Ah! Diamond, thou little knowest what mischief thou hast done.
Life of Sir I. Newton.
That afternoon Mr Paton, going into the Combination Room, where the
masters often met, threw himself into one of the armchairs with an
unwonted expression of vexation and disgust on his usually placid
features.
"Why, what's the matter with you, Paton?" asked Mr Robertson. "Is
to-day's _Times_ too liberal for your notions, or what?"
"No," said Mr Paton; "but I have just been caning Evson, a new boy, and
the fellow's stubborn obstinacy and unaccountable coolness annoy me
exceedingly."
"O yes; he's a pupil of mine, I'm sorry to say, and he has never been
free from punishment since he came. Even your Procrustean rule seems to
fail with him, Paton. What have you been obliged to cane him for?"
Mr Paton related Walter's escapade.
"Well, of course you had no choice but to cane him," replied his
colleague, "for such disobedience; but how did he take it?"
"In the oddest way possible. He came in with punctilious politeness,
obviously assumed, with sarcastic intentions. When I took up the cane
he stood with arms folded, and a singularly dogged look; in fact, his
manner disarmed me. You know I detest caning, and I really could not do
it, never having had occasion for it for months together. I gave him
two cuts, and then left off. `May I go, sir?' he asked. `Yes,' I said,
and he left the room with a bow and a `Thank you, sir.' I am really
sorry for the boy; for as I was obliged to send him to Dr Lane, he will
probably get another flogging from him."
"What a worthless boy he must be," answered Mr Robertson.
"No, not exactly worthless; there's something about him I can't help
liking; but most impudent and stubborn."
"Excuse me," said Mr Percival, another of the masters, who had been
listening attentively to the conversation; "I humbly venture to think
that you're both mistaken in that boy. I like him exceedingly, and
think him as promising a lad as any in the school. I never knew any boy
behave more modestly and respectfully."
"Why, how do you know anything of him?" asked Mr Robertson in surprise.
"Only by accident. I had once or twice noticed him among the _detenus_,
and being sorry to think that a new boy should be an _habitue_ of the
extra schoolroom, I asked him one day why he was sent. He told me that
it was for failing in a lesson, and when I asked why he hadn't learnt
it, he said, very simply and respectfully, `I really did my very best,
sir; but it's all new work to me.' Look at the boy's innocent, engaging
face, and you will be sure that he was telling me the truth.
"I'm afraid," continued Mr Percival, "you'll think this very slight
ground for setting my opinion against yours; but I was pleased with
Evson's manner, and asked him to come and take a stroll on the shore,
that I might know something more of him. Do you know, I never found a
more intelligent companion. He was all life and vivacity; it was quite
a pleasure to be with him. Being new to the sea, he didn't know the
names of the commonest things on the shore, and if you had seen his face
light up as he kept picking up whelk's eggs, and mermaid's purses, and
zoophytes, and hermit-crabs, and bits of plocamium or coralline, and
asking me all I could tell him about them, you would not have thought
him a stupid or worthless boy."
"I don't know, Percival; _you_ are a regular conjuror. All sorts of
ne'er-do-wells succeed under your manipulation. You're a first-rate
hand at gathering grapes from thorns, and figs from thistles. Why, even
out of that Caliban, old Woods, you used to extract a gleam of human
intelligence."
"He wasn't a Caliban at all. I found him an excellent fellow at heart;
but what could you expect of a boy who, because he was big, awkward, and
stupid, was always getting flouted on all sides? Sir Hugh Evans is not
the only person who disliked being made a `vlouting-stog.'"
"You must have some talisman for transmuting boys if you consider old
Woods an excellent fellow, Percival. I found him a mass of laziness and
brute strength. Do give me your secret."
"Try a little kindness and sympathy. I have no other secret."
"I'm not conscious of failing in kindness," said Mr Robertson drily.
"My fault, I think, is being too kind."
"To clever, promising, bright boys--yes; to unthankful and evil boys
(excuse me for saying so)--no. You don't try to descend to their dull
level, and so understand their difficulties. You don't suffer fools
gladly, as we masters ought to do. But, Paton," he said, turning the
conversation, which seemed distasteful to Mr Robertson, "will you try
how it succeeds to lay the yoke a little less heavily on Evson?"
"Well, Percival, I don't think that I've consciously bullied him. I
can't make my system different to him and other boys."
"My dear Paton, forgive my saying that I don't think that a rigid system
is the fairest; _summa lex summa crux_. Fish of very different sorts
and sizes come to our nets, and you can't shove a turbot through the
same mesh that barely admits a sprat."
"I'll think of what you say; but I must leave him in Dr Lane's hands
now," said Mr Paton.
"Who, I heartily hope, won't flog him," said Mr Percival.
"Why? I don't see how he can do otherwise."
"Because it will simply drive him to despair; because, if I know
anything of his character, it will have upon him an effect incalculably
bad."
"I hope not," said Mr Paton.
The conversation dropped, and Mr Percival resumed his newspaper.
