he'd summoned Dickie down to the changing room every single night. Dickie seemed to take it as a challenge and would break rules deliberately right under The Whippet's long and twitching nose. On bath nights and in the showers after games, boys would gape at the bruises. His buttocks were an abstract painting of black and blue and purple and yellow, a work in progress that didn't get a chance to heal. Yet never once had anyone seen him cry. All that happened was that with each beating he had become a little quieter, a shade more serious, retreating one small step further into himself. It was like watching the slow yet steady dimming of a light.
They were trudging up the last stretch of driveway now and it was starting to rain again. As the school building loomed over them, Tommy felt a surge of desperation that he was about to lose a second chance of being Dickie's friend.
"Want to see something?" he said.
"What?"
"You have to promise not to tell anyone."
Dickie shrugged.
"Okay."
"Say I promise."
"I promise."
A few minutes later they were tiptoeing along the corridor to Tommy's tuck box. The time when it was permitted to be there had passed. They were supposed to be in their classrooms getting ready for prep. The corridor was dark but they didn't switch on the light. Tommy unlocked his tuck box and lifted the lid.
"Nice pictures."
"That's Diane, my sister."
Dickie nodded his approval then glanced at the picture of Flint.
"And you know who that is."
" 'Course I do. Is that all you wanted to show me?"
Tommy shook his head and reached down into the tuck box and carefully lifted out a large manilla envelope.
"Look," he said, pointing at the postmark.
"Hollywood, California."
"It arrived this morning."
Tommy glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. Then he opened the envelope and gently pulled out a large black-and-white photograph.
"See? It's Red McGraw from Sliprock," he said proudly.
"Bedford, I know who it is, for heaven's sake."
"Yes, but look what he's put on it."
Dickie peered at the large, loopy handwriting.
To Tommy Bedford,
The Quickest Draw in England.
See ya along the trail!
Red
"Did he do this specially for you?"
" 'Course he did."
"Wow."
"And you know what?"
"What?"
"Promise you won't tell anyone."
"Bedford!"
"Cross your heart and hope to die."
Dickie wearily obeyed.
"They had a date."
"What?"
"Diane and Red—well, he's not really called Red. His real name is Ray. Ray Montane. A date is when—"
"Bedford, I know what a date is."
Dickie stared at the picture for a moment. Tommy could tell he was impressed.
"So is she his girlfriend?"
"I don't know. I think so. They had dinner together, I know that. And she says he's really nice."
"Wow."
Suddenly the corridor lights went on.
"What do you two think you're doing in here?"
Charlie Chin was peering at them from the far end of the corridor. Tommy quickly slipped the photo and envelope back into his tuck box.
"Who is it? Speak up, boy!"
"Jessop, sir," Dickie said. "And Bedford. Just putting our library books away, sir."
"You know you're not allowed in here, don't you? Well?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"I'll see you both later. Now get along to your classrooms. Go!"
Two hours later, they were standing outside the changing room in their dressing gowns. It was only the second time Tommy had been beaten. The first was when The Whippet had slippered the whole dorm for talking after lights-out. But Charlie always used the cane. Tommy's knees had gone wobbly with fear. He didn't want to cry or, heaven forbid, wet himself. Not in front of Dickie. He tried to think of Flint but it wasn't much help.
"You'll be all right," Dickie whispered. "The first one hurts a bit but then it's okay. Just grip
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