_AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DOCTOR._
But while all the school was happy, and every one rejoiced at the
prospect of home-going, one there was whose mind was ill at ease, and
who was in no mood to join in the general good-humour. And this was
all the stranger, for, as a rule, this lad was first in every scheme
of merriment, foremost in all laughter-loving companies. But to
day--to day, when all his comrades were in the highest of high
spirits--he was almost, if not quite, in the lowest of the low; not
in the least his usual self, light-hearted, bright, and sunny, but
dull, depressed, and moody. All the world seemed dark to him, which
to his fellows seemed so fair.
Marmaduke Tregowan was in his study and alone. A little room it was,
so small that it hardly could be called a room at all, but rather a
cupboard which had outgrown the size proper to cupboards, until it
was just large enough to hold a tiny table and two not too easy
chairs. There was a strip of carpet on the floor, not so new as once
it was; a shelf, on which were about a dozen books--more or less
ill-used--hung in one corner against the wall; while every inch of
space bore unmistakable evidence that the occupant had been packing
up his treasures, and had left his rubbish in the rear. It was not a
cheerful-looking apartment on this dull day. The window, which was
casemented, the little lozenge-shaped panes of glass being set in
leaden frames, was picturesque enough may be, but not quite clean,
and the day looked duller through it now than it might have done. A
fire struggled in the grate, but the hearth, which had not been
cleared of yesterday's ashes, was littered with scraps of paper and
odds and ends of every sort and kind. From without now and again
came sounds of voices, or of young feet hurrying to and fro, or of
the winds moaning round the eaves, but in general all was quiet, and
the sole occupant of the diminutive apartment had the fullest
opportunity of indulging in his solitary mood.
A well-looking lad, more than that, a handsome one, one of those who
seem picked out by Nature to show us what she can do in the way of
beauty when she is so minded; a face which, like some fair landscape
seen for the first time, startles us by its strange charm. To use
familiar phraseology, the lad from a physical point of view was one
of Nature's noblemen. Fairly tall, graceful rather than broad
shouldered, upright as it is possible for one to be, Duke Tregowan's
proverbial strength was almost if not quite hidden by his unconscious
elegance of bearing. His face is not now seen at his best, but none
the less the expression which it wears is characteristic of its
owner, familiar to all his friends; for Duke is in a pretty passion.
Alas! that is a mood in which all who know him know him well. He is
like tinder, which needs but to be struck to be struck into a flame.
He is savage--not without cause for once--with himself, with the
Doctor, with all the world as well. He hears the joyous voices of
the boys without, of youngsters happy at the thought of going home,
and they sound to him like a bitter commentary on his own plight,
another insult added to the many which had been heaped on him before.
Insults! why, he is the most insulted youth in Christendom.
"It's absurd, that's what it is," he declares to himself; and seizing
an inoffensive volume from the table at his hand, flings it
indignantly into the struggling fire. "It's preposterous to suppose
that I will submit to such a thing as this. He forgets that he is
dealing with a gentleman. Who is he, I should like to know, to
suppose that I shall wait upon his very whim? If ever I have a son,
and any schoolmaster treats him as Dr. Graham thinks proper to treat
me, I'll not hesitate to make him understand that he must explain
himself to me."
Just then a troop of boys went rushing along the corridor outside the
study door, and their perfectly audible high spirits were another
cause of dissatisfaction to Marmaduke Tregowan.
"Confound those fellows!" he exclaimed, looking black as thunder
towards the door; "what a din they make, and that's Graham's idea of
discipline! Of course, some people may not look at a horse, while
others may steal him straight away, and there's nothing said to them.
Partiality! Yes! I should like to know what I'm mewed in here for,
while those fellows may do exactly as they like."
And Marmaduke stamped to and fro; he was doing his best to nurse his
rage, as though he feared it might cool down. He surveyed the
landscape through the casemented window, and as he looked, the few
first flakes of snow came idly drifting down.
"There! now it's going to snow; I knew it would! There'll be a
pretty storm, and I shall have the pleasure of travelling through it.
A deal he cares! A deal he'd care if I were snowed in for a week or
through the holidays because of him. Consideration! No, he doesn't
know the meaning of the word; he simply considers his own feelings,
and doesn't care a rap for other people's."
