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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd3171e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52211 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52211) diff --git a/old/52211-0.txt b/old/52211-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4ac093f..0000000 --- a/old/52211-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7425 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52211 *** - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -A Tragi-Comedy - -By Hugh Walpole - -Author Of “Fortitude,” “The Prelude To Adventure,” Etc. - -New York George H. Doran Company - -1911 - - - -“The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: Nor -Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House -Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort.”—Pilgrim's Progress - - - -TO PUNCH - -My Dear Punch, - -There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to -you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them -all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day -last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, -and we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the -top—an inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large -black cat. - -It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. -Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than -anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good -things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good -things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this -book. - -Yours affectionately, HUGH WALPOLE. - -Chelsea, January 1911. - - - - - -CONTENTS - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE - -CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - -CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT - -CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - -CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN -THE SCHEME OF THINGS - -CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO - -CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - -CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING - -CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - -CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY....” - -CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - -CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - -CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - -CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - -CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - - - - -CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE I. - -VINCENT PERRIN said to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: -“It shall be all right this term”—and then, “It shall be”—and then, -“This term.” A cold wintry sun watched him from above the brown shaggy -wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery blue, and on its -surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A little wind -sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had nearly -reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. He -stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood -straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a -sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the -red light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front -of it the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - -“It shall be all right this term,” said Mr. Perrin, and he pulled his -rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little wind was -playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He was -long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not -been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript -pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore -was too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of -someone who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and -watery, and his eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His -age was about forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over -twenty years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were -folded behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that -trailed along the ground. - -His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top -of the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the -distant Brown Wood. - -The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The -sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of -a hammer, and the tiny whisper—as of someone who tells eagerly, but -mysteriously, a secret—was the beating of the waves far at the bottom of -the hill against the rocks. - -Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the -chimneys of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of -some hidden bonfire. - -The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up -the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude -of bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very -small indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched -their hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, -glanced at them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the -brown buildings again. - -“Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers.” he said to himself quickly; -“Barker Minor, French.. . ;” then his mind swung back to its earlier -theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the road with his stick, “It -shall be all right this term.” - -The school clock—he knew the sound so well that he often thought he -heard it at home in Buckinghamshire—struck half-past three. He hastened -his steps. His holidays had been good—better than usual; he had played -golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots and fools -as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently about -Education—shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, and What -a Mother can do for her Boy—all favorite subjects of his. - -Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad—perhaps the new man would -be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be worse than Searle of -the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just down -from the University—he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - -No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; -but there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then—he -stopped once more and drew a deep breath—there was Miss Desart. He -tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer -than others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss -Desart.... He coughed. - -He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at -his heels. - -The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; -the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. II. - -The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room -that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, -moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and -the long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore -a perpetual odor of food in the air. On a “mutton day”—there were three -“mutton” days a week—this odor hung in heavy, clammy folds about the -ceiling, and on those days there were always more boys kept in than on -the other days—on so small a thing may punishment hang. - -To-day—this being the first day of the term—-the room was exceedingly -tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows of -pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, -a name— - -“Mr. Perrin,” - -“Mr. Dormer,” - -“Mr. Clinton,” - -“Mr. Traill.” - -Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and -his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting -their papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall was -an enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines -running across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over -which were two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and -St. Peter's, Rome. - -Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the -windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen—a -gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round -empty flower-bed, a stone wall. - -On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of -bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, -cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, -a short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were -drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at -it—a practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - -However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. -Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. “Ah! here we are again!” he said, -with easy jocularity. - -Dormer gave him a hand, and said, “Glad to see you, Perrin; had good -holidays?” - -Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, “You -old nut!” - -Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that -all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was -most inclined to be easy and pleasant. - -“Ha! no cake!” he said, with a surprised air. - -“Oh! I say, I'm so sorry,” said Clinton, with his mouth full, “I took -the last. Ring the bell.” - -Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It -was cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The -Lower School was divided into two houses—Dormer was house-master of -one, and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under -house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to -Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival -camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and -play. - -“I say, Perrin, “have you made out your bath-lists? Then there are -locker-names—I want.” Perrin snapped at his bread and butter. “Ah, -Dormer, please—my tea first.” - -“All right; only, it's getting on to four.” - -For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the -door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, “Come in!” - -The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a -misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a -shuffling of feet. - -Perrin walked slowly to the door. - -“Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of -us eager to come back, of course—um—yes. Well, you know you oughtn't to -come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your names then—another five -minutes. It's up on the board. Well, Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? Don't you -know that ten minutes past four is ten minutes past four and not four -o'clock?” - -“Yes, sir, please, sir—but, sir—” - -Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - -“Ha, ha,” he said, smiling reflectively; “had him there!” - -Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, Cummin; -10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—” - -The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - -The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man. Perrin -looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first impression -of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very young -and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very -dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, turned -up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His hair, -parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his eyes -were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back -very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else, -tremendously clean. - -He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. -Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been -old enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he -had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end -of the term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a -pig-headed ass.... - -But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble about it, -and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists and -dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I must say -as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It 's in a man if -he 's going to do it—I've always managed them all right—never any -trouble—hum, ha! Yes, you 'll find them the first few days just a little -restive—seeing what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on -them.” - -Traill asked about the holiday task. - -“Oh, yes, Dormer set that. Ivanhoe—Scott, you know. Just got to read out -the questions, and see they don't crib. Let them go when you hear the -chapel bell.” - -Traill was profuse in his thanks. - -“Not at all—anything you want to know.” - -Perrin smiled at him. - -There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, -and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had -the bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and -their common rooms. - -“Well, Sexton?” Perrin cleared his throat. - -“Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I could -find, sir—Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, sir.” Sexton -backed out of the room. - -Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying -anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at -him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin -took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about -discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their -mothers, and finally said a word about serving their country. - -Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. “It will be safer for -you to hand it over to me,” he said slowly and impressively. “Then you -shall have it when you want it.” - -A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, -one by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy—he -had apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby—had only two -halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, “Well, -Rackets?” - -Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - -“I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets.” Perrin dropped -the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after the other. “I -don't think you will ever see these half-crowns again.” He smiled. - -Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the -money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly -in his eye. He struggled to keep it back—he dug his fist into it, turned -round, and fled from the room. - -Perrin was amused. “Caught friend Rackets on the hip,” he said. - -Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four -men put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. -Traill hung back a little. “You take the big room with me, Traill,” said -Dormer. “I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper.” - -They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There -was a sudden cessation of confused whispers—complete silence, and -then Perrin's voice: “Question one. Who were Richard I., Gurth, Wamba, -Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n—hyphen...” - -The door closed. III. - -A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and -a silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - -The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about -the path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell -of onions.... - - - - -CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER I. - -IT would be fitting at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's -impressions, at the end of the first week, of the place and the people. -But here one is met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that -Traill himself was not given to gathering impressions at all—he felt -things, but he never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language -and an abbreviated vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; -motives, the way that things hung and were interdependent one upon the -other, the sense of contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on -tragedy and of irony upon both, never hit him anywhere. - -Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end -of the first week. - -There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, -and there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was -engaged, quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing -medley of “things to be done and things not to be done” that that first -week must necessarily entail. - -His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be -said here now, once and for all, the entire motif of this episode—it -is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real -reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being -the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the -people in the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and -unnecessary; but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way -and their own time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they -must have their place. - -Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all -things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to -think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. -He had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a “Blue” for -Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of -these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to -thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - -His “Blue” would undoubtedly have secured him something better than a -post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left it, lazily, -until the last and had been forced to accept what he could get; in a -term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - -All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an -interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of “learning the -ropes,” and he could not therefore he expected to regard masters, boys, -or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, indeed, one of -the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he remained, for so -long a period, blind to all that was going on. - -In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He -found the world an entirely delightful place—there was Rugby football in -the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid walks; there -was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there was his -mother—a widow, and he was her only son—whom he entirely worshiped; -there were one or two excellent friends of his from Clifton and -Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there were one -or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom he had -liked very much indeed. - -He read a little—liked it when he had time; had a passion for Napoleon, -whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was even -stirred—again when he had time—by certain sorts of poetry. - -And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most -difficult of decision—as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had any -feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - -He certainly—if he had it at this time—could not put it into words; but -I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of consciousness -about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had been lying -there waiting. - -He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that -he went to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's -influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of -Pendragon and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for Richard -Feverel quite so passionately had he not had something—some poetry and -feeling—already in him. - -The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter -to his mother. He says of Moffatt's: “You never saw anything so hideous. -The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell so new, -the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's -like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they were -inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should -go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the -sun setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand—it 's the -fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand...” - -That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the -way that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal -more about it than he ever said to anyone. - -Cambridge may have done something for him—few people can spend three -years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind of -development, although probably—because we are English—it is unconscious. -II. - -He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete -idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' -meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in -conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took -the lowest—a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just -above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - -The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master—a venerable-looking clergyman, -with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers—sat at the end of the table -in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an excuse to fly -into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or two; Perrin, -Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large stout -man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a -clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much -too big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that -at any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony -little man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed -to goad Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose -hand continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly -deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as they -roved about. - -During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up -and the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and -disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention -to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On -several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and -Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - -As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and -individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he -had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book -concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was -very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things -stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent -his time in hating England and preparing to leave it—an escape that he -never achieved. - -The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the -most “interesting” of them. He was fierce and caustic in his manner to -everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - -White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his -mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - -None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his -work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all -of them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that -they liked him; but he did not think about it. - -His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. -Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his -football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years -before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin asked -him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to him -at infinite length. - -Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. III. - -The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; -and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite -indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He -could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, -from that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather -than any keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - -It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a -good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had so -much to do with everything that occurred—quite unconsciously, poor lady, -as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was over—that -she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - -The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however -casual, were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those -qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and -her air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be -even larger. - -Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at -foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish -descent—and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign enough. -There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her continual -smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a great deal -of her red cheeks. - -In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the -youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, -with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, -to unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and -enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some -knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, -athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her -lamp was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she -would be happy for ever. That—the keeping of it alight—seemed, as she -looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. -She did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse -and even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate -tracing, removes it altogether—merely, as it may seem to some cynical -observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the -moment of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to -hold on to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a -plucky determination to make the “second best” do, to the final blind -acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance -to that earlier glorious radiance. - -Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young lover -into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the Middle -Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, -would need an exhaustive treatise on “Public School Education as applied -to our Masters” for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this faithful -account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some solution to -that and other more complex riddles. - -It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined -stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married life, -at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the -complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber were -hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from her. - -She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended -her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far -as Freddie was concerned—she was continually hoping and expecting that -it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three -boys—fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious—cared, they showed her quite -plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, -to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that -pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent -her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in -hiding her love under a troubled indifference and being entirely -disregarded.... They were unpleasant boys. - -Another place for digging was the ground of “things,” of property. -Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost -nothing—they were very poor, and she “managed” badly—now, she had always -had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to an amazing -degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous kind of way, -to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her valuables. They -were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and school-bills for the -boys, consumed any money that there might happen to be, and consumed it -in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she was never able to prevent or -correct. But things had come to her—been given, left, or eagerly seized -in a wild moment's extravagance,—and these she cherished with all her -eyes and hands. The peacock-blue Liberty screen, the ormolu clock, some -few pieces of dainty Dresden china, some brass Indian pots, a small but -musically charming piano, some sketches and two good prints, and edition -de luxe of Walter Pater (a wedding-present, and she had never opened one -of these beautiful volumes), some silver, a teapot, a tray, some cups -that Freddie had won in an earlier, more glorious period, some small -pieces of jewelry—over these things she passed every morning with a -delicate, lingering touch. - -Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her -valuables she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about -them.... They seemed—dumb things as they were—to give her something of -the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so -continually searching. - -She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and -acquaintances as she was in her movements and her finances. She was -famous for her want of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and -bluntness of speech; famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to -make people like her—an attempt that, from its transparency, always with -wiser and more cynical persons failed. - -She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about -them all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with -the town and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although -she wondered in a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover -a satisfactory reason. She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into -people's lives and being hurriedly bundled out again—which “bundling,” -at every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - -But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of -course, to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber -no simple succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her -free, spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; -but to none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that -she was to Mrs. Comber. - -Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and -for so long a period, down to Moffatt's—a proceeding that her London -friends could never even vaguely understand. That she—having, as she -might, such a glorious “time” in London behind her—should care to go -and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a school, with -those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities (this term -to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a total -mystery. - -Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed -a poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only -partial. - -In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was -at Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - -Of the place—the surroundings, the look of it all, the “sense” of -it—there is more to be said in a moment—being seen, more completely -perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is enough here -that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to Isabel -deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be afraid -that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black -rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages -that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere -else in the world—these were all things that she dreamed of afterwards, -when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to her, of -danger and confusion. - -She herself “fitted in” as only a few people out of the many that go -there could ever do. - -With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her -straight eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the -swing of her arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength -and honesty might forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a -delightful boy—splendidly healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes -startling in her hatred of things and people, sometimes arrogant in her -assured enthusiasms; Mrs. Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had -told her so much, knew of the other side of her, of her tenderness, her -understanding. - -The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of -peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and -she generally did. - -It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that -she did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons—Miss Bonhurst, the two -Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - -Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago -been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. -She very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what -she had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She -allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - -Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she -means, had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, -fifteen years before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually -finding new reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on -people who had had nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and -puritanical, and hated Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these -things. - -Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each -other, but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike -of the other ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they -should assert their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber -and Mrs. Dormer looked down on them. - -The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss -Madder—stout and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for the -undeniable fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name for -a pleasanter one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a -warmth and good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - -And so there they all were—most of them—a background, and simply, as -individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by reason of -their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - -They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at -all—Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. -Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. IV. - -A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - -It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the -Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, -and Truro inland to the left—both at an equal distance—as the farthest -boundaries. - -Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill—undulating, gently, -vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue or gray -of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - -The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, -with the little village—Chattock—at its feet, curling with its steep, -cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is a wood—the -Brown Wood—and it hangs with all its feathery trees in friendly, eager -fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded cove (so tiny and -so perfect in its shape and color that it almost audibly cries out not -to be touched). There is a little part of the wood where the trees part -and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, right over the gray carpet -of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its creaking and bending and -rustling, is saying to the water and what the water, with its slipping -and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. Of the two towns -Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the Vandals, modern and -monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its outskirts—that was -the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there is a row of modern -villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his visits there, was -concerned with the chief house there—The Flutes, owned by a certain -Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, although senior, a -friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in its position and -in the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what moments he could to -visit it and to snatch a respite there. - -Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the -“lobster red” and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so that he took its -wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an added sense of -richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace stood to him -for an “escape,” he would have realized also his growing protest -against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on occasions to -Truro—because he liked the walk over the hill, because he liked certain -quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon Street, in the -higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the dark quiet -and solemnity of the Cathedral. - -The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life -that he was leading at Moffatt's—the sides of it that are soon to be -given you in detail—that led him to notice these places. Contrast drove -him to a sudden opening of his eyes—contrast and Isabel Desart. He was -growing so very quickly. - -In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one -could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the -funny old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling -at The Flutes, and “Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully -kind,” and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about the -people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all -about Isabel Desart. - -It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the -preliminaries could be said to be over. - - - - -CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT I. - -WHEN Mrs. Comber asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was -delighted, although he assumed as great an indifference as possible. -This was at the end of the first week of term, and he had not spoken to -Miss Desart—he had merely bowed to her across the grass and gone indoors -to teach the Lower Third algebra with a beating heart. - -He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was -giving the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have -been very different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured -woman (he did not always like her) had noticed his attachment—as he -thought most carefully concealed—to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - -He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had -stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had played -tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it -was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and -Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty -years he was in love. - -The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept -away in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since -the last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the -way that he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with -enthusiasm). He talked to the men of his Club about “the absurdity of -considering forty-five any age,” and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. -He gave his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight -at night, looking at it often in the glass. - -He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a -white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being -somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him -as soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about “getting a house,” -even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the -old lady. - -She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young -person be? Perhaps she would not like her—in any case, it meant taking a -second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew sides of -him that no one else knew—she saw him as a little, thin, serious hoy in -knickerbockers. - -But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long -thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he -was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he -covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if -she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - -But most of all he was afraid of something—he could never give it a -name—that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term advanced. -He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad details, of -a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the masters and the -rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers—the end-of-termy -feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the last week or -two when examinations came, seeing red. - -No—this term it shall be all right. He felt, as he said good-by to his -mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and prove that -it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was Miss Desart. -Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers together. Oh! -what things he could do! - -And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. II. - -Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So -many wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were -given during the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the -conversation that it would give rise to, of all the people that would in -all probability be angry with all the other people because they had -been asked or because they had not. There was, generally, a reason for -a dinner. Some important person had to be asked, some unimportant people -had to be worked off, someone was conscious that there had not been a -dinner-party for a very long time. But on this occasion there was no -reason except that Mrs. Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had -at once thought of Isabel, and had conceived a plan. - -Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent -Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the -Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, -because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so -much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - -All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited -were concerned. One chance word at dinner—some errant, tiny omission or -commission—and anything might happen: the time might be made miserable -for everybody. - -But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the -first place “ways and means.” How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no -words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a -boat between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of -not-being-smart-enough. - -Were things not right—if there were no meringues, no mushroom savories -(there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel—well, -the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, -there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie -scowling over his Greek Athletes to such an extent that it wouldn't do -to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved -in reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every -dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie -back. - -Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor -woman, only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive -Freddie only more completely “in.” Something was sure to happen, -before the evening was over, to annoy him—she would have “such a time -afterwards.” But it always, of course, might be the other way. He might -suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly fond, -she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him—he used to like a -game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply been -disastrous. - -She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards—she was very, very -bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in her -heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. She -plunged desperately to win it all back again—she was known throughout -the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - -It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of -all. There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. -Her heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - -But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all -kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were -cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She -thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants—only -two of them, and both ill-tempered. - -Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill—she did not even -think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a word -about Mr. Perrin. III. - -Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief -object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically -as well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the -hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they -met their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, -every day of their lives. - -The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and -were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters -about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered -wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn -buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to -the sea. - -The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue -screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in -black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and -on the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, -where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a -great deal lower than it need have been). - -They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to -explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's -always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent “heart” hand she had, -only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous results. “They -like them best with jam in them—you shall see to-night if they aren't -good; and there was really no reason at all why they shouldn't have come -off, but we had such bad luck, and I oughtn't to have played my King -when I did; I'm always telling him that he ought to go and dress a -little earlier—but he stays working.” - -Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with -a sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the -back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in -the common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour -too long, with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had -quarreled furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing -about it. Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort -from her, and Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - -Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent -Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling -in one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. -She was standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; -when she moved it was as though that was the only movement possible—her -limbs did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, -before they could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her -brown eyes were smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, -and his heart was beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten -before. - -He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found -that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of -two of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was -so broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He -found a kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its -brazen size and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt -near the collar. His suit—it had done duty for a great many years—was -painfully shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there -was a small tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His -hair, in spite of water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder -than ever; his coat fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in -the most distressing manner. - -All these things were new discomforts and distresses—he had never cared -about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt that -they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that he -was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' conversation he -was proud of his appearance. - -Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be -recorded as the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite -absurd—over-dressed in fact. - -His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face -in brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful -white waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with -pale blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the -sleeves. - -But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it -was quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. -Could it be that Perrin was shabby... not that Traill was smart? - -Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that -there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed -them back again. - -They all went in to dinner. IV. - -Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously -recognized him—even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality to -a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - -He had never seen her before—that is, he had never detached her from the -vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees and -the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had been in -love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those fugitive -episodes—the way that it had been, in an instant, like a candle blown -out—had led him to fancy that love was always like that; he had -even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way a -complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that -yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have -a sense of beauty and strange wonder—something that had suddenly, like -streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's -dining-room. - -He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the -silk of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her -hair, and the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, -touched the white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been -a schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not -answer her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - -“And you like it!” - -“I love it.” - -“So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions.” She still looked at -him very gravely. “The boys like you so far.” - -“Ah! they told you!” He was pleased at that. - -“Oh! one soon knows—they are cruelly frank.” - -Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. -Mrs. Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly -long time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses -that are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was -moodily staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, -who was trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her -chair and gazing at Landseer's “Dignity and Imprudence” that hung on the -opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - -It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room -got up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her -dining-room. It was a room, she felt, “with nothing at all in it.” It -had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new -one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something -that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, -although she could give no reason—perhaps she did not care about dogs. -The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs to -the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and -tattered books that never got cleared away. - -All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, -with a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was -missing. The set had been one of their wedding-presents—the nicest -present that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a -brave smile to anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her -husband's gloomy face. - -But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. -Perrin, feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for -him, that she wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad -when her duty would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to -Traill again. - -Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, -for him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... -His thoughts hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. -Traill—Traill... with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He -splashed his soup on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came -to him—Miss Madder's fat, cheerful voice: “Oh! I think we shall fill -the West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms—all new boys, -poor dears.”... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table to -Dormer: “It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has one hour -less than the rest of us—that middle hour ten to eleven...” - -The same old subjects, the same old dinners—but with her he was going to -escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow wings. - -He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He -was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - -But Traill had taken her in.... - -And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand as -though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the stud—the -large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, and used his -official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to create an -impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - -Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his -sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he -tried, of the things that he could do, if— - -“If?” said Isabel. - -“Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... -one never knew—” He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a glass of -Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - -Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and -Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues -had arrived—there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues -although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both—and -conversation was quite lively. - -“I do hope,” said Mrs. Dormer, “that there will be several extra halves -this term.” - -And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on -the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - -“Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for -every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our -duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?” - -It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies -should have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence -involved. - -Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular -body that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. -Comber; she had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - -She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in the -amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of -Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample -confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make a -scandal at Moffatt's—and the propriety of the schoolmaster, the anxious, -eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other profession. - -Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by -sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - -“I do hope the football will be good this season,” she said at last, -quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - -Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know -why she had said a thing like that—she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't like -such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked about -gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. “It always -rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking about it; and how she -can bear that colored green when it's the last color she ought to wear, -I can't think; if it weren't for these flies—what do you call them!—the -roses would have done quite well.” But her eyes stared desperately down -the table at Freddie, and she saw that he would not look at her, and she -knew that the dinner had been only one more nail in her coffin. - -There was still, of course, Bridge. V. - -Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, -they were all tremendously—as of course you must be at such small -tables—conscious of each other. - -They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her -husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with -Mrs. Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - -It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole -situation that Perrin was forced to gaze—over a very small intervening -space—at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest of the evening. He was -always a bad Bridge player—he thought that he disguised his bad play by -a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night the confusion of his -thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad claret that he had -drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her cards, caused his -play to be something insane. - -Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every -prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least -five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that -she had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first -deal, her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to -follow any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her -chair and a sharp, “Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done -better than that.” - -For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing -an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been -at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six -days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone -did, failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards -hurriedly together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused -way. He knew that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her -so terribly badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure -that Traill was laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which -he played. If only he, Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what -things he might have done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a -little every time he moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a -little stir of disapproval. - -At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing -of lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. -Comber had most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, -she was lost. If she played badly, her husband, although playing against -her, was infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, -As it was, she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of -the good cards that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. -She held her cards so badly—she never could make them into a fan, and -every now and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - -Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into -sentences that had to be instantly checked—as, for instance: “Oh, I saw -Mrs.———— I'm so sorry, it 's my lead.” - -“I believe this term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... What are trumps?” - -Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and -the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a -gilt frame, and they gave her comfort. - -The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; -they had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She -wouldn't look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against -the other, pulling his mustache. - -“No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your rubber, Mrs. -Comber? Yes, we ought to have won.... No, I can't think how it was.” - -“Considering the way my wife's been playing,” said Freddie Comber -brutally, “I think it is just as well to stop.” - -Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer -to get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every -now and again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair -(always on the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate -action. - -“Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet to-morrow, -of course, although I can't think why they aren't going to play -golf—there's going to be such a storm in an hour or two, isn't -there?—probably because it's football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, -good-by.” Everyone departed. Mr. Perrin stood desperately with something -going up and down in his throat. He had a sentence in his head: “Please, -Miss Desart, do let me see you back to the lodge.” (Mrs. Comber had had -to plant her out there to sleep because there was no room in their own -tiny house.) He meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched his -mortar-board frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard Traill's -voice: - -“Oh! please, Miss Desart—of course, I'll see you back. Good night, Mrs. -Comber. Thank you so much—I've loved it. Good night, Comber. Night, -Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's dark.” - -Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, “Good -night, Mr. Perrin.” - -He was left alone on the step. VI. - -I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very -slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. -Her bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her -hostess. - -“Poor Mrs. Comber,” she said, and then checked herself as though there -were some disloyalty in talking about her. “I hate Mrs. Dormer,” she -added quietly. - -“I don't like her,” Traill said. “And Dormer's such a jolly little man. -I don't envy; him.” - -“Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's anyone's fault -here about anything they do. It's all a case of nerves.” - -There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory -whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down -the path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white -light on the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled -against it in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants -bending to the soil. - -The scent of trees—vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear and -pungent—was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, rolling in -long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. The wind's -whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies of it swept -about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly against -them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - -They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and -assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. -But there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that -he might never perhaps get to know her better. - -When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment -silently. - -Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of -the road, “There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all through -me. It was depressing to-night, was n't it?” - -“Just a little,” he said. - -“Anyhow, I'm glad you like it—being here. Mind you always do. I don't -want to be pessimistic when you are just beginning; but—well, you don't -mean to stay here for ever, do you?” - -“I should think not,” he answered eagerly. “Only a term or two at the -most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school.” - -“That's right—because—really it isn't a very good place to be—this.” - -“Why not?” he asked. - -“It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making things -out worse than they really are.” She paused a moment, and then she went -on: “Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just before you get into -the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes it. You will see at -the right time of the year lots of green apples on the trees, but they -never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the spring! I 've -seen men working there sometimes. I don't know what it is, but nothing -'s any good there. They call it in the village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... -Well, I've stayed here a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison.” - -“That's cheerful,” he said, laughing. “It would, I suppose, be awful -if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer and the rest of -them; but this time next year will see me somewhere better, I hope.” - -“Mind you stick to that,” she said eagerly. “I have a horrible kind -of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here they are -still—soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear thinking of.” - -“One must have ambition,” he answered her confidently. - -She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - -He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke -furiously. - - - - -CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR I. - -AT the end of his first month young Traill looked back, as it were from -the top of a hill, and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How -much of this pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her -during that period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his -agreeable acceptance of things as they were without any very definite -challenge to them to be different, it is impossible to say. - -The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that -there was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone -passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were -from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's voice -as he went round the dormitories turning lights out—never a moment's -pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in no way a -reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their untidy, -scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the Upper -Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because of -his football. - -The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he -might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of -unrest and discomfort in their common room. - -With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to -supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness -of the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's parents -(aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the melancholy -inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer relations with -him. - -He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room -things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly -equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself -on several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and -insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the -bath and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their -irritation from their original connection with Perrin, and this might -have led him, had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not -like Perrin and that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon -things—he was always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and -where there was an empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on -Isabel. - -The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, -inconsiderable. - -Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, on the -other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In this -bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he -might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both -baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked -body gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. -Traill was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he -could have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as -the days passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's -complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself -annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. -There were words. - -“I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?” - -“Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your place....” - -Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the -midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If Traill -had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like him. - -The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had -breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They -clubbed together and provided three newspapers—the Morning Post, the -Daily Mail, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person who came -in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in last, -because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected that -the Morning Post should be left for him. But Traill, as he paid the same -subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. Clinton always -took the Daily Mail, and therefore Perrin had to be contented with the -Cornish News. There was at last an argument. Traill refused to give way. -The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute silence. Perrin came no more -to Traill's room for an evening chat—a very small matter. - -But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in -any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game of -football; he was in a glow because he was in love—moreover, he had never -quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had made any -progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She came down -sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the evening, he -had walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above the dark, -cloudy trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet—and at every -meeting he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the afternoon he -liked to walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once or twice he -bicycled over to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir Henry -Trojan was a man who had appealed to him immensely. In spite of his size -and strength and simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of doors and -read little, he had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. He showed -Traill a great many things that were new to him. He began to feel -a sense of color; he saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed -village, the sweeping, striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped -sometimes in his walks and drew a deep breath at the way that the lights -and colors were hung about him. Of course the contrast of his school -life drove these other things against him—and also his love for Isabel. - -These little things would have no importance were it not that they all -helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think -about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very -definite way. - -He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - -And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most -amazing way.... II. - -Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had -definite personality—aggressive in its influence—and contempt of the -rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their -own terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his -back. - -He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. -He was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he -appreciated his humor. - -And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. -His room was untidy—littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks -of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there -were signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared -for, sets of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving -of Whistler's portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and -from the night outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the -scent of decaying leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - -Birkland was thin—sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; -heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little -gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled -in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open -window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - -“And so you like it?” - -“Yes—immensely!” - -“Why?” - -“Well—why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. There's -plenty of exercise—the hours are healthy—the fellows are quite nice -fellows. I like teaching.” - -Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his -principal reason. - -“Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?” - -“Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton.” - -“Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you like the -other men?” - -“Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's splendid.” - -“Yes—and Perrin?” - -“Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As a matter -of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice.” - -“Yes—everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some time or other. As a -matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't the other way round—one -day.” - -There was a pause, and then Birkland said, “And so you like it.” - -“Yes, of course; don't you?” - -Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather -uncertainly, “Don't you?” - -He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man—as a matter of fact -he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he -scarcely ever read novels. - -Then Birkland spoke: “You had better not ask me that, young man, if you -want an encouraging answer.” - -Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: “I'm going -to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your soul, -and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's soul for—well!