There was no mistaking the doctor's meaning this time. Sharpe's had had
a long rope, but had come to the end of it at last. I would not for the
world have confessed it at the time, but I was half glad a crisis had
come. My conscience had smitten me more than once about my work. I had
fooled away the good chance with which I had entered Low Heath. Fellows
far below me in scholarship had got ahead of me by force of steady
plodding, while I was wasting my time. The good resolutions which I had
brought up with me had one by one fallen overboard, and I had been
content enough to take my place among the rowdies without an effort.
I had counted all through on Tempest's backing up. If he had been keen
on the credit of the house, I felt I could have been so too. If he had
been down on me for my neglect of work, I felt I should have stuck to
it. As it was, slackness reigned supreme. Tempest was slack because he
was out of humour. Pridgin was slack because he was lazy. Wales was
slack because he wanted to be in the fashion. And all of us were slack
because our betters set us the example. It needs no little courage for
a single boy to attempt to stem the drift of slackness in a school
house. A dull, dogged boy like Dicky Brown might have done it; but I
could not afford to be peculiar, and therefore succumbed, against my
judgment, to the prevalent dry rot.
Now that a crisis had come I hoped Tempest might, if not for his own
sake, for ours, pull up, and take his house in hand, as he well could do
if he chose. A short conversation I overheard as I was fagging in his
study that morning, however, was not encouraging.
"What's it to be," said Wales, "a lecture or a row?"
"A row, I hope," said Tempest wearily.
"What's wrong, old chap?" asked Pridgin.
"Nothing. Out of curl, that's all," said Tempest, trying to assume a
laugh.
"You're not going to cave in to Jarman at this time of day," said Wales,
"are you?"
"Do you think it likely?" said Tempest.
"I tell you what I don't like," said Pridgin presently; "that's the way
Crofter's lately taken to do the virtuous."
"That's not the worst of him," said Wales; "but he's been chumming up
with Jarman. I've met them twice lately walking together."
"I suppose he's got his eye on the headship of the house," said Tempest,
"when I get kicked out."
"Look here, old chap," responded Pridgin, looking really anxious, "it's
not to come to that, surely. It would be intolerable to have him over
us. Come what will, you must stick to us."
"All very well," said Tempest dismally; "that's England's affair more
than mine. If knuckling under to Jarman is a condition, I'm out of it,
and Crofter is welcome to it."
This was all; and it was bad enough. When the summons to assemble in
hall came, I went there in a state of dejection, feeling that the fates
were all against me, and that the new leaf I hoped for was several pages
further on yet.
My fellow-Philosophers, I regret to say, neither shared in nor
appreciated my forebodings.
"Look at that ass Sarah, trying to look virtuous," said Trimble. "Just
like him, when there's a row on."
"I'm not trying to look virtuous," said I; "I'm sick of all these rows,
though."
"Pity you aren't sick when you're getting us into them, instead of
after. You know you've been at the bottom of every row there's been on
this term."
This sweeping statement was not calculated to allay my discomfort.
"Don't tell lies," said I.
"No more we are. Who got us into that mess at Camp Hill Bottom? Sarah
did. Who landed us in the row about Jarman's guy? Old Sarah. Who
played the fool with that barge and got us all licked? Cad Sarah. Who
started the shindy last night that's fetched us all in here? Lout
Sarah. Who's going to be expelled? Howling Sarah. And who'll be a
jolly good riddance of bad rubbish? Chimpanzee Sarah. There you are.
Make what you like of it, and don't talk to us."
This tirade took my breath away. I knew it said more than it meant.
Still, it wasn't flattering, and it taxed my affection sorely to sit
quietly and hear it out. But, somehow, to-day I was too anxious and
worried to care much what anybody said.
Fortunately the entrance of the doctor, Mr Sharpe, and Mr Jarman, made
further discussion for the time being unnecessary--and a gloomy silence
fell over the assembly.
Dr England was evidently worried. Secretly, I believe, he was bored
by the whole affair, and wished Mr Sharpe and his prefects could manage
the affairs of their own house. Perhaps, too, the fact that Mr Jarman
was once more the complainant had something to do with his lack of
humour.