And to and fro went Marmaduke again. He thrust his hands into his
trousers' pockets; he ground his teeth; he looked as haughty as he
could, and few could look haughtier than he. Pride and passion with
him went hand in hand. Get on the right side of him, win his
confidence, fall into his ways, and none was sweeter tempered or
better disposed to his fellows; but tread, though never so lightly,
upon his corns--and they were many--his pride was in an instant up in
arms, his passion in full blast. His pride, too, was of that utterly
impracticable kind which declines to argue, and which will not
condescend to reason. His manner towards those who had offended
him--and he was quick to take offence--was the perfection of insult;
"the Tregowan look" was a byword in the school. The scorn flashed
from his eyes, the contempt expressed by every feature, the sneer
upon his lips, all who knew him knew these things too well; and when
he gave his passions reins, it carried him to lengths which made it
impossible for the occasion to be forgotten. True, not seldom
repentance followed close upon the heels of his dark moods, but still
it was upon the heels, and it is not possible for repentance, however
genuine, to undo what has been done.
But there was another and a brighter side to the lad's strange
character, else how explain the troops of friends to whom he was a
very Crichton, how explain the unwonted interest which those of
staider views and soberer judgment took in his well-doing? Not only
was he generous to a fault; not only was he notorious for his
kindness to his juniors--it was said of Marmaduke that he had never
thrashed a youngster in his life; not only was he foremost in every
sport and pastime, but beyond all that, there was that in him which
made one long to have him for a friend, which, because it showed how
fitted he was for better things, made one regret, almost as though it
were a misfortune which had happened to oneself, when he gave way to
his ungovernable pride and temper. For in his nature there was a
nobility rare in boys--too rare, alas! in men; a stern, simple sense
of honour, a perfect honesty, an unswerving truthfulness, a
self-denial which, in all important matters, made him rather serve
his friend than advance himself. He could not stoop to what was
mean; he had that pride of family--would that there were more of
it!--which makes it horrible to drag an honoured name into the dust.
If he would only curb his pride, only control his passion, he bade
fair to take highest rank among the Tregowans of Tregowan. But this,
although a consummation devoutly to be wished, did not seem to be one
at which he bade fair at present to arrive. For Marmaduke was in as
nice a scrape as he had yet managed to contrive, and as nice a
passion too.
The time sped on, and still his solitude was undisturbed; the snow
fell fast, the air was thick with it, all the ground was covered, and
yet he was alone. He heard the voices of the boys as they journeyed
towards the station; he heard them start, he heard the loud "hurrah"
with which they signalled their departure; the strains of the "Dulce
Domum" floated to him still through the window; he--unwillingly
enough--listened while they sang the charms of that "Home, Sweet
Home," which the poet pictured, and to which they hastened. It
almost seemed as though he were forgotten; he began to think that
indeed he was, and the thought did not tend to make him patient. The
morning was almost past; it was nearly noon. Was he to be prisoned
there all day? Scarcely; not if he had anything to do with it.
"Quarter to twelve," he said, looking at his watch. Since shortly
after ten he had been there, an hour and a half at the least. He
fumed at the thought of it. "Another quarter of an hour I'll give
him, not a minute more, and then, if I stop here any longer, I'll
know the reason why."
Still the minutes sped; the fire in the grate threatened to go out
for want of fuel; it was bitterly cold; the wind was rising; the snow
fell faster. He went to the scuttle in the corner; there was no
coal, nothing but a little dust, which would do more harm than good.
He shut the lid down with a bang. It was five minutes to twelve; a
step came along the corridor. He listened; it approached the study.
He crossed and hastily opened wide the door; it was a man--a private
servant of the Doctor's.
"Will you be so good," said Marmaduke, at sight of him, "as to tell
the Doctor either to let me have some coals, or to let me know how
long he intends to keep me imprisoned hers?"
"The Doctor sent me, sir," replied the man, "to tell you that he is
waiting to see you now."
"It is very kind of him! very kind of him indeed! Upon my word, I've
half a mind to let him wait."
"The Doctor, sir, is going up to town by the 2.30 this afternoon, and
is going to lunch at half-past twelve; so I don't think I would keep
him waiting, sir, if I was you."
"Indeed! and who asked you what you think?" Duke fancied that he saw
a grin upon the fellow's face, and was in no mood for being laughed
at. "Go and tell Dr. Graham, with my compliments, that if he
supposes I shall stay one minute after he is gone, he is considerably
mistaken."
Duke stopped; the man hesitated. He was not clear whether Duke
intended this as a reply to the Doctor's message; if so, he would
rather any one were the bearer of it than himself. He shuffled from
foot to foot and looked at Duke; he had had experience of that young
gentleman before.
"If I was you, sir, I don't think, sir, I'd say anything to anger
him. He's waiting for to see you, and that was all, sir, I was told
to say."
And the man made off, as though anxious neither to be the bearer of
Duke's messages, nor to listen to what he had to say; but Duke called
after him.
"Stop!" he cried; "where are you bolting off to like that? Tell Dr.
