SIR ALFRED SCORES
Soon after Jim had taken his departure, Mr Thompson, after waiting a
few minutes in case the Headmaster had anything more to say, drifted
silently out of the room. The Head, like the gentleman in the ballad,
continued to wear a worried look. The more he examined the matter, the
less did he know what to make of it. He believed, as he had said to Mr
Thompson, that Jim was entirely innocent. It was an incredible thing,
he thought, that a public school boy, a School-prefect, too, into the
bargain, should break out of his House and into a cricket pavilion,
however great a crisis his finances might be undergoing. And then to
steal two of the prizes for the Sports. Impossible. Against this,
however, must be placed the theft of the two pounds. It might occur to
a boy, as indeed Mr Thompson had suggested, to steal the cups in order
to give the impression that a practised burglar had been at work. There
was certainly something to be said in favour of this view. But he would
never believe such a thing. He was a good judge of character--a
headmaster generally is--and he thought he could tell when a boy was
speaking the truth and when he was not.
His reflections were interrupted by a knock at the door. The butler
entered with a card on a tray. 'Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., Badgwick
Hall,' said--almost shouted--the card. He read the words without any
apparent pleasure.
'Is Sir Alfred here himself, Parker?' he said.
'He is, sir.'
The Headmaster sighed inaudibly but very wearily. He was feeling
worried already, and he knew from experience that a _tête-à-tête_
with Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall, would worry him still
more.
The Head was a man who tried his very hardest to like each and all of
his fellow-creatures, but he felt bound to admit that he liked most
people a great, a very great, deal better than he liked the gentleman
who had just sent in his card. Sir Alfred's manner always jarred upon
him. It was so exactly the antithesis of his own. He was quiet and
dignified, and addressed everybody alike, courteously. Sir Alfred was
restless and fussy. His manner was always dictatorial and generally
rude. When he had risen in the House to make his maiden speech, calling
the attention of the Speaker to what he described as 'a thorough
draught', he had addressed himself with such severity to that official,
that a party of Siamese noblemen, who, though not knowing a word of
English, had come to listen to the debate, had gone away with the
impression that he was the prime minister. No wonder the Headmaster
sighed.
'Show him in, Parker,' said he resignedly.
'Yessir.'
Parker retired, leaving the Head to wonder what his visitor's grievance
might be this time. Sir Alfred rarely called without a grievance,
generally connected with the trespassing of the School on his land.
'Good evening, Sir Alfred,' he said, as his visitor whirled into the
room.
'O-o-o, this sort of thing won't do, you know, Mr Perceval,' said Sir
Alfred fussily, adjusting a pair of gold pince-nez on his nose. The
Head's name, which has not before been mentioned, was the Reverend
Herbert Perceval, M.A. He had shivered at the sound of the 'O-o-o'
which had preceded Sir Alfred's remark. He knew, as did other
unfortunate people, that the great man was at his worst when he said
'O-o-o'. In moments of comparative calm he said 'Er'.
'I can't put up with it, you know, Mr Perceval. It's too much. A great
deal too much.'
'You refer to--?' suggested the Head, with a patience that did him
credit.
'This eternal trespassing and tramping in and out of my grounds all
day.'
'You have been misinformed, I fear, Sir Alfred. I have not trespassed
in your grounds for--ah--a considerable time.' The Head could not
resist this thrust. In his unregenerate 'Varsity days he had been a
power at the Union, where many a foeman had exposed himself to a verbal
counter from him with disastrous results. Now the fencing must be done
with buttons on the foils.
'You--what--I don't follow you, Mr Perceval.'
'I understand you to reproach me for trespassing and--ah--tramping in
and out of your grounds all day. Was that not your meaning?'
Sir Alfred almost danced with impatience.
'No, no, no. You misunderstand me. You don't follow my drift.'
'In that case, I beg your pardon. I gathered from the extreme severity
of your attitude towards me that I was the person to whom you
referred.'
'No, no, no. I've come here to complain of your boys.'
It occurred to the Head to ask if the complaint embraced the entire six
hundred of them, or merely referred to one of them. But he reflected
that the longer he fenced, the longer his visitor would stay. And he
decided, in spite of the illicit pleasure to be derived from the
exercise, that it was not worth while.
'Ah,' he said.
'Yes,' continued Sir Alfred, 'my keepers tell me the woods were full of
them, sir.'
The Head suggested that possibly the keepers had exaggerated.
'Possibly. Possibly they may have exaggerated. But that is not the
point. The nuisance is becoming intolerable, Mr Perceval, perfectly
intolerable. It is time to take steps.'
'I have already done all that can be done. I have placed your land out
of bounds, considerably out of bounds indeed. And I inflict the
severest penalties when a breach of the rule is reported to me.'
'It's not enough. It's not nearly enough.'
'I can scarcely do more, I fear, Sir Alfred. There are more than six
hundred boys at St Austin's, and it is not within my power to place
them all under my personal supervision.'
Here the Head, who had an eye to the humorous, conjured up a picture of
six hundred Austinians going for walks, two and two, the staff posted
at intervals down the procession, and himself bringing up the rear. He
made a mental mem. to laugh when his visitor had retired.
'H'm,' said the baffled M.P. thoughtfully, adjusting his pince-nez once
more. ''M no. No, perhaps not. But'--here he brightened up--'you can
punish them when they do trespass.'
'That is so, Sir Alfred. I can and invariably do.'
'Then punish that what's-his-name, Plinkett, Plunkett--I've got the
name down somewhere. Yes, Plunkett. I thought so. Punish Plunkett.'
'Plunkett!' said the Head, taken completely by surprise. He, in common
with the rest of the world, had imagined Plunkett to be a perfect
pattern of what should be. A headmaster, like other judges of
character, has his failures.