—I -should be afraid to say how long. I'm afraid—I don't really care very -much about the safety of yours—but I care enough to speak to you; and -the one thing I say to you is—get out—get away. Fly for your life.” His -voice sank to a whisper. “If you don't, you will die very soon—in a year -perhaps. We are all dead here, and we died a great many years ago.” - -Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering -candles at Birkland. - -“Oh! I say,” he said, “that's a bit of exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose -one is tired sometimes, of course; but, after all, there are a good many -men in the country who make a pretty good thing out of mastering and are -n't so very miserable.” - -It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on -Birkland's part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - -But the other man went on: “I shouldn't have said this at all if I -hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of experience behind -me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm bothering you, I'm sure; -but now I've begun I'm going on, and you've got to listen. You can't -say you haven't been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the -common room and seen what kind of men they are?” - -“Of course,” said Traill; “but,” he added modestly, “I'm not observant, -you know. I'm not at all a clever kind of chap.” - -“Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in their faces -right enough. Mind you—what I'm saying to you doesn't apply to the -first-class public school. That's a different kind of thing altogether. -I'm talking about places like Moffatt's—places that are trying to be -what they are not—to do what they can't do—to get higher than they can -reach. There are thousands of them all over the country—places where -the men are underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them -hating each other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut -each other's throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they -teach?” - -He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but -showing in its tensity his emotion. - -“It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there is more -room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid better; there -is a chance of getting a house; there is the esprit de corps of the -school... but here, my God!” - -Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - -“Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. Don't I -know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever when I -came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you try -for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are too -old—too old at thirty-three—earning two hundred a year... too old! and -liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the Head doesn't like -you—turned out with nothing to go to; and he knows that you are afraid -of him and he has games with you.” - -Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland to -talk like this! - -“You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers about -you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be -allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like -you. Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something -will come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with -the Head, because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You -must not be friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and -will immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring -against him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we -shall all hate you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. -You think that you are going to teach with freshness and interest—you -are full of eager plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will -be immediately killed. You must not have them—they are not good for -examinations—you are trying to show that you are superior.” - -Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - -“Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. It -is murder—self-murder. You are going to kill—you have got to kill—every -fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will be laughed at for -your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be allowed any fine -vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are neglecting your -work. You have no time. Here we are—fifteen men—all hating each other, -loathing everything that the other man does—the way he eats, the way -he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to each other, we eat -together, we meet all day until late at night—hating each other.” - -“After all,” said Traill, still smiling, “it is only a month or two, and -there are holidays.” - -“If term lasted another week or two,” went on Birkland quietly, “murder -would be committed. The holidays come, and you go out into the world to -find that you are different from all other men—to find that they know -that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, egotistic. You -realize it slowly; you see them shunning you—and then back you go again. -God knows, they should not hate us—these others! they should pity us. -If you marry, see what it is—look at Mrs. Dormer, Mrs. Comber, Mrs. -Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their life. There is marriage—no -money, no prospects, perhaps in the end starvation! And gradually there -creeps over you a dreadful and horrible inertia: you do not care—you do -not think—you are a ghost. If one of us dies, we do not mind—we do not -think about it. Only, towards the end of the term, when the examinations -come, there creeps about the place a new devil. All our nerve is gone; -our hatred of each other begins to be active. It is the end-of-termy -devil.... Another week or two, and there is no knowing what we might do. -We are all tired, horribly tired. Be careful then what you do and what -you say.” - -“My word!” said Traill, filling his pipe, “what a horrible picture of -things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's hysteria!” - -Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - -“Oh! of course you don't see it!” he said. “After all, why should you? -But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm resigned enough now. Besides, -it's the beginning of the term. I'm inclined to think it's untrue, -myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch White after he's had an interview -with the Head—see Perrin and Comber together later on—study Mrs. Comber. -But don't you bother. You won't listen to me—why should you? Only, in -ten years' time you 'll remember.” - -After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in -his sharp, caustic way. - -“I say,” said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, “that was -all rot; was n't it?” - -“What was?” asked Birkland. - -“Why, about the place—this place.” - -“All rot!” said Birkland gravely. III. - -But of course one dismisses these things very soon—especially, and -immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - -Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men -that Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory -exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse -into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in -the dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - -Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed -shadow; life is sharp, pungent—formed with faint blue skies, dim and -shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered -balloon between saucer-clouds. - -Archie Traill, on a free afternoon—an early frost had made the ground -too hard for football—in the week after that Birkland evening, stood in -the village street as the church clock struck half-past three, and he -thanked God for a half-holiday. - -The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea -had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, -and the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue -horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone -and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The brown -church tower seemed to sway—so motionless was the rest of the world—with -the clatter of its chiming clocks. - -Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr. Traill,” -and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the rest of her -movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little ironically -and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a strange -place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help finding it -funny. - -Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on -vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - -“And she only sixteen—what a size!” - -“Only sixteen!—to think of it!” - -“With her great legs and all!” - -“Only sixteen...!” - -The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full -of things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his -presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, -drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a -presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her -that he loved her—and it was n't time yet. - -But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. “We must talk, -one of us—it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming.” - -She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road -and looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - -“We are both so frightfully young,” she said. - -“Why, yes,” he said, laughing at her; “but why not?” - -“Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, and I for -my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you were -going to be old enough, but I don't think you are.” - -“I know that I can't—” he began. - -“Oh! it isn't for anything that you can't do!” she broke in. “It's -just because you don't see it—why should you? You 're too much in the -middle—I suppose it's only outsiders who can really understand. But I -get so depressed sometimes with it all that I think that I will leave it -and go back to London and never come here again. One doesn't seem to -be any use—no use at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. -Poor Mr. Traill! I always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm -not gloomy really in the least.” - -“But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You mustn't -think of it.” - -He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. “Why?” she -said gravely. “Do you like my being here?” And then, before he could say -anything, she added, reflectively, “Well, that's one, at any rate. - -“I have to go in here,” she said, stopping before a gate with a drive -behind it. “Tea, you understand.” Then she gave him her hand. “Although -you don't in the least know what I mean, you 're a help,” she said; “and -I shall look across the chapel floor in the evening and know that I have -a friend. Sometimes when I'm down here—out of it—and everything's so -fresh and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true—the things -that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them.” She went through -the gate and looked back at him. “But I don't want to have to be sorry -for you as well—please,” she added, and was lost in the trees. - -But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved -a step—or even a good many steps further—was ready that she should be -sorry or have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her -claiming Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating -and so swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which -he might eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my -intention to give you all his symptoms—his passion is in no way -the chief point; it was simply one of the things that helped in the -culminating issue. - -Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little -conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting -tea-party—three old ladies who regarded her as something very dangerous -and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to turn -into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their -dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone -whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language -was not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of -the tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the -expression of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and -thought of Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and -courteous speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, “Don't go to -London, please,” and he had meant it—it was almost as though he had -appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in -front of him. She knew, of course—she had seen it happen so very often -before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, eager -challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that things -would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, grim, -baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of Moffatt's -were alive, moving—crushing, as in some story that she had once read, -relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he had -suddenly seen or understood something of that—there had come to him -some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came -quickly. She liked him—she had liked him from the first—she liked him -very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all that she -could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them behind her -with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be three -old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their fires -and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little people -realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! How -they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - -It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and -ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, and -the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. There -was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the gates -behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, “Good evening, Miss -Desart,” and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin always made -her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively shrank back, -but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately ashamed of -her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his voice -trembled—-he seemed troubled about something; and then that feeling of -pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her voice was -softer and more tender. - -“It was—um—a great piece of good fortune for me that I should be passing -just when you were coming out—a great piece of good fortune.” - -He seemed very nervous. - -“And for me too,” she said; “this hill grows extraordinarily dark, and I -stayed on longer than I ought to have done. Have you been paying calls, -too?” - -“Oh, no! I—um—never pay calls—merely a stroll down to the village to buy -some tobacco—merely that—nothing more... yes, merely that... simply some -tobacco.” - -She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might -be reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he -lingered. She hastened her steps. - -“I'm not sure that it is n't raining—I felt a drop just now, I -thought—and it was such a lovely afternoon.” - -“Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped. - -She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the warmth -and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible and escape -from this strange, awkward man. - -She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower -School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but -then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.” - -Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. -“Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can only learn -by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous -thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.” - -“Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest and pleasant. Of course, -I haven't seen very much of him, but I must say that what I 've seen of -him I've liked.” - -They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the -horizon. - -In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. -Perrin's face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was -clenching and unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie -had risen at the back above his collar... his eyes were looking into -hers and beseeching her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - -They had come to the gates. - -“Miss Desart...” - -They both came to a halt in the road. - -“Yes?” she said, smiling at him. - -“I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if...” - -He stopped again desperately. - -“What can I do?” she said, still smiling at him. He looked so odd, -standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His eyes -had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - -“I would be so glad if—one day—so flattered if—you would—will—um—come -for a walk, one day.” He stopped with a jerk. - -She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the -path to the house. - -“Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night.” - -He stood looking after her. - - - - -CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN -THE SCHEME OF THINGS I. - -LATER there is Mr. Perrin heavily—with the midday mutton close about his -head—surveying, in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small boys -who gaze at him with staring eyes and jumping throats. - -It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the -ears—Browning's “Patriot,” one verse a week, to be said every Tuesday -morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, completely forgotten, -every Tuesday morning second hour. - - -I go in the rain and, more than needs - -The rope—the rope—the rope— - - -Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in -man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, -to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where Advanced Algebra and -Mensuration hold perpetual war and rivalry. - -It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a -football match—a great football match against a mighty Truro team,—and -already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive -murmur at the dusty panes. - -But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested -no remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red -tablecloth—a tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his -case was hopeless: - - -A rope—a rope that— - - -Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, -the whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. -Outside, in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, -perfectly; but it was too late. - -At last one prisoner only remained—Garden Minimus, a cheerful, untidy -person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his hair. - -Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole -school—had liked him best for the last two years. When things were -really black, when headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed -to hang about him in a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden -Minimus. He flattered himself that the boy was not aware of this -partiality; but the boy, he was sure, liked him. He treated him always -with an elaborate irony that the boy seemed to understand in some -curious way. Garden would stand, with his head on one side like a rather -intelligent small dog, and although he rarely said anything more than -“Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - -On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word -of “The Patriot,” and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - -Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. “I'm afraid, friend Garden,” -he said, “that it will devolve upon your lordship—hum—ha—that you should -write this poem of the noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than fifty -times. I grieve—I sympathize—I am your humble servant; but the law -commands.” - -Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, with -a most engaging smile, “There's a most ripping footer match this -afternoon, sir.” - -“Fool though I am,” said Mr. Perrin, “I have nevertheless observed that -there is, as you say, a footer match. Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The -Patriot' calls you, friend Garden.” - -“It would be an awful pity,” said Garden reflectively, without paying -the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, “to miss a decent game like -that.” - -Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, “All right, -Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you aren't -careful!” - -Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead -lowering. Outside the door he muttered, “Silly, pompous ass!” - -Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting -to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. -He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part -immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a -fool to try, and they resented his airs. - -He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his -head between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns -above his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the -football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening -fear that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to -him. He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every -time that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - -She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that -she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for -a walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his -mother that the thing was practically arranged. - -As for that puppy, Traill—well, he 'd kept him in his place, thank -Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more -and more—conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he met -anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring -things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the -patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him -furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only -brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He -looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some -English essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a -silly china figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a -cocked hat. This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated -him. The old gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had -always meant to get rid of it, but for some reason or other he never -could destroy it. - -Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - -As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - -The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a -dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, “Scho-o-l!” rose and -fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a -superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited -him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected -to despise it. - -In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of -his own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and -sticky green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided -their attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - -“Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?” - -“Can't help it—Grey's barging—Oh! I say, run it, Morton. That's it! Pick -it up—dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!” - -“I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine—Thanks! Where's -Garden, you chaps?” - -“Swotting up for Old Pompous.” - -“Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was rather sweet -on Garden.” - -“So he is—but Garden can't stand him.” - -“No wonder—blithering ass, with his long words!” - -“Oh! I say—they 've got it! There's Morton off again—Oh! he's going! -Well run, my word! He's in! No, he isn't! The back's got him! No, he -hasn't! Hurray! Try! Good old Morton!” - -Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a -less crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself -spoken of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, -trembled before him. He always told himself that all the members of the -staff were in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt—it hurt badly. - -Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks of -boys—each boy with his friend—the familiar mantle of loneliness, that he -had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He saw Comber in the -distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted Mrs. Comber and -Miss Desart. - -He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his -very worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle -was glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of -his coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - -Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, -because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that dislike -with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and watched -the game. - -“We appear to be winning,” said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at three -small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. “We appear—um—to -be winning. Morton has secured a try.” - -“Yes, I'm so glad,” gasped Mrs. Comber—she was out of breath. “Morton's -a nice boy—we had him once in our house, and I do hope the school will -win, because it's so nice for everybody's tempers, and the boys like -it—and there's that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most -beautifully.” - -Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked -at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. -Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his -direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a -breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the -touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the -field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart -gave a long-drawn “Oh!” Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. Perrin moodily -stroked his mustache. - -The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground—a very pretty -try. - -“Good old Traillers!” - -“That's something like!” - -“Isn't he spiffing?”—and then Miss Desart's, “Oh! that was splendid!” -beat about Mr. Perrin's poor head, that was aching horribly. - -“That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's -half-time.” - -Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared -once more to be volubly pleasant. - -But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the -top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three -trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they -stood and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt -suddenly as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets -of white light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown -fields. - -Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin -went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed -about him. He sat down to his pile of English essays on “Town and -Country—Which is the best to live in?” with a confused sense of running -men, lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the -mantelpiece, and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - -At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented “The -Patriot” neatly written fifty times. II. - -It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a -dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it was -to be over by twelve. “Do let us,” Lady Trojan wrote, “put you up. You -will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming down for the night from -London. He will want to see you so badly.” Traill wrote back, accepting -the dance, but explaining that he must return on the same evening, -quoting as his imperative necessity early morning preparation. - -It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very -obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order -to free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and -receive definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to -a single dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed -that the rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently -any intention of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning -school to Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was -conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous -man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. He -moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called -to him, “Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment.” - -Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that -Moy-Thompson's garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in -the sun; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like -a prison; he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the -half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at -his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely -apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a -little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long gray -beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now -and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that -Moy-Thompson was smiling. - -Moy-Thompson said, “But I think I told you that Maurice was on no -account to have an exeat.” - -White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: “Yes, I know. But -his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not seen his -son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances—” - -“That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he should -not have an exeat.” - -“No—but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of the case, -you would not object.” - -“What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? What -are you paid to do?” - -White made no answer. - -“Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things here, -you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your -place.” - -“No,”—White's voice was very low—“I have no complaint. I am sorry if—” - -“You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any paid -position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when -you please. Doubtless you are better informed.” - -Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had -rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance -at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; -but again Moy-Thompson said, “Just a moment, Traill.” - -He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost -stepped across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long -haggard figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing -with them there in the room. - -The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, -shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped -him naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the -other to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - -The room seemed full of pain—it seemed to cross and recross in waves. -White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered eyes out -through the door. - -Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed -him. Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his -hand and caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a -frightened, startled look, he stepped away. III. - -When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad -to get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it -would be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult -to get up in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal—he now -emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in -his life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, -lean, untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in -the sense of his arrogance. - -They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were -extremely disagreeable. - -He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He -was always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his -form. He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he -had met there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping -in—and at night he dreamt—he was almost sure that she loved him.... -Whenever they met now they were very silent. - -He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, -wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, -fine day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the -hard, white road. - -As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind -in his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea -came to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those -brown buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old -self; he sang to himself. - -A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood -black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, -stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little -sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the -night. The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster -against the dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - -He sang aloud. - -It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much -before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as -imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he -was a schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was -delightful to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden -and strolled about the paths together; he was much improved since -the Cambridge days, Traill thought—less self-assured and with wider -interests. And then Sir Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader -feeling of life—sanity and health and strength—and lie had an admirable -sense of humor. - -And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. -He thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him -in the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little -round white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The -hedges, like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - -He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. -He took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he -tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click -it broke in half. - -He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair—supposing he -had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - -He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he -saw that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might -climb. He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another -hand on the window-sill drew him level. - -He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it -up, and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, -jumped. He was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the -crockery in the world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of -it seemed to go rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that -he had cut his hand and had bruised his knee. - -For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: -the tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped -down straight amongst the cups and plates. - -He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the -blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. -Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was -Perrin. - -“Who's there? What's that?” Perrin held a poker in his other hand. - -Traill got up slowly from the floor. “It is I—Traill,” he stammered. He -was still feeling stunned. - -Perrin held the candle a little closer. “Oh, is it you, Traill?” - -“Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am sorry.” - -“You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly. “You woke me -up.” - -“Yes; I am most awfully sorry.” - -Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his -candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined -to move. - -“You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it as though he -were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - -“Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.” - -Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?” he said at -last, slowly. - -What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - -“I did n't know that this was a girls' school,” Traill said at last, -sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he was tired, and in -a very bad temper. - -Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in like this!” - -The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge, -gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - -Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill -enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - -“I can't help it,” he said, shaking; “you look so funny, so frightfully -odd!” - -Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been -disturbed in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he -said nothing at all. He moved slowly down the passage. - -Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - - - - -CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO I. - -TO Perrin, in his sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring -wind and crashing sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china -that lived on the mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him -and bent over the bed and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his -transit and was large in the leg and trailed behind him a long black -gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin by buzzing like a wasp. - -He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the -words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning -and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, -restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the -discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to -confirm the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing—he had -climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - -Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. II. - -Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky -and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was -perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening -gambit of “saying things under your breath that looked bad, but couldn't -possibly be heard,” to the triumphant checkmate of a studied, sarcastic -politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - -Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old -hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over -him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with -ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew -against the panes. - -His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the -first book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their -brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of -the figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - -He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and -heaviest boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, called -Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. Somerset-Walpole—his -fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his hair dust—stood with his -mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague wonder as to why, when he -ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind would invariably wander to -the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's neck and the silly leaves -dancing about outside. - -Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the -form laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the -youngster back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour -in drawing hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then -smudging them out with his fingers. - -Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, frowning -face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt wildly -from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty purring at -his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, only when -the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, suddenly, that -he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his hands and twist them -back further and further until they cracked. He would like to take his -little fat arms and close his fingers about them and pinch them until -they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white knuckles and beat -them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Perrin -began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a little. - -“Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began to pinch -the back of his neck. - -“You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I am -sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve -to think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your -preparation last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, -you know—you will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it -out thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.” - -But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... He -saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was -shaking with rage. - -“Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him a push. He -sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the rest of -the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had rung -and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I think -fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's sleeve with his -hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite contempt in -his eyes. - -Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of -the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to -Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they -could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and -accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days -that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming -anyone in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being -against him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such -opportunities of retaliation as were given him. At the same time these -little confidential talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the -senior master at the Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not -have these little talks; it did not occur to him that the reason might -be that Dormer was too honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far -as Traill was concerned, Perrin really felt that it did not do to have -masters leaping through windows at any hour of the night. The accidental -fact that he disliked Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, -nothing whatever to do with it; he would have felt it just as strongly -his duty to speak about it had the offender been his dearest friend. - -The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and -broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's good. -The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in -chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire -with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for -a walk with him... and then another walk... and then another... and -then.... - -And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too -terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; -it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks -on the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy -places on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, -and its depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be -remarked once more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill -damage that he embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, -but only because it helped his sense of importance. He was already -wishing that he had told Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times -instead of fifteen, so cheered and inspired did he feel. - -The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect -for each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, -and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question -should be: “What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?” - -Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the -people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and -it is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew -from the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking -Traill. - -“Oh, I think, well enough,” he answered, looking out of the window. “The -boys like him.” - -“Oh, they like him; do they?” - -“Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that he sticks -to his work as he should do.” - -“Why! What does he do?” - -“I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at one -o'clock this morning.” - -“Oh, did you!” Moy-Thompson smiled. “Where had he been?” - -“I didn't ask.” - -Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole -business had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to -his own rooms. III. - -Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. -He found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of -the rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went -gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations -with the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His -mind was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was -only rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead -of correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out -of the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - -He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the -first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the -Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - -Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. -There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen -stiff wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the -staff waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most -irritating quarter of an hour of the day. - -Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the -table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's match. -As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: “Toggett at three-quarter is -perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's choice. Traill may be able -to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the game is absolutely nil.” -Comber has resented Traill's entrance into the school football from the -very first. He, although many years past his game, had hitherto led the -Rugby enthusiasts of the school—he had been supreme on the Committee and -had had the last word about the teams. Traill's football, however, was -so obviously superior to anything that the school had had for a great -many years that he was received with open arms. He had not perhaps been -as judiciously submissive to Comber as he might have been, but he -had always deferred his opinion and had never been goaded by Comber's -caustic contradictions into ill-temper. - -He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up -to the table, said, “Thanks, Comber.” - -Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: “What -the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think....” By -the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's -discipline. - -“I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I were -you,” Birkland was saying. “It's so delightful for me, being just under -you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to think that they -really are enjoying themselves.” - -Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. “I keep them perfectly -still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a -pin drop.” - -“You must have dropped a cartload of them,” said Birkland, frowning. -“Try and drop less next time.” - -Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. -That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - -“Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve,” he said. - -Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. “I thought things -were a little too pleasant to last,” he said. His mind flew back to -the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have said anything. -Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He shrugged -his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, that -schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a little -unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should go -wrong, through no fault of one's own. - -Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked -him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he -caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled -at him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of -the dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he -had been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - -Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no -definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, -as water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, -suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, -of the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such -brilliant things as the world contained, it should be allowed to -continue. His own position was lost in the perpetual vision of White -standing, as he had seen him, with bent head. - -“Ah, Traill,” said Moy-Thompson. “Sit down. I have been wanting to have -a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite convenient?” - -“Perfectly,” said Traill. - -“I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I have had -no opportunity. I must try and manage next week.” - -Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. “I hope that you have -had no trouble with discipline.” - -“None. The boys are excellent.” - -“Ah! that is splendid.” There was a pause; then the beard was suddenly -lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. “I hope that you take -your work seriously, Mr. Traill.” Traill flushed a little. “I think that -I do,” he said. - -“That is well.... Because we are—ah! um—a great institution, a very -great institution. We owe our traditions—um, eh—a very serious and -determined attention to detail. To work together, as one man, for the -good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, all in -friendly brotherhood—um, yes.” Traill said nothing. - -“I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at -work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause -we have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill.” - -“I hope,” Traill said, “that you have not found me wanting, that you -have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked—” - -“Worked? Ah, yes.” Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his fingers -together. “But what about play, eh? What about play?” Traill flushed. -“As to football—” - -“No, it is not football. It is merely a detail—quite a detail. But Mr. -Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this morning through -the window. I confess that I was surprised.” - -“That is quite true,” said Traill, in a low voice. “I went—” - -“Ah! no! please!” Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. “No details -are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I think, say any -more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will agree with me -that it should not occur again.” - -“I am sorry—” Traill said. - -“Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and -play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we -ask. To pass for a moment to another matter.” Moy-Thompson put his -hand on some papers. “Here are the scholarship questions that you have -set—geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we require. -If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me to-morrow. -Yes. Thank you.... Good morning.” Traill rose, took the papers in his -hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as though Birkland -himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of persecution. -The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he had Perrin -to thank for it. IV. - -The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him -throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great -joints of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the -incessant noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and -voices, the dreary monotony and repetition of it—Perrin's face seen at -the end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - -But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had -the opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no -time in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage -joy that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made -Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - -The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, -discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, -rushed down to the sea. - -A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff -that jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three -sides, by a furious, heaving flood. - -Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of -the sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them -fell with a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift -succession, first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents -about to strike, then falling with a curve and glistering, shining -backs, then sweeping, tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him -the wind screamed and tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent -and creaked along the road; the rain lashed his face. - -He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his -hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as -she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, -that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw -him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was -too great—the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into their -clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out his -hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind -almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept -about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer -to him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed -close against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without -a word, they moved slowly down the road.... V. - -It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the -opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and -Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had -disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to -him a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as -a crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting -people—he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if -anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - -Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - -Perrin said, “Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of you. -Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?” But he wasn't -smiling. - -“No,” said Traill, slowly. “There's nothing you can do for me. But I -want to speak to you.” - -“Ah, well, sit down; won't you?” - -“No, thanks. I 'll stand.” Traill cleared his throat. “Did you by any -chance say anything to the Head about my coming in last night?” - -Perrin smiled. “My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and is it -really, after all, any business of yours?” - -“Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says that -you told him—I want to know why you told him.” - -“It is my business,” Perrin said, “as housemaster here to find out -anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late hours, your -disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's progress,—um, yes.” - -The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not altogether -been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event of the -afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and indeed -it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and being -well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little ashamed -of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger -against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his -good-humor and equability. - -So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said -quietly, “I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been neglecting my -duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's outing during the term -can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to you about it because -I have been feeling during these last weeks that we have not been very -good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up together here -so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it makes -everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I am -very sorry.” - -The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, -had been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt -that he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish -comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels -always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, -hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he -liked young Traill very much. - -He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was -his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had -ever at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already -passed him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had -laughed at him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the -taunting jeers that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of -his fellow-beings had, in his time, played upon him. - -And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must -show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and -really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with -her white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his -knees, kissing her hand. - -“Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that—um, yes. One must, -you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are older you -will see that there is something in what I say—um. We know, you see; -schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, well, I'm sure -I'm very glad.” - -But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant -tempers were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. -The patronage of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his “When you are -older,” and the rest. - -“All right,” he said hotly; “keep that advice for others. I don't know -that I was so wrong, after all. What business of yours was it to -go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain things that a -gentleman doesn't do.” - -“Oh, really!”—the little man on the mantelpiece was smiling again. -Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his chair. “Your -apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive something to your -age, but that sort of impertinence—I don't think you remember to whom -you are speaking. You are the junior master here, you must be taught -that, and when those who are wiser than yourself choose to give you some -advice, you should take it gratefully.” - -Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - -“My God! you conceited, insufferable—” - -“Get out of my room!” - -“All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of you.” - -“Get out of my room!” Perrin's eyes were starting out of his head. - -Traill swung on his heel. “I won't forget this in a hurry,” he said. - -“Take care you don't come in here again,” Perrin shouted after him. The -door was banged. - -Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he -had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands -to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece -and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from -under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in -the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE I. - -BUT, during the week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly -reasserted itself once more. After all, it was really impossible to -be angry with anyone when the world was alight and trembling with -so wonderful an adventure. They had each of them written to those in -authority. Isabel had a complacent father who knew something of young -Traill's family and, answering at once, said that he would come down -to see them and made it his only stipulation that the engagement should -last for at least a year, until they were both a little older. Traill's -mother was delighted with anything that could give her son such -happiness. It had all been very sudden of course; but then, was not true -love always like that? Had not she, a great many years ago, fallen -in love with Archie's father “all in a minute,” and was not that the -beautiful incautious way that the new practical generation seemed so -often to forget? So, she sent him her blessing and also wrote a little -note to Isabel. - -But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day -to reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk -and chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel -knew, to any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone -at the school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they -would feel that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would -not be pleasant. - -So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They -met in the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel -floor, and they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in -the letter-box. - -But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel -about his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - -“When we ourselves are so happy,” she said, “we can't quarrel with -anyone—and, poor man, no wonder his temper is irritable. He's a -miserably disappointed man, and I don't think he's very well either. He -looks dreadfully white and strained sometimes. We can afford to put up -with some ill-temper from other people, Archie, just now. When we are so -happy and he is so unhappy, it is a little unfair, isn't it?” - -And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and -agreeable. But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other -a little at meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill -made were cut short at once without hesitation. - -Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week -heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow—he had headaches, bad -headaches; and his form suffered. II. - -And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm -broke—the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at -Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange myths -grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's a -strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts -for their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central -combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but -also others—the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world -of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that -umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded -green umbrella—now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all -umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign -token of all that was to come. - -Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This -Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate -contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, -stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic -piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from -it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's -grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with -nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp—so that there -is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and -insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the -present—this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - -It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of -the week. - -There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of -religious stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions -are flung at the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the -rest and repose of the preceding day. - -Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was -different from the other six days of the week, and although it might not -on its arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given -it, nevertheless it was something—a landmark if nothing else. - -And now on this dark and dreary Monday—with the first hour a tedious and -bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal and -embittered Latin exercise—that early rising to the cold summoning of the -hell was anything but pleasant. - -Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious -torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and -cried with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the -paths were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - -Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early -preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it -nearly always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he -hurried down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding -the bodies of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as -they rushed furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - -He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly -selected the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the -Upper School. - -That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was -in the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of -twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. -M. Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, -appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion -passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys -well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done -without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual -persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various -offenders. - -A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the -two hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the -digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill -rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He -hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - -The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior -common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of -yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. The -brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and draughts -that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the room. - -A small fire was burning in the grate—a mountain of black coal and stray -spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper hanging -from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in the -kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices and a -clatter of cups. - -It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who -was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and -Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - -Clinton seized the Morning Post and, with a grunt of dissatisfaction -at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never thought very -intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike Monday and -rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his share of -the breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the Morning Post -dull, and relapsed on to the Daily Mail. The rain and the quarreling in -the kitchen were very disturbing. - -Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very -great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, -and he found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative -person with one—it was not necessary to think about him. - -“My word,” said Clinton, his eyes glued to the Daily Mail, “the London -Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins yesterday—two goals -and a try to a try—all that man Binton—extraordinary three-quarter—no -flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder if they 'll catch -that chap Deakin?” - -“Deakin?” said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his breakfast. -How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well—in a year's time! - -“Yes, you know—the Hollins Road murder—the man who cut his wife and -mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't tell -which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front door.” - -“I think,” said Traill, shortly, “following up murder trials like that -is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized.” - -“All right!” said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining sausages. -“Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? He won't want any more.” - -“He sometimes does,” said Traill, feeling that at the moment he hated -Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole world. “He's -awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't find anything.” - -Clinton smiled. “He's rather amusing when he's sick,” he said. “He so -often is. By the way, has the Head passed those exam, questions of yours -yet?” - -“No,” said Traill, frowning. “He 's made me do them five times now, and -last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions that he himself had -suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, and he called me, -politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's no question that he's -got his knife into me now, and I've got friend Perrin to thank for it!” - -“Yes,” said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, “Perrin does n't love -you—there's no question of that. Young Garden Minimus has been helping -the feud.” - -“Garden? What's he got to do with it?” - -“Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet—well, -Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about -telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That -makes Pompous sick as anything.” - -“I like the kid especially,” Traill said. “He 's rather a favorite of -mine.” - -“Yes,” said Clinton. “Well, look out for trouble, that 's all. There 'll -be open war between you soon if you are not careful.” - -At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a -conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door -for a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - -“Well, a hundred times,” Perrin was saying, “and you don't go out till -you 've done it.” - -Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. -Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there was -a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - -“Really, it's too bad,” he said to no one in particular and certainly -not to Traill. “I don't know what's come over that boy—nothing but -continuous impertinence. He shall go up to the Head if he isn't careful. -Such a nice boy, too, before this term.” - -At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the Morning Post and -Clinton the Daily Mail. He looked as though he were going to say -something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood -in front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary -window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy -heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - -He had slept badly—had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, of -his own miserable condition, of his poor mother—and then, slumbering -at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake by that -thundering, clamoring bell. - -He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat -stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. -Then he had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been -“playing about” and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink -and had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, -Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible confusion -of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - -He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; -but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the -subject of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting -up clean in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up -to the matron to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some -people's school days have been vastly exaggerated! - -Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy -portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the -crime, had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the -rest of the hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and -had hinted that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment -might be relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered -under his breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word “Pompous.” - -All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they -amounted to a great deal—and all before half-past eight in the morning. -Also he had had very little to eat. - -He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon -with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at -all costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, -when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance -of the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - -“I really think, Clinton,” he said, “that a little less appetite on your -part in the early morning would be better for everyone concerned.” - -Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, -“All right, old chap—I always have an awful appetite in the morning. I -always had.” - -Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - -Clinton said, “I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your sleeve.” - -And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and -feebly tried to brush it off with his hand. - -Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely -the atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been -on such bad terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were -discomforts, difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the -term and the place and the people as he had never loathed any of them -before; he felt that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - -Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to -teach Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. -books up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. -The rain was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as -though it had some personal grievance against them. - -Robert, the general factotum—a long, pale man with a spotty face and a -wonderful capacity for dropping china—came in to collect the breakfast -things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still deep in -the Morning Post. - -Perrin came in with a clouded brow. “I can't find,” he said, “my -umbrella.” - -The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but -there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking for -papers. - -“Robert, have you seen my umbrella?” - -No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella -last week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room—an umbrella with -lace, pink—Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas in the -stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. Perrin -had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No—perhaps one of the -young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of Robert. - -“Clinton!” No answer. “Clinton!” - -At last Clinton turned round. - -“Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?” - -“No, old man—why should I? Isn't it outside?” - -It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite -determined that he would not under any circumstances use anyone else's -umbrella. - -He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very -angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his -humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that -there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in -impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he -began to mutter to himself—the little red and yellow china man was -creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were -trembling like leaves. - -He came into the common room again. “I can't think—” he said, with his -trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it yesterday—last night. -Clinton, you must have seen it.” - -“No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so profoundly -irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts are far away. -“No—I don't think I've seen it. What did I do with that Algebra? Oh! -there it is. My word! is n't it raining!” - -The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. -Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a -furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the -conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - -“What's the matter?” he said. - -“Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, “you must -have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want to go out.” - -“There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking a little -frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - -It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. -Then on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken -that morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - -Of course it must be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort of -umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be -likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward. - -He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the Morning Post. - -Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. “I -must have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert. “I want to go to -the Upper School.” - -He had left the door a little open. - -“I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his -fingers. - -Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - -“I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm afraid I must have taken -it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed—” - -“You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - -“Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. -I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you—” - -He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile drove -Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - -“You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without asking? I never heard -such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece—all of a piece!” - -“But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As though a man mightn't -take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too -absurd.” - -“Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's all of a -piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here -thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've all -got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. We must -give up everything to your Highness—our clothes, our possessions—you -conceited—insufferable puppy!” - -These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself -with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his -misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he -had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had -been against him at every turn. - -All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did -not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the -room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could -hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, -supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob -and ruin him. - -“Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a little, and -conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he did not want -to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly sorry that I took -your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any reason to speak to me -like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not here.” - -“Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. “Oh! of -course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is all of a piece with the -rest of your behavior. It you don't know how to behave like a gentleman, -it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen don't steal other people's -things. You can be put in prison for that sort of thing, you know.” - -“I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill, beginning in his -anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. “I don't want your -beastly things—keep them to yourself.” - -“I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you two. Don't make such a row -here—everyone can hear. Wait until later.” - -But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was -shaking his fist in Traill's face. - -“It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll give you something for saying -that—I 'll let you know.” And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my -umbrella! Give me my umbrella!” - -“I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill. “I left it -somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You can jolly well go and look -for it.” - -And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap -began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face -with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon the -breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he rose he -brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had left -upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of -streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything -came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed -together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - -Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland -and Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's -absolute silence. - -Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's lip -was cut and bleeding—coffee was on Perrin's collar; their faces were -very white. - -For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they -passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - -In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella -have its beginning. - -Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had -been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours -with a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what -simpler can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, -more nearly concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING I. - -ISABEL DESART heard about it early on the afternoon of the same day. -Traill himself told her as he stood with her for a moment outside the -school gates before he went down to football. - -She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been -that it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a -way, made a fool of himself—that to struggle in that fashion with a man -like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great -deal more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and -her feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to -be feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of -these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone -to be pitied—that was the reason of her kindness to him—and now that he -was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her pity for -him was increased. - -But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than -she could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been -through, she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he -would not be likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a -climax. - -They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough -to get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she -put it to herself, “spread out”; but halfterm was only just over and she -did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's feeling, she -saw, was mainly one of disgust—the same kind of sensation that he would -have had if he had not been able to have his bath in the morning. -About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make that kind of -disturbance about so small a thing.... - -Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that “it wasn't done” -and that Perrin was therefore an “outsider,” and that there the thing -ended. - -Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this -and knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. -But she was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and -simply to tell him that she was sorry. - -“One thing, you know,” she said, smiling at him and blushing a little. -“We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day.” - -“Oh! must we?” he said, shrinking back a little. - -“Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to be talk about -all this business. Of course, there is, heaps—and you must let me do my -share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you know.” - -He had not figured the talk that there would be—he saw it all now in an -instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking further -still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be involved; but -he was much too simple a person to think this further vision anything -but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent about -umbrellas.... - -He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their -engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the -Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. II. - -Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between -chapel and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning -struggle had been brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and -Birkland, much earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy -one—one hour followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there -were boys to see and games to play and all the accumulated details to -fill in any odd moments that there might be,—so that, with the exception -of short sentences and exclamations and a general air of pleasurable -surprise pervading everything, no real movement was possible until this -evening hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and naked than -ever—although it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was cold and -chill. - -Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; -Birkland and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, -West, were also there. Little West was so obvious and striking an -example of his type that it seemed as though he had been especially -created to stand to the end of time as an example of what a Board School -education and a pushing disposition can do for a man. He was short -and square, with a shaggy, unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy -complexion that two generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. -He was a little bald on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, -and spoke slowly and with great care. He had worked exceedingly hard -all his youth and was the only master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were -unimpaired and his optimism (concerning his own future) unchecked. His -most striking feature were his hard, burning, little eyes, and it was -with these that he kept order in class. - -He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. -Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his -clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do -Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, -he would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief -and principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own -subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's -sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - -Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. -The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill -a conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the -football out of his hands and supplanted him completely—whenever he -thought of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to -do anything, because Traill had never given himself away. He played -football a great deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had -ever played it. Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now -at last Comber glowed with the thought of the things that he would be -able to do. He intended it in no way maliciously—it was simply that the -younger generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to -Comber's rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. -Then Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest -of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, on -the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a pompous, -pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's duty to -uphold the senior staff. - -He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger -impressively in the air. “There they were, you know, rolling—positively -rolling—on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits and -the coffee streaming all over the floor—you never saw anything like it. -And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out of the -room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we weren't -there; didn't they, Birkland?” - -Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on -his face, as though he were saying, “This is their kind of life. Look -at Comber there, now—how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for -a month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are -being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as -bad as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of -having a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!” - -But he didn't say anything—he just sat there listening, with his -contemptuous smile, to Comber. - -“An awful noise, you know, they made,” Comber went on. “And anything -funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair all -tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek -bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!” - -“At all events,” said Birkland dryly, “we ought all to be glad that you -got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's something to be thankful -for, at any rate.” - -“Oh, it's all very well, Birkland,” Comber answered angrily; “you were -amused enough yourself, really—you know you were. In any case,” he went -on importantly, “the thing can't go on, you know. We can't have junior -masters flinging themselves at the throats of senior ones. That sort of -thing must be stopped.” - -So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone -trimmed their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and -was not afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with -Traill; and supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no -easy thing to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for -instance, thought so. - -“It is—dégoûtant,” he cried, waving his hands in the air, “that a -young man, that is here one month, two months, should catch the throat -of his senior. These things,” he added with the air of one who waves -gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are not done in my country.” - -“Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them better, -Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend silence.” - -M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly -at Comber. - -“Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to encourage that -sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I daresay you would -like all the boys to be springing at one another's throats in the -same way; if that's what you want, well—“; and he waved his hands -expressively. - -“It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin to have made such a -fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's umbrella without being -struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's childish. It's just the -sort of thing that Perrin would do.” - -“Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the way that Traill's -treated him, and you see what you'd say and do. All I know is that you -would n't stand it for a minute, you of all men, Birkland.” - -“What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly. - -“Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of tempers, old -man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay claim to good temper whatever -else you may have.” - -West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - -“Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West,” Birkland said. “You -naturally would be.” West was all the more annoyed because he didn't in -the least understand what Birkland meant. - -The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally -and did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. -White was sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without -saying anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was -there at all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was -to make him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and -therefore Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would -receive. But White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had -given him, and now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, “I think -Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper because -another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's been very hardly -used—at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be to live with.” - -Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he -could find no words at all. - -At last he broke out, “Well, all I can say is that you people don't know -what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like Traill to go -about stealing people's things—” - -“Look here, Comber,” Birkland broke in. “You've no right to say -stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole anything; -you'd better be more careful of your words.” - -“Well, I call it stealing anyhow,” said Comber hotly. “You can call it -what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words of your own for -these things. But when a man takes something that is n't his and keeps -it—” - -“He didn't keep it,” Birkland said angrily. “You 're grossly prejudiced, -just as you always are.” - -“What about yourself?” West broke in. “People in glass houses—” - -At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. -Comber was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before—not that -it very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - -He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to be -in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't like to -mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it long -enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if only -people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them—well, it -might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would -be a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of -course, if one's education had been neglected.... - -Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for -science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair must be -the same, there was no question about it. - -Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing -that he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big -debacle. - -Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for -everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was -excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - -“I say!” he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - -“What do you think?” he cried again, “Traill has just told me. He 's -engaged to Miss Desart.” - -At that there was dead silence—for an instant nobody spoke. Then Comber -got up from his chair. “Well, I'm damned!” he said. - -This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once -then the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss -Desart had stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate -friend. His wife was devoted to her and would, of course, at once -espouse her cause. But this piece of news made him, Comber, even -angrier than he had been before. His feeling about the engagement defied -analysis, but it rested in some curious, hidden way on some strange -streak of vanity in him. He had always cared very especially for Miss -Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, heavy way, little attentions -and regards that he gave to very few people. He had always thought that -she had very great admiration and reverence for himself, and now she -had engaged herself without a word to him about it to someone whom he -disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, he knew that -his wife would be delighted—more trouble at home. Here was White openly -insulting him in the common room; he was called names by Birkland; a -nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to that); his -wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two—with a muttered word -or two, he left the gathering. - -For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a -new color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for -Miss Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock -in the face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would -never have accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she -should be handed over to his hated rival. - -“Does Perrin know?” was West's eager question. - -“No,” said Clinton smiling, “I'm just going to tell him.” III. - -Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in -front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so much -depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened by -it—not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or indeed -of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past the -terror of tongues—but rather afraid of himself and the way that he might -be going to behave. - -He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that -there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. -He knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a -hero—a hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, -with a great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face -in the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief -in his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other -boys, that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some -preacher in a sermon—he went to sermons very often in those days—say -that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, -and that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people -did not know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking -out for it, and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own -fault—all this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on -the watch for this chance—this splendid moment. - -That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do -the right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather -a pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - -Then there was the other Mr. Perrin—the ill-tempered, pompous, -sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he -recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was -in command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as -he phrased it, to “do him down.” - -Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this -morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce -and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing -continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had -been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination -to make a good thing of it! This young Traill—and then Perrin No. 2 -showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in -the air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only -prove the kind of man that he could be! If he could only get out of -this, away from it—if someone would take him away from it: he did not -feel strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And -then, suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining -light, his beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him -and care for him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; -and then at the thought of it he began to smile, and a little color -crept into his pale cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, -he might be quite pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter -so little! - -He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into -a delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults -that he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the -opportunities that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought -about him. And then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to -great things: he would have a little house, there would be children, -he would be his own master, life would be free, splendid, above all, -tranquil. He could make her so fond of him—he was sure that he could; -there were sides of him that no one had ever seen—even his mother did -not know all that was in him. - -Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock -on the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - -“Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have returned it -before.” - -“Oh, thanks!” Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. “Won't you -sit down?” - -“No thanks, I'm taking prep.” Nevertheless, Clinton lingered a little, -talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the mantelpiece, -fingering things—a practice that always annoyed Perrin intensely,—then -he took up the little china man and looked at him. “Rum chap that,” -he said. “Well, chin-chin—” He moved off; he stood for a moment by the -door. “Oh, I say!” he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; -“have you heard the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just -told me.” He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging -the door behind him. - -Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head -fell between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there -for a long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster -and faster—he was like a wild animal in a cage. - -Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was -white, his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked -the thing up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, -smashed into atoms.... - - - - -CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES I. - -ISABEL told Mrs. Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that -good lady, owing to the interruption of the other good ladies and her -own Mr. Comber, was unable to say anything really about it until just -before going to bed. Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very -much about it in any case quite at first, because her breath was so -entirely taken away by surprise, and then afterwards by delight and -excitement. For herself this term had, so far, been rather a difficult -affair: money had been hard, and Freddie had been even harder—and hard, -as she complained, in such strange, tricky comers—never when you -would expect him to be and always when you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber -considered terribly unfair, because if one knew what he was going to -mind, one would look out for it and be especially careful; but when he -let irritating things pass without a word and then “flew out” when there -was nothing for anyone to be distressed about, life became a hideous -series of nightmares with the enemy behind every hedge. - -Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she -had arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the -condition of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her—she called -it submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the -limits of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the -world bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world -except Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely -unselfish kind, so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own -discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her -size and volubility and color. - -Isabel talked to her in her bedroom—it was of course also Freddie's, but -he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas she, by a series of -touches—the light green wall-paper and the hard black of the shining -looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not very many, -but all made the most of),—had made it her own unmistakably, so that -everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of welcome. It was indeed, in -spite of the light green paper, a noisy impression, and one had always -the feeling that things—the china, the silver, and the chairs—jumped -when one wasn't in, charged, as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. -Comber's temperament and the color of her dresses. - -But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the -least mind the stridency of it—in fact it all rather suited the sense of -battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to say that -they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked it. -Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all -his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one -felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being -there. - -Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown -on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - -“Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have -these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that skirt -of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame -me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!” Here she hugged and kissed and -patted her hand. “And he is such a nice young man, although Freddie -doesn't like him, you know, over the football or something, although I'm -sure I never know what men's reasons are for disliking one another, -and Freddie's especially; but I liked him ever since he dined here that -night, although I didn't really see much of him because, you know, he -played Bridge at the other table and I was much too worried!” She drew -a breath, and then added quite simply, like a child, and in that way of -hers that was so perfectly fascinating: “My dear, I love you, and I want -you to be happy, and I think you will—and I want you to love me.” - -Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her -very tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there -was more pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was -terribly hard for some people. - -“Of course, it is wonderful,” she said at last, looking with her clear, -beautiful eyes straight in front of her. “One never knew how wonderful -until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer has ever -said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has ever -thought it—and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose,” she added laughing; -“but it only means that I'm up to all the surprises and ready for them.” - -“You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it,” Mrs. Comber said slowly. -“I don't think the other party has really very much to do with it. You -never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a matter of fact he's the -very nicest and trustiest young man, and no one could ever be a brute -to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to anyone else—and I wish I'd -remembered about that skirt.” - -The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, -came about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that -everything was most splendidly right. - -“And now, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber, “tell me what this is that I hear -about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard the veriest -words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time about -not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's always -doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn.” - -Isabel looked grave. - -“It seems the silliest affair,” she said; “and yet it's a great pity, -because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But that's why we -announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll be, it appears, a case -of taking sides.” - -“It always is here,” said Mrs. Comber, “when there's the slightest -opportunity of it.” - -“Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of opportunity -this time,” Isabel said sighing. “It really is too silly. Apparently -Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation in Upper School this -morning without asking. They hadn't been getting on very well before, -and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella and Archie said that he'd -taken it, there was a regular fight. The worst of it is that there were -lots of people there; and now, of course, it is all over the school, and -it will never be left alone as it ought to be.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, “it will be the opportunity for -all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. How perfectly absurd -of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I always said so, and now it -only proves it, and I wish he'd never come here. Of course you know that -I'm with you, my dear; but I'm afraid that Freddie won't be, because he -doesn't like your Archie, and there's no getting over it—and on whose -side all the others will be there's no knowing whatever—and indeed I -don't like to think of it all.” - -She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her -worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, -instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors -and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the -crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised -soon to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - -“Oh!” she cried, “will they hate us?” - -“They 'll do their best, my dear,” said that lady solemnly, “to hate -somebody.” II. - -And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next -afternoon. - -Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's relief -that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' terror at its -horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of course, in the -first place those of any “at home” whatever—the stilted and sterile fact -of being there sacrificially for anyone to trample on in the presence -of a delighted audience and a glittering tea-table. But in Mrs. Comber's -case there was the additional trouble of “town” and “school” never in -the least suiting, although “town” was only a question of local houses -like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have combined, one -would have thought, easily enough. - -The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the -jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the -quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter -that is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the -conversation of the ladies of Moffatt's in this way—it was a thing of -far deeper and graver import. - -The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion made -what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply malicious -conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a perpetual -battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its weightiest -result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that things -said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - -Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the -safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that -whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it -was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays -as days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and -hoping that she would “get off,” so to speak, on that. But on occasions -like the present, when there was really something to talk about, she -shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong -enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought -her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then -she couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella -Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where -they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's engagement -as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that bright, -young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some odd, -obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - -She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her -silver, tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin -pieces of bread-and-butter, that the “town” would, on this occasion at -any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really -“getting at” things; but, of course, as it happened, the “town” for once -wasn't there at all, and the battle raged quite splendidly. - -The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically -enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that -they represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; -and poor Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and -wished that the little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly -the reason of their separate appearances and the danger that they were, -severally and individually. - -The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as -securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and -drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. -Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so -far as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented -her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy -whose accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads -spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - -The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of -herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her -chair, and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her -stouter sister to a wonderful extent. - -The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, “Well, so Miss -Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!” showed immediately which of the two -pieces of news was considered the most important. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, “and I'm sure it's delightful. Do have one of -those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they 're quite fresh; and I -want you especially to notice that little water-color over there by the -screen, because I bought it in Truro last week for simply nothing -at Pinner's, and I believe it's quite a good one—I'm sure we 're all -delighted.” - -Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. “They 're a little young,” she said in -so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly transferred, against -her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest attire, into the heart -of Siberia. “And what's this I hear from my husband about Mr. Perrin and -Mr. Traill tumbling about on the floor together this morning—something -about an umbrella?” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, “I heard -something this morning about it.” - -Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely -as she did on this afternoon—she seemed to chill the room with her -presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to -various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that -they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's -only way of easing the situation, “Do have another little pink cake, -Mrs. Thompson,” failed altogether on this occasion, and she could only -stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with -a start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the -morning's proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. “You were down -there, Miss Madder; tell us all about it.” - -Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and -having heard what she called “the first struggle,” and having yielded -eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine -curiosity—having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and Mr. -Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - -“Actually on the floor!” said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - -“Yes, actually on the floor—also all the breakfast things and coffee all -over the tablecloth.” - -Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the -cold eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from -her position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't -to—also the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever -sister afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as -her opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. -Traill was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was -the harder one to live with—and that it had been a clean tablecloth that -morning. - -“I call it disgraceful,” was the only light that the younger Miss Madder -would throw upon the question. - -For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, “And really -about an umbrella?” - -“I understand,” said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work and -beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, “that Mr. Traill borrowed -Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that there was a -dispute.” - -But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the -question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect that -that had upon the disturbance in question. - -“I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively; “and I -cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and I must say -that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. Traill's -temper was uncertain.” - -“Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss Madder -with a sniff. - -Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know -what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her -peace. - -The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an -opinion from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady -understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - -Semi-Chorus a—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a question -of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master attacks an -older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in the dust -and that before a large audience, the whole system of education is in -danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and other -masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and then -other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second boys -showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - -Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the -question of property. - -Semi-Chorus b—One had one's things—here she was sure Mrs. Comber would -agree—and if one didn't keep a tight hold of them in these days, one -simply did n 't know where one would be. Of course one umbrella was a -small thing; but, after all, it was aggravating on a wet morning not to -find it and then to have no excuse whatever offered to one—anyone would -be cross about it. And, after all, with some people if you gave them -an inch they took an ell, as the saying was, and if one didn't show -firmness over a small thing like this, it would only lead to people -taking other things without asking until one really did n't know where -one was. Of course, it was a pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his -self-control as completely as he appeared to have done, but nevertheless -one could quite understand how aggravating it was. - -Semi-Chorus a—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no light matter, -and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty years were -to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were to -be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by -anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, -then one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then -what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and -finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - -Semi-Chorus b—Enlarged the original issue. It was really rather -difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to congratulate -the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was of course -perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst still so -young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with -that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't -develop into. - -Semi-Chorus a—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without mentioning -names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of married -lives that had been ruined simply through this question of discipline, -and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in blows and -riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an exceedingly -poor time. - -Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It -was not her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the -present occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous -figure of Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against -her, and there in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her -lap, with the black silk of her dress shining in little white lines -where the light caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie -entirely. Whatever happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this -again and again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found -her anger rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in -Miss Madder's hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense -of the hat and why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't suit her, -and whether Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in a nice green -grave with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract -questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she -listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more -than anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly -attacked. - -Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated -Isabel—Isabel who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, -even and cold, went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the -corner, and her hands began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. -Suddenly in an instant Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten -save Isabel, and she burst out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: -“Really, Mrs. Dormer, you are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all -agree that it's a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else -down because someone else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I -should never want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who -was matron here two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel -with her and putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything -of it, and I remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for -it back again. I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a -fuss about nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows -it; but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear -Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful fellow, and -I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's very unkind -of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep breath. - -“Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, “I'm sure -we none of us wish them anything but happiness. Please don't have the -impression that we are not eager for their good.” - -“I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder, “that you have -rather misunderstood our position in the matter.” - -“Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have,” broke in Mrs. Comber -hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had spoken so quickly. - -“You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don't think we can any of us -have two feelings about the question of discipline. I'm sure you agree -with us there, Mrs. Comber.” - -“Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber. - -But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and -they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not -be able to come and stay again—they were of one mind. - -Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of -that silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell -Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - -Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, -Freddie had still to be faced. - -His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly -not in a line with her own. - -Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! III. - -And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a -crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, -because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie -Traill, and indeed with everyone in the present story. - -But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,” as she -used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which disaster she -was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled kind of way why -it was that they should all have wanted to be so disagreeable, why, as a -development of that, everyone always preferred to be disagreeable rather -than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu clock and the peacock -screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, with their color -and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim, misty, vague, and lost -almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn't really anyone's fault at -all—that it was the system, the place, the tightness and closeness and -helplessness that did for everybody; that nobody could escape from it, -and that the finest saint, the most noble character, would be crushed -and broken in that remorseless mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the -mills of a rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring -at the clock and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these -women, crushed, beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss -Madder, her own Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even -already young Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave... once. The -coals clicked in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down -the darkening paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all -up—she must leave Freddie and the children and go away... anywhere... -she could not endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, -peevish, scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his -hours, and that annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish -very little better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to -be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella -affair. - -“Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all coming to, I -should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a month or two, and -he goes and takes a senior master's things without asking leave, and -then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. -The fellow wants kicking out altogether.” - -Mrs. Comber said nothing. - -“Well, why don't you say something? You've got some opinion about it, -I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's gone and got himself -engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl thinking of? They 're both -much too young anyhow. It's absurd. I 'll tell her what I think of it.” - -“Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's so happy about it, and -I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she deserves -some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, if Mr. -Traill was a little hasty, he's very young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very -difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you've always said—” - -“Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously, “I 've never -advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and -if you think I have, you 're mightily mistaken.” - -After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart -was dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber -was glad that the girl was not with them. - -She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and her -food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary -dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's -scowling face. - -At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little -drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and -she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest -of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of -places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and -forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no -travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw -Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen -about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her -and she could make no mistakes. - -Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she -smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was -nearly out. - -“Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a nice, cheerful room for a -man to come into, isn't it, after he's tired and cold with work? I have -got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm a lucky man, I am.” - -Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten -it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the use of making a -noise and fuss with it now?” - -Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look -here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business.” - -“What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her cheeks. - -“Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I'm not going to -have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I object to -him—he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants putting in his -place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near here. I won't have him -in the house, and it's just as well he should know it. So don't you go -asking him here.” - -She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have told Isabel that -I am glad, and I am glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I don't think it was -his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, you know you are not -quite fair to him because of his football, or something silly, and I'm -sure you don't mind him, really—you don't like Mr. Perrin, you know.” - -This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could -possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie -Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to -swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - -“Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things alone that don't -belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I 've got for disliking young -Traill—it's enough if I say that he's not to come here—and Miss Isabel -shall hear that from my own lips.” - -In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as -he was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at -the mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew -herself up. - -“You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult Isabel here, when -she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so good. I love -her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.” - -“Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. “This is -defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I tell you that he -shall not come here.” - -“And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper. - -Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly -came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We 'll see about the -master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her brooch, and she -fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her hands spread out -against it, staring at him.... - -There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant -wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They -both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had -suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations -could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be -worse—they could never be the same. - -But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. -Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay -against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, -because her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was -appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years -was brought to life by that blow. - -“My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I did not mean anything—I am -not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... Please—” - -His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. -She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him -fixedly. - -“You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At least, you have -never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.” - -Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then -she went slowly out of the room. - -He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a -whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark -buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” And -then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the -shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!” - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY....” I. - -DURING the month that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a -week of that original incident there was no one in the establishment -who had not his or her especial grievance against someone else. In the -Senior common room, at the middle morning hour, the whole staff might -be seen, silent, grave, bending with sheer resolution over the daily -papers, eloquent backs turned to their enemies, every now and again -abstract sarcasm designed for some very concrete resting-place. - -That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the -original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something -that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's purpose -to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any small detail be the -provocation, the battle was the thing. - -Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to -watch and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; -what a delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents -and verbs in with their principal parts of savior and dire and their -conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and -exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting -your neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious -misconception—all this within so small an area of ground, so slight a -period of time, at so wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - -The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy -in the school, but here there was not so intense a division—there was -indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the -whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old -Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the -custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply -a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once -accepted as a fearful authority—between this and the novel and athletic -Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... why? -There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old Pompous's -umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his property? He would -n't hesitate to take someone else's things if he wanted them.... -Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion amongst all those who -came beneath his discipline—as to the way that he took this, there is -more to be said later. - -But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel -and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was -nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw -something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should -have taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the -circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took -the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse -combat. No—the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of it, -when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, they -were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance—they were almost -lost and forgotten—and the reason of this was that everyone in the -place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance -silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an -issue between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being -worked out in silence—even the spectators themselves made no comment, -but Mrs. Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that -“Everyone was so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that -no one said anything at all”—and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - -Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those -most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, -and her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's -experience of it, because the only difference between herself and -the rest was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more -discerning intuition. - -In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own -battles. It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the -place, with the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time -being at any rate, up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed -herself to be engaged to Mr. Traill—there were no two opinions about it. -It was not ladylike—she was allying herself, to disorder and tumult, she -was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking down of persons -in authority—above all, she was setting herself up, whatever that might -mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first day in Mrs. Comber's -drawing-room. - -These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She -loved a battle—she had never realized before how dearly she loved it, -she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head up -and her eyes flashing fire—she was quiet unless she was attacked; but so -soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled on -and the trumpet sounded. In a way—and it seemed to her curious when -she looked back upon it—this month of hers was stirring and even rather -delightful. - -But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that -something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness -and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. -But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside -help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had -dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing—she only begged her -not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to attempt to -bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - -But Mrs. Comber was now a different person—her animated volubility had -disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a -pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken -to. But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel -had never liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have -disappeared. He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any -rate he was quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he -was on the watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that -his eyes would leave his work and stray about the room as though he were -searching for something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, -and sometimes when she spoke to him he would start and look at her -curiously, almost suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she -knew. He was not kind and attentive to her, as he had been before—she -felt sure that he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her -miserable, and she loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her -back from speaking to Mrs. Comber about it all—but something prevented -her. - -The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, -more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any -attitude towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided -camps—it all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very -childishness it could not have a serious conclusion; but as the days -went on and she saw into it all more deeply, the pathos of it caught -her heart and she could have cried to think of what men they might have -been, of the things that they might have done. Some of them seemed to -seek her out now with a courtliness and deference that they had -never shown her before. Birkland, of whom she had always been rather -frightened, spoke to her now whenever there was an opportunity, and his -sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she saw the sadness in their gray -depths, and she felt in the pressure of his hands that he wanted now to -be friends with her. White, too, was different now. He said very little -to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak at all was a wonderful -thing, but there were a few words about his affection for Archie. - -With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to -do something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly -able to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her -engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty—it was a case -of waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than -that—something was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and that -atmosphere to be afraid. But it was not until later than this that she -began to be afraid definitely of Mr. Perrin. - -But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something -grew when she perceived the inertia of the others—inertia was perhaps -scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing -impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait -for the result. - -And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, -having for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation—she -could not put it more optimistically than that—before the end of the -term came. - -It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her—indeed, her -flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger Miss -Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles whatever—but -rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to explain. She wished -to prevent things happening, was the way that she herself would have put -it; but that did not hinder her from feeling a natural anxiety that Miss -Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have some of their own shots -back before the end of the term was reached. II. - -But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. -Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly -drawn days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the -brittle leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get -him to see the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first -on the question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at -once against a bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her -ignorance of public school and university laws had formerly hidden from -her. - -Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as he -summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world -for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a fellow -felt—there were things a man couldn't do. She found that the laws of -the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison with the stone -tables of public school custom: “The man was a bounder”—“There were -things a fellow couldn't do.” - -She had not expected him to go and beg for peace—she had not probably -altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all left her -with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so immensely -young, and therefore to be—most delightful of duties—looked after. -Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of his -nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between them -be a great many tussles and battles. - -But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very -gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then -kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. -Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and -hid it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out -and saw that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly -discovered that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people -were taking sides about him—all this was horrible. - -He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. “I never meant to knock -the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella—all this -fuss!”—which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, because the thing -was done and there was no more to be said about it. He thought a great -deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand up for -her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him any -satisfaction—that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder against -the “low, bounding” world, and he declared, as he looked at her, that he -loved her more and more every day. - -But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes -with regard to that gentleman could only look one way—he would not make -advances. - -The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, -she felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite -watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but -when she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and -she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a -great many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was—cross, -irritable, violent, even wicked—he was, at any rate, lonely, and that -was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - -She could not, of course, make Archie see that. “The fellow's always -wanted to be lonely—thinks himself much too good for other people's -society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a beast, he must -expect to be left alone.” - -That did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from the -fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled -with anyone before—people never did quarrel with him; and now suddenly -here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, stiff and -sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him whenever he -got the opportunity. - -Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under these -circumstances—but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. Isabel herself -was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as possible. He -wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light and sunshine at -the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, comfortable, -a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class found that -nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and he snapped -at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always gentle, but -his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far away from tears. - -But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud -with Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, -always amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed -and was at last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, -afraid of what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag -Archie out of it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and -all this discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was -ninety at least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult -education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several -stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were -very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries -of people getting along together. Her present feeling was something -akin to Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being -flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being -hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and -hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. III. - -But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of -Mr. Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before -the end of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That -something in the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations -was busy about the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in -the most singular way would break out; there was continual quarreling in -the common room, strange rumors were carried of things that people had -said—it was all a question of strain. - -There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of -snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and -when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black -and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in -Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was no -other light in the room. - -Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her -hand, silently staring at the fire. - -Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the -consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the -trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good night -to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves -stretched to breaking-point—all this overwhelmed her. She had never felt -so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep anything at -all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... to-morrow; it -might be too late. - -She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that -he had called him a “rotten little counter-jumper,” and that West had -made an allusion to “stealing things.” Where were they all? What were -they all doing to be fighting like this? - -They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the -fire, and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling -coal, were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - -“Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go mad. What -is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? Oh! -I do want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. For the -last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been no -peace at all.” - -“I know,” Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from the fire; -“I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there are only three weeks -more of the term, because I 'm sure that somebody would be cutting -somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, and I wouldn't mind very much -if somebody would cut mine.” She gave a little choke in her throat, and -then suddenly her head fell forward into her hands, and she burst into -passionate sobbing. - -Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair -and took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long -time, and the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the -snow had begun to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against -the window. - -At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - -“Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I should have -done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my eyes are a -perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't help it. -Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've stood it as -long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall go away -and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you 're let alone.” - -“Dear Mrs. Comber;” said Isabel, still holding her hand, “do tell me -about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of course, I 've seen -that something 's happened between you and Mr. Comber. I can see that -he is most dreadfully sorry about something, and I know that he wants to -make it up. But this silence is worse than anything, and if you 'd only -have it out, both of you, I'm sure it would get all right.” - -“No, dear.” Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. “It's not -that so much. Freddie and I will get all right again, I expect, and even -be better together than we were be-for; but all this business has shown -me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've known it really all the time, and -I used to pretend that if one was nice enough to people one could n't -be altogether a failure, because they wanted one to like them—and that's -the truth. Nobody wants me to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in -the world. I'm not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless -and silly and untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so -badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was -all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you 're going -to be married there's an end of you, the only person I had.” - -“Archie and I,” said Isabel softly, “will care for you to the end of -your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't you? And you know -that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him looking at you during these -last weeks as though he could die for you, and then he's been afraid -to say anything. It's only this horrid place that has got in the way so -dreadfully.” - -Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. “Do you really think so, my -dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's been -different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and is n't -worried about his form; but things are always worse at examination time, -and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through as quickly as -possible; and something dreadful did happen the other day, and I know -he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps things will be all -right.” - -Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, -after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: “You know, -Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten you, but -Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of me, but I don't -quite like it—” - -“Like what?” said Isabel. “Well, Mr. Perrin; he's been looking so queer -ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay you haven't noticed -anything, and I daresay it may be all my own imaginations, and I'm sure -in a place like this one might imagine anything—” - -“How does he look queer,” said Isabel quietly. - -“Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say about him. -You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he didn't care -about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't another reason for -his disliking Archie—” - -“Care about me?” said Isabel laughing; “why, no, of course not. He's -only spoken to me once or twice.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Comber, “I've seen him looking at you in the strangest -way in chapel. And his face has got so white and thin and drawn, I'm -really quite sorry for the poor man. And his eyes are so odd, as though -he was trying to see something that wasn't there. And the boys say that -he's so strange in class sometimes and stops suddenly in the middle of -a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. Clinton was telling me that he -never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when Archie's there he gets very -white and shakes all over and leaves the room. I only want you to warn -Archie to be careful, because when a man's lonely like that and begins -to think about things, he might do anything.” - -“Why, what could he do?” Isabel said, with a little catch in her breath. - -“Well, I don't know, dear,” Mrs. Comber said rather uncertainly. “Only -when examinations come on they do seem to get into the men's heads so, -and it's only that I thought that Archie might be careful and ready if -Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all...” - -Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the -room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and -the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, -Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside -gather ominously about her. - -She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other -a moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each -other. - -“At any rate,” said Isabel, “whatever else this place may do, it can't -alter our being together. You 've always got me, you know.” - -But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were -strained, perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; -but she longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and -she could not sleep at nights. - -And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke -to her. - -She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was -just turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; -there was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and -purple shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though -cut out of paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against -the sky. He came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted -to speak to her, so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up -to her—with his gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black -mortar-board, with his thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his -straggly, unkept mustache—she had a moment of ungovernable fear. She -could give no reason for it, but she knew that her impulse was to turn -and run away, anywhere so that she might escape from him. - -Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and -held out her hand. - -She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that -didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - -“How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a long time. -Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like this.” - -Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped -her hand and held it. - -“I 've been wanting to say...” he said in an odd voice, and there he -stopped and stood staring at her. - -“Yes,” she said gently. - -His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face -with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - -“I've wanted to say—um, ah—to congratulate you...” - -He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - -“Oh! thank you!” she said impulsively, coming up to him and putting her -hand on his arm. “Thank you so very much!” and then she could say no -more. - -He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant -horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech -that he had learnt, “I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. I -hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm afraid I 'm a -little late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm a little late. Yes. Good -morning!” - -Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the -path. - -As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that -her vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE I. - -MEANWHILE, many things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On -that night after Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement -to Traill, he did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black -grate without moving until the morning. He did not know until this had -happened to him how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in -middle life there comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that -he has missed ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were -other ambitions that would have been more profitable of pursuit; and -then, if the rest of his days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he -must make reckoning with other things that have perhaps no glitter nor -promise, but will give him enough—life has no compensation for cynics. - -In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that -his last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest -boyhood, was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, -it seemed to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at -the altar. A great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his -head in his hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The -things that he could have done had she been faithful to him!—that was -the way he put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He -had pleaded his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on -his breast, and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and -stroked her hair. - -And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came -in at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared -about him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man -like him—that sort of creature? - -What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; -it pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other -men might sport with it—other beardless boys like Traill.... - -He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show -God that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that—he would -mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid—ah! but -he was afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid since those -days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat listening -to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such lurid and -wonderful accuracy. - -God was like that—He took away from you all the things that made life -worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards because -you resented His behavior. - -Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that -the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very -large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head -ached, it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he -had now so long attempted to control came creeping out—that other Mr. -Perrin who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin -whom he did not want his friends to see. - -On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin -seemed to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, -Mr. Perrin fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was -watching. He was wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, -but it was an evil face—all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had -gone wrong. Mr. Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last -he had broken out, and perhaps he would never go away again. - -Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - -Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was -something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some -connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as -he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, -there was nothing to be angry about—of course not—no; but he knew that -there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he ought to -do to young Traill. What was it? - -Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. -Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from -the room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very -desolate and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and -so end it all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot -themselves, or they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be -afraid to do any of those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in -an inconsequent way, of the sight that he would look afterwards. - -There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his -great chance—the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. -Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to -give him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing -he showed them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, -supposing he won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of -course, it was absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not “do” -magnificently anywhere. - -No, he was no good—he was done for. He thought, as he heard the clock -strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at the -yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then -four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were -ugly flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted -Miss Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his -thin, sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - -His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and -enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - -Young Traill had done this—young Traill was his enemy... young Traill! -He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - -And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper -flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. II. - -But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all -resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When -he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in -his mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat -with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great -black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the -eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, -wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and -the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - -It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that -was trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He -found at once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, -and as the days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling -inside him that he must not let out was always stronger and more violent -when Traill was there. Of course they did not speak to one another, -but it was something more active than mere silent avoidance. They -had struggled on the floor together, struggled before Comber and -Birkland—Perrin would not forget that. He remembered it as an act of -faith and said to himself a great many times. He always found that when -he was in the room with Traill something seemed to drag him across the -floor towards him, and he had to hold himself back. - -This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind -on his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his -form, because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst -them. They must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and -he thought that when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked -amongst themselves. They had always done that of course, but now there -was an added reason. - -There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always -hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the -master who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door -of the hall and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see -whether they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had -seemed to him most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands -raised to his eyes, one after the other—hands that were ill-kept, -bitten, and ragged, and torn—this had been, in some bidden way, -irritating. Now it was much more irritating, so that when it was his -week on duty and this horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, -as it seemed to him, with insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to -beat them all down, to run amok amongst them, to trample until all the -hands were broken and bleeding. - -Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He -used to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him -up, and he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very -inky. Then Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly -eye, had sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to -escape, but with a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands -were always beautifully clean—he did not look at Perrin. This was, of -course, a very small affair. - -But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently -behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end “per -Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum” and a great clatter of forms being -dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices—then he wanted -to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew that he -must not. - -One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone -in the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to -him. - -Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned -his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: “I say, Perrin, isn't -this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be speaking to -a fellow—I'm sorry if I did things, but you know—” - -And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had -moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and -Traill had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - -But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. No! -that man must not get out—he must at all costs be kept in his box. And -so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - -Traill did not try to speak to him again. - -With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked -afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, -and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way -and said, “Go back, and do it again—do it again,” as though he were not -thinking of what he said. - -Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather -thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white -faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with -ink, and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces -hanging down, stupid things like toads. - -He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no -effort now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, -other numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if -it was right—that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could -help it. He did not analyze his silence—it was merely a fact that he did -not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his own... -it reminded him of things that hurt. - -But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference -except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do -things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than had -hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the difference -more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that there was to -say about his form. - -It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out -that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was -that he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very -provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, -because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One -morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt -that Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill -to do this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the -Upper School—moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it -opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. -Perrin could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door -at all but at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was -standing, and at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he -turned round sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - -The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of -conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly -to Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill -with all his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. -It was not hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite -him at dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though -someone at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging -the cloth with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do -things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept -in a box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was -that people were talking about him. This might almost be called the -Irritation of the Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw -a closed door—and they were very many—he knew that there were people -behind it who were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very -softly, a door and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one -in the room, he was sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind -chairs. Once when he opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss -Madden was alone in the room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped -her work and screamed, which was foolish of her. - -But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like to -have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said—he was sure -that she would be kind—and he stared at her very hard in chapel, because -he saw her so very little at other times, and because he would like to -know what she was thinking about. He would like to know whether it was -about the same things as his things—and so he stared at her in a curious -way. - -And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which -he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the -first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had -written saying how much she had missed it—so he must not forget it -again. - -He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly -broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think -of his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture -of her sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from -him. He sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and -paper and began, as he had begun for a great many years: - -“Dear old lady... - -Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he -did now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held -the lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with -his head between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his -mother; and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that -had been about him during these days fell from him, and he regained his -clear vision—he began to write as he always did:— - -“...