THE DAY OF DECISION
One evening, a week after this conversation, Mr. Bent received a
summons to see the headmaster in his study after dinner; so, putting
on his great-coat, for the wind was still blowing keenly from the
north-east, he repaired to the Prætorium. Mr. Flaggon was seated at his
table, writing letters, but he waved his guest into an armchair and
wheeled his own chair round to face the fire.
“I have to make arrangements for next Term,” he began, with an
abruptness that was characteristic. “I am assuming that I shall be here
and that Chowdler will have gone. In that case I want you to take his
house.”
Mr. Bent was not altogether unprepared for his offer, though he had
never allowed his thoughts to dwell much on the subject. He paused for
a few moments before replying:
“It won’t be a bed of roses--at least at first; but a year ago I
should not have hesitated for a moment. To-day I know my limitations
better, and I am not sure whether I have the necessary qualities.”
Mr. Flaggon eyed him keenly for a moment, and then said:
“I think you are more fitted for the post than anyone else here--if you
will follow your better nature.”
“Then I will do my best,” said Mr. Bent, “and trust that my better
nature will pull me through.”
There was a pause before Mr. Flaggon began again, somewhat hesitatingly:
“I think, perhaps, that it would be better if this matter were kept
private between us two--for the present at all events. I am thinking
chiefly of your own position.”
“You mean,” said Mr. Bent, “that, if certain things happen, I shall cut
a better figure if I am found seated on the top of the fence than if I
have come down definitely on the wrong side.”
Mr. Flaggon smiled. “I suppose I meant something of the kind,” he
said, “though I didn’t put it to myself quite in that way. The truth
is that I am not at all sure about the future. I have every right
to assume that the Council will support me against Chowdler; but,
strictly between ourselves, they seem to be hesitating, and I have been
approached lately with suggestions of a compromise. I can accept no
compromise. Its not a question of my own dignity--though a public man
has to consider that too: but, if I am not to be headmaster _de facto_
as well as _de jure_, I can serve no useful purpose by remaining here;
and I shall go.”
“In that case,” said Mr. Bent, “there is no need for secrecy; for, if
you go, I shall go too.”
The headmaster coloured slightly. Ever since he had been at Chiltern,
and especially in the last few weeks, he had felt his isolation and
aloofness as no inconsiderable part of the burden. The sudden sense of
fellowship sent a warm glow through his veins; but he repressed his
emotion and replied gravely:
“I hope you won’t do that; you mustn’t do that. It is quite
unnecessary, and it would damage the school.”
Mr. Bent got up from his chair, and, all unconsciously, began to pace
about the room. His feelings were such that he could not express them
adequately in a sitting posture.
“I’m not speaking on the spur of the moment,” he began. “My mind was
made up long before I came into this study and received your offer. For
fifteen years I’ve lived in an atmosphere of bunkum and make-believe
that have no relation to facts. That kind of thing is bound to make a
man either a humbug or a cynic. It has very nearly made me a cynic;
and, though it’s very amusing to be a cynic, it isn’t good for one’s
immortal soul. If one’s to be a live man, one must have something
definite to do--something that one can believe in and work for. I _can_
appreciate and work for your ideals--decency, order, and an education
that--that is educational. I know that I shan’t approve of all your
methods--I’m Oxford, and much too critical for that--and you won’t
expect it of me. But I cannot endure to sink back again into unreality.
I have enough to live on; not much but enough; and I can always get
work--tutoring or anything. But I _will_ not face another fifteen years
of the off-theory and Chowdler’s version of the Lanchester tradition. I
say,” he added suddenly, “I must apologise. In my excitement I’ve been
forgetting my manners.”
The two men shook hands warmly at parting, and Mr. Flaggon was betrayed
into something that very closely resembled a confidence.
“Of course,” he said, “the long delay _is_ rather trying.”
But the long delay was coming to an end, and the day of decision
was fixed at last. Mr. Flaggon learnt it from the Chairman of the
Council; Mr. Chowdler and the masters were informed “privately and
confidentially” by Mr. Benison-Benison, and the boys heard of it from
the masters’ wives.
