They had dropped into the chaplain’s study for a Saturday night
smoke---all four house-masters--and the three briars and the one cigar
reeking in amity proved the Rev. John Gillett’s good generalship. Since
the discovery of the cat, King had been too ready to see affront
where none was meant, and the Reverend John, buffer-state and general
confidant, had worked for a week to bring about a good understanding.
He was fat, clean-shaven, except for a big mustache, of an imperturbable
good temper, and, those who loved him least said, a guileful Jesuit.
He smiled benignantly upon his handiwork--four sorely tried men talking
without very much malice.
“Now remember,” he said, when the conversation turned that way, “I
impute nothing. But every time that any one has taken direct steps
against Number Five study, the issue has been more or less humiliating
to the taker.”
“I can’t admit that. I pulverize the egregious Beetle daily for his
soul’s good; and the others with him,” said King.
“Well, take your own case, King, and go back a couple of years. Do
you remember when Prout and you were on their track for--hutting and
trespass, wasn’t it? Have you forgotten Colonel Dabney?”
The others laughed. King did not care to be reminded of his career as a
poacher.
“That was one instance. Again, when you had rooms below them--I always
said that that was entering the lion’s den--you turned them out.”
“For making disgusting noises. Surely, Gillett, you don’t excuse--”
“All I say is that you turned them out. That same evening your study was
wrecked.”
“By Rabbits-Eggs--most beastly drunk--from the road,” said King. “What
has that--?”
The Reverend John went on.
“Lastly, they conceive that aspersions are cast upon their personal
cleanliness--a most delicate matter with all boys. Ve-ry good. Observe
how, in each case, the punishment fits the crime. A week after your
house calls them ‘stinkers,’ King, your house is, not to put too fine a
point on it, stunk out by a dead cat who chooses to die in the one
spot where she can annoy you most. Again the long arm of coincidence!
_Summa_. You accuse them of trespass. Through some absurd chain of
circumstances--they may or may not be at the other end of it--you and
Prout are made to appear as trespassers. You evict them. For a time your
study is made untenable. I have drawn the parallel in the last case.
Well?”
“She was under the centre of White’s dormitory,” said King. “There are
double floor-boards there to deaden noise. No boy, even in my own house,
could possibly have pried up the boards without leaving some trace--and
Rabbits-Eggs was phenomenally drunk that other night.”
“They are singularly favored by fortune. That is all I ever said.
Personally, I like them immensely, and I believe I have a little of
their confidence. I confess I like being called ‘Padre.’ They are at
peace with me; consequently I am not treated to bogus confessions of
theft.”
“You mean Mason’s case?” said Prout heavily. “That always struck me
as peculiarly scandalous. I thought the Head should have taken up the
matter more thoroughly. Mason may be misguided, but at least he is
thoroughly sincere and means well.”
“I confess I cannot agree with you, Prout,” said the Reverend John. “He
jumped at some silly tale of theft on their part; accepted another boy’s
evidence without, so far as I can see, any inquiry; and--frankly, I
think he deserved all he got.”
“They deliberately outraged Mason’s best feelings,” said Prout. “A word
to me on their part would have saved the whole thing. But they preferred
to lure him on; to play on his ignorance of their characters--”
“That may be,” said King, “but I don’t like Mason. I dislike him for the
very reason that Prout advances to his credit. He means well.”
“Our criminal tradition is not theft--among ourselves, at least,” said
little Hartopp.
“For the head of a house that raided seven head of cattle from the
innocent pot-wallopers of Northam, isn’t that rather a sweeping
statement?” said Macrea.
“Precisely so,” said Hartopp, unabashed. “That, with gate-lifting, and a
little poaching and hawk-hunting on the cliffs, is our salvation.”
“It does us far more harm as a school--” Prout began.
“Than any hushed-up scandal could? Quite so. Our reputation among the
farmers is most unsavory. But I would much sooner deal with any amount
of ingenious crime of that nature than--some other offenses.”
“They may be all right, but they are unboylike, abnormal, and, in
my opinion, unsound,” Prout insisted. “The moral effect of their
performances must pave the way for greater harm. It makes me doubtful
how to deal with them. I might separate them.”
“You might, of course; but they have gone up the school together for six
years. _I_ shouldn’t care to do it,” said Macrea.
“They use the editorial ‘we,’” said King, irrelevantly. “It annoys me.
‘Where’s your prose, Corkran?’ ‘Well, sir, we haven’t quite done it
yet.’ ‘We’ll bring it in a minute,’ and so on. And the same with the
others.”
“There’s great virtue in that ‘we,’” said little Hartopp. “You know I
take them for trig. McTurk may have some conception of the meaning of
it; but Beetle is as the brutes that perish about sines and cosines. He
copies serenely from Stalky, who positively rejoices in mathematics.”
“Why don’t you stop it?” said Prout.
