Next day Claremont corrected the papers.
"Well, Mansell, I can't find your paper anywhere."
"I showed it up, sir."
"Well, I am sure I don't know where it is. You had better go and find Mr Douglas, and ask him if he knows anything about it."
Mr Douglas was the mathematical master, to whom all marks were sent. He added them up, and made out the orders.
After an unnecessarily long interval Mansell returned.
"I am sorry, sir; Mr Douglas has not seen them."
"Well, I suppose it must be all my fault. I shall have to give you an average on your papers, which, strange to say, have been, for you, remarkably good."
Mansell was averaged sixth for the paper. A real good bluff gives more pleasure than all the honest exercises of one's life put together.
There was laughter in No. 16 Study that evening. A few weeks ago Gordon would have been horrified at such a thing; but now it seemed a splendid jest. He would not have cribbed himself. He preferred to beat a man with his own brains, though Mansell would have protested that it was a greater effort to pit one's brains against a master long trained in spotting tricks than against some dull-headed scholar. The Public School system, at any rate, teaches its sons the art of framing very ingenious theories with which to defend their faults; a negative virtue, perhaps, but none the less an achievement.
The last days of term were now drawing in. The House supper was only a few days off and the holidays very close. Everyone was glad on the whole to have finished the Christmas term, which is invariably the worst of the three. And this year it had not been improved by Clarke's military activities and the feeling of unrest that overhung the doings of the Fifteen, because of Lovelace major's never-ending broils with "the Bull." Two strong men both wanted their own way. On the whole, honours were even, though, if anything, slightly in Lovelace's favour, since he had filled up the scrum with a School House forward and a member of Benson's, a small and rather insignificant House, instead of giving the colours to men in Buller's.
But next term there would be fewer rows. There would be house matches, and each house captain would runthings in his own house as he wished. The school captain did little except post up which grounds each house was to occupy. The School House always longed for the Easter term. It was their chance of showing the rest of the school what they were made of. As they were slightly bigger than any other house, they claimed the honour of playing the three best of the outhouses in the great Three Cock House Match for the Senior Challenge Cup. This year, with Lovelace and Meredith, a School House victory was looked on as almost certain. Besides this big event there were the Two Cock and Thirds House Match. In the "Thirds" the School House under sixteen house side played against the two best of the outhouses under sixteen sides, for the Thirds Challenge Cup. And in the Two Cock, the second House Fifteen—that is, the House Fifteen minus those with first and second Fifteen colours—played the two best of the outhouse second Fifteens for the Junior Challenge Cup. The results of these last two matches were very much on the knees of the gods. The House stood a fair chance, but the general opinion was that Buller's would win the Thirds; and Christy's, a house that was full of average players who were too slack to get their seconds, would pull off the Two Cock. At any rate, there would be no lack of excitement. There was always far more keenness shown about house matches than school matches, a fact which worried Buller immensely. He thought everything should be secondary to the interests of Fernhurst.
On the last Saturday of the term there was the House Supper. It was a noble affair. The bloods wore evening dress; even the untidiest junior oiled his hair and put on a clean collar. At the Sixth Form table sat the Chief, some guests, Lovelace, Clarke, and a certain Ferguson, who editedThe Fernhurst School Magazine, and was to propose the health of the old boys, of whom about twenty had come down, several having helped to defeat the school by twenty points to sixteen in the afternoon. Never had so much food been seen before. Turner had boasted that he always went into training a week before the event, so as to enjoy it more. But the real triumph was the hot punch. As soon as dessert had begun the old boys trooped out, and brought in a huge steaming bowl of punch, from which they filled all theglasses. Gordon did not like it much. It seemed very hot and strong. But everyone else seemed to. Jeffries got a little excited.
Then speeches followed. The Chief proposed the fortune of the House, Clarke answered him. There was the usual applause and clapping. But the real event was Lovelace's speech. It had been a year of great success. The Three Cock had been lost by only a very small margin. The Two Cock had been won in a walk-over, and the Thirds by two points. The Senior Cricket and the Sports Cup had also been won. It was very nearly a record year. Lovelace was received with terrific applause; he congratulated the House on its performance; he mentioned individual names; each was the signal for a roar of cheering; and then, at the end, he said:
"And now I have a message to the House from the old boys. Let us have the Three Cock Cup back again on the School House sideboard. It is the place where it should be, and that's the place where we are going to put it! Gentlemen, The Three Cock!"
Amid a deafening noise the toast was drunk, and a voice from the back yelled out: "Three cheers for Lovelace!" His health, too, was drunk, and they sangFor he's a Jolly Good Fellow.
After this all else seemed tame. Ferguson made a speech that was meant to be very funny, but rather missed fire. He had readDorian Graythe whole of the evening before, underlining appropriate aphorisms. But to the average boy Oscar Wilde is (rather luckily perhaps) a little too advanced. The evening finished withAuld Lang Syne. Everyone stood on the table and roared himself hoarse. The score in damage was twenty plates broken beyond repair, sixteen punch glasses in fragments, fourteen cracked plates, two broken gas mantles. When the revellers had departed the hall looked rather gloomy, as probably Nero's did when his guests fled after the murder of Britannicus.
Next morning there was early service for communicants. But the School House was entirely pagan. Hardly a man went. On Sunday there was a great feed in Study 16. Somehow or other ten people got packed into as many square feet of room. Gordon was there; and Mansell, ofcourse; Collins came to act as general clown; Fitzroy, a small friend of Jeffries, sat in a far corner looking rather uncomfortable. Spence, Carey and Tiddy made up the number; the last were quite the ordinary Public School type, their conversation ran entirely on games, scandal and the work they had not done. Lovelace was mildly bored.
"It's pretty fair rot, you know. Here have I been fair sweating away at the exams, every minute of my time, and Jeffries, who has not done a stroke, is above me."
Jeffries was bottom but one.
"Oh, rotten luck," said Mansell. "You should do like me. Old fool Claremont said I had done damned well!"
"He hardly put it that way," came from Gordon; "but I believe Mansell has managed more or less to deceive the examiners."
"Oh, I say, that's a bit thick, you know," said Mansell. "Oh, damn, who is that at the door?"
There was a feeble knock. "Come in!" shouted at least six voices simultaneously.
Davenham came in looking rather frightened.
"I'm sorry.... Is Caruthers in here?"
"Yes, young fellow, he is."
"Oh, Caruthers, Meredith wants you!"
"Damn him," said Gordon. "What a nuisance these prefects are."
Very unwillingly he got up and strolled upstairs.
He was away rather a long time. After twenty minutes' absence he returned rather moodily.
