THE WATCHERS
Bobbie Carr leaned wearily against the wall with hands thrust deep in
his pockets and an expression of the most complete dejection.
Except for those deplorable young men who were celebrating their return
to school behind the closed doors of Coles’ study, he believed that he
was absolutely alone in the whole of Morley’s. Everybody else had gone.
In twos and threes and fours they had all passed down the corridor,
talking in eager whispers and making emphatic gestures of resolve.
To-night the school were meeting to lodge one last gigantic protest
against the ways of the new Headmaster in a demonstration that would
have weight of numbers solidly behind it and a mighty voice with which
to speak.
And he was left alone in a passage. It was really awful. His futile
office was to stand about outside that hated study and guard it against
intruders. What intruders? There was nobody whatever left in the whole
house to intrude. All he had to do was to kick his heels about and
pretend to be waiting idiotically for a friend.
All the while the precious minutes were passing. Soon the whole school
would be gathered outside the Head’s window and he, who had really
conceived as great an admiration for Rouse as any other boy in the
school, would not be there. Others would notice his absence and comment
upon it; there would be a general and a perfectly just vote that he be
kicked.
It was worse than awful. It was pitiful.
Quite unexpectedly Henry came down the passage, stopped at Coles’ study
and reached for the doorknob.
Bobbie sprang forward in one excited leap.
“Stop! Hey! Where are you going?”
Henry’s attitude was admirable. His hand never reached the door. In
point of fact it was never intended to. His arm fell stiffly to his
side.
Then he looked for a spot suitable for quiet conversation away from the
door. It was important that if Coles were in that study he should not
know that he, Henry Hope, was outside.
At last he took Bobbie by the arm and moved down the passage in the
manner of a novice on roller skates, until they were safely out of
earshot, when he stopped and placed his hands upon his hips.
“You may not know it,” he began, “but I have been three times to the
corner of this passage, only to find you each time propping up the
wall.”
Bobbie gazed at him dully and could offer no reasonable reply.
“Say,” demanded Henry, “what’s Coles ... doing ... in that room?”
“How do you know Coles is in there?”
Henry snapped his finger.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll tell you how things are. I believe
Coles is up against Rouse. I believe he thinks he’s got a chance of
being captain himself. That’s what everybody’s saying, anyway. Now Rouse
asked for you as his fag and it seems you’ve told Morley that you’d
rather stay with Coles. And what I want to know is, why?”
Bobbie was silent.
“There’s only one thing to it. Somehow or other Coles has got a
strangle-hold on you.... There’s a mystery in this. Coles told Rouse
that he knew your family and for that reason he particularly wanted you
as _his fag_. I know Coles is sick with Rouse; of course, he’s blind
jealous. He’s sick that he wasn’t asked to form one of the deputation
to-night too.... But there’s more in it than that. Somehow Coles has got
you in his grip. I’m going to find out why, and the only way to do that
is to get a hold on Coles. So—what’s Coles doing in that study?”
“How do you know he’s in there?” demanded Bobbie.
Henry made a gesture of extreme pride.
“Most of this I’ve told you I know because Rouse knows—and Rouse told
_me_, and, by Gemini! he told the right man. But how did I know Coles
was in _there_? Well, it’s as plain to me as if it were written up on a
placard outside the door. Coles is nowhere in the school, and you’ve
stuck here for the last hour. To prove it I came up as though I were
going into the room and you wouldn’t let me ... and I say ... does this
mean he’s not going to help in the hullabaloo at all?”
“I don’t know,” said Bobbie wretchedly.
Henry considered the matter for a moment. At last he turned and seized
the other by the wrist.
“Very well,” said he, “I’m going to fetch Coles out of it.”
“_Fetch him out?_”
“Certainly.”
“How?”
“By going in.”
“But that won’t fetch him out—unless you mean he’ll chase you.”