“It rights itself at the exams. Then Beetle shows up blank sheets, and
trusts to his ‘English’ to save him from a fall. I fancy he spends most
of his time with me in writing verse.”
“I wish to Heaven he would transfer a little of his energy in that
direction to Elegiacs.” King jerked himself upright. “He is, with the
single exception of Stalky, the very vilest manufacturer of ‘barbarous
hexameters’ that I have ever dealt with.”
“The work is combined in that study,” said the chaplain. “Stalky does
the mathematics, McTurk the Latin, and Beetle attends to their English
and French. At least, when he was in the sick-house last month--”
“Malingering,” Prout interjected.
“Quite possibly. I found a very distinct falling off in their ‘Roman
d’un Jeune Homme Pauvre’ translations.”
“I think it is profoundly immoral,” said Prout. “I’ve always been
opposed to the study system.”
“It would be hard to find any study where the boys don’t help each
other; but in Number Five the thing has probably been reduced to a
system,” said little Hartopp. “They have a system in most things.”
“They confess as much,” said the Reverend John. “I’ve seen McTurk being
hounded up the stairs to elegise the ‘Elegy in a Churchyard,’ while
Beetle and Stalky went to punt-about.”
“It amounts to systematic cribbing,” said Prout, his voice growing
deeper and deeper.
“No such thing,” little Hartopp returned. “You can’t teach a cow the
violin.”
“In intention it is cribbing.”
“But we spoke under the seal of the confessional, didn’t we?” said the
Reverend John.
“You say you’ve heard them arranging their work in this way, Gillett,”
Prout persisted.
“Good Heavens! Don’t make _me_ Queen’s evidence, my dear fellow.
Hartopp is equally incriminated. If they ever found out that I had
sneaked, our relations would suffer--and I value them.”
“I think your attitude in this matter is weak,” said Prout, looking
round for support. “It would be really better to break up the study--for
a while--wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, break it up by all means,” said Macrea. “We shall see then if
Gillett’s theory holds water.”
“Be wise, Prout. Leave them alone, or calamity will overtake you; and
what is much more important, they will be annoyed with me. I am too fat,
alas! to be worried by bad boys. Where are you going?”
“Nonsense! They would not dare---but I am going to think this out,” said
Prout. “It needs thought. In intention they cribbed, and I must think
out my duty.”
“He’s perfectly capable of putting the boys on their honor. It’s _I_
that am a fool.” The Reverend John looked round remorsefully. “Never
again will I forget that a master is not a man. Mark my words,” said the
Reverend John. “There will be trouble.”
* * * * *
But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and affright.
Out of the blue sky (they were still rejoicing over the cat war) Mr.
Prout had dropped into Number Five, read them a lecture on the enormity
of cribbing, and bidden them return to the form-rooms on Monday. They
had raged, solo and chorus, all through the peaceful Sabbath, for their
sin was more or less the daily practice of all the studies.
“What’s the good of cursing?” said Stalky at last. “We’re all in the
same boat. We’ve got to go back and consort with the house. A locker
in the form-room, and a seat at prep. in Number Twelve.” (He looked
regretfully round the cozy study which McTurk, their leader in matters
of Art, had decorated with a dado, a stencil, and cretonne hangings.)
“Yes! Heffy lurchin’ into the form-rooms like a frowzy old retriever,
to see if we aren’t up to something. You know he never leaves his house
alone, these days,” said McTurk. “Oh, it will be giddy!”
“Why aren’t you down watchin’ cricket? I like a robust, healthy boy. You
mustn’t frowst in a form-room. Why don’t you take an interest in your
house? Yah!” quoted Beetle.
“Yes, why don’t we? Let’s! We’ll take an interest in the house. We’ll
take no end of interest in the house! He hasn’t had us in the form-rooms
for a year. We’ve learned a lot since then. Oh, we’ll make it a
be-autiful house before we’ve done! ’Member that chap in ‘Eric’ or ‘St.
Winifred’s’--Belial somebody? I’m goin’ to be Belial,” said Stalky, with
an ensnaring grin.
“Right O,” said Beetle, “and I’ll be Mammon. I’ll lend money at
usury--that’s what they do at all schools accordin’ to the B.O.P. Penny
a week on a shillin’. That’ll startle Heffy’s weak intellect. You can be
Lucifer, Turkey.”
“What have I got to do?” McTurk also smiled.
“Head conspiracies--and cabals--and boycotts. Go in for that ‘stealthy
intrigue’ that Heffy is always talkin’ about. Come on!”
The house received them on their fall with the mixture of jest and
sympathy always extended to boys turned out of their study. The known
aloofness of the three made them more interesting.
“Quite like old times, ain’t it?” Stalky selected a locker and flung in
his books. “We’ve come to sport with you, my young friends, for a while,
because our beloved house-master has hove us out of our diggin’s.”
“’Serve you jolly well right,” said Orrin, “you cribbers!”
“This will never do,” said Stalky. “We can’t maintain our giddy
prestige, Orrin, de-ah, if you make these remarks.”