"Hullo, at last; you've been the hell of a long time," said Hunter. "What did he want?"
"Oh, nothing; only something about my boxing subscription."
"Well, he took long enough about it, I must say. Was that all?"
"Of course. Cake, please, Fitzroy!"
The subject was dropped.
But just before chapel Jeffries ran into Gordon in the cloister.
"Look here, Caruthers, what did Meredith really want you for? I swear I won't tell anyone."
"Oh, well, I don't mind you knowing.... You know what Meredith is, well—I mean—oh, you know, the usual stuff. He wanted me to meet him out for a walk to-morrow. I told him in polite language to go to the 'devil.'"
"Good Lord, did you really? But why? If Meredith gets fed up with you he could give you the hell of a time."
"Oh, I know he could, but he wouldn't over a thing like that. Damn it all, the man is a gentleman."
"Of course he is, but all the same he is a blood, and it pays to keep on good terms with them."
"Oh, I don't know; it's risky—and well, I think the whole idea is damned silly nonsense."
Jeffries looked at him rather curiously.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose that is how the small boy always looks at it."
It was only for an hour or so, however, that Gordon let this affair worry him. The holidays were only forty-eight hours off and he was longing to hear the results of the exams., and to know whether he had a prize.
Prize-giving was always held at five o'clock on the last Monday. And the afternoon dragged by very slowly. Mansell assumed a cheerful indifference. He thought his motor bike fairly certain. Rumour had it there were going to be at least twelve promotions into the Lower Fifth. Jeffries and Lovelace had also nothing to worry about; there was little doubt as to their positions. Hunter specialised in chemistry, and had done no examination papers. But for Gordon the suspense was intolerable. He could find nothing to do; he climbed up the Abbey tower, and wrote his name on the big hand of the clock; he roped up his playbox, tipped the school porter; and still there was an hour and a half to put in. Disconsolately he wandered down town. He strolled into Gisson's, the school book-seller's: it contained nothing but the Home University Library series and numerous Everymans. It was just like his first day over again. But at last five o'clock came, and he sat with his four friends at the back of the big schoolroom. He grew more and more tired of hearing the lists of the Second and Third Forms read out. What interest did he take in the doings of Pappenheim and Guttridgetertius? IV. A was reached at length. The list was read from the bottom.
Not placed—Hunter.
Slowly the names were read out; the single figures were now reached:
Mansell—term's work, eighteen. Exams., one. Combined order, four.
This difference of position caused a titter to run round among those of the School House who knew the cause of it. The third name and then the second was reached:
Caruthers—Term's work, one. Exams., three. Combined order, one.
Term's Prize—Caruthers. Exams.—Mansell.
The latter's performance was the signal for an uproarious outburst of applause, in which laughter played a large part. There was still more merriment when it was discovered that he had got as a prizeSartor Resartus. As he crudely put it: "What the bloody hell does it mean?" Gordon got theIndian Mutiny, by Malleson. Both books now repose, as do most prizes, in the owners' book-cases, unread.
"Congrats, Mansell, old fellow," yelled Lovelace minor, as the school poured out at the end of the prize-giving. "Glorious! What a School House triumph."
"Yes, you know," said Mansell. "But it doesn't seem quite fair, and I am damned if I want this book. It looks the most utter rot. I say, shall I give it to that little kid in Buller's, I forget his name, who was second? He looks a bit upset. Shall I, I say?"
"Don't be a silly fool, Mansell," said Lovelace major, who happened to overhear the conversation. "You've just got the only prize you're ever likely to get for work; stick on to it."
The rest of the day was pure, unalloyed joy to Gordon. He rushed off after tea to wire the news home; then he sat in the gallery and listened to the concert. He had expected to enjoy it rather; but the seats were uncomfortable, the music too classical, and he soon stopped paying any attention to the choir, and began a long argument with Collins as to the composition of the Two Cock scrum.
The next morning as the train steamed out of Fernhurst,and he lay back in the carriage smoking a cigarette, outwardly with the air of a connoisseur, inwardly with the timid nervousness of a novice, he reflected that, in spite of the Rev. Rogers, school was a pretty decent sort of place.
"I say, itistrue; Lovelace major has left."
"Good Lord, no; is it?"
"He's not on the House list?"
"I heard he'd passed into the army at last."
"I wonder who he was sitting next."
"And we shall have that silly ass Armour captain of the House."
"Ye gods!"
A small crowd had gathered in front of the studies on the first night of the Easter term. Consternation reigned. The almost impossible had happened. Lovelace major had passed into Sandhurst at his fifth attempt, and Armour would take his place as house captain. It was a disaster. Armour was doubtless a most worthy fellow, a thoroughly honest, hard-working forward. But he had no personality. When he passed by, fags did not suddenly stop talking, as they did when Clarke or Meredith rolled past them. The term before, he had not even been a house prefect. The Three Cock, which had once seemed such a certainty, now became a forlorn hope.
"It's rotten," said Lovelace minor that night in the dormitory. "My brother didn't think he had the very ghost of a chance of passing. He'd mucked it up four times running, only the silly ass had done both the unseens with "the Bull" the week before, and he was too damned slack to alter them, and write them down wrong. He always was an ass, my brother."
Everyone was sorry. Even "the Bull" regarded him with a sort of indulgent sentimentality. He never sawvery much good in a School House captain as long as he was there; but as soon as he left, all his faults were forgotten and virtues that he had never possessed were flung at him in profusion. The result was that "the Bull" said to the School House captain of each generation: "I have had more trouble with you than any Fernhurst boy I have ever met. You can't see beyond the length of your own dining-hall. See big. See the importance of Fernhurst, and the insignificance of yourself."
But no one was more sorry than Armour. He did not want responsibility; he had not sought for it. He wished to have fought in the School House battles as a private, not as an officer. He loved the House, and longed for its success, and trembled to think that he might ruin its chances by a weak and vacillating captaincy. Moreover, he felt that he had no one to back him up. Meredith, Robey and Simonds, the other members of the First Fifteen in the House, were all grousing and wondering how large a score the outhouses would run up in the Three Cock. No one placed any confidence in his abilities. He was entirely alone.