“_Chase me?_” Henry’s dignity appeared to be somewhat offended. “Chase
_me_?” he repeated. “Of course not. I mean to go in and tell him
Pointon’s waiting for him at the Head’s room. By the time he gets there
the other chaps will be inside and when Coles says afterwards: ‘Did you
want me?’ Pointon will say: ‘Of course I did. I want every fellow in the
school.’ He won’t dare to make a shindy. It’ll look pretty bad if he’s
noticed to be the only one absent out of Rouse’s house.... And then,” he
added, “as soon as Coles has gone _you_ can go. Do you get me?”
Bobbie cheered up. He glanced at Henry admiringly.
“Do you mean it?” said he. “But how will you get in?”
“That’s easy. You’ll just go and knock at the door, and when he shouts
out you’ll say there’s a chap come with a message from Pointon.”
Bobbie considered this plan with sparkling eyes. The greyness of the
immediate future began to fade swiftly away.
“Go on,” said Henry. “It’s all right. If there’s any difficulty
afterwards I’ll see Terence and he’ll square it. I’m speaking the truth
anyway. Pointon does want him. He wants everybody. He said so. I’m just
going to remind Coles about it, that’s all, only I shall put it a bit
differently, of course.”
“Supposing he kicks you,” submitted Bobbie. “It might hurt.”
This time Henry looked really annoyed.
“Don’t be so stupid,” said he. “You go and knock at the door.”
Bobbie needed no second bidding. He moved forward and knocked loudly.
“Hullo!” cried Coles. “What is it? Who’s there?”
There was distinct vexation in his voice. For one moment Henry quailed.
There was no doubt whatever that Coles was the best drop-kick in the
school.
Next moment Bobbie had explained. There was a dramatic pause. Henry
trembled with excitement. At last he heard movement inside the study and
Coles’ voice saying:
“All right, send him in.”
The moment had come. Henry set his teeth, and with one hand at his
coat-tails surreptitiously ready to protect himself and every nerve
alert, he walked stiffly to the door and went in.
As he stood there facing Coles and Coles’ cronies he remembered the day
when he had been a fag himself. Everything was so oddly similar. He
could just imagine Slade in Coles’ chair and Black standing watchfully
beside him. Things had not changed very much. History seemed likely to
repeat itself. He did not know that his eyes looked wide and
terror-stricken with the strain of nervous tension. He was not really
afraid. Nobody likes being kicked, of course, but with Henry it was the
dread uncertainty of not knowing whether he was going to be or not that
was so upsetting.
Coles rose to his feet.
“Pointon wants _me_?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all he said ... he just wanted me?”
Henry’s brain was alert.
“People noticed you weren’t there, I think. And it seems he wanted
everyone. So he wants you.”
Coles suddenly advanced upon him.
“Get out!” he bellowed. “Get out, you frightful garden slug!”
Henry turned and made for the door. He did not really care at the moment
whether there was any answer to the message or not. All he wanted was to
get out without running. He strove with all his might to do it. He felt
the hot breath of the ogre behind him. Every nerve was urging him to
jump. He would not. He saw the knob of the door with wide protuberant
eyes, his head craned forward, his hand outstretched to grasp it. He was
almost through ... then it was too late. He heard the swish of its
coming, half turned, his hand flew to save him. It was hardly swift
enough. The great boot thudded against its target and he shot forward in
a stupid bunch and out into the passage. With the frenzy of utter
despair he straightened himself in the very nick of time and assumed his
natural gait. The pain didn’t matter. It was nothing. His only aim was
to save his dignity, and by the skin of his teeth he did it. The door
slammed to behind him, and he never so much as jumped.
He moved up the passage and peered at Bobbie over the tops of his
spectacles.
“I’ve told him.”
There was just a suspicion of a sob in his voice. Bobbie made no
comment. He looked at Henry Hope admiringly. And at last he said:
“Oh, _WELL DONE_.”
“I won’t stay,” said Henry. “You follow on. I expect they’ll be out in a
minute. I—I won’t stay.”
