Of course, he was not really called "Turbot"; but just after he came to
Merivale, some ass in the Fifth started the silly rag of calling
everybody after a fish, and pretty well every fish known to science was
rung in. In fact, they just about went round. Sometimes the likeness
was fairly clear and the simile was good. For instance, being head of
the school, I was called "Salmon," which is the king of fish; and as I
am underhung and have rather fierce eyes, there was a certain fitness in
calling me "Salmon." But after I had decided that Abbott could not have
his colours for "footer," being lame, there was a feeling against me
among Abbott's friends, and Tracey called me "Tinned Salmon," which was
merely silly and not in the least amusing. Nor was it amusing to call
Maybrick "Sardine" because he kept tins of this fish in his desk; but
"John Dory" was all right for Nicholas, that being the ugliest fish in
the sea, and Nicholas the ugliest chap at Merivale. "Porpoise" was true
for Preston, who inclines to great fatness, and blows after exertion in
a very porpoise-like way; but to call Briggs "Herring" because he was a
"doter on a bloater," as Tracey said, and to call Tracey himself a
"Torpedo Ray" because he was always trying to give shocks, was footling
without being funny. On the other hand, it was neat to call Pratt
"Cuttlefish," because he was always inky to the elbows; and as far as
Bradwell was concerned, the nickname of "Turbot" suited him very well,
owing to his eyes, which always goggled if a master spoke to him, and
also owing to his mouth, which was all lips and rather one-sided when he
laughed.
Kids, of course, have a poor sense of what is really funny, owing to
their general ignorance. Yet they prefer their own feeble jokes to ours.
A joke that the Sixth sees in a moment is utterly lost on them, while
utter piffle, that no sane person would smile at, makes them scream.
We, for instance, called Mitchell "Shark" because of his well-known
habits over money, but this did not amuse the kids in the least; while
they called Forbes minimus "Whale" because he was the smallest boy in
the school; which naturally could not cause anybody but an idiot the
least amusement.
Well, Bradwell was far from interesting from a mental point of view,
having, as our master, Mr. Fortescue, said, apparently outgrown his
brains. He was just at his seventeenth birthday when these remarkable
events happened; but at first glance, and, in fact, until you talked to
him, you would at once have said he was grown up. He was in the Lower
Fifth, and it really looked as though a master was in the Lower Fifth
rather than a pupil. And he was only there because it would have been a
burlesque to put him any lower, though in strict justice, as far as his
knowledge was concerned, he would have been in his right place in the
Upper Third. But he had to stop in the Lower Fifth, and even there was
an absurd sight, being six feet high and very large in every way, and
having a distinct moustache, which, owing to its being black, could not
be hidden. What a scissors could do he did; but it was there, and grew
by night, and could not be concealed. He was a very finely made chap,
and had magnificent muscles; but such was his awkwardness and stupidity
that he couldn't even use these muscles properly, and he was no earthly
good even in the gym. At games he failed utterly, though he tried hard;
but he was too slow even for a full-back at "footer," and couldn't get
down quick enough for a "goaley"; in fact, rapid movement seemed utterly
beyond his power. At cricket he was also an object of utter scorn, for
despite his hands, which were huge, he couldn't hold the simplest catch;
and despite his reach, which was that of a six-foot chap, he had not the
humblest idea of timing a ball, or the vaguest notion of how to play a
stroke. In fact, such was his unworthiness that he could only have
played in the third eleven, and as that was naturally composed of kids
of eleven and twelve, it would have been an outrage to see him in it.
Bradwell meant well, but he was rather barred, not from dislike, but
simply because he had, as it were, grown up before his time, and had a
kid's mind in a man's body. In fact, he fell between two stools, in a
manner of speaking, because, to the Sixth and the masters, he was a
thing of nought, while to those who had a mind like his own, he was
grown up and no use in any way.
I was the only one at Merivale who understood his weird case, and when
he first came, I let him fag for me; but he was awful as a fag, and such
was his over-anxiety to please and shine that he never did either. I
had, in fact, to chuck him. At sixteen years and eleven months of age
he led rather a lonely life; but when the War broke out, he said he was
very interested in it, and asked me sometimes if I would be so good as
to explain military matters to him. Which I did in the simplest words
possible, as anything like regular military terms would have been far
beyond him. On hearing that aeroplanes have great difficulty in
descending by night, he invented a scheme of stretching strong nets with
a big mesh on poles ten feet above the ground, spread over half a mile
of landing-place, to catch them. This showed mind in a way; but he
never appeared to have any real martial instinct, and when once a girl
in Merivale handed him a white feather, he stopped and took off his hat
and said:
"I quite understand what you mean, but I shan't be seventeen for a
fortnight yet."
This the girl naturally refused to believe, and the "Turbot" came to me
and complained about it.