The next day was pouring wet; the ground was under water. Most house captains would have sent their houses for a run. But Armour wanted to make his start as early as possible. He couldn't bear to delay. That afternoon the probable Thirds side played against the rest of the House, with the exception of the Second colours. Armour had never felt so nervous before; it was actually the first time he had refereed on a game. Jeffries was captain of the Thirds, and kicked off. It was, of course, a scrappy game. On such a day good football was impossible. The outsides hardly touched the ball once. But the forwards, covered in mud from head to foot, had their full share of work. Jeffries was ubiquitous; he led the "grovel" (as the scrum was called at Fernhurst), and kept it together. Gordon had very little chance of distinguishing himself; but he did one or two dribbles, and managed to collar Mansell the only time he looked like getting away. Lovelace minor, who played fly-half, had nothing to do except stop forward rushes, was kicked all over his body, got very cold and never had a chance once. He was utterlymiserable the whole hour. All this was in favour of Armour. He knew nothing about three-quarter work, but he had played forward ever since he had gone to the Fernhurst preparatory at ten years of age, and could always spot the worker and the slacker, which Lovelace major never could. On the whole, taking a house game was not so terrifying after all; by half-time he had forgotten his nervousness in his excitement at watching how his side was going to shape.
"You know, I don't think Armour so rotten as people said he would be," said Gordon, as they came up after the game. "I thought he was all right."
"Oh yes, he's not so bad; but he does not seem much when you shove him next to Lovelace major."
"Well, you know," said Jeffries, "he does know something about forward play, which I am damned if Lovelace did."
"Perhaps so; but all the same Lovelace was the man to win matches." Mansell was an outside, and loved dash and brilliance, but the forwards were not sorry to have someone in command who understood them. Armour had begun well.
There are still people who will maintain that the ideal schoolboy in school hours thinks only about Vergil and Sophocles, and in the field concentrates entirely on drop kicks and yorkers. But that boy does not exist; and in the Easter term it is impossible to think of anything but house matches. Those who were in the power of some form martinet had a terrible time this term. But Gordon and Mansell found themselves safely at rest in Claremont's form and Greek set, and made up their minds just to stay there and do only enough work to avoid being bottled.
For the Lower Fifth was certainly the refuge of many weather-beaten mariners. Pat Johnstone had laboriously worked up from the bottom form, led on only by the hope that one day he would reach V. B, and there repose at the back of the room, living his last terms in peace. Ruddock had once set out with high hopes of reaching the Sixth; his first term he had won a Divinity prize in the Shell. But under Claremont he had discovered the truth, learnt long ago in the land of Lotus Eaters, "that slumber is moresweet than toil!" The back benches of that room were strewn with shattered hopes. Small intelligent scholars came up and passed by on their way to Balliol Scholarships; but the faces at the back of the room remained terribly somnolent and happy. A certain Banbury had been there for three years and had earned the nickname of "old Father Time," and Mansell, too, swore he would enrol himself with the Lost Legion, while even Gordon said that nothing would shift him from there for at least a year.
Claremont had many strange ideas, the most striking of which was the belief that boys felt a passionate love for poetry. The average boy has probably read all the poetry he will ever read terms before he ever reaches the Fifth Form. By the time he is in Shell he has learnt to appreciate Kipling, the more choice bits ofDon Juanand a few plain-spoken passages in Shakespeare. If English Literature were taught differently, if he were led by stages from Macaulay to Scott, from Byron to Rossetti, he might perhaps appreciate the splendid heritage of song, but as it is, swung straight fromIfto theOde to the Nightingalehe finds the "shy beauty" of Keats most unutterable nonsense. Claremont, however, thought otherwise, and ran his form accordingly. In repetition this was especially noticeable. Kennedy, a small boy with glasses, who was always word-perfect, would nervously mumble through Henry V's speech (they always learnt Shakespeare) in an accurate but totally uninspired way. Mansell would stand at the back of the form and blunder out blank verse, much of which was his own, and little of which was Shakespeare, but which certainly sounded most impressive.
"Well, Kennedy," Claremont would say, "you certainly know your words very well, but I can't bear the way you say them. Five out of twenty. Mansell, you evidently have made little attempt to learn your repetition at all, but I love your fervour. One so rarely finds anyone really affected by the passion of poetry. Fifteen out of twenty."
During his two years in the Lower Fifth Mansell never once spent more than five minutes learning his "rep," yet on no occasion did he get less than twelve out of twenty. A bare outline was required, a loud voice supplied the rest.
In this form it was that Gordon first began to crib. Hedid not do it to get marks. He merely wished to avoid being "bottled." Some headmasters, and the writers toThe Boy's Own Paper, draw lurid pictures of the bully who by cribbing steals the prize from the poor innocent who looks up every word in a big Liddell and Scott; but such people don't exist. No one ever cribbed in order to get a prize: they crib from mere slackness. Mansell's exam. prize in IV. A is about the only instance of a prize won by cribbing. Besides, cribbing is an art.
Ruddock, for instance, when he used to go on to translate, was accustomed to take up his Vergil in one hand and his Bohn in the other.
"What is that other book, Ruddock?" Claremont asked once.
"Some notes, sir," was the perfectly truthful answer.
Ruddock was, moreover, an altruist; he always worked for the good of his fellow-men. One day, when Mansell was bungling most abominably with his Euripides, he flung his Bohn along the desk, Mansell picked it up, propped it in front of him and read it off. Claremont never noticed. This was the start of a great system of combination. Everyone at the beginning of the term paid twopence to the general account with which Ruddock bought someShort Steps to Accurate Translations. As each person went on to translate, the book was passed to him and he read straight out of it. The translating was, in consequence, always of a remarkably high standard. Claremont never understood why examinations always proved the signal for a general collapse. History, however, was a subject that had long been a worry to the form. Dates are irrevocable facts and cannot be altered, they must be learnt. At one time, when Claremont said, "Shut your book. I will ask a few questions," everyone shut their Latin grammars loudly and kept their history books open; but this was rather too obvious a ruse; Claremont began to spot it. Something had to be done. It would be an insult to expect any member of the form to prepare a lesson. It was Gordon who finally devised a plan.
"Please, sir," he said one day, "don't you think we should find history much more interesting if we could bring in maps."
"Well, perhaps it would," said Claremont sleepily. "I am sure the form is very much indebted to you for your kind thought. Anyone who wants to, may bring in a map."
Next day everyone had found a huge atlas which he propped up on the desk; and which completely hid everything except the student's actual head. There was now no fear of an open book being spotted, it was so very simple to shut it when Claremont began to walk about, and besides ... it made the lesson so much more interesting.
And so Gordon and Mansell were able to discuss football the whole of evening hall, never do a stroke of work, and yet get quite a respectable half-term report.