Graham, with my compliments--Mr. Tregowan's compliments--that I shall
be with him in about--say about twenty minutes, when I've looked
through a paper or two, and seen how the trains are running. I want
to catch a train as well as Dr. Graham."
And with that he shut the door right in the servant's face.
"Mr. Tregowan, sir, Mr. Tregowan," said the man, not unnaturally
disturbed in mind at having such a message to deliver,--"Mr.
Tregowan, don't you send to him like that. He's angry enough
already, without having more to anger him. If I was you"----
The door reopened, and Marmaduke appeared.
"Look here, Jenkins. When a gentleman sends his servant to me, I
expect that servant to know his place; and if he doesn't, I take care
to teach it him. If you take my advice, you'll keep your opinions to
yourself, or, if that is more than you can manage, reserve them for
your master's benefit; he may think more of them than I!"
And the door was shut again. The man, left outside, shook his head
sorrowfully in the direction of the study, and communed within
himself.
"Ah!" he said, and sighed, "if I was to take you at your word, and
tell all that sarse to the Doctor there, a pretty mess you would have
made of it. But I knows the ways of youth; they're all alike. I'll
just go and tell the Doctor that you're coming now, sir."
Marmaduke inside, considering that he had said and done a very clever
thing, was rather more on stilts than ever.
"He's made me wait his pleasure," so his reflections ran, "now he
shall wait mine." He thrust his hands into his pockets and jingled
the money there. "It would serve him right if I did not go to him at
all, but made him come to me. The term is over; his authority is at
an end; it is purely a question of courtesy whether I choose to
attend to his requests or not. Why should I be courteous to him if
he is uncourteous to me?"
And for the fiftieth time he surveyed the landscape through his
window, his head well up, preserving what he was pleased to think a
thoroughly manly air; but after a while it began to occur to him that
this was a proceeding very much akin to biting off his thumb to spite
his hand. The school was almost, if not quite, empty; long ere this
the major portion of the boys were homeward bound. How long did he
intend to stay? But as he had said he would be twenty minutes,
twenty minutes he made up his mind to be, and so--although they were
the longest minutes he had known this many a day--twenty minutes to
the full he was. A dozen times he looked at his watch to see if they
were gone; and when at last they had, he drew himself together,
smoothed his hair before a looking-glass over the mantelpiece,
arranged his tie, then, with one hand in his trousers' pocket, he
opened the door and languidly strolled in the direction of the
Doctor's room.
On reaching it he knocked at the door. "Come in," said a voice from
within, and turning the handle, Tregowan entered. On his first
entrance the Doctor was seated at his table, but he rose as Duke came
in, and remained standing where he had sat before. There was a
silence; they stood looking at each other; the Doctor's tall figure
somewhat bent, his earnest, searching eyes fixed with a curious
expression on the lad in front of him. Duke, on his part perfectly
at ease, or seeming so, one hand still in his trousers' pocket, the
other playing with his watch chain, his head well back, his eyes
meeting the Doctor's with a look in them which, from one in his
position, was not very far removed from insolence. It was Duke spoke
first. In perfectly easy tones he said--
"I understand you have something which you wish to say to me."
"You understand correctly," was the Doctor's answer. "I have that to
say to you which I wish, Tregowan, for your sake, and for your
mother's sake, could be left unsaid."
Duke, haughty as was possible, drew himself still straighter, looking
as though the Doctor were some impertinent person who had stepped out
of his proper place.
"I was not aware that a man was compelled to say things which he
would rather wish unsaid. It is very kind of you to consider my
mother. Were she here, I have no doubt that she would thank you."
His tone was not a pleasant one, hardly that which is supposed to be
proper to a pupil who addresses his headmaster; it was as though
their positions were reversed, and he was the senior, Dr. Graham the
junior, whom he took to task. But the Doctor paid no heed; he gave
no sign that he observed the peculiarities of Tregowan's manner, but
quietly rejoined--
"There are many things of which you are unaware; there are many
things which must be done which one would rather not be compelled to
do. Our duties are not all pleasant ones, Tregowan, but to shrink
from them because they are unpleasant, that is a coward's action, not
a man's. It is true I have that to say to you which I would rather
leave unsaid, but it is you who have rendered it compulsory for me to
say it, so the fault is doubly yours."
The Doctor paused. Duke's cheek flushed slightly, but he held his
peace. There was that upon his tongue which he would have dearly
liked to say, but which even he was aware was, from every point of
view, better left unsaid. So after a few moments' silence the master
spoke again.