They wrapped themselves lovingly about the boy, thrust him to the opened
window, and drew down the sash to the nape of his neck. With an equal
swiftness they tied his thumbs together behind his back with a piece of
twine, and then, because he kicked furiously, removed his shoes. There
Mr. Prout happened to find him a few minutes later, guillotined and
helpless, surrounded by a convulsed crowd who would not assist.
Stalky, in an upper form-room, had gathered himself allies against
vengeance. Orrin presently tore up at the head of a boarding party, and
the form-room grew one fog of dust through which boys wrestled, stamped,
shouted, and yelled. A desk was carried away in the tumult, a knot of
warriors reeled into and split a door-panel, a window was broken, and
a gas-jet fell. Under cover of the confusion the three escaped to the
corridor, whence they called in and sent up passers-by to the fray.
“Rescue, Kings! Kings! Kings! Number Twelve form-room! Rescue,
Prouts--Prouts! Rescue, Macreas! Rescue, Hartopps!”
The juniors hurried out like bees aswarm, asking no questions, clattered
up the staircase, and added themselves to the embroilment.
“Not bad for the first evening’s work,” said Stalky, rearranging his
collar. “I fancy Prout’ll be somewhat annoyed. We’d better establish an
_alibi_.” So they sat on Mr. King’s railings till prep.
“You see,” quoth Stalky, as they strolled up to prep. with the ignoble
herd, “if you get the houses well mixed up an’ scufflin’, it’s even
bettin’ that some ass will start a real row. Hullo, Orrin, you look
rather metagrobolized.”
“It was all your fault, you beast! You started it. We’ve got two hundred
lines apiece, and Heffy’s lookin’ for you. Just see what that swine
Malpas did to my eye!”
“I like your saying _we_ started it. Who called us cribbers? Can’t your
infant mind connect cause and effect yet? Some day you’ll find out that
it don’t pay to jest with Number Five.”
“Where’s that shillin’ you owe me?” said Beetle suddenly.
Stalky could not see Prout behind him, but returned the lead without a
quaver. “I only owed you ninepence, you old usurer.”
“You’ve forgotten the interest,” said McTurk. “A halfpenny a week per
bob is Beetle’s charge. You must be beastly rich, Beetle.”
“Well, Beetle lent me sixpence.” Stalky came to a full stop and made as
to work it out on his fingers. “Sixpence on the nineteenth, didn’t he?”
“Yes; but you’ve forgotten you paid no interest on the other bob--the
one I lent you before.”
“But you took my watch as security.” The game was developing itself
almost automatically.
“Never mind. Pay me my interest, or I’ll charge you interest on
interest. Remember, I’ve got your note-of-hand!” shouted Beetle.
“You are a cold-blooded Jew,” Stalky groaned.
“Hush!” said McTurk very loudly indeed, and started as Prout came upon
them.
“I didn’t see you in that disgraceful affair in the form-room just now,”
said he.
“What, sir? We’re just come up from Mr. King’s,” said Stalky. “Please,
sir, what am I to do about prep.? They’ve broken the desk you told me to
sit at, and the form’s just swimming with ink.”
“Find another seat--find another seat. D’you expect me to dry-nurse you?
I wish to know whether you are in the habit of advancing money to your
associates, Beetle?”
“No, sir; not as a general rule, sir.”
“It is a most reprehensible habit. I thought that my house, at least,
would be free from it. Even with my opinion of you, I hardly thought it
was one of your vices.”
“There’s no harm in lending money, sir, is there?”
“I am not going to bandy words with you on your notions of morality. How
much have you lent Corkran?”
“I--I don’t quite know,” said Beetle. It is difficult to improvise a
going concern on the spur of the minute.
“You seemed certain enough just now.”
“I think it’s two and fourpence,” said McTurk, with a glance of cold
scorn at Beetle. In the hopelessly involved finances of the study there
was just that sum to which both McTurk and Beetle laid claim, as their
share in the pledging of Stalky’s second-best Sunday trousers. But
Stalky had maintained for two terms that the money was his “commission”
for effecting the pawn; and had, of course, spent it on a study “brew.”
“Understand this, then. You are not to continue your operations as a
money-lender. Two and fourpence, you said, Corkran?”
Stalky had said nothing, and continued so to do.
“Your influence for evil is quite strong enough without buying a hold
over your companions.” He felt in his pockets, and (oh joy!) produced
a florin and fourpence. “Bring me what you call Corkran’s note-of-hand,
and be thankful that I do not carry the matter any further. The money
is stopped from your pocket-money, Corkran. The receipt to my study, at
once!”
Little they cared! Two and fourpence in a lump is worth six weekly
sixpences any hungry day of the week.
“But what the dooce _is_ a note-of-hand?” said Beetle. “I only read
about it in a book.”
“Now you’ve jolly well got to make one,” said Stalky.