The interest in the Thirds was now becoming intense. As was expected, Buller's easily beat all the outhouses, with Claremont's house as runners-up. Claremont's house had once been the great athletic house, but when a house master takes but little interest in a house's performances, that house is apt to get stale, and soon Claremont's became a name for mediocrity. As a house it was like V. B, a happy land where no one worried about anything, and it was quite safe to smoke in the studies on a Sunday afternoon. A side made up of two houses that had never played together before was bound to lack the combination of a side that had played together for several weeks. But the School House was always playing against superior weight and strength, and more than once had found itself unable to sustain their efforts, and after leading up to half-time went clean to pieces in the last ten minutes. It is pretty hard to hold a "grovel" several stones heavier for over an hour, and this year even Armour was a little doubtful about the lightness of his side. To Gordon and Jeffries, of course, defeat seemed impossible. Last year Jeffries had played in a winning side and Gordon had yet to see the House lose a match. But Mansell smiled sadly; he had played in a good many losing sides. Gordon dreamed football night and day. He saw himself securing wonderful last-minute tries, and bringing off amazing collars when all seemed lost. But all his hopes were doomed to disappointment. Two days before the game he slipped coming downstairs, fell with his wrist under him, and with his arm in splints and sling had to watch from the touch-line an outhousevictory of ten points to nothing. The usual thing happened—the House was just not strong enough. Jeffries played a great game, and fought an uphill fight splendidly; Lovelace only missed a drop goal by inches; Fletcher, an undisciplined forward, did great damage till warned by the referee. But weight told, and during the whole of the last half the House were penned in their twenty-five, while the school got over twice. Very miserably the House sat down to tea that evening. It added insult to injury when an impertinent fag from Buller's walked in in the middle and demanded the cup. Armour managed to keep his temper, but that fag did not forget for weeks the booting Gordon gave him the next day. Still it was a poor revenge for a lost cup.
Whatever little chance there had ever been of Gordon getting a place in the Two Cock was, of course, quite destroyed by his accident. The doctor said he ought not to play again for at least three weeks. And so it was that, as far as football was concerned, Gordon found himself rather out of it. All his friends were in the thick of everything. Mansell was captain of the Two Cock, Jeffries was leading the scrum, Hunter was being tried as scrum half, and Lovelace was in training as a reserve. He alone was doing nothing. For a few days the afternoons seemed unbearably long. But Gordon had a remarkable gift for adapting himself to circumstances. And he had very little difficulty in striking up new acquaintances. So far, he had had very little to do with those outside his actual set; with the majority of the House he was hardly on speaking terms, and of Archie Fletcher he knew little except the name.
Archie Fletcher was a great person; "great" in fact was the only adjective that really fitted him. He had only two real objects in life, one was to get his House cap, the other was to enjoy himself. And his love of pleasure usually took the form of ragging masters. Ragging with him did not consist in mere spasmodic episodes of bravado which usually ended in a beating. He had reduced it to a science. It was to him the supreme art. At present he was suffering from a kick on the knee which he had received in the Thirds, and he and Gordon found themselves constantly thrown together.
Archie (no one ever called him anything else), was a splendid companion. He had an enormous repertoire of anecdotes which he was never tired of telling, and every one finished in exactly the same way: "Believe me, Caruthers, some rag." Oh, a great man, forsooth, was Archie! He had cynically examined every master with whom he had anything to do, picked him to pieces, found out his faults, and then played on his weaknesses. Sometimes, however, he went a little too far. On one occasion he was doing chemistry with a certain Jenks, a very fiery little man, who really believed in the educational value of "stinks." So did Archie; it gave him scope to exercise his genius for playing the fool. But this day he overstepped the bounds. In the distance, he saw Blake, his pet aversion, carefully working out an experiment. A piece of glass tubing was at hand; Jenks was not looking; Archie fixed the tube to the waterspout, turned the tap; a cascade of H2O rose in the air and fell on Blake's apparatus; there was a crash of falling glass. Jenks spun round.
"Oh, is that you, Fletcher, you stupid fellow? Come over here. I shall have to beat you. Now then, where's my cane gone! Oh, then I shall have to use some rubber tubing—stoop down, stoop down!"
Laboriously Archie bent down; Jenks bent a piece of india-rubber tubing double—its length was hardly a foot—and gave Archie a feeble blow. It could not possibly have hurt him. But the victim leapt in the air, clutching the seat of his trousers.
"Oh!" he screamed. "Oh, sir, oh, sir! You have hurt me, sir. You are so strong, sir."
"Oh, then you are coward, too, are you?" said the delighted Jenks. "Stoop down again; stoop down!"
The form rocked with laughter.
Archie received four strokes in all, and after each he went through the same performance. Jenks thought himself a second Hercules; he repeated the story in the common room. Archie repeated it also, in the studies: "Believe me, you fellows, some rag!"
A great man, and after Gordon's own heart!
On a bleak, rainy afternoon Gordon and Fletcher watched the overwhelming defeat of the House in the TwoCock. The score was over thirty points; Mansell played only moderately; Jeffries was off his game. A gloom settled down over the House, everyone became peevish and discontented. It was said that the great days of House footer were over. To lose both the Thirds and the Two Cock was a disgrace. No one expected anything but a rout in the Three Cock. There were bets in the day-room as to whether the score would be under fifty. Interest centred entirely on who would get their House caps. With Lovelace away, the three-quarter line would be innocuous: the forwards always had been weak. The House were bad losers, they had grown accustomed to victories.
"Jeffries was pretty hot stuff to-day, wasn't he?"
"Good Lord! yes. If he plays half as well as that in the Three Cock he'll get his House cap."
It was just after tea. Mansell was lying back in an easy-chair with his feet on the table; he was dead tired after a strenuous game. Gordon was sitting on the table. Hunter reclined in the window seat.
"Where is he, by the way?" said Gordon. "I didn't see him in to tea."
"Oh, I believe someone asked him out. Isn't he rather a pal of the Jacobs in Cheap Street?"
"I heard that there was a bit of a row on," said Hunter. "I couldn't quite make out what about.... Oh, by Jove, that's him."
Jeffries' voice was heard down the passage: "Mansell."
A voice answered him: "Here, No. 34."
Jeffries was heard running upstairs; he entered looking very dejected.
"Hullo! Cheer up!" shouted Mansell. "I shouldn't have thought you could have run like that after this afternoon's game. Where've you been?"
"I say ... I'm in the deuce of a row."
There was a shriek of laughter. Jeffries was always in a row; and he always exaggerated its importance.
"Don't laugh. It's no damned joke. I've got bunked."
Silence suddenly fell on the group.
"But ... what the hell have you been doing?"
"Chief's found out all about me and Fitzroy, and I've got to go!"
"But I never thought there was really anything in that," said Gordon. "I thought——"
"Oh, well, there was. I know I'm an awful swine and all that——Oh, it's pretty damnable; and the Three Cock, too! I believe I should have got my House cap!... I wasn't so dusty to-day—and I heard Armour say, as he came off the field——Damn, what the bloody hell does it matter what Armour said? It's over now. I just got across for a minute to see you men.... I said I wanted a book.... Lord, I can't believe it...."