As a matter of fact, I rather backed up the girl--not for giving
"Turbot" a white feather, which is a vulgar and silly thing to give
anybody, because you never know, as the great case of Fortescue
showed--but because she didn't believe "Turbot" when he said he was only
just about to be seventeen. To look at him, he might easily have been
married, which shows appearances are very deceptive. But, anyway, I
said:
"You can't blame a flapper for thinking you are of age to join the Army,
Bradwell. Anybody would think so, and lots of younger-looking chaps
than you have said they were eighteen, and been passed without a murmur,
though their birth certificates would have given them away. But anybody
six feet high and with a clearly visible black moustache, and with your
muscles, would pass the authorities, and you may bet that many have."
He merely goggled, and said no doubt I was right.
I must tell you that "Turbot" had no father or mother, and, in fact,
nobody but a single, oldish aunt who lived at Plymouth. But he had a
guardian, who sent him to Merivale when his family unfortunately died;
and at first he stopped at Merivale in the holidays. But once the aunt
took him for a fortnight at Easter; and she appeared to like him, for,
after that, he always went to her. The guardian did not, however, like
"Turbot," and "Turbot" would have been quite content to stop at Merivale
in the holidays, rather than spend his time with the guardian, who had
no friendly feeling for him. In fact, you may say that "Turbot" was a
duty rather than a pleasure to the guardian.
Then, at the beginning of the autumn term, in the first year of the War,
"Turbot's" aunt wrote to Dr. Dunston and asked if "Turbot" might spend
Saturday till Monday with her, because it was going to be his birthday;
and the Doctor gave permission.
So "Turbot" went, and naturally was not missed in any way till Monday
morning. Then at roll-call before chapel, the "Turbot's" well-known
bleat was not heard, and it was soon perceived that he'd done something
very much out of the common.
Nothing had been heard from his aunt, apparently, and so a telegram was
dispatched to her, and, as no reply came to it, Dr. Dunston began to
worry. He then sent off a telegram to the guardian, and the excitement
decidedly thickened. After dinner the Doctor sent for me, as head boy,
and told me that the guardian had heard nothing whatever about "Turbot."
"I may tell you, Travers," he said, "though there is no reason to repeat
it, that Bradwell is not _persona grata_ with the gentleman who stands
to him _in loco parentis_. That is unfortunate for Bradwell, because he
may lack friends in the future, being a boy without any mental ability,
or that charm and power to please we occasionally find in the stupid
lad. His guardian, however, evinces no uneasiness at the disappearance
of Bradwell, and my knowledge of human nature inclines me to doubt if
the individual in question will much care whether Bradwell returns or
does not. I speak, of course, in confidence. But he is a busy man, and
has a large family of his own, with its concomitant anxieties. He sends
his own boys to Harrow, and it is not for us to judge his motives in so
doing, or whether they are guided by disinterested desire for the future
welfare of an obscure attorney's sons, or influenced by that spirit of
snobbishness from which few Englishmen are entirely free.
"Now, I shall ask you this afternoon, Travers, to undertake a little
mission which I can safely trust to you. We are, as you know, very
short-handed, and to spare a master is almost impossible. I will
therefore invite you to go as far as Plymouth, call at No. 10 Mutley
Plain Villas, and ask to see Miss Mason, the maternal aunt of Bradwell,
and his sole surviving relative. It is a somewhat delicate duty, and
you must regard it as a compliment that I seek your aid. Here is half a
crown for your return railway fare. You will alight at Mutley Station,
and should catch the five-thirty train back to Merivale. The lady has
not responded to my telegram, hence my desire, before putting the matter
in the hands of the police, to learn all she may be able to tell us.
Present my card, and she will see you at once if at home. If not, wait
until she returns."
It was rather a responsible thing, and a great compliment to me. So I
went, first putting on my best clothes and a new pair of gloves.
Arrived at Plymouth, I got out at Mutley, and easily found Mutley Plain
Villas, which were only a quarter of a mile from the railway. The house
was small, but very neat in appearance, and the door-knocker, which was
of highly polished brass, gave a loud tapping sound into the hall.
There was no sign of the "Turbot."
A servant of considerable age answered my knock, and when I asked her if
Miss Mason was at home, she replied that she was. She told me to walk
in, which I did. I then gave her Dr. Dunston's card, and was shown into
a neat drawing-room, which had a piano in it, and a pile of khaki wool
on a sofa. There was also an illustrated newspaper in the room, and I
sat down on a chair and read the illustrated newspaper until Miss Mason
arrived.
Presently she came, and proved younger than her servant, though still
not in reality young. She was unlike Bradwell in every way. Even her
eyes did not resemble his, being black and small--you might say
beady--and her mouth had thin lips, which revealed lustrous teeth, which
might have been false ones, though, on the other hand, they might not.
"Curiously enough," she said, "I was just writing a letter to Dr.
Dunston when you arrived. Now I can send a message by you instead. Are
you his son?"
"No, Miss Mason," I answered. "I am Travers, the head boy at Merivale
School."
"How interesting!" she said. "And what are you going to do in the
world, Travers?"
"I leave next term--this is my last term, in fact--and I am then going
to try for Woolwich," I said.
"That means the Army, of course," she answered. "I hope you will pass
well."