"DULCE DOMUM."
The great 20th day of July had come round at last, and Arthur Herapath
was in an unwonted flutter of excitement. For was not this speech-day,
and were not Mr and Mrs Herapath and Daisy due by the 9.40 train?
Ever since, a week ago, Arthur had heard that he had run a dead heat for
the Swift Exhibition with Smythe of the School-House, he had not known
which end of him was uppermost. He envied neither Smedley his gold
medal nor Barnworth his Cavendish scholarship. He condoled
patronisingly with Ainger on not having quite beaten the captain of the
school, and virtually hinted to Wake, who had won the first remove into
the Sixth, that, if he cared to come and sit at his feet, he might be
able to put him up to a thing or two for Plumtre medal next Christmas.
Sir Digby was scarcely less elevated; for he had won the Shell History
prize by a deal of tremendous hard work. And as he had never done such
a thing in his life before, he scarcely knew what to make of it.
Fellows told him there must have been an awful shady lot in against him;
but that didn't satisfactorily explain the great mystery. Railsford
told him it was the reward of downright work; and he inclined to think
such was the case himself.
Arthur of course gibed at the idea.
"All gammon," said he. "It's a lucky fluke for you, and I'm glad for
your _mater's_ sake. But I wouldn't say too much about it if I were
you. It'll make the fellows grin."
"Why should they grin at me any more than you?"
"Well, you see, I was in the running for the Swift. They put it down to
me last term, so I was bound to pull it off."
"You only pulled off half of it, you know," said Dig.
Arthur looked not quite pleased at this reference, but laughed it off.
"Oh, of course, I can't object to go halves with young Smythe. If I'd
known he was quite so hot on it, I might have spurted a bit more. But
I'm glad I didn't, poor young beggar. He'd have been precious cut up to
miss it."
"What about that boat on the river?" asked Dig, who did not swallow the
whole of this. "Are you going to buy the front or back half of it?"
"Young Oakshott," said Arthur, with all the dignity of a Swift
exhibitioner, "don't you make a bigger ass of yourself than you can
help."
The term had ended well for Railsford's house. Although restored to
their equal rights with the rest of Grandcourt, the spirit of enterprise
and achievements which had been born during the troubles of last term
survived, and begot an equal spirit in the other houses, who felt their
_prestige_ in danger from the bold challenge of these latest aspirants.
The match of Railsford's against the School did not come off; for the
Athletic Union, of which Railsford had been chosen president by
acclamation, decided to limit the contests to house matches only. But
though deprived of an opportunity of asserting themselves against all
Grandcourt--which might have been of doubtful benefit--the house beat
successively the School-house, Roe's and Grover's houses, and, as
everyone had foreseen, ended the term as the crack cricket house of the
school.
How they would fulfil their other and more ambitious scheme of becoming
the "cock house" for studies, remained much longer a doubtful question.
No one of course supposed for a moment they would carry off all the
prizes they entered for; and, after the removal of the ban upon the
house, it was pretty generally calculated they they would do a great
deal less than they would have done under the old order of things.
But Railsford was not the man to allow the house to rest on their oars
because of a single success. Surely, he represented, it was not to go
out to all the school that Railsford's fellows could only work when they
were in a bad temper? Glorious as it would have been to clear the prize
list when they were isolated and sulky, it would be still more glorious
to show that not less could they do it when they were in good cheer and
shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the school. Besides, if they won
all the athletic events and none of the scholastic, people would be sure
to say any fools can excel in sports if they let all their books go by
the board.
Thus Railsford whipped up his house to their great effort, and the
result was that to-day's prize list showed that nearly half the honours
of the examinations had fallen to Railsford's boys. Not a few there
were who looked gloomy that the result was no better. They grudged the
school the other half. But there was no gloom on the master's face as
he read the list down and saw the reward of his labours.
He was proud, but his pride was not on account of Mark Railsford, as six
months ago it might have been, but of every boy, senior and junior, who
had put his back gallantly into the work and made a name for the good
old house.