“Yes--but our ink don’t turn black till next day. S’pose he’ll spot
that?”
“Not him. He’s too worried,” said McTurk. “Sign your name on a bit of
impot-paper, Stalky, and write, ‘I O U two and fourpence.’ Aren’t
you grateful to me for getting that out of Prout? Stalky’d never have
paid... Why, you ass!”
Mechanically Beetle had handed over the money to Stalky as treasurer of
the study. The custom of years is not lightly broken. In return for
the document, Prout expounded to Beetle the enormity of money-lending,
which, like everything except compulsory cricket, corrupted houses and
destroyed good feeling among boys, made youth cold and calculating,
and opened the door to all evil. Finally, did Beetle know of any
other cases? If so, it was his duty as proof of repentance to let his
house-master know. No names need be mentioned.
Beetle did not know--at least, he was not quite sure, sir. How could he
give evidence against his friends? The house might, of course--here he
feigned an anguished delicacy--be full of it. He was not in a position
to say. He had not met with any open competition in his trade; but if
Mr. Prout considered it was a matter that affected the honor of
the house (Mr. Prout did consider it precisely that), perhaps the
house-prefects would be better...
He spun it out till half-way through prep.
“And,” said the amateur Shylock, returning to the form-room and
dropping at Stalky’s side, “if he don’t think the house is putrid with
it, I’m several Dutch-men--that’s all... I’ve been to Mr. Prout’s
study, sir.” This to the prep.-master. “He said I could sit where I
liked, sir... Oh, he is just tricklin’ with emotion... Yes, sir, I’m
only askin’ Corkran to let me have a dip in his ink.”
After prayers, on the road to the dormitories, Harrison and Craye,
senior house-prefects, zealous in their office, waylaid them with great
anger. “What have you been doing to Heffy this time, Beetle? He’s been
jawing us all the evening.”
“What has His Serene Transparency been vexin’ you for?” said McTurk.
“About Beetle lendin’ money to Stalky,” began Harrison; “and then Beetle
went and told him that there was any amount of money-lendin’ in the
house.”
“No, you don’t,” said Beetle, sitting on a boot-basket. “That’s just
what I didn’t tell him. I spoke the giddy truth. He asked me if there
was much of it in the house; and I said I didn’t know.”
“He thinks you’re a set of filthy Shylocks,” said McTurk. “It’s just as
well for you he don’t think you’re burglars. You know he never gets a
notion out of his conscientious old head.”
“Well-meanin’ man. Did it all for the best.” Stalky curled gracefully
round the stair-rail. “Head in a drain-pipe. Full confession in the left
boot. Bad for the honor of the house--very.”
“Shut up,” said Harrison. “You chaps always behave as if you were jawin’
us when we come to jaw you.”
“You’re a lot too cheeky,” said Craye.
“I don’t quite see where the cheek comes in, except on your part, in
interferin’ with a private matter between me an’ Beetle after it has
been settled by Prout.” Stalky winked cheerfully at the others.
“That’s the worst of clever little swots,” said McTurk, addressing the
gas. “They get made prefects before they have any tact, and then they
annoy chaps who could really help ’em to look after the honor of the
house.”
“We won’t trouble you to do that!” said Craye hotly.
“Then what are you badgerin’ us for?” said Beetle. “On your own showing,
you’ve been so beastly slack, looking after the house, that Prout
believes it’s a nest of money-lenders. I’ve told him that I’ve lent
money to Stalky, and no one else. I don’t know whether he believes me,
but that finishes my case. The rest is your business.”
“Now we find out,” Stalky’s voice rose, “that there is apparently an
organized conspiracy throughout the house. For aught we know, the
fags may be lendin’ and borrowin’ far beyond their means. _We_ aren’t
responsible for it. We’re only the rank and file.”
“Are you surprised we don’t wish to associate with the house?” said
McTurk, with dignity. “We’ve kept ourselves to ourselves in our study
till we were turned out, and now we find ourselves let in for for this
sort of thing. It’s simply disgraceful.”
“Then you hector and bullyrag us on the stairs,” said Stalky, “about
matters that are your business entirely. You know we aren’t prefects.”
“You threatened us with a prefect’s lickin’ just now,” said Beetle,
boldly inventing as he saw the bewilderment in the faces of the
enemy. “And if you expect you’ll gain anything from us by your way of
approachin’ us, you’re jolly well mistaken. That’s all. Good-night.”
They clattered upstairs, injured virtue on every inch of their backs.
“But--but what the dickens have we done?” said Harrison, amazedly, to
Craye.
“I don’t know. Only--it always happens that way when one has anything to
do with them. They’re so beastly plausible.”
And Mr. Prout called the good boys into his study anew, and succeeded
in sinking both his and their innocent minds ten fathoms deeper in
blindfolded bedazement. He spoke of steps and measures, of tone and
loyalty in the house and to the house, and urged them to take up the
matter tactfully.