When he stopped speaking there was again a dead silence. None of the three had been brought face to face with such a tragedy before. Never, Gordon thought, had the Greek idea of Nemesis seemed so strong.
Hunter broke the silence.
"What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know. I shall go home, and then, I suppose, I shall have to go to France or Germany, or perhaps some crammer. I don't know or care ... it's bound to be pretty rotten...."
He half smiled.
"My God, and it's damned unfair," Mansell said suddenly. "There are jolly few of us here any better than you, and look at the bloods, every one of them as fast as the devil, and you have to go just because——Oh, it's damned unfair."
Then Jeffries' wild anger, the anger that had made him so brilliant an athlete, burst out: "Unfair? Yes, that's the right word; it is unfair. Who made me what I am but Fernhurst? Two years ago I came here as innocent as Caruthers there; never knew anything. Fernhurst taught me everything; Fernhurst made me worship games, and think that they alone mattered, and everything else could go to the deuce. I heard men say about bloods whose liveswere an open scandal, 'Oh, it's all right, they can play football.' I thought it was all right too. Fernhurst made me think it was. And now Fernhurst, that has made me what I am, turns round and says, 'You are not fit to be a member of this great school!' and I have to go. Oh, it's fair, isn't it?"
He dropped exhausted into a chair. After a pause he went on:
"Oh, well, it's no use grousing. I suppose if one hits length balls on the middle stump over square leg's head one must run the risk of being bowled; and I didn't believe in sticking in and doing nothing. 'Get on or get out,' and, well, I've got out." He laughed rather hysterically.
Again silence.
Slowly Jeffries got up.
"Well, good-bye, you men." He shook hands. As he opened the door he paused for a second, laughed to himself: "Oh, it's funny, bloody funny," he murmured. "Not fit for Fernhurst.... Bloody funny." He laughed again, bitterly. The door closed slowly.
Jeffries' footsteps could be heard on the stairs. They grew fainter; the door leading to the Chief's side of the House slammed. Down the study passage a gramophone struck upFlorrie was a Flapper.
In Study 34 there was an awful stillness.
That evening on the way down to supper Gordon overheard Armour say to Meredith:
"What a fool that man Jeffries is, getting bunked, and mucking up the grovel. Damned ass, the man is."
Meredith agreed.
Gordon didn't care very much just now about the result of a House match. He had lost a friend. Armour had lost a cog in a machine.
As was expected, the Three Cock proved a terribly one-sided game. The House played pluckily, and for the first half kept the score down to eight points; but during the last twenty minutes it was quite impossible to keep out the strong outhouse combination. The side became demoralised, and went absolutely to pieces. Armour did not give a single House cap.
After the Three Cock there was a period of four weeks during which the best athletes trained for the sports, while the rest of the school played hockey. It was generally considered a sort of holiday after the stress of house matches. Usually it served its purpose well, but for the welfare of the House this year it was utterly disastrous. The whole house was in a highly strung, discontented state; it had nothing to work for; it had only failures to look back upon. The result was a general opposition to authority. For a week or so there was a continuous row going on in the studies. Window-frames were broken; chairs were smashed; nearly every day one or other member of the House was hauled before the Chief, for trouble of some sort. But things did not reach a real head till one night in hall, just before Palm Sunday. There was a lecture for the Sixth Form; Armour was taking hall; and the only prefect in the studies was Sandham, who had a headache and had got leave off the lecture. It did not take long for the good news to spread round the studies that only "the Cockroach" was about.
The first sign of trouble was a continual sound of opening doors. Archie was rushing round, stirring up strife; then there came a sound of many voices from the entrance of the studies, where were the fire hose and the gas meter. Suddenly the gas was turned out throughout the whole building, and pandemonium broke out.
It would be impossible to describe the tumult made by a whole house that was inspired by only one idea: the desire to make a noise. The voice of Sandham rose in a high-pitched wail over and again above the uproar; but it was pitch dark, he could see none of the offenders. Then all at once there was peace again, the lights went up, and everyone was quietly working in his study. It had been admirably worked out. Archie was "some" organiser.
For the time being the matter ended; but in a day or two rumours of the rebellion had reached Clarke. Strong steps had to be taken; and Clarke was not the man to shirk his duty.
That evening after prayers he got up and addressed the House.
"I have been told that two nights ago, when I wasabsent, there was a most unseemly uproar in the studies. I am not going into details; you all know quite well what I mean. I want anyone who assisted in the disturbance to stand up."
There was not a move. The idea that the Public School boy's code of honour forces him to own up at once is entirely erroneous. Boys only own up when they are bound to be found out; they are not quixotic.
"Well, then, as no one has spoken, I shall have to take forcible measures. Everyone above IV. A (for the Lower School did their preparation in the day-room) will do me a hundred lines every day till the end of the term. Thank you."
That night there was loud cursing. Clarke had hardly a supporter, the other prefects, with the exception of Ferguson, who did not count for much in the way of things, agreed with Meredith, who said:
"If the Cockroach can't keep order, how can Clarke expect there should be absolute quiet? It's the Chief's fault for making such prefects. Damned silly, I call it."
The term did not end without a further row. There had been from time immemorial a system by which corps clothes were common property. Everyone flung them in the middle of the room on Tuesday after parade; the matron sorted them out after a fashion; but most people on the next Tuesday afternoon found themselves with two tunics and no trousers, or two hats and only one puttee. But no one cared. The person who had two tunics flung one in the middle of the floor, and then went in search of some spare trousers. Everyone was clothed somehow in the end. There was always enough clothes to go round. There was bound to be at least ten people who had got leave off. It was a convenient socialism.
But one day FitzMorris turned up on parade in a pair of footer shorts, a straw hat, and a First Eleven blazer. He was a bit of a nut, and finding his clothes gone, went on strangely garbed, merely out of curiosity to see what would happen. A good deal did happen.
As soon as the corps was dismissed there was a clothes inspection. And the garments of FitzMorris were found distributed on various bodies. Clarke again addressed theHouse. Anyone in future discovered wearing anyone else's clothes would be severely dealt with. But the House was not to be outdone. Every single name was erased from every single piece of clothing: identification was impossible. FitzMorris turned up at the next parade with one puttee missing, and a tunic that could not meet across his chest. There was another inspection, but this time it revealed nothing. Everyone swore that he was wearing his own clothes; there was nothing to prove that he was not. For the time Clarke was discomfited.