"Now, boys," said he, "this is an unusual and unpleasant interview, and
I heartily wish it were not necessary. When a whole house is reported
for rowdiness, it shows, I'm afraid, that the sense of duty to the
school is in a bad way. This is not the first occasion this term on
which this house has been reported, but I have previously refrained from
interfering, in the hope that the good feeling of the boys themselves
would assert itself and make any action of mine unnecessary. I am sorry
it has not been so. As to the scrimmage in the quadrangle yesterday, I
am not disposed to make too much of that; at any rate, that weighs less
with me than what I understand to have been a deliberate act of
disobedience to the master, who quite properly interfered to restore
order; disobedience, I am sorry to say, encouraged, if not instigated,
by the head boy of the house. I hope there may be some mistake about
this. Will the boys who were engaged in the fight stand up?"
The Philosophers rose to a man, with a promptitude which was almost
aggressive. Bother it all, why should we be backward in admitting that
we had gone for those day boys, and "put them to bed" for once?
"I ask you boys to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell you to wait
till he spoke to you?"
"I did, sir," said Langrish.
"So did I," said Trimble.
"We all did," said I.
"And why did you not obey?"
"Tempest told us to come in, so we did," said I.
"That's right, sir," said Coxhead.
And the others assented.
"Very well," said the doctor. "Tempest, I ask you to say whether you
heard Mr Jarman tell the boys to wait?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you tell them, in spite of that, to come in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I'm head of the house, and I'm responsible for the order of my
house."
"I am glad to hear you think so," said the doctor drily. "Have you
always been equally jealous for the order of your house this term,
Tempest?"
This was a "facer," as we all felt. Tempest flushed and glanced up at
the head master.
"No, sir, I have not," he said.
The doctor was a chivalrous man, and did not try to rub in a sore.
Tempest had made a damaging admission against himself, and might be left
alone to his own sense of discomfort.
Unluckily, however, Mr Jarman stood by, and the matter could hardly be
allowed to drop.
"As regards the incident last night," said the doctor, "you know quite
well, all of you, that no boy, even the head of his house, has the right
to set his authority against that of a master. Your conduct was an
insult to him, and requires an apology. These small boys may have
considered they were not doing wrong in obeying you. Tempest, but you
can plead no such ignorance. I expect you to apologise to Mr Jarman."
A struggle evidently passed through Tempest's mind. His conscience had
been roused by what the doctor had said, and his manner of saying it.
Had the apology been demanded for any one else but Mr Jarman, he could
have given it, and in one word have put himself on the side of duty.
But apologise to Jarman! "If Mr Jarman wants me to tell a lie," said
he, slowly, "I'll say I'm sorry. I can't apologise to him."
"Come, Tempest," said the doctor, evidently disconcerted at this
threatened difficulty, "you must be aware of the consequences, if you
refuse to do this."
"I know, sir, but I can't help it. I can't apologise to Mr Jarman."
Dead silence followed, broken only by the hard breathing of the
Philosophers. The doctor twirled the tassel of his cap restlessly. Mr
Sharpe looked straight before him through his glasses. Mr Jarman
stroked his moustache and smiled. Tempest stood pale and determined,
with his eyes on the floor.
"I shall not prolong this scene," said the doctor at last. "For the
remaining week of this term the boys concerned in yesterday's
disturbance are forbidden to appear in the playing fields. You,
Tempest, will have a day to think over your determination. Come to me
in my house this time to-morrow."
"I'd sooner it were settled now," said Tempest respectfully and
dismally. "I cannot apologise."
"Come to me this time to-morrow," repeated the doctor. "As to the other
boys of the house, I want you to understand that you are all concerned
in the wellbeing of your house. If, as I fear, a spirit of
insubordination is on foot, and your own proper spirit and loyalty to
the school is not enough to stamp it out, I must use methods which I
have never had to use yet in Low Heath. It may need courage and self-
sacrifice in a boy to stand up against the prevailing tone, but I trust
there is some of that left even in this misguided house. Now dismiss."
It had been a memorable interview. The doctor might have stormed and
raged, and done nothing. As it was, he had talked like a quiet
gentleman, and made us all thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.