When Walter went to Dr Lane in the evening, the Doctor inquired kindly
and carefully into the nature of his offence. This, unfortunately, was
clear enough, and Walter was far too ingenuous to attempt any
extenuation of it. Even if he had not been intentionally idle, it was
plain, on his own admission, that he had been guilty of the greatest
possible insubordination and disrespect. These offences were rare at
Saint Winifred's, and especially rare in a new boy. Puzzled as he was
by conduct so unlike the boy's apparent character, and interested by his
natural and manly manner, yet Dr Lane had in this case no alternative
but the infliction of corporal punishment.
Humiliated again, and full of bitter anger, Walter returned to the great
schoolroom, where he was received with sympathy and kindness by the
others in his class. It was the dark part of the evening before
tea-time, and the boys, sitting idly round the fire, were in an apt mood
for folly and mischief. They began a vehement discussion about Paton's
demerits, and called him every hard name they could invent. Walter took
little part in this, for he was smarting too severely under the sense of
oppression to find relief in mere abuse; but, from his flashing eyes and
the dark scowl that sat so ill on his face it was evident that a bad
spirit had obtained the thorough mastery over all his better and gentler
impulses.
"Can't we do something to serve the fellow out?" said Anthony, one of
the boys in Walter's dormitory.
"But _what_ can we do?" asked several.
"What, indeed?" asked Henderson, mockingly; and as it was his way to
quote whatever he had last been reading, he began to spout from the
peroration of a speech which he had seen in the paper--"Aristocracy,
throned on the citadel of power, and strong in--"
"What a fool you are, Henderson," observed Franklin, another of the
group; "I'll tell you what we can do: we'll burn that horrid black book
in which he enters the detentions and impositions."
"Poor book!" said Henderson; "what pangs of conscience it will suffer in
the flames! Give it not the glory of such martyrdom. Walter," he
continued, in a lower voice, "I hope that you'll have nothing to do with
this humbug?"
"I will though, Henderson; if I'm to have nothing but canings and
floggings, I may just as well be caned and flogged for _something_ as
for _nothing_."
"The desk's locked," said Anthony; "we shan't be able to get hold of the
imposition-book."
"I'll settle that," said Walter; "here, just hand me the poker, Dubbs."
"I shall do no such thing," said Daubeny quietly, and his reply was
greeted with a shout of derision.
"Why, you poor coward, Dubbs," said Franklin, "you _couldn't_ get
anything for handing the poker."
"I never supposed I could, Franklin," he answered; "and as for being a
coward, the real cowardice would be to do what's absurd and wrong for
fear of being laughed at or being kicked. Well, you may hit me," he
said quietly, as Franklin twisted his arm tightly round, and hit him on
it, "but you can't make me do what I don't choose."
"We'll try," said Franklin, twisting his arm still more tightly, and
hitting harder.
"You'll try in vain," answered Daubeny, though the tears stood in his
eyes at the violent pain.
"Drop his arm, you Franklin," indignantly exclaimed Henderson, who,
though he was always teasing Daubeny, was very fond of him; "drop his
arm, or, by Jove! you'll find that two can play at that. Dubbs is quite
right, and you're a set of asses if you think you'll do any good by
burning the punishment book. I've got the poker, and you shan't have it
to knock the desk open. I suppose Paton can afford sixpence to buy
another book; and enter a tolerable fresh score against you for this
besides."
"But he won't remember my six hundred lines, and four or five
detentions," said Walter. "Here, give me the poker."
"Pooh! pooh! Evson, of course he'll remember them. Here, I'll help you
with the lines; I'll do a couple of hundred for you, and the rest you
can write with two pens at a time; it won't take you an hour. I'll show
you the two-pen dodge; I'll admit you into the two-pen-etralia. Like
Milton, you shall `touch the slender tops of various quills.' No, no,"
he continued, in a playful tone in order not to make Walter in a greater
passion than he was, "you can't have the poker; anyone who wants that
must take it from me _vi et armis_."
"It doesn't matter; this'll do as well; and here goes," said Walter,
seizing a wooden stool. "There's the desk open for you," he said, as he
brought the top of the stool with a strong blow against the lid, and
burst the lock with a great crash.
"My eyes! we _shall_ get into a row," said Franklin, opening his eyes to
illustrate his exclamation.
"Well, what's done's done; let's all take our share," said Anthony,
diving his hand into the desk. "Here's the imposition-book for you, and
here goes leaf number one into the fire; you can tear out the next if
you like, Franklin."
"Very well," said Franklin; "in for a penny in for a pound; there _goes_
the second leaf."
"And here the third; over ankles over knees," said Barton, another of
those present.
"Proverbial Fool-osophy," observed Henderson, contemptuously, as Burton
handed him the book. "Shall I be a silly sheep like the rest of you,
and leap over the bridge because your leader has? I suppose I must,
though it's very absurd." He wavered and hesitated; sensible enough to
disapprove of so useless a proceeding, he yet did not like to be thought
afraid. He minded what fellows would _think_.