On the morning of the fateful day, Mr. Flaggon looked down the
long rows of bowed heads in chapel with peculiar feelings. He was
something of a fatalist, believing, as he did, that there is special
Providence in the fall of a sparrow, and that a man is false to his
duty, however hazardous that duty may be, if he allows himself to
dwell on the possibility of failure. But he could not help wondering,
that morning, whether he would ever sit in his place again and feel
that his life’s work lay there before him, and that he had the power
to do it. In the last few weeks Chiltern had become to him something
much more concrete than it had been before, something that stirred
his affections and appealed to his sympathy. While searching in dark
places for the roots of the parasite that was strangling the life of
the place, he had discovered the germs of much that was healthy and
even noble--individual heroisms, boys ready, at a moment’s call, to do
a man’s work, knees which in the face of fierce temptation had never
bowed to Baal; and, with all its capacity for evil, he had realised the
immense possibilities for good in schoolboy nature. He was conscious,
too, of a change of attitude on the part of the staff. Rather shyly,
rather awkwardly, many, especially the younger men, had made it clear
to him by voice and manner and gesture that they were with him. There
was an irony in the fate which might give him the summons to quit at
the very moment when he had secured a firm grip of the school and
proved his right to rule. _Might_ give? Very probably _would_ give;
for, in his heart of hearts, he had no great faith in the Council that
was to pronounce judgment.
And, a few hours later, the councillors were assembling at Grandborough
to decide between the headmaster and his rebellious lieutenant. Most
of them had come with their minds more than half made up. That Mr.
Chowdler’s conduct had exceeded the courtesies of debate there could
be no doubt; and, under ordinary circumstances, they would have been
shy of interfering between a headmaster and one of his assistants. But
the circumstances were not ordinary; and the men who were called upon
to judge them were much influenced by the opinion, commonly expressed
in Society (with a capital S), that the new headmaster was a failure
and was letting the school down rapidly. They gathered, too, from Mr.
Benison-Benison that this was also the opinion of the masters. And,
again, they had been much alarmed by the recent troubles. Rumour had
put the number of expulsions at 150; and, though the councillors were
now in possession of the correct figures, the impression remained that
Chiltern, which had once seemed to be founded on a rock, was crumbling
away before their very eyes.
“How do you intend to vote?” said Canon Braintree to Sir Arthur Tysoe,
as they entered the assembly room at the “Blue Boar,” which always
served as Council chamber.
“I shall vote,” said Sir Arthur, “for any compromise that will save the
assistant; he seems to be the better man. And you?”
“I shall vote against the headmaster,” replied the Canon; “of course,
it will mean his resignation, and may make us look a little foolish in
the eyes of the world. Still, when one has made a mistake, the most
courageous course is to undo it as soon as possible.”
When the councillors had got through a little preliminary chatting,
they took their seats round the long mahogany table and the Chairman
opened the proceedings.
“The business before us to-day,” he began, “is to consider an appeal
from the Rev. Henry Chowdler, assistant master at Chiltern, against
a notice of dismissal, received from the headmaster on the 15th
of February last, to take effect on and after the 7th of April
proximo. In accordance with Schedule D, Clause 4 of the ‘Statutes and
Regulations,’ ‘any housemaster, or other master, not being a dancing,
writing or fencing master, who shall have completed fifteen years of
continuous service on the staff’ possesses this right. As Mr. Chowdler
is one of the boarding-house masters at Chiltern and the headmaster
has confirmed the notice of dismissal in writing to your Chairman, the
appeal is in order. But you are no doubt aware that, under Schedule
E, Clause 7, sub-section _b_, the Council is empowered to refuse
cognisance of such an appeal, if it so thinks fit. This is a curious
provision, and was inserted, I believe, at a time when Dr. Lanchester,
who enjoyed the entire confidence of his Council, was having trouble
with his staff. The first question therefore before us is, whether or
no the Council will accept cognisance of the Rev. Henry Chowdler’s
appeal; and our decision in no way prejudices any subsequent action we
may take when, and if, we proceed to consider the appeal on its own
merits.”