But this is a tedious digression to make, while Arthur and the baronet
are putting on their Sunday "togs" and brushing up their Sunday "tiles"
preparatory to going down to meet the 9.40 train from London.
They were up to the business; they had done it before; they knew how
essential it was to engage half a dozen cabs off different parts of the
rank, so as to be sure of getting one; and, not for the first time in
their lives they "bagged" three or four porters in advance with a
similar object.
The platform, as usual, was full of Courtiers waiting for their
"people," and many was the passage of arms our Shell-fish engaged in to
beguile the time.
"Hullo! here's a lark," said Arthur, presently, when the arrival bell
had just sounded, "here's Marky--do you see him? I say! won't he blush
when Daisy goes and kisses him before all the fellows!"
"Look out," said the baronet, "here comes the scrimmage."
The train was steaming into the station, and as usual the boys all along
the platform began to run; and woe betide those who either did not run
too, or were not lucky enough to get a perch on the footboard.
Our young gentlemen were far too knowing to suffer disadvantage through
neglect of one or another of these simple expedients.
"Here they are!" yelled Arthur, waving to his chum; "spotted them first
shot! Go on, Simson, cut your sticks off this step; these are all my
people in here. How are you? Dig's here; we've got a cab. Fetch up
some of our porters, Dig, I say."
Amid such effusive greetings Mr and Mrs Herapath and Miss Daisy
Herapath alighted and fell into the arms--or rather, civilly shook hands
with their son.
"Hullo, Daisy! Marky's here. There he comes. Here she is, Mr
Railsford; here's Daisy! I say, Daisy," added he, in a confidential
whisper, "you'd better not kiss him before all the fellows. Wait till
you get up to our study."
Railsford arrived before this piece of fraternal counsel was ended, and
solved the difficulty by quietly shaking hands all round, and asking
Mrs Herapath if she had had a comfortable journey.
Arthur had the mortification of seeing five out of his six cabs drive
gaily off under his very nose with other fellows' people inside; and his
temper was also further ruffled when all his porters waited on him at
the door of the sixth for their fee; however, he had the presence of
mind to tell them to wait till he came back in the evening, and then,
slamming the cab door, hopped up on the box beside the driver--no
Grandcourt boy had ever been known to ride inside a four-wheeler with
his people--and drove off.
It was a gay scene in the great quadrangle that summer morning--fathers,
mothers, sisters, cousins, and aunts were all mixed up in one glorious
crowd, with their boys mounting guard over them and introducing them
right and left to all the other boys within call.
Mr and Mrs Herapath, like their son, were up to the business, and
quietly led the way through the throng towards the hall where the
speeches were to be delivered and where, as they knew by experience, it
was better to look for a seat too early than too late.
Arthur and Dig, however, were by no means disposed to waste Daisy in so
unprofitable an occupation, and therefore haled her off to their study.
Some of us, who know the young lady, are able to excuse the pride with
which these two gallant tenders towed their prize into port--for as Dig
shared Arthur's study, of course he shared his sister on this occasion.
It wanted a very few dropping and facetious introductions on the way,
such as, "Daisy, you know, my sister," or "What cheer, Sherry?--ever
hear of Chuckey?" or, "No good, Maple, my boy, bespoke!" to set the
rumour going that Daisy Herapath, Marky's "spoon," was come, and was "on
show" in Herapath's study.
To her credit be it said, the young lady bore her ordeal with exemplary
patience and good-humour. She liked everything she saw. She admired
the study so much. What a pretty look-out on the old square--what a
luxurious lunch--ah! Arthur had not forgotten her weakness for
marmalade--and so on.
The boys voted her a brick; and Arthur went so far as to say he hoped
she and Marky would fix it up in time for her to come and be dame of the
house before he left.
