After that--nothing! Neither of the boys distinguished himself at
college. This was a matter of no surprise to the masters in Gell's
case, but in Stowell's it was a perpetual problem. Their favourite
solution was that the David-and-Jonathan friendship between two boys
of widely differing capacity was at the root of the trouble--Gell
being slow and Stowell unwilling to shame him.
As year followed year without tangible results the rumour came home
to Ballamoar that the son of the Deemster was not fulfilling
expectations. "_Traa de liooar_" (time enough) said Robbie Creer of
the farm; but Dan Baldromma, of the mill-farm in the glen, who prided
himself on being no respecter of persons, and made speeches in the
market-place denouncing the "aristocraks" of the island, and
predicting the downfall of the old order, was heard to say he wasn't
sorry.
"If these young cubs of the Spaker and the Dempster," said Dan,
"hadn't been born with the silver spoon in their mouths we should be
hearing another story. When the young birds get their wings push
them out of the nest, I say. It's what I done with my own
daughter--my wife's, I mane. Immajetly she was fifteen I packed her
off to sarvice at the High Bailiff's at Castletown, and now she may
shift for herself for me."
The effect on the two fathers was hardly less conflicting. The
Speaker stormed at his son, called him a "poop" (Anglo-Manx for
numskull), wondered why he had troubled to bring a lad into the world
who would only scatter his substance, and talked about making a new
will to protect his daughters and to save the real estate which the
law gave his son by heirship.
The Deemster was silent. Term by term he read, without comment, the
Principal's unfavourable reports, with the "ifs" and "buts" and
"althoughs," which were intended to soften the hard facts with
indications of what might have been. And he said not a word of
remonstrance or reproach when the boy came home without prizes,
though he wrote in his leather-bound book that he felt sometimes as
if he could have given its weight in gold for the least of them.
At seventeen and a half Stowell became head of the school, not so
much by scholastic attainment as by seniority, by proficiency in
games and by influence over the boys. But even in this capacity he
had serious shortcomings. Gell had by this time developed a
supernatural gift of getting into scrapes, and Stowell, as head boy,
partly responsible for his conduct, often allowed himself to become
his scapegoat.
Then the rumour came home that Victor was not only a waster but a
wastrel. Janet wouldn't believe a word of it, 'deed she wouldn't,
and "Auntie Kitty" said the boy was the son of the Deemster, and she
had never yet seen a good cow with a bad calf. But Dan Baldromma was
of another opinion.
"The Dempster may be a grand man," said Dan, "but sarve him right, I
say. Spare the rod, spoil the child! Show me the man on this island
will say I ever done that with my own child--my wife's, I mane."
Finally came a report of the incident on the Darby-Haven road. John
Cæsar, a "lump" of a lad, son of Qualtrough, the butcher (a
respectable man and a member of the Keys), had been brutally
assaulted while doing his best to protect a young nurse-girl from the
unworthy attentions of a college boy. The culprit was Victor
Stowell, and the father of the victim had demanded his prosecution
with the utmost rigour of the law. But out of respect for the
Deemster, and regard for the school, he was not to be arrested on
condition that he was to be expelled.
For three days this circumstantial story was on everybody's lips, yet
the Deemster never heard it. But he was one of those who learn ill
tidings without being told, and see disasters before they happen, so
when the Principal's letter came he showed no surprise.
Janet saw him coming downstairs dressed for dinner (he had dressed
for dinner during his married days and kept up the habit ever
afterwards, though he nearly always dined alone) just as old Willie
Killip, the postman, with his red lantern at his belt, came through
the open porch to the vestibule door. Taking his letter and going
into the Library, he had stood by the writing desk under the
"Stranger's" picture, while he opened the envelope and looked at the
contents of it. His face had fallen after he read the first page,
and it was the same as if the sun was setting on the man, but when he
turned the second it had lightened, and it was just as if the day was
dawning on him.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, he sat at the desk and wrote a
telegram for old Willie to take back. It was to the Principal at
King William's, and there was only one line in it--
"Send him home--_Stowell_."
After that--Janet was ready to swear on the Holy Book to it--he rose
and looked up into the "Stranger's" face and said, in a low voice
that was like that of a prayer:
"It's all right, Isobel--it is well."