'Plunkett. Yes, that is the name. Boy with spectacles. Good gracious,
Mr Perceval, don't tell me the boy gave me a false name.'
'No. His name is Plunkett. Am I to understand that he was trespassing
on your land? Surely there is some mistake? The boy's a
School-prefect.'
Here it suddenly flashed upon his mind that he had used that expression
before in the course of the day, on the occasion when Mr Thompson first
told him of his suspicions in connection with Jim. 'Why, Mr Thompson,
the boy's a School-prefect,' had been his exact words. School-prefects
had been in his eyes above suspicion. It is a bad day for a school when
they are not so. Had that day arrived for St Austin's? he asked
himself.
'He may be a School-prefect, Mr Perceval, but the fact remains that he
is a trespasser, and ought from your point of view to be punished for
breaking bounds.'
The Head suddenly looked almost cheerful again.
'Of course,' he said, 'of course. I thought that there must be an
explanation. The rules respecting bounds, Sir Alfred, do not apply to
School-prefects, only to the rest of the School.'
'Indeed?' said Sir Alfred. His tone should have warned the Head that
something more was coming, but it did not. He continued.
'Of course it was very wrong of him to trespass on your land, but I
have no doubt that he did it quite unintentionally. I will speak to
him, and I think I can guarantee that he will not do it again.'
'Oh,' said his visitor. 'That is very gratifying, I am sure. Might I
ask, Mr Perceval, if School-prefects at St Austin's have any other
privileges?'
The Head began to look puzzled. There was something in his visitor's
manner which suggested unpleasant possibilities.
'A few,' he replied. 'They have a few technical privileges, which it
would be a matter of some little time to explain.'
'It must be very pleasant to be a prefect at St Austin's,' said Sir
Alfred nastily. 'Very pleasant indeed. Might I ask, Mr Perceval, if the
technical privileges to which you refer include--smoking?'
The Head started as if, supposing such a thing possible, someone had
pinched him. He did not know what to make of the question. From the
expression on his face his visitor did not appear to be perpetrating a
joke.
'No,' he said sharply, 'they do not include smoking.'
'I merely asked because this was found by my keeper on the boy when he
caught him.'
He produced a small silver match-box. The Head breathed again. The
reputation of the School-prefect, though shaky, was still able to come
up to the scratch.
'A match-box is scarcely a proof that a boy has been smoking, I think,'
said he. 'Many boys carry matches for various purposes, I believe. I
myself, though a non-smoker, frequently place a box in my pocket.'
For answer Sir Alfred laid a bloated and exceedingly vulgar-looking
plush tobacco-pouch on the table beside the match-box.
'That also,' he observed, 'was found in his pocket by my keeper.'
He dived his hand once more into his coat. 'And also this,' he said.
And, with the air of a card-player who trumps his opponent's ace, he
placed on the pouch a pipe. And, to make the matter, if possible,
worse, the pipe was not a new pipe. It was caked within and coloured
without, a pipe that had seen long service. The only mitigating
circumstance that could possibly have been urged in favour of the
accused, namely that of 'first offence', had vanished.
'It is pleasant,' said Sir Alfred with laborious sarcasm, 'to find a
trespasser doing a thing which has caused the dismissal of several
keepers. Smoking in my woods I--will--not--permit. I will not have my
property burnt down while I can prevent it. Good evening, Mr Perceval.'
With these words he made a dramatic exit.
For some minutes after he had gone the Head remained where he stood,
thinking. Then he went across the room and touched the bell.
'Parker,' he said, when that invaluable officer appeared, 'go across to
Mr Ward's House, and tell him I wish to see Plunkett. Say I wish to see
him at once.'
'Yessir.'
After ten minutes had elapsed, Plunkett entered the room, looking
nervous.
'Sit down, Plunkett.'
Plunkett collapsed into a seat. His eye had caught sight of the smoking
apparatus on the table.
The Head paced the room, something after the fashion of the tiger at
the Zoo, whose clock strikes lunch.
'Plunkett,' he said, suddenly, 'you are a School-prefect.'
'Yes, sir,' murmured Plunkett. The fact was undeniable.
'You know the duties of a School-prefect?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And yet you deliberately break one of the most important rules of the
School. How long have you been in the habit of smoking?'
Plunkett evaded the question.
'My father lets me smoke, sir, when I'm at home.'
(A hasty word in the reader's ear. If ever you are accused of smoking,
please--for my sake, if not for your own--try to refrain from saying
that your father lets you do it at home. It is a fatal mistake.)
At this, to employ a metaphor, the champagne of the Head's wrath, which
had been fermenting steadily during his late interview, got the better
of the cork of self-control, and he exploded. If the Mutual Friend ever
has grandchildren he will probably tell them with bated breath the
story of how the Head paced the room, and the legend of the things he
said. But it will be some time before he will be able to speak about it
with any freedom. At last there was a lull in the storm.
'I am not going to expel you, Plunkett. But you cannot come back after
the holidays. I will write to your father to withdraw you.' He pointed
to the door. Plunkett departed in level time.
'What did the Old 'Un want you for?' asked Dallas, curiously, when he
returned to the study.
Plunkett had recovered himself by this time sufficiently to be able to
tell a lie.
'He wanted to tell me he'd heard from my father about my leaving.'
'About your leaving!' Dallas tried to keep his voice as free as
possible from triumphant ecstasy.
'Are you leaving? When?'
'This term.'
'Oh!' said Dallas. It was an uncomfortable moment. He felt that at
least some conventional expression of regret ought to proceed from him.
'Don't trouble to lie about being sorry,' said Plunkett with a sneer.
'Thanks,' said Dallas, gratefully, 'since you mention it, I rather
think I won't.'