"Do what's right," said Daubeny, "and shame the devil. Here, give me
the book. Now, you fellows, you've torn out these leaves, and done
quite mischief enough. Let me put the book back, and don't be like
children who hit the fender against which they've knocked their heads."
"Or dogs that bite the stick they've been thrashed with," said
Henderson. "You're right, Dubbs, and I respect you; ay, you fellows may
sneer if you like, but I advised you not to do it, and I won't make
myself an idiot because you do."
"Never mind," drawled Howard Tracy. "I hate Paton, and I'll do anything
to spite him," whereupon he snatched the book from Daubeny, and threw it
entire into the flames. Poor Tracy had been even in more serious
scrapes with Mr Paton than Walter had; his vain manner was peculiarly
abhorrent to the master, who took every opportunity of snubbing him; but
nothing would pierce through the thick cloak of Tracy's conceit, and
fully satisfied with himself, his good looks, and his aristocratic
connections, he sat down in contented ignorance, and despised learning
too much to be in the least put out by being invariably the last in his
form.
"What, is there nothing left for me to burn?" said Walter, who sat
glowering on the high iron fender, and swinging his legs impatiently.
"Let's see what else there is in the desk. Here are a pack of old
exercises, apparently; they'll make a jolly blaze. Stop, though, _are_
they old exercises? Well, never mind; if not, so much the better. In
they shall go."
"Stop! what _are_ you doing, Walter?" said Henderson, catching him by
the arm; "you know these can't be old exercises. Paton always puts
_them_ in his waste-paper basket, not in his desk. Oh, Walter, what
_have_ you done?"
"The outside sheets were exercises anyhow," said Walter gloomily.
"Here, it's no good trying to save them now, whatever they were" (for
Henderson was attempting to rake them out between the bars); "they're
done for now," and he pressed down the thick mass of foolscap into the
reddest centre of the fire, and held it there until nothing remained of
it but a heap of flaky crimson ashes.
A dead silence followed, for the boys felt that now, at any rate, they
were "in for it."
The sound of the tea-bell prevented further mischief; and as Henderson
thrust his arm through Walter's, he said, "Oh, Evson, I wish you hadn't
done that! I wish I'd got you to come away before. What a passionate
fellow you are!"
"Well, it's done now," said Walter, already beginning to soften, and to
repent of his fatuity.
"What can we do?" said Henderson anxiously.
"Take the consequences, that's all," answered Walter.
"Hadn't you better go and tell Paton about it at once instead of letting
him find it out?"
"No," said Walter; "he's done nothing but bully me, and I don't care."
"Then let me go," said his friend earnestly. "I know Paton well; I'm
sure he'd be ready to forgive you, if I explained it all to him."
"You're very good, Flip; but don't go:--it's too late."
"Well, Walter, you mustn't think that I had no share in this because of
being afraid. I was one of the group, and I'll share the punishment
with you, whatever it is. I hope for your sake it won't be found out."
But if Henderson had seen a little deeper he would have hoped that it
would be found out, for there is nothing that works quicker ruin to any
character than undiscovered sin. It was happy for Walter that his wrong
impulses did _not_ remain undiscovered; happy for him that they came so
rapidly to be known and to be punished.
It was noised through the school in five minutes that Evson, one of the
new fellows, had smashed open Paton's desk and burned the contents.
"What an awful row he'll get into!" was the general comment. Walter
heard Kenrick inquiring eagerly about it as they sat at tea; but Kenrick
didn't ask _him_ about it, though they sat so near each other. After
the foolish, proud manner of sensitive boys, Walter and Kenrick, though
each liked the other none the less, were not on speaking terms. Walter,
less morbidly proud than Kenrick, would not have suffered this silly
alienation to continue had not his attention been occupied by other
troubles. Neither of them, therefore, liked to be the first to break
the ice, and now in his most serious difficulty Walter had lost the
advice and sympathy of his most intimate friend.
The fellows seemed to think that he must inevitably be expelled for this
_fracas_. The poor boy's thoughts were very, very bitter as he laid his
head that night on his restless pillow, remembered what an ungovernable
fool he had been, and dreamt of his happy and dear-loved home. How
strangely he seemed to have left his old, innocent life behind him, and
how little he would have believed it possible, two months ago, that he
could by any conduct of his own have so soon incurred, or nearly
incurred, the penalty of expulsion from Saint Winifred's School.
He had certainly yielded very quickly to passion, and he felt that in
consequence he had made his position more serious than that of other
boys who were in every sense of the word twice as bad as himself. But
what he laid to the score of his ill-luck was in truth a very happy
providence by which punishment was sent speedily and heavily upon him,
and so his evil tendencies, mercifully nipped in the bud, crushed with a
tender yet with an iron hand before they had expanded more blossoms and
been fed by deeper roots. He might have been punished less speedily had
his faults been more radical, or his wrong-doings of a deeper dye.