"Tregowan, this is not the first time that I have called you here,
and since each time it was for a disagreeable purpose, I have hoped
that each time would be the last; but you have doomed my hopes to
disappointment. I am not going to unnecessarily enter into what has
gone. I am not going to recall the past; it would be to little
purpose. You know as well as I what I had hoped for you--what I had
wished that you should do. It has not been done. When you have
reached my years, you will understand how it is that it is more
bitter to be disappointed in others than in oneself. It is only then
that you feel how helpless after all you are--how powerless and how
weak--since all the issues are with God."
The Doctor paused again. With a gesture that was familiar to him in
anxious moments, he passed his hand across his brow, and a troubled
look came in his eyes. Duke did not feel as he had meant to feel at
all. He felt himself unbending; he felt that from that pedestal on
which he had placed himself he was coming down by leaps and bounds;
but he was not as yet inclined to give way to his softer mood. He
was angry with himself. Rather than let any signs of penitence peep
out, he retorted to the Doctor's words--
"I don't think, sir, that it is any use to lecture me. There are
many people who overlook the fact that there are lots of fellows on
whom lecturing is thrown away, For my part, when a man talks
goody-goody to me, I always look upon his conversation as a piece of
gratuitous impertinence."
Sufficiently outspoken was Tregowan's speech--outspoken to a fault;
but to the Doctor it was simply characteristic of the difficult young
gentleman with whom he had to deal--how difficult a young gentleman
he knew too well. Another would probably have flown into a rage, and
made the matter worse by encouraging Tregowan to lose his temper by
letting slip his own; but that was not the Doctor's way at all.
Still quietly he answered--
"I am as averse to talking goody-goody as you can be to listen to it;
but you mistake--you call things out of their proper names. What you
call goody-goody is often nothing but the truth; and the truth, which
ought at all times to be told, on certain occasions it is criminal to
conceal; and then, because it happens to be unpalatable, you call it
goody-goody. But I am not disposed to split straws with you,
Tregowan: I did not call you here to enter into nice definitions; I
have neither time nor disposition."
Again the Doctor paused a moment, and Duke immediately took advantage
of the offered opportunity to make another of his characteristic
observations as jauntily as though he were making the most
commonplace remark to an equal--
"Neither, sir," said he, "have I. I would remind you that I have
already missed my train; and if I am to reach home to-night, and my
mother is expecting me, there is only one by which it is possible for
me to travel."
And, watch in hand, he surveyed the Doctor as though every moment
were most valuable.
"You shall go by that; never fear," replied the Doctor, a shade of
sarcasm in his gentle tones. "I will not keep you from your mother.
What I have to say is quickly told. My sole object was to tell it
you in as pleasant words as possible. In brief, it is simply this:
when you leave to-day, you leave finally. I cannot have you back
again next term."
Tregowan, although he listened, did not seem as though he caught the
full purport of the Doctor's words. Watch still in hand, he looked
the master in the face, his airy insolence all gone, and a curious
expression on his countenance instead.
"Do you mean--do you mean," he asked, in tones very different to
those which he had used before, "I am expelled?"
Still the snow fell fast. So thick was the storm, so heavy was the
sky, that the room, even at midday, was all in shadow. The wind
moaned across the fields, the earth wore its most wintry aspect.
Even the fire, blazing on the hearth, could not relieve the gloom
which seemed to hang upon the chamber. The Doctor's bent form stood
beside the table. Duke inclined slightly forward, as though anxious
not to miss the slightest syllable from his lips.
"That is what, in effect, I mean," the Doctor said, in tones still
quieter than before, so quiet that one listening outside the door
would never have supposed that any spoke within. "You are expelled,
Tregowan!"
"Expelled!" Duke repeated the word beneath his breath. "Expelled!"
He put his watch into his pocket. "I am expelled!"
"That is it; you are expelled! It is a step, Tregowan, to which you
have compelled me--a step I never should have taken, as you, who know
me well, know perfectly, except as a last resource. All other
resources are exhausted--that alone is left. I never flog; and if I
did, you are the last boy in the world to be improved by flogging.
You are my witness that I have tried every means before it came to
this. I have argued, I have reasoned, I have even begged of you, I
have punished, I have oftener forgiven; but, so far as I can judge,
it has been of no avail. I will be frank with you. It has come to
this, that either a master, a scholar and a gentleman, who has served
under my head-mastership nine years, resigns or you must go. Your
conduct to him, sir, has been such as nothing could excuse. Your
father was my friend. I would have done my best for you--I would
have been your friend as I was his. You have caused it to be
otherwise. Be careful, Marmaduke Tregowan; the future is in your
hands. This chapter of the past is at an end; the last page is now
turned down; and how does it wind up? You are expelled from
Dorrincourt!"