We were in full school after breakfast, when the Principal came from
his private room with his high, quick, birdlike step and almost leapt
up to his desk to speak to us. He was a rather small, slight man, of
middle age, with pale face and nervous gestures, liable to alternate
bouts of a somewhat ineffectual playfulness and gusts of ungovernable
temper. It was easy to see that he was in his angry mood that
morning. He looked round the school for a moment over the silver
rims of his spectacles, and then said,
"Boys, before you go to your classes for the day I have something to
tell you. One of you has brought disgrace upon King William's, and I
must know which of you it is."
Then followed the "degrading story." The facts of it had just been
brought to his notice by the Inspector of Police for Castletown. He
had no intention of entering into details. They were too shameful.
Briefly, one of our boys, a senior boy apparently, had lately made a
practice of escaping from his house after hours, and had so far
forfeited his self-respect as to go walking in the dark roads with a
young girl--a servant girl, he was ashamed to say, from the home of
the High Bailiff. He had been seen repeatedly, and although not
identified, he had been recognised by his cap as belonging to the
College. Last night two young townsmen had set out to waylay him.
There had been a fight, in which our boy had apparently used a
weapon, probably a stick. The result was that one of the young
townsmen was now in hospital, still insensible, the other was
seriously injured about the face. Probably a pair of young
blackguards who had intervened from base motives of their own and
therefore deserved no pity. But none the less the conduct of the
King William's boy had been disgraceful. It must be punished, no
matter who he was, or how high he might stand in the school.
"I tell you plainly, boys, I don't know who he is. Neither do the
police--the townsmen never having heard his name and the girl
refusing to speak."
But he had a suspicion--a very strong suspicion, based upon an
unmistakable fact. He might have called the boy he suspected to his
room and dealt with him privately. But a matter like this, known to
the public authorities and affecting the honour and welfare of the
college, was not to be hushed up. In fact the police had made it a
condition of their foregoing proceedings in the Courts that an open
inquiry should be made here. He had undertaken to make it, and he
must make it now.
"Therefore, I give the boy who has been guilty of this degrading
conduct the opportunity of voluntary confession--of revealing himself
to the whole school, and asking pardon of his Principal, his masters
and his fellow-pupils for the disgrace he has brought on them. Who
is it?"
None of us stirred, spoke or made sign. The Principal was rapidly
losing his temper.
"Boys," he said, "there is something I have not told you. According
to the police the disgraceful incident occurred between nine and
nine-thirty last night, and it is known to the house-master of one of
your houses that one boy, and one only, who had been out without
permission, came in after that hour. I now give that boy another
chance. Who is he?"
Still no one spoke or stirred. The Principal bit his lip, and again
looked down the line of our desks over the upper rims of his
spectacles.
"Does nobody speak? Must I call a name? Is it possible that any
King William's boy can ask for the double shame of being guilty and
being found out?"
Even yet there was no sign from the boys, and no sound except their
audible breathing through the nose.
"Very well. So be it. I've given that boy his chance. Now he must
take the consequences."
With that the Principal stepped down from his desk, turned his
blazing eyes towards the desks of the fifth form and said,
"Stowell, step forward."
We gasped. Stowell was the head boy of the school and an immense and
universal favourite. Through the mists of years some of us can see
him still, as he heaved up from his seat that morning and walked
slowly across the open floor in front to where the Principal was
standing. A big, well-grown boy, narrowly bordering on eighteen,
dark-haired, with broad forehead, large dark eyes, fine features,
and, even in those boyish days, a singular air of distinction. There
was no surprise in his face, and not a particle of shame, but there
was a look of defiance which raised to boiling point the Principal's
simmering anger.
"Stowell," he said, "you will not deny that you were out after hours
last night?"
"No, Sir."
"Then it was you who were guilty of this disgraceful conduct?"
Stowell seemed to be about to speak, and then with a proud look to
check himself, and to close his mouth as with a snap.
"It was you, wasn't it?"