FitzMorris set out on his Easter holidays contented with himself and the world, in the firm belief that he had thoroughly squashed that blighter Clarke. The head of the House returned to his lonely home on the moors, very thoughtful—the next term would be his last.
On the first Sunday of the summer term the Chief preached a sermon the effect of which Gordon never forgot. He was speaking on the subject of memory and remorse. "It may be in a few months," he said, "it may be not for three or four years; but at any rate before very long, you will each one of you have to stand on the threshold of life, and looking back you will have to decide whether you have made the best of your Fernhurst days. For a few moments I ask you to imagine that it is your last day at school. How will it feel if you have to look back and think only of shattered hopes, of bright unfulfilled promises? Your last day is bound to be one of infinite pathos. But to the pathos of human sorrow there is no need to add the pathos of failure. Oh, I know you are many of you saying to yourselves: 'There is heaps of time. We'll enjoy ourselves while we have the chance. It is not for so very long!' No, you are right there: it is not for so very long; it is only a few hours before you will have to weigh in the balance the good and the bad you have done during your Fernhurst days. For some of you it will be in a few weeks; but for the youngest of you it cannot be more than a very few years. Let me beg each of you ..." The sermon followed on traditional lines.
Almost subconsciously Gordon rose with the others to sing:Lord, behold us with Thy Blessing.... What would it feel like to him if this were his last Sunday, and he hadto own that his school career were a failure? He sat quite quiet in his study thinking for a long time afterwards. He had a study alone this term.
In the big study that it has ever been the privilege of the head of the House to own, Clarke also sat very silent. He was nerving himself for a great struggle.
To the average individual the summer term is anything but the heaven it is usually imagined to be. The footer man hates it; the fag has to field all day on a house game and always goes in last; there is early school; in some houses there are no hot baths. On the first day the studies are loud with murmurs of:
"Oh! this rotten summer term."
"No spare time and cricket."
"Awful!"
For Fernhurst was primarily a footer school. Buller had captained England and had infused much of his own enthusiasm into his Fifteens; but the cricket coach, a Somerset professional, lacked "the Bull's" personality and force, and so for the last few years the doings of the Eleven had been slight and unmeritable. Even Lovelace major had been unable to carry a whole side on his shoulders. As soon as he was out the school ceased to take any interest in the game. Fernhurst batting was of the stolid, lifeless type, and showed an almost mechanical subservience to the bowling.
But for Gordon this term was sheer joy. He loved cricket passionately—last season at his preparatory school he had headed the batting averages, and kept wicket with a certain measure of success. As a bat he was reckless in the extreme; time after time he flung away his wicket, trying to cut straight balls past point; he was the despair of anyone who tried to coach him; but he managed to get runs.
For cricket the School House was divided into A-K and L-Z, according to which division the names of the boys fell into. Meredith was captain of the House and of L-Z, while FitzMorris captained A-K. For the first half of the term there were Junior House Single-Innings matches played in the American method, and afterwards came theTwo-Innings Senior matches on the knock-out system. A-K Junior this year had quite a decent side. Foster was not at all a bad slow bowler, and was known to have made runs. Collins had a useful but unorthodox shot which he applied to every ball, no matter where it pitched, and which landed the ball either over shortslip's head or over the long-on boundary. In the nets it was a hideous performance, but in Junior House matches, where runs are the one consideration it was extremely useful. A certain Betteridge captained the side, not because of any personal attainments, but because he was on the V. A table, and had played in Junior House matches with consistent results for three years. He went in tenth and sometimes bowled.
These matches began at once, as Stewart, the captain of the Eleven, was anxious to spot useful men for the Colts, the under sixteen side, who wore white caps with a blue dragon worked on them. And so on the second Saturday of the term A-K drew Buller's in the first round. Before the game FitzMorris had the whole side in his study to fix the positions in the field. Some of the side had played little serious cricket before. Brown, in fact, asked if he might field middle and leg. But at last they were placed more or less to their own satisfaction, and FitzMorris gave them a short "jaw" on keenness. Cricket was about the one thing he really cared for; as a chemistry specialist he spent most of his day adoze in the laboratory. It was only in the cricket field that he really woke up.
With great solemnity Betteridge walked forward to toss with Felsted, the Buller's captain. A few seconds later he returned to announce that Buller's had won the toss and put them in. The captain of a Junior House side is always very fond of putting the other side in first. P.F. Warner would demand rain overnight, a drying ground, a fast wind and a baking sun before he would dare do such a thing. But Felsted was made of sterner stuff.
Gordon was sent in first with Collins. The idea was to try and knock the bowlers off their length early. Gordon was very nervous. "The Bull" was umpire at one end and FitzMorris at the other. Meredith had strolled over to watch, as L-Z had drawn a bye. Mansell was in the Pavilion eating an ice. All eyes seemed on him. He hadmade Collins take the first ball. The start was worthy of the best School House traditions. The first ball was well outside the off-stump; it landed in the National School grounds that ran alongside of the school field. A howl of untuneful applause went up. This was the cricket anyone could appreciate, and this was the cricket that was always seen on a School House game. Its only drawback was that could not last. Collins made a few more daring strokes. In the second over he made a superb drive over shortslip's head to the boundary, and his next shot nearly ended FitzMorris' somnolent existence. It was great while it lasted, but, like all great things, it came to an end. He gave the simplest of chances to cover point, and Buller's rarely missed their catches.
It was so with nearly all the other members of the side. Three or four terrific hits and then back under the trees again. Gordon alone seemed at all comfortable. Either the novelty of the surroundings (it was only his second innings at Fernhurst), or else the presence of "the Bull," quieted his customary recklessness. At any rate, he attempted no leg-glides on the off-stump, and in consequence found little difficulty in staying in. The boundaries, as was natural on a side ground, were quite close. Runs came quite easily. During the interval after Foster's dismissal "the Bull" walked across to him:
"How old are you, Caruthers?"
"Thirteen and a half, sir."
"Oh, good thing to come young. I did myself. Keep that left foot well across and you'll stop in all day. Well done. Stick to it."
Gordon was amazingly bucked up. He had always heard "the Bull" was anti-School House, and here he was encouraging one of his enemies. What rot fellows did talk. Splendid man "the Bull"! He would tell Mansell so that night.
And his opinion was even more strengthened when, after he had been clean bowled for forty-three without a chance, "the Bull" stopped him on the way out and said:
"Well done, Caruthers! Plucky knock. Go and have a tea at the tuck-shop, and put it down to my account."
The School House innings closed for one hundred and forty-eight. "Nothing like big enough," said Foster.
FitzMorris overheard him.