All this time--would you believe it?--the poor Master of the Shell was
sitting in his study, very bashful, and wondering whether he would get a
chance of speaking to Daisy during the day at all. She had been
spirited away from under his very eyes, in the most truculent manner, by
her graceless brother; and it seemed very doubtful whether he would be
allowed--
Mrs Hastings at this moment knocked at the door and handed in a dainty
little note addressed to "Mark Railsford, Esquire," from the doctor's
niece.
"Dear Mr Railsford," wrote Miss Violet, "will you and Miss Herapath
join us at lunch before the speeches? I should so like to make her
acquaintance.
"Yours truly,--
"Violet Ponsford."
So Railsford, armed with this authority, sallied forth boldly to
recapture his Daisy. He thought he knew where to find her, and was not
mistaken. The little impromptu lunch was in full swing when he entered
the festive study. He had rarely felt so embarrassed, and the manifest
excitement of his two pupils at his arrival did not tend to restore him
to ease.
And now occurred a wonderful case of presence of mind on the part of two
small and tender boys. No sooner had Railsford entered, and somewhat
hesitatingly advanced to the table, preparatory to stating his business,
than Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, winked at Arthur Herapath, Esquire,
and Arthur Herapath, Esquire, kicked Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, under
the table; after which both rose abruptly to their feet and bolted from
the room, making the corridor echo with their laughter!
They explained afterwards that they wanted to bag front seats for the
speeches; and that, no doubt, was a highly satisfactory reason.
At twelve o'clock, when the Earl of Somebody, and Sir Brown Robinson,
and the other local celebrities and governors of the school entered the
hall, that usually dingy room was packed from end to end by a brilliant
and expectant crowd.
The radiant faces of the boys peeped out from among the phalanges of
their no less radiant people. The prize boys on the front benches kept
up a running fire of talk and cheering; the masters in their gowns
beamed right and left, as if all of them put together could not give a
fellow a hundred lines if he asked for it; and the college servants,
grouped at the doors, smiled as if no cloud had ever ruffled their
temper since last speech-day: while the doctor, as he rose, resplendent
in his academical robes, and called for silence, looked as if no more
solemn question had engaged his attention all the term than the
arrangement of his strings and the droop of the scarlet hood on his
back.
Then speech-day began. My readers hardly want me to describe so
familiar a scene. They will be able to picture to themselves, better
than I can picture it for them, how Smedley was cheered when he got up
to deliver the English Oration in honour of the old school; and how he
blushed and ran short of breath when he came to the quotation from
Milton at the end, which had something about a Violet in it!--how, when
Ainger rose to give the Greek Speech, his own fellows rose at him amid
cries of "Well run, sir!" "Well hit!" "Well fielded!" and cheered
every sentence of the Greek, though they had not an idea what it was
about--how Barnworth was similarly encouraged through his Latin Oration
with cries of "Jump it out!" "One inch more!" mingled sometimes with
"False quantity!" "Speak up, prompter!"--how, after the speechifying
was done, the examiners rose and made their reports, which nobody
listened to and everyone voted a bore.
How, next, Dr Ponsford rose with a rustle of his silk gown, which was
heard all over the hall in the dead silence, and proceeded to tell the
Earl of Somebody and the other distinguished guests what everybody knew,
namely, that the school had now come to the end of another year's work,
and etcetera, etcetera. But how, when he took up his list, and the
tables containing the prizes were wheeled forward and uncovered,
attention once more awoke, the boys on the prize benches settled their
cravats, and felt if their hair-partings were all right, and then sat
back in their places with a delightful simulation of indifference--
The reader knows all about it; he has been through it. He knows the
cheers which hailed the announcement that Smedley was going up to Oxford
with a Balliol scholarship in his pocket, and that Ainger had won one of
the minor scholarships at George's. He does not need to be told of the
shouts which greeted the appearance of boy after boy from Railsford's
house on the platform steps to receive his prize; or of the grim smile
on the doctor's face as a youthful voice from the prize benches,
forgetting the solemnity of the occasion, shouted, "Marky again, bravo
us!" Nor when presently Arthur Herapath was called up to receive a
piece of paper informing him that he was the winner of half the Swift
Exhibition, or when, close behind, Digby Oakshott--the doctor
scurrilously omitted his full title--trotted up to accept the Shell
History prize--can anyone who has been in such a scene before fail to
imagine the cheers and laughter and chaff which the public appearance of
these two notorious characters evoked?
