CHAPTER VIITHE AFFAIR OF LE WILLOW
WhileMr. Chowdler was lamenting that discipline was going to the dogs, the boys were beginning to complain that liberty was being destroyed. Some of them went so far as to maintain that Chiltern was becoming a regular preparatory school. For not only were motor-bicycles forbidden (they had always beenthat), but it was becoming positively dangerous to ride them. Moreover, detection entailed consequences. In the palmy days of Dr. Gussy it had been the ambition of every boy, caught in a misdemeanour, to be reported to the headmaster; and the appeal from summary justice to Cæsar had been one of the most cherished privileges of Chiltern whilst Dr. Gussy was Cæsar. For Dr. Gussy believed in talking—earnest, practical, confidential talking. As the boys said, “Gus treated you like a gentleman”; whereas Flaggon—there was no pleasure, nothing morally bracing, about an interview with Flaggon.
And other offences besides motor-biking were being detected with alarming frequency. Masters, who had hitherto been regarded as quite inoffensive, seemed to take a pleasure in appearing where they were least expected. The truth is that, having less belief in Dr. Gussy’s talks than Dr. Gussy himself, they had got into the habit of purposely avoiding knowledge which they knew would lead to no result; but, finding that Mr. Flaggon was prepared to act as well as talk, they resumed their normal activities.
No inconsiderable factor in the growing absence of security was the disappearance of “Whisky Toddler,” the college porter. When he paid his surprise visit to Chiltern in the holidays, Mr. Flaggon had been conscious of a subtle aroma about the place, which ceased suddenly when he took leave of the porter; and the suddenness of the change had set him wondering whether the extreme solemnity of Mr. Todd was due solely to wisdom or was partly induced by alcohol. The wonder did not diminish on closer acquaintance, and an unexpected visit to the Lodge, one evening, settled all doubts. Mr. Todd was found in a state of hilarious incoherence. It was, of course, an accident—a toothache, and an old-fashioned remedy, recommended by a friend, which had produced unforeseen results in one unused to spirituous liquors. Mr. Toddrefused with quiet dignity to purchase the chance of reinstatement by taking the pledge and spending a month in a home for inebriates. He preferred to retire, at once, on a quarter’s salary and a small pension.
The boys, of course, had always known that “Whisky Toddler” drank like a fish; but opinion on the staff was acutely divided. There is no question that has so many sides to it as drink, nor one about which it is so hard to arrive at any convincing conclusion. The very fact that Mr. Todd’s nose was red and his eyes were watery was, to some, a proof of his innocence. For people are sure to say that a man with a red nose and watery eyes drinks; whereas anyonemayhave a red nose and weak eyes without drinking, and it is horribly unfair that a man should be treated as a moral leper because of some physical infirmity. There were many, therefore, besides Mr. Plummer who believed, and still believe, that poor Todd was “hardly treated”; and poor Todd said nothing to discourage their belief.
His place was taken by a man of unprepossessing manners and abrupt activity—Pigeon was his name. There was a certain mystery about his past. Some said that he had once been a spy in the pay of the Russian police; others, that he had been a proctor’s bulldog at Oxford; others, that he had been aScotland Yard detective. At all events, there could be no doubt that it was as a detective that he was brought by the “New Gus” to Chiltern. A porter is assumed to possess tact; but Pigeon had none—no gift of shutting his eyes on occasions when eyes are better shut. And so it came to pass that he discovered Mr. Chowdler’s Prætor smoking among the rhododendrons in Colonus, and reported him to the headmaster.
At Chiltern the captain of every house was called its “Prætor” and wielded vast authority. In a post for which character was the prime consideration, position in the school was only of secondary importance. Hence it happened that, though le Willow had with difficulty fought his way into the senior Fifth, he was Prætor of Mr. Chowdler’s house. But, though not distinguished intellectually, he was captain designate of the eleven for the succeeding year, a very fair change bowler, and a bat with a most taking style. He enjoyed the entire confidence of his housemaster and the respect of his fellows. It was regrettable, therefore, from every point of view, that he should have been smoking behind the rhododendrons in Colonus; and still more regrettable that, having been smoking, he should have been discovered.