And yet, as we all of us felt, everything now depended on Tempest. If
he surrendered he might count on us to fall in line and make up to him
for all he had sacrificed on our behalf. If he held out, and refused
his chance, we _too_ refused ours and went out with him! If only any
one could have brought home to him how much depended on him!
Yet who could blame him for finding it impossible to apologise to
Jarman, who had persecuted him all the term with a petty rancour which,
so far from deserving apology, had to thank Tempest's moderation that it
did not receive much rougher treatment than it had? He might go through
the words of apology, but it would be a farce, and Tempest was too
honest to be a hypocrite.
There was unwonted quiet in Sharpe's house that afternoon. Fellows were
too eagerly speculating as to the fate in store for them to venture on a
riot. The Philosophers, of course, stoutly advocated a policy of "no
surrender"; but one or two of us, I happened to know, would have been
unfeignedly glad to hear that Tempest had squared matters with his
pride, and left himself free to take our reform in hand.
Tempest himself preserved a glum silence until after afternoon chapel,
when he said to me,--
"Isn't this one of Redwood's evenings, youngster? I'll go with you if
you're going."
The Redwoods had given me an open invitation to drop in any Thursday
evening to tea and bring a friend. I had been several times with Dicky,
and once, in great triumph, had taken Tempest as my guest. It had been
a most successful experiment. Not only had Tempest taken the two little
girls (and therefore their mother) by storm, but between him and Redwood
had sprung up an unexpected friendship, born of mutual admiration and
confidence. Since then he had once repeated the visit, and to-night, to
my great satisfaction, proposed to go again.
To me it was a miniature triumph to carry off the hero of Sharpe's from
under the eyes of his house, and on an occasion like the present, to a
destination of which he and I alone knew the secret.
I flattered myself that, in spite of their mocking comments, the
Philosophers were bursting with envy. It is always a rare luxury to be
envied by a Philosopher; and I think I duly appreciated my blessings,
and showed it in the swagger with which I marched my man under the
faggery window.
Tempest was depressingly gloomy as we walked along, and my gentle
reminder that we could not take the short cut across the playing fields,
after the doctor's prohibition, but should have to walk round, did not
tend to cheer him up. I half feared he would propose to walk over, in
defiance of all consequences. Possibly, if he had been alone, he would
have done so, but on my account he made a grudging concession to law and
order.
At the Redwoods', however, he cheered up at once. He received a royal
welcome from the little girls--in marked contrast to Miss Mamie's sulky
reception of me as the destroyer of her nice sash. Redwood himself was
delighted to see him, and the family tea was quite a merry one.
When we adjourned to the captain's "den" afterwards I was decidedly out
of it. Indeed, it was broadly hinted to me that the little girls
downstairs were anxious for some one to teach them "consequences"; would
I mind?
Considering there was no game I detested more than "consequences," and
no young ladies less open to instruction than the Misses Redwood, I did
not jump at the offer. It was evident, however, Tempest and Redwood
wanted to talk, and with a vague sense that by leaving them to do so I
was somehow acting for the benefit of Low Heath, I sacrificed myself,
and sat down to assist in the usual composite stories; how, for
instance, the square Dr England met the mealy-faced Sarah (the little
girls knew my nickname as well as the Philosophers) up a tree. He said
to her, "We must part for ever;" she (that is I) said to him, "My ma
shall know of this;" the consequence was that there was a row, and the
world said, "It's all up."
In present circumstances these occult narratives were full of serious
meaning for me, and my thoughts were far more with the two seniors above
than with the two exacting female juniors below. However, the time
passed, and presently Tempest's "Come along, youngster," apprised me
that the hour of release had come.
Redwood walked back with us, and from certain fragments of conversation
which fell on my ears I was able to gather something of the result of
the conference.
"If it were only yourself, you know," said Redwood, "I'd say stick out."
"But," said Tempest, "he knows I'm not sorry, even if I say so."
"It's a choice between humble pie and Low Heath losing you," said the
captain.
"Not much loss."
"That's all you know. There's not a fellow we could spare less."