"Rot! Absolute rot! If you go on the field in that spirit you won't get a single man out. Go in and win."
And a very fine fight the House put up. Foster bowled splendidly, Betteridge was fast asleep at point and brought off a marvellous one-handed catch, while Gordon stumped Felsted in his third over. After an hour's play seven men were out for about ninety. The scorers were at variance, so the exact score could not be discovered. There seemed a reasonable chance of winning. And to his dying day Gordon will maintain that they would have won but for that silly ass of an umpire, FitzMorris. Bridges, the Buller's wicket-keep, was run out by yards; there was no doubt about it. Everyone saw it. But long hours at the laboratory had made it very hard for FitzMorris to concentrate his brain on anything for a long time; he was happily dreaming, let us hope, of carbon bisulphate, when the roar, "How's that?" woke him up. He had to give the man "not out"; there was nothing else to do. Twenty minutes later, with a scandalous scythe-stroke, Bridges made the winning hit.
"Never mind, your men put up a good fight; the luck was all on our side," said "the Bull" to Caruthers. "Let's see, it's Sunday to-morrow, isn't it? Well, on Monday, then, come round to the nets; you want to practise getting that left foot across. Look here, just get your bat and I'll toss you up one or two now at the nets!"
That night "the Bull," talking over the game with his side in the dormitories, said: "That Caruthers, you know, he's a good man; sort of fellow we want in the school. Can fight an uphill game. Got grit. He'll make a lot of runs for the school some day."
On Monday Gordon saw his name down for nets with the Colts Eleven. Life was good just then. If only Jeffries were there too....
"Ferguson, the House is getting jolly slack; something's got to be done."
Ferguson sat up in his chair. Clarke had been quiet nearly the whole of hall; there was obviously something up.
"Oh, I don't know. Why, only a quarter of an hour ago I came across Collins and Brown playing stump cricket in the cloisters instead of studying Thucydides. That's what I call keenness."
"What did you say to them?"
"Oh, I've forgotten now, but it was something rather brilliant. I know it was quite lost on them. The Shell can't appreciate epigram. They ought to read more Wilde. Great bookIntentions. Ever read it, Clarke?
"Oh, confound your Wildes and Shaws; that's just what I object to. Here are these kids, who ought to be working, simply wasting their time, thinking of nothing but games. Why, I was up in the House tutor's room last night and was glancing down the list of form orders. Over half the House was in double figures."
"But, my good man, why worry? As long as the lads keep quiet in hall, and leave us in peace, what does it matter? Peace at any price, that's what I say; we get so little of it in this world, let us hang on to the little we have got."
"But look what a name the House will get."
"The House will get much the same reputation in the school as England has in Europe. The English as a whole are pleasure-loving and slack. They worship games; and, after all, the Englishman is a jolly sight better fellow than the average German or Frenchman."
"Yes, of course he's a better fellow, but the rotten thing is that he might be a much better fellow still. If as a country we had only ourselves to think about, let us put up a god of sport. But we have not. We have to compete with the other nations of the world. And late cuts are precious little use in commerce. This athleticism is ruiningthe country. At any rate, I am not going to have it in the House. In hall they've got to work; and if their places in form aren't better next week there's going to be trouble."
"Yes there'll most certainly be trouble. I can't think why you won't leave well alone. Lord Henry Wootton used to say——"
But Clarke was paying no attention.
That evening he got up after prayers to address the House.
"Will nothing stop this fellow's love of oratory?" murmured Betteridge.
"I have to speak to the House on a subject which I consider important," began Clarke. ("Which probably means that it's most damnable nonsense," whispered Mansell.) "The position of the members of the House in form order is not at all creditable. In future every week the senior member of each form will bring me a list with the places of each School House member of the form on it. I intend to deal severely with anyone I find consistently low. I hope, however, that I shall not have need to. This is the best house socially and athletically; there is no reason why we should not be the best house at work too."
"As I prophesied," said Mansell, "most damnable nonsense!"
On the Second and Third Forms this speech had a considerable effect. For the first time in his life Cockburn did some work, and at the end of the week he was able to announce that he had gone up two places—from seventeenth to fifteenth. There were seventeen in the form.
The Shell and the Lower Fourth were, of course, too old to consider the possibility of actually working. It was a preposterous idea. Something had to be done, however, so Collins bought excellent translations of the works of Vergil and Xenophon. A vote of thanks proposed by Foster and seconded by Brown was very properly carriednem. con.
But in V. B and IV. A there were some strong, rebellious spirits who would not bow down under any tyranny. In Study No. 1, at the end of the passage on the lower landing, Mansell addressed a meeting of delegates with great fervour.
"From time immemorial," he thundered out, "it hasbeen the privilege of the members of this House" (he had been readingJohn Bullthe day before) "to enjoy themselves, to work if they wanted to, to smoke if they wanted to, to do any damned thing they wanted to. The only thing they'd got to do was to play like hell in the Easter term, and here's that —— Clarke trying to make us do work, and, what is more, to work for Claremont! Gentlemen, let us stand by our traditions." (Mr Bottomley is useful at times.)
"That's all very jolly," said the practical Farrow, "but what are you doing?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter what we do, as long as we stand up for our rights. Who ever heard of School House men working?"
"Now look here, my good fellows," said the ingenious Archie, "it's quite simple, if you will only do as I tell you. Clarke told us to bring him a form list; the obvious thing to do is not to bring one at all."
"But, you silly ass, the fellow who ought to have brought it will get into the very Hades of a row."
"Exactly. But who is the responsible person? Clarke said the senior man. Well, now, in IV. A I am, as far as work is concerned, the senior man in the form. But Hasel has been in the form a term longer than me, while Farrow, a most arrant idiot, who has only just reached the form, has been in the House a year longer than either of us. There is no senior man. We have all excellent claims to the position, but we waive them in favour of our inferiors."
Archie was at once acclaimed as the Napoleon of deceit. That week Clarke found no form order either from IV. A or V.B. After prayers that evening he asked to see all those in IV. A and V.B.
When the conspirators arrived at his study Clarke found that everything had been elaborately prepared. There was not a single hitch in the argument. No one was at fault. There had been a general misunderstanding. They were, of course, very sorry. Clarke listened in silence.
"Well, I'm sorry this has happened. But when I say that I want a thing done, I expect it to be done. None of you are to blame particularly; but you are all equally guilty. I shall be forced to cane the lot of you."
There was a gasp. They had known Clarke was a strong man, but they had hardly expected this. Mansell was indignant.
"But look here, Clarke, you can't beat me, I'm a House cap."
"Can't I?"
"It has been a House tradition for years that a House cap can't be beaten."