With scarcely a pause he went stiffly on his way. Bobbie looked after
him. And though he may or may not have guessed, he never at all events
knew how shockingly it had hurt.
He stood for a while, waiting uncertainly, and at last the door opened
again and Coles and his friends came out. They were talking quietly to
one another, and Coles turned to him as they passed.
“Here, you can cut. But jolly well be back here as soon as this show’s
over. D’you understand that?”
Bobbie nodded excitedly and darted away. Henry had kept his word. He’d
be there to cheer Rouse after all.
Thus, then, the last who were in Morley’s passed out to join the silent
watchers who stretched in a vast half-circle before the stained-glass
windows that hid the deputation and the Head, and the house grew
strangely still. There was no creak upon the stairs, no voice in any
room. Every boy had gone.
Yet not quite all.
In an upstairs study one remained. He stood at the window looking out
into the dark, his shoulders squarely set and his heart throbbing with
forlorn hope. Every man jack in the school had been a brick to him. It
might be that they could win the day by strength of numbers. If so he
believed that they would never have a more ardent captain in any year to
come than he would be for them this term. But deep in his heart he was
desperately afraid. The school were strong, but he had an instinctive
fear that they would not be strong enough to win. So he stood waiting, a
silent watcher, for the answer that would come.
* * * * *
A group of masters were standing quietly on the flight of wide stone
steps; at windows and doors porters and servants of the school, their
faces round with wonder, had gradually appeared; but the wide, stiff
phalanx that showed the real strength of Harley’s purpose had never
moved. Six hundred boys were waiting in silent dignity for an answer
from the Head, and when he had drawn aside the heavy curtains and had
gazed upon them, no single boy had seemed to move a muscle of his face,
not even a solitary cough had snapped the magic of their studied
silence.
So they had waited, and at last their answer was on the way. Under the
archway the old oak door swung slowly on its hinges. Then Pointon came.
He moved with a hesitant step, waiting for those behind him, and though
the watchers had hoped that he would give them some kind of cue he made
no sign, only at last, with Smythe and Terence at his elbow, and the
deputation at his heels, he moved towards the crowd.
Every face turned tensely towards him, pale and uplifted in the dusk,
and seeming to sway this way and that as if for a better view of his
real expression.
And now a stillness that was even more telling than the utter quiet of
their waiting settled upon the crowd whilst Pointon climbed on to the
parapet and looked out over them grimly.
There was no need to lift his hand. Without one gesture his quietly
steady voice broke that ominous hush, and spoke his message.
“We have been to the Head and we’ve told him that the only fellow we
mean to have as captain is Rouse. The Head won’t listen to us. We’ve
tried to make him understand that nobody else will stand for election or
take on the job, and that whilst Rouse is here nobody else would ever be
elected. Rouse was made for the job. Even I, who can’t play footer, can
comprehend a simple fact like that. But the Head can’t. He won’t budge
from his first decision. And now that he’s seen you all out here he’s
sent us to tell you what his answer is.” He paused to look round them
soberly, and still there was no move. “His answer is this. He has a son.
His son is at Wilton. He says that if we will not elect a captain he
will elect one for us, so he’s writing to-night to Wilton and his son is
going to leave and come here. When he arrives he—the Head’s own son—will
be appointed captain of footer, and I’m to tell you that the first thing
he will do will be to teach us how to obey.”
He stopped and stood for a moment staring out upon them dully. Then he
moved and they understood that he was done.
For an incalculable space of time the school stood rooted to the spot,
incredulous, stiff, mute with stupefaction. Then in one psychological
second the whole vast crowd had shifted into sudden movement and was
spreading, fan-like, forward and outwards. There came a swelling roar of
indignation. The deputation was suddenly swallowed up, and as they
disappeared the crowd began to find voice, elbowing this way and that,
in a fever of desperation, whilst over their heads there broke the
storm-cloud of rebellion.