So the ceremony went on--and the reader, I think, can bear me out when I
say that, after an hour of it, I distinctly saw--for I was there, near
the front--several ladies yawn behind their fans, and otherwise show
signs of fatigue, so that when the poor little Babies, who had done as
honest work as anybody, toddled up to get their little prizes, scarcely
anybody looked at them, and were glad when they were polished off.
Which I thought a shame; and resolved, whenever I am head-master of a
public school, I shall turn my prize list upside down and call the
Babies up first.
It was all over at last; and then followed that wonderful event, the
speech-day dinner, when boys and visitors all sat down promiscuously to
the festive board and celebrated the glories of the day with a still
more glorious spread.
Arthur and Dig were in high feather. They had, I am sorry to say,
"shunted" their progenitors up to the doctor's table, and, in the
congenial society of some of their own "lot," were jammed in at one of
the side tables, with just elbow-room enough to do execution. Arthur
was comfortably packed between Sherriff's sister and Maple's second
cousin, and cheered by game pie and mellowed by ginger ale, made himself
vastly agreeable.
"See that chap with the sandy wig!" said he to Miss Sherriff, "he's a
baronet--Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, A.S.S., P.I.G., and nobody knows
what else--he's my chum; aren't you, Dig? Sherriff's sister, you know,
make yourself civil, can't you? Dig can make you laugh sometimes,"
added he, aside, to his fair neighbour.
Then his genial eye roamed up and down the room and lit up suddenly as
he perceived, with their backs to him, Railsford and Daisy dining
happily at the next table.
He gave a whistle to Dig, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.
Dig, who was in the middle of a pull at the ginger ale, put down his
tankard suddenly and crammed his handkerchief into his mouth.
"Such a game!" said Arthur to Maple's second cousin on his right. "Look
round, behind you. Do you see them?"
"See whom?" asked the young lady.
"Those two. Regular pair of spoons; look at him helping her to
raspberry pie. Oh, my word!"
"Who are they?" asked his neighbour, laughing.
But Arthur was at that moment busy attracting the attention of all his
friends within call, and indicating to them in pantomimic gesture what
was going on.
"Oh," said he, hearing the question at last, "that's Marky, our house-
master, you know; and he's spoons on my sister Daisy--just see how
they're going it. Do you want to be introduced to my sister? I say,
I'll--"
"Oh, no indeed, not yet," said the young lady in alarm, "presently,
please."
"All right. Dig, I say, pass the word down to those fellows to fill up
their mugs, do you hear? And fill up Sherriff's sister's mug too, and
all those girls' down there. Look out now, and keep your eye on me."
Whereupon he rose and made a little speech, partially audible to those
immediately round him, but supremely inaudible to the two parties
specially concerned behind.
"We're going to drink a toast," said Arthur. "I vote we drink the
health of jolly old Marky and my sister Daisy; there they are behind,
going the pace like a house on fire. Gentlemen and ladies, I vote we
drink their very good health, and the sooner Daisy's the dame of
Railsford's the better larks for us."
The toast was honoured with much enthusiasm; and there were loud cries
for a speech in return. But the Master of the Shell was making speeches
of quite another kind, and utterly unconscious of the flattering little
demonstration which was taking place behind him; he was telling Daisy in
whispers the story of the term, and feeling himself rewarded for all he
had gone through by her sympathetic smile.
The dinner ended at last, and but one more ceremony remained. This was
the time-honoured cheering with which speech-day at Grandcourt always
came to an end.
Smedley and the prefects walked in procession to the head table and
ranged themselves behind the head governor's chair, while everyone stood
up.
"Three cheers for Grandcourt!" called the captain.
And you may fancy the earthquake that ensued.