It is to be feared that Mark Railsford, Moral Science man though he was,
had yet to learn the art of applying his philosophy to his own
circumstances, or he would never have committed the serious error, on
the day following the event recorded in the last chapter, of writing the
following foolish note to Mr Bickers:--
"_February_ 1.
"Sir,--Referring to the unpleasant topic of our conversation last night,
I have since consulted my prefects on the matter, and made other
inquiries as to what took place here during my temporary absence at the
athletic meeting. The report I have received, and which I am disposed
to credit, differs materially from your own version. In any case, allow
me to say that I require no assistance in the management of my house.
When I do, I shall ask for it. Meanwhile I shall continue to consider
the interference of anyone, whatever his motives, as an impertinence
which I, although the junior master at Grandcourt, shall have no
hesitation in resenting to the utmost of my power. I trust these few
lines may obviate any future misunderstanding on a point about which I
feel very strongly.
"Yours, etcetera,
"M. Railsford."
Mr Bickers was hardly the man to neglect the opportunity afforded by
this letter for a crushing reply; and accordingly he spend a pleasant
hour that same afternoon in concocting the following polite rejoinder:--
"_February_ 1.
"Dear Railsford,--Many thanks for your note just to hand. I can quite
believe that the version of yesterday's proceedings which you are
disposed to credit, given by your prefects (two of whom were absent, and
the other two participators in the disturbance), differs materially from
my own. Such diversities of opinion are not uncommon in my experience.
As to the management of your house, I assure you in what I did yesterday
I had no intention of assisting you. In fact, you were not there to
assist. It was because you were not, that my duty to the school
suggested that I should attempt to do what you would have done
infinitely better, I am aware, had you been on the spot. Under similar
circumstances I should do the same again, in face of the uncomfortable
knowledge that thereby I should be guilty of an impertinence to the
junior master at Grandcourt. It is kind of you to take steps to make
your meaning quite clear on this matter.
May I suggest that we refer the matter to the session of masters, or, if
you prefer it, to Dr Ponsford? I believe the masters meet to-night.
Unless I hear from you, I shall conclude you are as anxious as I am to
have the matter thoroughly gone into by a competent tribunal, to obviate
any future misunderstanding on a point on which you naturally feel
strongly.
"Believe me, my dear Railsford,
"Yours, very truly,
"T. Bickers."
Mark was entertaining company when this uncomfortable letter arrived, in
the person of Monsieur Lablache, the French master. It would be
difficult to say what there was in the unpopular foreigner which
attracted the Master of the Shell. It may have been a touch of Quixotic
chivalry which led him to defy all the traditions of the place and offer
his friendship to the best-hated person in Grandcourt; or it may have
been a feeling that monsieur was hardly judged by his colleagues and
pupils. However it was, during the short time the term had run, the two
men had struck up an acquaintance which perplexed a great many
spectators and displeased a great many more.
"I think you should be careful with Lablache," said Grover to his
friend. "Not that I know anything against him, but his reputation in
the school is rather doubtful."
"I suppose the reputation of all detention masters is doubtful," said
Railsford, laughing; "yours or mine would be if we had his work to do.
But a man is innocent till he is proved guilty in England, isn't he?"
"Quite so," said Grover. "I don't want to set you against him, for, as
I say, I know nothing of him. All I mean, is, that you must be prepared
to share a little of his unpopularity if you take up with him. That's
all."
"I'll take my chance of that," said Railsford.
The first time Monsieur Lablache appeared in Railsford's house, in
response to an invitation from the new master to come and take coffee,
there was considerable excitement in the house. The juniors considered
their liberty was at stake, and hissed their master's guest down the
corridors. The Shell boys presumed still further, and raised a cry of
"Turn him out!" and some even attempted to hustle him and trip him upon
the stairs.
But the most curious incident of that untriumphal progress was when
Munger, the cad of the Fifth, confronted monsieur in the lobby outside
Railsford's room with the shout, "He's going to raise money on his old
clothes at last!" The brutal words (for monsieur was very shabbily
attired) were scarcely uttered when Railsford's door suddenly opened and
Munger was sent reeling across the lobby under a blow which echoed
through the house. The Master of the Shell, white with rage, stood
there with a look on his face which sent the few loiterers packing to
their dens, and made Munger only sorry the wall against which he
staggered did not open and let him through.
"Come here, you--you boy!"
Munger advanced, scarcely less pale than his master.
"Apologise to Monsieur Lablache--here, down on your knees--for behaving
like a blackguard, and saying what you did!"
"No, it is no matter," began monsieur, with a shrug, when Mark checked
him by a gesture almost as intimidating as that by which he had just
summoned the offender.
"You hear me?" he said to the boy.
Munger went down on his knees and repeated whatever he was told; and
would have called himself by still worse names, had he been requested.
It didn't matter much to Munger!
"Now tell me your name?"
"Munger."
"Your form?"
"Fifth."