Enough has been said already of Mr. Chowdler to make it clear that he was adamantineon the question of discipline. But it was a matter of common observation amongst his colleagues that his attitude towards offences underwent a considerable change when the offender was one of his own boys. This is a species of infirmity to which parents and housemasters are peculiarly liable. In Mr. Chowdler’s case it took the form of a conviction that, though “his lads” might be technically in the wrong, they were morally quite sound; and he always held that punishment ought to take account of the character of the offender. He was really pained by le Willow’s “thoughtlessness”; but there were extenuating circumstances. The boy was encouraged to smoke at home, and he had one of those muddled old heads that find it so difficult to draw the distinction between home and school; especially when the home is a good one. The poor old fellow had admitted to him (Chowdler), with a shake of his poor old head and a look in his poor old eyes which was really pathetic, that he knew he was a “blighted ass.” He was, in fact, just the kind of boy for whom justice should be tempered with mercy.
All this, and more, Mr. Chowdler said to the headmaster on behalf of his Prætor, and he was profoundly shocked when Mr. Flaggon, after listening attentively to the counsel for the defence, announced that he was going todeprive le Willow of his Prætorship and Prefectship, not merely temporarily, but for the term of his natural life. “I fail to see where the mercy comes in,” growled Mr. Chowdler.
“Perhaps in my not flogging him into the bargain,” replied Mr. Flaggon. “But, really, I don’t consider this a case for mercy. The boy is in a position of trust. Five days ago I called the Prefects together and spoke to them about their duties, especially the duty of setting a good example: and I mentioned smoking by name. All the circumstances aggravate the offence. I have no right to be merciful.”
“But probably he didn’t understand,” pleaded Mr. Chowdler. “You don’t know what a business it is to drive any idea into that poor, thick old head of his. The boy’s as honest as the daylight, but terribly obtuse.”
“If he can’t understand a plain speech and a plain duty,” replied Mr. Flaggon, “he is certainly not fit to exercise power.”
“You can’t prevent a boy with such athletic gifts and such a sunny nature from exercising power by any official ukase,” said Mr. Chowdler, with increasing warmth. “If you destroy his self-respect by a punishment which he feels to be unjust, you take away from him all motives for doing right; you drive him into evil courses.”
“I intend my Prefects to govern,” replied Mr. Flaggon; “and you can never get men or boys to act responsibly unless you visit grave breaches of duty on them heavily. I am sorry for le Willow, if he is all that you describe him; but I cannot alter my decision.”
“You admit then,” snapped out Mr. Chowdler, “that you are sacrificing the boy to an abstract theory.”
“I admit nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Flaggon.
A good many of the masters, who did not share Mr. Chowdler’s enthusiasm for le Willow, approved of the headmaster’s action; and, though they did not say so publicly, were not sorry to see Mr. Chowdler’s straying sheep treated for once in a way like other people’s straying sheep. But Mr. Chowdler himself made no attempt to conceal his displeasure either from masters or boys.
“I don’t call that kind of thing discipline,” he said; “I call it panic. A strong man doesn’t hit about wildly without caring where the blow falls. With all his faults, dear old Gussy was never unjust. Le Willow’s too good an old fellow at bottom to be soured for long or lose his sunny nature. But that’s how criminals are made.”
Mr. Chowdler’s views received a striking corroboration, at least in his own eyes, when, three weeks later, le Willow was caught cribbing.It is true that Mr. Bent, his Form master, had suspected him for the greater part of two terms; but, as Mr. Plummer said, suspicion proves nothing. In the midst of his grief Mr. Chowdler was almost triumphant.
“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “You can see now for yourselves. That’s how boys are driven into evil courses.”
But the headmaster, instead of recognising the folly of his ways and apologising to Mr. Chowdler and his ex-prætor, decided that, after this second offence, the boy could not remain in the school and must leave at the end of the Term.
Dismiss the captain of next year’s eleven, a bat with the most taking style that had been seen at Chiltern since the days of Goring who played for England, and a very fair change bowler into the bargain! All Chiltern was aghast, and even Mr. Chase, who usually had something to say on behalf of the headmaster, admitted that it was an act of doubtful wisdom.
To Mr. Chowdler it was not merely an act of doubtful wisdom, it was a travesty of justice, an outrage, a scandal—in fact almost any strong word that you can think of. When a man thinks as strongly as Mr. Chowdler thought about some gross miscarriage of justice, it is impossible for him to keep his feelings to himself; he would rather be guiltyof indiscretion than of a criminal silence; and soon boys, masters, and the parents and relatives of the victim, were in full possession of Mr. Chowdler’s opinions on the subject.