So they demanded of Beetle whether he had any connection with any other
establishment. Beetle promptly went to his house-master, and wished
to know by what right Harrison and Craye had reopened a matter already
settled between him and his house-master. In injured innocence no boy
excelled Beetle.
Then it occurred to Prout that he might have been unfair to the culprit,
who had not striven to deny or palliate his offense. He sent for
Harrison and Craye, reprehending them very gently for the tone they had
adopted to a repentant sinner, and when they returned to their study,
they used the language of despair. They then made headlong inquisition
through the house, driving the fags to the edge of hysterics, and
unearthing, with tremendous pomp and parade, the natural and inevitable
system of small loans that prevails among small boys.
“You see, Harrison, Thornton minor lent me a penny last Saturday,
because I was fined for breaking the window; and I spent it at Keyte’s.
I didn’t know there was any harm in it. And Wray major borrowed twopence
from me when my uncle sent me a post-office order--I cashed it at
Keyte’s--for five bob; but he’ll pay me back before the holidays. We
didn’t know there was anything wrong in it.”
They waded through hours of this kind of thing, but found no usury,
or anything approaching to Beetle’s gorgeous scale of interest. The
seniors--for the school had no tradition of deference to prefects
outside compulsory games--told them succinctly to go about their
business. They would not give evidence on any terms. Harrison was one
idiot, and Craye was another; but the greatest of all, they said, was
their house-master.
When a house is thoroughly upset, however good its conscience, it breaks
into knots and coteries--small gatherings in the twilight, box-room
committees, and groups in the corridor. And when from group to group,
with an immense affectation of secrecy, three wicked boys steal, crying
“_Cavé_” when there is no need of caution, and whispering “Don’t tell!”
on the heels of trumpery confidences that instant invented, a very fine
air of plot and intrigue can be woven round such a house.
At the end of a few days, it dawned on Prout that he moved in an
atmosphere of perpetual ambush. Mysteries hedged him on all sides,
warnings ran before his heavy feet, and countersigns were muttered
behind his attentive back. McTurk and Stalky invented many absurd and
idle phrases--catch-words that swept through the house as fire through
stubble. It was a rare jest, and the only practical outcome of the Usury
Commission, that one boy should say to a friend, with awful gravity,
“Do you think there’s much of it going on in the house?” The other
would reply, “Well, one can’t be too careful, you know.” The effect on
a house-master of humane conscience and good intent may be imagined.
Again, a man who has sincerely devoted himself to gaining the esteem of
his charges does not like to hear himself described, even at a distance,
as “Popularity Prout” by a dark and scowling Celt with a fluent tongue.
A rumor that stories--unusual stories--are told in the form-rooms,
between the lights, by a boy who does not command his confidence,
agitates such a man; and even elaborate and tender politeness--for the
courtesy wise-grown men offer to a bewildered child was the courtesy
that Stalky wrapped round Prout--restores not his peace of mind.
“The tone of the house seems changed--changed for the worse,” said Prout
to Harrison and Craye. “Have you noticed it? I don’t for an instant
impute--”
He never imputed anything; but, on the other hand, he never did anything
else, and, with the best intentions in the world, he had reduced the
house-prefects to a state as nearly bordering on nervous irritation
as healthy boys can know. Worst of all, they began at times to wonder
whether Stalky & Co. had not some truth in their often-repeated
assertions that Prout was a gloomy ass.
“As you know, I am not the kind of man who puts himself out for every
little thing he hears. _I_ believe in letting the house work out their
own salvation--with a light guiding hand on the reins, of course. But
there is a perceptible lack of reverence---a lower tone in matters that
touch the honor of the house, a sort of hardness.”
Oh, Prout he is a nobleman, a nobleman, a nobleman!
Our Heffy is a nobleman--
He does an awful lot,
Because his popularity
Oh, pop-u-pop-u-larity--
His giddy popularity
Would suffer did he not!
The study door stood ajar; and the song, borne by twenty clear voices,
came faint from a form-room. The fags rather liked the tune; the words
were Beetle’s.
“That’s a thing no sensible man objects to,” said Prout with a lop-sided
smile; “but you know straws show which way the wind blows. Can you trace
it to any direct influence? I am speaking to you now as heads of the
house.”
“There isn’t the least doubt of it,” said Harrison angrily. “I know
what you mean, sir. It all began when Number Five study came to the
form-rooms. There’s no use blinkin’ it, Craye. You know that, too.”
“They make things rather difficult for us, sometimes,” said Craye. “It’s
more their manner than anything else, that Harrison means.”
“Do they hamper you in the discharge of your duties, then?”
“Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin--and turn up their noses
generally.”
“Ah,” said Prout sympathetically.
“I think, sir,” said Craye, plunging into the business boldly, “it would
be a great deal better if they were sent back to their study--better for
the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form-rooms.”
“They are younger than Orrin, or Flint, and a dozen others that I can
think of.”