The Chairman had rattled off his opening remarks with the volubility
of a man who is accustomed to get through business quickly. He paused
for breath and was about to add that, as the motion was presumably a
merely formal one, he supposed there was no need for discussing it,
when the Bishop intervened.
Somebody has said that no cause is irretrievably doomed until the
Bishop of Grandborough has made it his own. Like all epigrams, this
statement is only partially true; for the Bishop has championed many
winning causes, good as well as bad. But his warmest admirers admit
that, as a leader, he is more successful in putting heart into his
followers than in winning over waverers.
“Technically,” he began, “our Chairman is correct, and the motion does
not prejudge the main issue; but, practically, it raises at once, and
in an acute form, the question of confidence or no confidence in the
headmaster. If we had merely to decide between Mr. Flaggon and Mr.
Chowdler, there could be no doubt as to what our decision would be;
for every man in authority has a right to be supported against unruly
subordinates. But we have not met here to judge between Mr. Flaggon and
his subordinate. We are all aware that we have met to decide whether it
is right or expedient that Mr. Flaggon should continue to be headmaster
at all. That is an unfortunate position for us to be in, and, if my
advice had been taken last July, we should have avoided it. But we must
take the situation as we find it and face it boldly. In my opinion Mr.
Flaggon ought never to have been appointed and ought not now to be
continued in his office; and I have with me convincing proofs to clinch
my argument.”
Here the Bishop produced a large blue magazine, and held it up to show
that there was no deception.
“In this magazine,” he continued, tapping the cover, “there is an
article by the Rev. Septimus Flaggon, entitled ‘Inspiration.’ When it
was first brought to my notice, some weeks ago, I wrote at once to Mr.
Flaggon to ask him whether he acknowledged the alleged authorship,
and, if so, whether he was prepared to disavow certain passages in it,
which I had marked with a blue pencil. Mr. Flaggon replied that the
article in question had been written several years ago, but that, after
re-reading it carefully, he saw nothing in it to retract. That being
so, I propose to read you certain passages, from which you will be able
to judge for yourselves whether the writer is a man who can safely
be entrusted with the spiritual guidance of the young in a Church of
England school.”
The Chairman here pointed out that Mr. Flaggon’s theological opinions
were irrelevant to the question at issue, namely, whether or no the
Council should take cognisance of Mr. Chowdler’s appeal. But the Bishop
was not to be stopped.
“You will see the relevance,” he said, “when I have finished.” And he
proceeded to read out the incriminating passages. To about half the
Council they seemed of the mildest and most harmless nature; and one of
the members said bluntly:
“I see no reason why a headmaster should not hold these views, and
preach them too if he likes. If we are going to begin heresy-hunting, I
believe we shall make a grave mistake.”
The discussion, having once been launched on these troubled waters,
was developed at great length and with ever-increasing acrimony.
Inspiration was a subject which Mr. Benison-Benison had made his own
and on which other members of the Council felt strongly. In vain the
Chairman tried to recall the meeting to the real point at issue. He
had to give way before the demands of human nature, and accept the
inevitable. When at last the question was put, the voting went on
strictly theological lines; with the result that the numbers for and
against were exactly equal.
The Chairman hesitated. On the one hand he saw the unwisdom of
practically installing Mr. Chowdler as permanent Mayor of the Palace
at Chiltern. On the other hand, if Mr. Flaggon were going to empty
the school, the financial situation would become difficult, and it
might be better to do at once, what would probably have to be done
later--namely, force his resignation.
The Bishop noted his hesitation, shrugged his shoulders impatiently,
and whispered something to his neighbour. The words were inaudible, but
the Chairman guessed their purport and his hesitation vanished.
“The question before us,” he said, “being whether or no the Council
will take cognisance of the appeal of the Rev. Henry Chowdler, and
the ayes and noes being equally divided, I cast my vote in favour of
the noes. As we have no further business to transact, the Council is
adjourned to the 21st of June next, when I hope that the plans and
estimates for the new sheds and pig-stye, to be erected on the boundary
field, will be ready for approval.”