Le Willow was well connected; in fact, as Mrs. Chowdler put it, he had a grandfather; and the grandfather wrote a letter to the chairman of the Council which caused that gentleman much concern. He wanted to know why the dickens they had appointed to Chiltern a headmaster who didn’t know the ABC of his profession. Expel from school a promising lad for a boyish offence of which they had all been guilty, probably, in their day! The thing was absurd. Boys and masters alike were in a state of mutiny; and he called upon the chairman to intervene.
The chairman was perplexed; for the grandfather was no ordinary grandfather but a man with a commanding name and a great social position. After some hesitation he wrote to the headmaster, disclaiming any idea of interfering, but asking for information. He wished, he said, to be in a position to contradict certain reports, unfounded no doubt, which were being circulated in the London clubs and which might damage the school.
Thus appealed to, Mr. Flaggon wrote a detailed account of the affair and of the principles which had guided his own action.He added that the tone and discipline of Chiltern were very different from what he had been led to expect, and that le Willow, besides being somewhat old for his place in the school, was not a desirable asset.
The chairman shook his head dubiously over this communication and murmured something about “new brooms” and “excess of zeal”; but he informed the grandfather with much tact that, though the Council felt great sympathy with him, they were unable to interfere in a matter that directly concerned the discipline of the school, and that any appeal for mercy must be made to the headmaster in person. As for le Willow, he was sure that the boy had a brilliant future in front of him, and he wished him every success.
And there the matter ended, except that the le Willow parents cursed Mr. Flaggon by all the le Willow gods and threatened to bring an action; which threat they were wise enough not to carry into effect. Also that Lord Chalvey withdrew his son who was entered for Mr. Chowdler’s house in the following Term. This was a contingency which Mr. Chowdler had not foreseen when he started on his campaign, and it did not help to reconcile him to the headmaster.
And, while the chairman was actually penning his reply to the duke, one wet Novemberafternoon, Mr. Plummer and Mr. Bent were once more pacing the “Ushers’ Grind” in mackintoshes. A steady drizzle had damped their fighting spirit, and taunts that usually kindled flames had only produced a perfunctory fizzle. At last Mr. Plummer said:
“I’m afraid the boys haven’t a great respect for Flaggon.”
“I shouldn’t take Chowdler too seriously,” said Mr. Bent.
“I didn’t say Chowdler,” replied his companion; “I said the boys.”
“I know you did,” said Mr. Bent. “AndIsaid Chowdler, because I bet that he has been telling you his story of the week—we have all heard it—to wit, how little Simpkin looked up at him with a wistful smile and said, ‘Sir, do you think the new headmaster understands anything about boys?’”
“Suppose he did!” said Mr. Plummer defiantly. “What then?”
“Only,” replied Mr. Bent, “that it isn’t averylikely thing for a boy to say, on his own. I know little Simpkin; he’s in my Form. All Chowdler’s pets are in my Form. A nasty, greasy, oily little beast. He tried ‘the wistful’ on with me once, but never again.”
“The fact that you think him oily and greasy,” retorted Mr. Plummer, “is no proof that he didn’t say it.”
“I never said it was,” cried Mr. Bent,raising his voice, “and I don’t doubt that little Simpkindidsay it and will say it again till he gets another cue. Whatdoesamaze me is that, with all his experience, Chowdler has never learned that boys encourage us in our illusions by quoting at us our own pet ideas and phrases. It isn’t conscious hypocrisy—merely an instinct of self-preservation, or an amiable desire to please. They approach us, asweshould approach some beast of uncertain temper, with the sounds that experience has shown to be most soothing.”
“So you have said before,” snorted Mr. Plummer. “But, anyhow, you admit that Chowdler has experience; and Flaggon has none.”
“Pooh! experience indeed!” cried Mr. Bent contemptuously. “What’s experience? A snare and a delusion, unless you can bring an unbiassed mind to bear on it; which schoolmasters never can. The man who looks at this view, for the first time, with the naked eye, sees far more of it than the man who looks at it for the hundredth time through smoked glasses. Experience is the smoke on the glasses; it’s the curse of our profession. We are all much more efficient when we’re young than we ever are afterwards. Givemethe young and inexperienced man.”
“Tipham, for example,” said Mr. Plummer drily.
“Oh, Tipham’s an exception,” replied Mr. Bent airily. “Tipham neverwasyoung. He was born with a greased head, grey flannel trousers, and a terror of being thought sane. But I can tell you, Chowdler was ten times more efficient as a master fifteen years ago, when you and I first came to the school, than he is now. We all become progressively greater idiots as we grow ripe in experience.”
“Bosh!” said Mr. Plummer.