“Yes, sir; but that’s different, somehow. They’re rather influential.
They have a knack of upsettin’ things in a quiet way that one can’t take
hold of. At least, if one does--”
“And you think they would be better in their own study again?”
Emphatically Harrison and Craye were of that opinion. As Harrison said
to Craye, afterwards, “They’ve weakened our authority. They’re too big
to lick; they’ve made an exhibition of us over this usury business,
and we’re a laughing-stock to the rest of the school. I’m going up (for
Sandhurst, understood) next term. They’ve managed to knock me out of
half my work already with their--their lunacy. If they go back to their
study we may have a little peace.”
“Hullo, Harrison.” McTurk ambled round the corner, with a roving eye on
all possible horizons. “Bearin’ up, old man? That’s right. Live it down!
Live it down!”
“What d’you mean?”
“You look a little pensive,” said McTurk. “Exhaustin’ job superintendin’
the honor of the house, ain’t it? By the way, how are you off for
mares’-nests?”
“Look here,” said Harrison, hoping for instant reward. “We’ve
recommended Prout to let you go back to your study.”
“The dooce you have! And who under the sun are _you_ to interfere
between us and our house-master? Upon my Sam, you two try us very
hard--you do, indeed. Of course we don’t know how far you abuse your
position to prejudice us with Mr. Prout; but when you deliberately
stop me to tell me you’ve been makin’ arrangements behind our back--in
secret--with Prout--I--I don’t know really what we ought to do.”
“That’s beastly unfair!” cried Craye.
“It is.” McTurk had adopted a ghastly solemnity that sat well on his
long, lean face. “Hang it all! A prefect’s one thing and an usher’s
another; but you seem to combine ’em. You recommend this--you recommend
that! _You_ say how and when we go back to our study!”
“But--but--we thought you’d like it, Turkey. We did, indeed. You know
you’ll be ever so much more comfortable there.” Harrison’s voice was
almost tearful.
McTurk turned away as though to hide his emotions.
“They’re broke!” He hunted up Stalky and Beetle in a box-room. “They’re
sick! They’ve been beggin’ Heffy to let us go back to Number Five. Poor
devils! Poor little devils!”
“It’s the olive branch,” was Stalky’s comment. “It’s the giddy white
flag, by gum! Come to think of it, we _have_ metagrobolized ’em.”
Just after tea that day, Mr. Prout sent for them to say that if they
chose to ruin their future by neglecting their work, it was entirely
their own affair. He wished them, however, to understand that their
presence in the form-rooms could not be tolerated one hour longer.
He personally did not care to think of the time he must spend in
eliminating the traces of their evil influences. How far Beetle had
pandered to the baser side of youthful imagination he would ascertain
later; and Beetle might be sure that if Mr. Prout came across any
soul-corrupting consequences--
“Consequences of what, sir?” said Beetle, genuinely bewildered this
time; and McTurk quietly kicked him on the ankle for being “fetched”
by Prout. Beetle, the house-master continued, knew very well what was
intended. Evil and brief had been their careers under his eye; and as
one standing _in loco parentis_ to their yet uncontaminated associates,
he was bound to take his precautions. The return of the study key closed
the sermon.
“But what was the baser-side-of-imagination business?” said Beetle on
the stairs.
“I never knew such an ass as you are for justifyin’ yourself,” said
McTurk. “I hope I jolly well skinned your ankle. Why do you let yourself
be drawn by everybody?”
“Draws be blowed! I must have tickled him up in some way I didn’t know
about. If I’d had a notion of that before, of course I could have rubbed
it in better. It’s too late now. What a pity! ‘Baser side.’ What _was_
he drivin’ at?”
“Never mind,” said Stalky. “I knew we could make it a happy little
house. I said so, remember--but I swear I didn’t think we’d do it so
soon.”
* * * * *
“No,” said Prout most firmly in Common-room. “I maintain that Gillett is
wrong. True, I let them return to their study.”
“With your known views on cribbing, too?” purred little Hartopp. “What
an immoral compromise!”
“One moment,” said the Reverend John. “I--we--all of us have exercised
an absolutely heart-breaking discretion for the last ten days. Now we
want to know. Confess--have you known a happy minute since--”
“As regards my house, I have not,” said Prout. “But you are entirely
wrong in your estimate of those boys. In justice to the others--in
self-defence--”
“Ha! I said it would come to that,” murmured the Reverend John.
“--I was forced to send them back. Their moral influence was
unspeakable--simply unspeakable.”
And bit by bit he told his tale, beginning with Beetle’s usury, and
ending with the house-prefects’ appeal.
“Beetle in the _rôle_ of Shylock is new to me,” said King, with
twitching lips. “I heard rumors of it--”
“Before?” said Prout.
“No, after you had dealt with them; but I was careful not to inquire. I
never interfere with--”
“I myself,” said Hartopp, “would cheerfully give him five shillings
if he could work out one simple sum in compound interest without three
gross errors.”