"I am sorry, Mansell, but I have little respect for traditions. Will you all wait for me in the Sixth Form room?"
"All right, I shall go to the Chief then."
"I don't think you will, Mansell."
The Chief was not very fond of receiving complaints about his House prefects.
It was, of course, obvious that Clarke, when he had started on a job like this, had to carry it through. If he had gone back, his position would have been impossible; but there could be no doubt that it was a disastrous campaign as far as the unity of the House was concerned. At once the House was divided into sides, and nearly the whole of the Sixth Form was against Clarke.
"It's not the duty of the head of the House to see how people are working. That is a House master's job," pointed out FitzMorris. "All Clarke has got to do is to see that the kids don't rag in hall, and at other times more or less behave themselves."
The House was in a state of open rebellion.
And the worst of it was that none of the other prefects made any attempt to keep order. Now there was a rule that in hall only three people might be allowed in one study, the idea being that, if more got in, work would be bound to change into conversation. One evening, however, a huge crowd slowly congregated in Mansell's study. Lovelace dropped in to borrow a book, and stayed. Hunter and Gordon came for a chat, and stayed too. Archie Fletcher had, as was usual with him, done all his preparation in half-an-hour, and was in search of something to do. Betteridge heard a noise outside, walked in, and stopped to give his opinion on the chances of A-K beating L-Z that week. In a few minutes the conversation got rather heated. The noise could be heard all down the passage.
Meredith came down to see what was going on.
"Ah, 'some' party! Well, Mansell, got over your beating yet?"
There was subdued laughter.
"I say, Meredith, have A-K the slightest chance of beating us on Thursday?" Lovelace was captain of L-Z Junior, and had laid rather heavily on a victory.
"Of course not, my good man, I'm going to umpire."
This time the laughter was not subdued.
In his retreat at the far end of the studies Clarke heard it. Down the passage he thundered, knocked at the door, and came in.
"What's the meaning of this? You know quite well that not more than three are allowed in here at one time. Come to my study, the lot of you."
All this time Meredith was being jammed behind the door.
"When you have quite finished, Clarke," he said.
"I am sorry, Meredith. Are you responsible for this?"
"In a way, yes. I was rather afraid that the House was getting slack about their work. A very bad thing for a house, Clarke! So I took this opportunity of holding a little viva voce examination. We were studying 'The Sermon on the Mount,' a singularly beautiful and impressive passage, Clarke. Have you read it?"
Clarke had read it that day as the lesson in chapel. He had also read it rather badly, having a cold in his head.
"You seem to have rather a large class, Meredith," he said sarcastically.
"Yes; like our good Lord, I have beaten the by-ways and the hedges, and I am almost afraid I shall also have to beat Mansell. He has singularly failed to appreciate the full meaning of that passage about 'humility.'"
Clarke saw he was beaten, and turned away. As he walked down the passage he heard a roar of laughter coming from Study No. 1.
The story was all round the House in half-an-hour, and on his way down to prayers Clarke heard FitzMorris say before a whole crowd:
"You are a great fellow, Meredith. That's the way to keep these upstarts in order."
That night there was merriment in the games study, and Ferguson advised Clarke to let the matter drop.
"After all, you know, it's not your business."
And perhaps Clarke realised that Ferguson was for once right. But he had to go on; it was very hard, though. He had been quite popular before he was head of the House. He wished he had left a year ago. For it is hard to be hated where one loves. And Clarke, well as he loved Fernhurst, loved the House a hundred times more.
"Well played, Caruthers; jolly good knock."
"Well done, Caruthers!"
Lovelace and Mansell banged excitedly into Gordon's study the evening after the Colts matchv.Murchester. Gordon had made thirty-seven on a wet wicket, and a defeat by over a hundred runs was no fault of his. He had gone in first wicket down, and stayed till the close.
"It was splendid! You ought to be a cert. for your Colts' cap. 'The Bull' was fearfully bucked."
"Oh, I don't know; it was not so very much." In his heart of hearts Gordon was pretty certain he would get his cap; but it would never do to show what he thought.
"Oh, rot, my good man," burst out Lovelace. "You didn't give a chance after the first over. And, by Jove, that was a bit of luck then."
"Yes, you know, I have a good deal of luck one way and another. I haven't got in a single row yet; and I am always being missed."
"And some fellows have no luck at all. Now Foster was batting beautifully before he was run out; never saw such a scandalous mix-up. All the other man's fault. He bowled well, too. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't get his Colts' cap. I know 'the Bull' likes him."
"Do you think so?" said Gordon. He did not know why, but he rather hoped Foster would not get his cap. He himself would be captain of A-K Junior next year. It would be better if he was obviously senior to Foster. He was going to be the match-winning factor; and, so far as seniority goes, there is not much to choose between men who get their colours on the same day.
"Of course he won't if you don't," Mansell said, "butI think he's worth it. I say, let's have a feed to-night. There's just time before hall to order some stuff. Lovelace, rush off to the tuck-shop, and put it down to my account."
Gordon found it impossible to work during hall; he fidgeted nervously. He felt as he had felt on the last day of his first term before prize-giving. He knew if he was going to get his Colts' cap he would get it early that night. Stewart always gave colours during first hall. He sat and waited nervously; work became quite impossible. He looked throughThe Daily Telegraphand flung it aside; then picked upThe London Mail; that was rather more in his line.
There was a sound of talking down the passage. He heard Clarke's voice saying:
"Yes, down there, third study down, No. 16."
A second later there was a knock on the door. He managed to gulp out: "Come in."
"Gratters on your Colts' cap, Caruthers. Well played!"
Stewart shook hands with him. The next minute Gordon heard him walking to the school notice-board in the cloister. He was pinning up the notice.
Gordon sat quite still; his happiness was too great....
No one is allowed to walk about in the studies before eight dining-hall. For a quarter of an hour there was silence in the passage.
Eight struck; there was an opening of doors.
A few minutes later Hunter dashed in.
"Well done, Caruthers. Hooray!"
"Well done, Caruthers!" "Good old A-K!" "I am so glad!" Everyone seemed pleased.
Just before prayers, as he sat at the top of the day-room table, FitzMorris came over to him. "Jolly good, Caruthers. Well done." His cup was full.
Foster did not get his cap....
The next day as Gordon was walking across the courts in break "the Bull" came up to him.
"Gratters, Caruthers; wasn't your fault you lost. I like a man who can fight uphill. You have got the grit—well done, lad."
"And yet," said Gordon to Mansell, as they passed underthe school gate, "you say that man cares only for his house. Why, he only loves his house because it's a part of Fernhurst; and Fernhurst is the passion of his life!"