The master turned on his heel and ushered his guest into the room,
leaving Munger to rub his cheek, and wonder to himself how he ever came
to stand being knocked about in the way he had been that afternoon.
This had happened a day or two ago. Since then, whatever the house
thought, no one was bold enough to molest the French master publicly in
Railsford's, unless it was perfectly certain Mr Railsford was out of
the way.
It would be a mistake to say the two masters had become devoted friends.
Monsieur Lablache's chief attraction in Railsford's eyes was that he
was looked down upon by the other masters, and persecuted by the boys;
while the French master was so unused to notice of any kind, that he
felt a trifle suspicious that the kindness of his new acquaintance might
be in some way a snare. However, a little mutual mistrust sometimes
paves the way to a good deal of mutual confidence; and after a few days
the two men had risen considerably in one another's esteem. When
Railsford, on the evening in question, crushed Mr Bickers's note up in
his hand, with an angry exclamation, monsieur said--
"_Voila, mon cher_ Railsford, you do not get always _billets-doux_?"
Monsieur had heard, of course, as everyone else had, of the new master's
matrimonial prospects.
"No," said Railsford, gloomily; "not always," and he pitched Mr
Bickers's letter into the grate as he spoke.
"Perhaps," said monsieur, "you do not always write them. I advise you
to not answer that letter."
"Why?" said Railsford, "how do you know what that letter is?"
"I do not know; but I think that it does need no answer."
Railsford laughed. "You are setting up as a soothsayer, monsieur.
Suppose I tell you that letter does need an answer, quickly?"
"Then, I say, somebody else will answer it better than you will."
Railsford picked the crushed-up letter off the coals just in time to
save it from the flames.
"How should you answer it, monsieur?"
Monsieur slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.
"Meester Beekaire!" said he, with a twist of his moustache, as he
recognised the writing. "You mean that I read it?"
"Certainly, if you like."
The Frenchman read the document through, and then pitched it back into
the fire.
"Well?" said Railsford.
"Well, my good friend, it seems you do not know Meester Beekaire as well
as others."
"Is that all?" said Railsford, a little nettled.
"The masters' meeting is to-night, is it not?"
"So he says."
"You shall go?"
"Of course."
"It will not be pleasant times for you, for you will need to make
speeches, my good friend."
"Look here," said Railsford, who was getting a little impatient of these
enigmatical utterances, "I fancied you could give me some advice; if you
can't, let us talk about something more pleasant."
"I do give you advice. I say to you, go to the meeting, and say you did
wrong, and will not do it again--"
"What!" thundered Mark, in a voice which made Arthur and the baronet in
the room overhead jump out of their chairs.
"My kind Railsford, it is only my advice. You have been in the wrong.
I say to you, as a brave man, do not make yourself more wrong. Meester
Beekaire would help you very much to make yourself more wrong. Do not
let him help you, I say."
Unpalatable as it was, there was some force in his visitor's advice,
which Railsford was bound to admit. Poor monsieur was not a shining
example of successful dealing with his fellow-masters. Still, out of
the mouth of the simple one may sometimes hear a home truth.
The masters' session was a periodical conference of the Grandcourt
masters, half social, half business, for the purpose of talking over
matters of common school interest, discussing points of management, and
generally exchanging ideas on what was passing in the little world of
which they were the controllers. Dr Ponsford rarely, if ever, put in
an appearance on such occasions; he had the greatest faith in holding
himself aloof from detail, and not making himself too accessible either
to master or boy. Only when the boys could not settle a matter for
themselves, or the masters could not settle it for them, he interfered
and settled it without argument and without appeal. It was never
pleasant when the doctor had to be called in, and the feeling against
such a step contributed very largely to the success of the school's
self-government.
Railsford by this time knew most of his fellow-masters to speak to, but
this was the first occasion on which he had met them in their corporate
capacity, and had he not been personally interested in the proceedings
he would felt a pleasant curiosity in the deliberations of this august
body.
Mr Bickers was already there, and nodded in a most friendly way to the
Master of the Shell on his arrival. Grover and Mr Roe welcomed their
new colleague warmly, and began at once to compare notes as to school-
work. A few minutes later Monsieur Lablache, a little smarter than
usual, came in, and having bowed to the company generally--a salute
which no one seemed to observe--subsided on a retired seat. Railsford,
to the regret perhaps of some of his friends, presently walked across
and took a seat beside him, and the meeting began.
"Before we come to business," began Mr Roe, who by virtue of his
seniority occupied the chair, "I am sure the meeting would wish me to
express their pleasure at seeing Mr Railsford among us for the first
time, and to offer him a hearty welcome to Grandcourt."
"Hear, hear," said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers's voice
was conspicuous.
Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice,
and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman.
"They do not know of your scrape," said monsieur, cheerfully. "I would
tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his
little speech."
Railsford glared round at his companion, and felt his heart thumping at
the prospect of the task before him.
"There are one or two matters," began Mr Roe, "to bring before--"