“Why--why--why!” Mason, the mathematical master, stuttered, a fierce joy
on his face, “you’ve been had--precisely the same as me!”
“And so you held an inquiry?” Little Hartopp’s voice drowned Mason’s ere
Prout caught the import of the sentence.
“The boy himself hinted at the existence of a deal of it in the house,”
said Prout.
“He is past master in that line,” said the chaplain. “But, as regards
the honor of the house--”
“They lowered it in a week. I have striven to build it up for years.
My own house-prefects--and boys do not willingly complain of each
other--besought me to get rid of them. You say you have their
confidence, Gillett: they may tell you another tale. As far as I am
concerned, they may go to the devil in their own way. I’m sick and tired
of them,” said Prout bitterly.
But it was the Reverend John, with a smiling countenance, who went to
the devil just after Number Five had cleared away a very pleasant little
brew (it cost them two and fourpence) and was settling down to prep.
“Come in, Padre, come in,” said Stalky, thrusting forward the best
chair. “We’ve only met you official-like these last ten days.”
“You were under sentence,” said the Reverend John. “I do not consort
with malefactors.”
“Ah, but we’re restored again,” said McTurk. “Mr. Prout has relented.”
“Without a stain on our characters,” said Beetle. “It was a painful
episode, Padre, most painful.”
“Now, consider for a while, and perpend, _mes enfants_. It is about
your characters that I’ve called to-night. In the language of the
schools, what the dooce _have_ you been up to in Mr. Prout’s house? It
isn’t anything to laugh over. He says that you so lowered the tone of
the house he had to pack you back to your studies. Is that true?”
“Every word of it, Padre.”
“Don’t be flippant, Turkey. Listen to me. I’ve told you very often that
no boys in the school have a greater influence for good or evil than
you have. You know I don’t talk about ethics and moral codes, because I
don’t believe that the young of the human animal realizes what they mean
for some years to come. All the same, I don’t want to think you’ve been
perverting the juniors. Don’t interrupt, Beetle. Listen to me. Mr. Prout
has a notion that you have been corrupting your associates somehow or
other.”
“Mr. Prout has so many notions, Padre,” said Beetle wearily. “Which one
is this?”
“Well, he tells me that he heard you telling a story in the twilight in
the form-room, in a whisper. And Orrin said, just as he opened the door,
‘Shut up, Beetle; it’s too beastly.’ Now then?”
“You remember Mrs. Oliphant’s ‘Beleaguered City’ that you lent me last
term?” said Beetle.
The Padre nodded.
“I got the notion out of that. Only, instead of a city, I made it the
Coll. in a fog--besieged by ghosts of dead boys, who hauled chaps out of
their beds in the dormitory. All the names are quite real. You tell it
in a whisper, you know with the names. Orrin didn’t like it one little
bit. None of ’em have ever let me finish it. It gets just awful at the
end part.”
“But why in the world didn’t you explain to Mr. Prout, instead of
leaving him under the impression--?”
“Padre Sahib,” said McTurk, “it isn’t the least good explainin’ to Mr.
Prout. If he hasn’t one impression, he’s bound to have another.”
“He’d do it with the best o’ motives. He’s _in loco parentis_,” purred
Stalky.
“You young demons!” the Reverend John replied. “And am I to understand
that the---the usury business was another of your house-master’s
impressions?”
“Well--we helped a little in that,” said Stalky. “I did owe Beetle two
and fourpence at least, Beetle says I did, but I never intended to pay
him. Then we started a bit of an argument on the stairs, and--and Mr.
Prout dropped into it accidental. That was how it was, Padre. He paid me
cash down like a giddy Dook (stopped it out of my pocket-money just the
same), and Beetle gave him my note-of-hand all correct. I don’t know
what happened after that.”
“I was too truthful,” said Beetle. “I always am. You see, he was under
an impression, Padre, and I suppose I ought to have corrected that
impression; but of course I couldn’t be _quite_ certain that his
house wasn’t given over to money-lendin’, could I? I thought the
house-prefects might know more about it than I did. They ought to.
They’re giddy palladiums of public schools.”
“They did, too--by the time they’d finished,” said McTurk. “As nice a
pair of conscientious, well-meanin’, upright, pure-souled boys as you’d
ever want to meet, Padre. They turned the house upside down--Harrison
and Craye---with the best motives in the world.”
“They said so. ‘They said it very loud and clear. They went and shouted
in our ear,’” said Stalky.
“My own private impression is that all three of you will infallibly be
hanged,” said the Reverend John.
“Why, we didn’t do anything,” McTurk replied. “It was all Mr. Prout. Did
you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle---he’s in the
Navy--gave me a beauty once.”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Turkey.”
“I’m not, sir. I’m givin’ an illustration--same as a sermon. These
wrestler-chaps have got sort sort of trick that lets the other chap do
all the work. Than they give a little wriggle, and he upsets himself.
It’s called _shibbuwichee_ or _tokonoma_, or somethin’. Mr. Prout’s a
_shibbuwicher_. It isn’t our fault.”
“Did you suppose we went round corruptin’ the minds of the fags?” said
Beetle. “They haven’t any, to begin with; and if they had, they’re
corrupted long ago. I’ve been a fag, Padre.”
“Well, I fancied I knew the normal range of your iniquities; but if
you take so much trouble to pile up circumstantial evidence against
yourselves, you can’t blame any one if--”
“We don’t blame any one, Padre. We haven’t said a word against Mr.
Prout, have we?” Stalky looked at the others. “We love him. He hasn’t a
notion how we love him.”
“H’m! You dissemble your love very well. Have you ever thought who got
you turned out of your study in the first place?”
“It was Mr. Prout turned us out,” said Stalky, with significance.
“Well, I was that man. I didn’t mean it; but some words of mine, I’m
afraid, gave Mr. Prout the impression--”
Number Five laughed aloud.
“You see it’s just the same thing with you, Padre,” said McTurk. “He
is quick to get an impression, ain’t he? But you mustn’t think we don’t
love him, ’cause we do. There isn’t an ounce of vice about him.”
A double knock fell on the door.
“The Head to see Number Five study in his study at once,” said the voice
of Foxy, the school sergeant.
“Whew!” said the Reverend John. “It seems to me that there is a great
deal of trouble coming for some people.”
“My word! Mr. Prout’s gone and told the Head,” said Stalky. “He’s a
moral double-ender. Not fair, luggin’ the Head into a house-row.”
“I should recommend a copy-book on a--h’m--safe and certain part,” said
the Reverend John disinterestedly.
“Huh! He licks across the shoulders, an’ it would slam like a beastly
barn-door,” said Beetle. “Good-night, Padre. We’re in for it.”
Once more they stood in the presence of the Head--Belial, Mammon, and
Lucifer. But they had to deal with a man more subtle than them all. Mr.
Prout had talked to him, heavily and sadly, for half an hour; and the
Head had seen all that was hidden from the house-master.
“You’ve been bothering Mr. Prout,” he said pensively. “House-masters
aren’t here to be bothered by boys more than is necessary. I don’t like
being bothered by these things. You are bothering _me_. That is a very
serious offense. You see it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, now, I purpose to bother you, on personal and private grounds,
because you have broken into my time. You are much too big to lick, so
I suppose I shall have to mark my displeasure in some other way. Say, a
thousand lines apiece, a week’s gating, and a few things of that kind.
Much too big to lick, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no, sir,” said Stalky cheerfully; for a week’s gating in the summer
term is serious.
“Ve-ry good. Then we will do what we can. I wish you wouldn’t bother
me.”
It was a fair, sustained, equable stroke, with a little draw to it,
but what they felt most was his unfairness in stopping to talk between
executions. Thus: “Among the--lower classes this would lay me open to
a charge of--assault. You should be more grateful for your--privileges
than you are. There is a limit--one finds it by experience,
Beetle--beyond which it is never safe to pursue private vendettas,
because--don’t move--sooner or later one comes--into collision with
the--higher authority, who has studied the animal. _Et ego_--McTurk,
please--_in Arcadia vixi_. There’s a certain flagrant injustice about
this that ought to appeal to--your temperament. And that’s all! You will
tell your house-master that you have been formally caned by me.”
“My word!” said McTurk, wriggling his shoulder-blades all down the
corridor. “That was business! The Prooshan Bates has an infernal
straight eye.”
“Wasn’t it wily of me to ask for the lickin’,” said Stalky, “instead of
those impots?”
“Rot! We were in for it from the first. _I_ knew the look of his old
eye,” said Beetle. “I was within an inch of blubbing.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly smile,” Stalky confessed.
“Let’s go down to the lavatory and have a look at the damage. One of us
can hold the glass and t’others can squint.”
They proceeded on these lines for some ten minutes. The wales were very
red and very level. There was not a penny to choose between any of them
for thoroughness, efficiency, and a certain clarity of outline that
stamps the work of the artist.
“What are you doing down there?” Mr. Prout was at the head of the
lavatory stairs, attracted by the noise of splashing.
“We’ve only been caned by the Head, sir, and we’re washing off the
blood. The Head said we were to tell you. We were coming to report
ourselves in a minute, sir. (_Sotto voce_.) That’s a score for Heffy!”
“Well, he deserves to score something, poor devil,” said McTurk, putting
on his shirt. “We’ve sweated a stone and a half off him since we began.”
“But look here, why aren’t we wrathy with the Head? He said it was a
flagrant injustice. So it is!” said Beetle.
“Dear man,” said McTurk, and vouchsafed no further answer.
It was Stalky who laughed till he had to hold on by the edge of a basin.
“You _are_ a funny ass! What’s that for?” said Beetle.
“I’m--I’m thinking of the flagrant injustice of it!”