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I really -didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these days with -the examinations coming on and everything. - -“I'm very well, except that I have these headaches—nothing at all, and -I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope you 're all -right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. Keeping warm's -the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that shawl that Miss Bennett -gave you is the very thing—mind you wear it, and don't sit in draughts. -I'm all right...” - -And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between -his hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be -afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... -His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have -lifted away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him -to the ground. He did not hate Traill—Traill could not help it; but he -wanted her—oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - -He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled -so that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his -last hold on life, to pray. - -“Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to that -state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like -that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so -hard—there are so many little things—there is no time!... They will not -let me alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me -someone to love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do -not let me go back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I -may do...” - -But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with -his head on his arm. - -And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself -there—and it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly -frightened, because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the -other Mr. Perrin—and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and -he cursed God and stumbled to his bed. III. - -And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was -quite sure now that God hated him. - -Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping -that box closed—he was damned anyhow. - -Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of -anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing -on his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, -because it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was -sure that it would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore -Traill must go. - -He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to -consider it.... - -These days before the examinations began were very difficult for -everybody, and Perrin began that hideous “getting behind-hand” that made -things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever catching up. -There were all the term's marks to be added up before the examinations -began, there were trial papers and test questions to be set, and -therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he was not -able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his chair -with his hands folded in front of him and think of—Traill—and then he -would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were others -to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room—sometimes -a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there -scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with -all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his -room. - -But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin -welcomed it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune -with his own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very -difficult one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been -before. - -The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was -multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now -filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, -whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one -or two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others -naturally had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that -had broken out over the umbrella incident had developed until there -was very little to prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this -occasion, West was the person who was let off easily by the examination -list, and he was not the kind of man to allow his advantage to pass -without comment. - -Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common -room. He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the -window and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat -there: for instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they -were not watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs—it -would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, -and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must -run, screaming, from the room—or to twist Birk-land's ears round -and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be -pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - -At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly -all gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - -Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his -corner. - -“It will be very pleasant,” West said, smiling a little, “to have -that third hour off all through this week. I can't think, Comber, why -Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to do—I—” - -“For God's sake,” Comber broke out furiously, “stop it! Aren't we all -sick to death with hearing of your beastly good luck? Don't we all know -that the whole thing's about as unfair as it is possible for anything to -be? Just keep quiet about it if you can.” - -“Oh, of course, Comber,” said West. “You grudge a man any bit of -luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew anything more -selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you 'd have let us know -about it all right.” - -“Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West,” said Dormer. “Leave it -alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired out as we can be? We've -had enough fighting this term to last us a century.” - -With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a -common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - -They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, -and they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their -eyes. - -With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their -heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in -a cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only -Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - -Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest -with his back against the wall, spoke. - -“You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to fill a great -many years. We 're a wretched enough crew.” - -He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - -“I wonder sometimes,” he went on, “how long we are going to stand it. -Most of us have been here a great many years—most of us have had our -hopes broken a great many years ago—most of us have lost our pluck—” -Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, because he paused; but no one -spoke, and no one moved. “This term has been worse than any other since -I have been here. We have all been very near doing things as well as -thinking them. I wonder if you others have ever thought, as I have -thought sometimes, that we have no right to be here?” - -“How do you mean,” said Comber slowly, “no right?” - -“Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting -and cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or -friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who -used us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him -notice and go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do -things—we all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot -of us, now—” He paused again, but there was still silence. “They say to -us—the people outside—that it is our own fault, that other men have -made a fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is -splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. -I know that—we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid -lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man -that we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have -tried to do decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a -minute is our own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come -and try and see what they will make of it.” - -A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one -spoke. Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands -waving in the air. - -“But it is not too late—it is not too late, I tell you. Let us break -from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that unless -they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, unless -they give us more freedom, we will leave—in a body. There is a chance if -we can act together, and better, far better, that we break stones in the -road, that we die free men than this... that this should go on.” - -His voice was almost a shout. “My God!” he cried, “think of it! Think of -our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act together and -break free!—free!” - -He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved -together. Cries broke from them. - -“You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't stand it. It's our -last chance.” - -“Now! Let us go now!” - -“Let us go and face him!” - -Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. “Now or never!” he cried. - -Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the -voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved—the voice of a thousand -years of authority: “The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as soon -as possible.” - -It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see -what he would do. - -For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held -by Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to -hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak—then, with a helpless -gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the room, -and passed out through the door. - -There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin -laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP I. - -WITH examinations there comes a new element into the life of the term—it -is an element of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching end of -an impossible situation; it is, an element of despair in so far as it -provides an overpowering number of answers, differing in the minutest -particulars, to the same questions; and is even an element of romance, -because it heralds the appearance of a final order in which boys will -beat other boys, generally in a surprising and unforeseen manner. But -whatever it means it also tightens to a higher pitch any situation that -there may have been before, so that anything that seemed impossible now -appears incredible; the days are like years, and the hours, filled with -the empty scratching of pens and the rubbing of blotting-paper, stretch -infinitely into the distance and hide release. - -Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force -extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the -situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon -it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was -hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid -attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, -invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was -concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan -whereby every master set and corrected the papers of some other -master's form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most -admirable opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report -always led, next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, -with the hapless master who had incurred it in the rôle of victim. -Therefore, if, as was usually the case, your especial enemy was -correcting the papers of your form and would write a report on them, -unless something were done to appease him, you were, during the whole of -the next term, delivered over mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You -might perchance appease your enemy, or you might yourself be examining -his form, in which case you had every opportunity of a pleasant retort. -At any rate, this plan invariably inflamed any hostilities that might -already be in existence and resulted in the provision of at least half a -dozen victims for Mr. Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - -For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and -misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, -because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term -the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays—also he -considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic -conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that -prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a -rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - -He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from -earlier papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him -and waited. There was only one subject now in the whole world, and -all these curious boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these -appalling noises, and then these equally appalling silences, only -diverted his attention and prevented his thinking. - -There were always three of them now—himself, the other Mr. Perrin, -and Traill—they always went about together. When he was taking an -examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the -other Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the -room, and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but -away from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at -him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - -Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was accompanied -by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with their own -affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of—one couldn't possibly have -anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. Sometimes it was -curiously confused, because there were two Traills—a Traill who moved -about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and the Traill who -stood always by the door and never moved at all except to slip away. - -Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very -much indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. -There had been something once about an umbrella, and there was something -else about Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden -Minimus; but none of these things were fixed very resolutely in his -mind, and his thoughts slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - -It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go -on like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long -hours whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and -what he could do. - -There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two -figures at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He -saw suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it -was like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at -it, frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, -and the world would once more grow dark. - -At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to -realize then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous -it was. - -Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy -figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden -Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's -round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth -quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - -At last he said, “Oh!—Ah!—Garden—I haven't seen much of you lately. How -do the exams go?” - -Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to -be kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - -But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and -his eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for -help. - -“Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir—I—I could n't do the geography this -morning, sir.” - -There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the -road. - -“When do you go for—um, ah,—your holidays, Garden?” - -Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he -was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, “awfully sick -about something—not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing.” - -He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was “jolly odd” during -these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of every -other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help—after all, Old Pompous had -been beastly decent to him—and then there came an overwhelming sensation -of shyness, as though his feminine relations had suddenly appeared and -claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He looked down, rubbed -one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a murmured word -about “having to meet some fellows—beastly late,” was off. - -Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school -buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the -other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat -prowls.... - -About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had -never been inside it—he knew only that plain brown door with marks near -the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - -But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by -the windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square -black lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy -to turn, and then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be -inside—he would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and -the chairs... it might be useful to know. - -He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down -the passage; there was no one there—it was all very silent. The sun of -the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the -shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - -He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands -behind his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened -again—he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very loudly -indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near the -window—the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver hair-brushes and -the china basin and jug. - -It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one -photograph. - -He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss -Desart—Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - -He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. -Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him. III. - -And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, -and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in -the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - -Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected -no papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks—none of them -were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the -papers; other masters left all the results until the end. It was not -considered strange that Perrin had posted no results. - -But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have -done something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of -course, he ought to correct them—he ought to say what was good and what -was bad. - -He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his -fingers because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on -French Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - -“I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of donner, -recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir...” - -Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one—he had always found that that was -difficult. He turned over the page: - -J'eu, tu eus, il eut—that looked wrong.. . - -Again, here was Simpson Minor—“Je fus, tu fus, il fut”—surely that was -confused in some way. - -The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and -all of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, -flying into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under -the table and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered -wildly on the floor. - -The silly papers stared at him: - -“Je dors tous...” - -“Il faut que...” - -“I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt...” - -“Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns...” - -And then, Simpson Minor: “Je fus, tu fus...” - -He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the -floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was -maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to -trample on them—he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and -wildly stamping... . - -And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped -still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could -not collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - -Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the -important thing—the important thing was between himself and Traill; that -was what he must think about. - -This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, -he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill -would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - -The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - -It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision -that something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with -a pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack -on his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered -on the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, -Friday... Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark -that he had already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched -out. Wednesday morning came. - -Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday -morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - -He gave out the Old Testament questions: - -“1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram; -its cause and effects. - -“2. Write briefly a life of Aaron...” - -He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was -Wednesday—before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came to -him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - -“6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found -favor in thy sight.' “'Let us make a captain and let us return into -Egypt.' - -“'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'.rdquo; - -He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him -afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was -a complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been -there for people to laugh at and mock him. - -If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use—he might have -married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and now -the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He hated -Traill—of course he hated Traill; but it was not really because of that -that he was going to kill Traill—it was only because he wanted to show -all these people that he could do something: he was not useless, after -all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, after all, the -laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not be able to -kiss Miss Desart very much longer—another day, and he would never be -able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - -Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and -easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - -He had given God His opportunity—he had prayed to God and besought Him; -he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and to -be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the distance, -but everything had been very hard, and that was God's fault for making -it so hard. - -He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not -be expecting that. - -Still more would he surprise the place—Moffatt's—that place that had -treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a grand, big thing -to kill his enemy! - -On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked -slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long -dining-hall. The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside -every round, shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a -long, glittering line right down the table, and the sun caught their -gleaming steel and flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them -fascinated Mr. Perrin—it was with a knife that he would kill Traill—he -would cut Traill's throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and -felt their edges—they were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great -many of them—you could cut a great many throats with all those knives, -but he did not want to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's—Traill -was his enemy. - -At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys -on either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - -“Ah! Cromer—um—yes, very pleasant. Our little friend will amuse himself -hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on Christmas Day. Um, -yes—and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! Whitby—long way. Yes, able -to read your holiday task in the train.” - -He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was -brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering -the gravy over the cloth. - -After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail -across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light -of the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a -transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors -behind it. - -Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious -shapes—perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of the -sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that could -see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, and -fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular creatures -with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were splendid -galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and -mountain ranges—they were all very strange and beautiful, and perhaps -this was the last time that he would see them. - -Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the -direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they -were Miss Desart and Traill—there was no doubt at all that that was -Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was -Traill. - -The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be -amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know -how he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from -behind and strangle him with his hands. - -And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the -path. - -It was a day of ghosts—even the brown color of the earth of the hill -that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one -felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring -place, but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked -hedges, and, at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the -cottages of the village. - -The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like -the rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, -with his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, -and he could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were -discussing, probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him -to think that he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the -other Mr. Perrin also. - -They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path -to the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path -the mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of -the sea by gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges -piercing the sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the -other figures had preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden -by boulders. He hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, -and then he hung back a little lest he should be too close to them. They -were still talking very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led -to a sheltered cove. At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, -and Perrin hid behind a rock and watched them. - -The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that -made the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the -water made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded -away into the mist again. - -Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down -behind his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on -the sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it -and sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw -that, he knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss -Desart was there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and -his eyes filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there -had been someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there -had ever been anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his -eyes. He had not come there to cry—he had come there for vengeance, and -then, at that thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor -a creature that he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he -were to miss even this chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, -he tried to gather together all his reasons for hating Traill; but he -couldn't think properly, and the pebbles on which he was sitting were -pressing into his trousers, and his neck was hurting because he craned -it so. - -At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do -nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he -got up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly -up the path again. IV. - -And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the -last time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear -determination of settling things up. - -His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had -corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - -He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out imaginary -examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was for the -last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in which -they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - -Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This -took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to -overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - -Dear Old Lady: - -This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret -it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a -failure. There is £100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will -get things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you -very much, old lady, but I am no good.—Your loving son, - -Vincent Perrin. - -He fastened up the letter and addressed it to— - -Mrs. Perrin, - -Holly Cottage, - -Bubblewick, - -Bucks. - -Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited until -the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the -passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down -the lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - -Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the -tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and -he tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and -put it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When -he got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly -at the knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of -course. - -But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got -the knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with -it. But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he -was, and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - -The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a -chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There -was nothing fine about him—there was nothing fine about anyone at -Moffatt's—they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there would be -speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - -But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It -was quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night—he might -just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was -shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his -lamp. - -He hated the dark—he had always hated it—and so he hurried into his -bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking so that -it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed the -matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - -He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his -shirt and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the -black marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At -last he blew out the candle and got into bed. - -He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was -asleep—but after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was -conscious of someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the -other Mr. Perrin was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the -room was quite dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that -he could see that he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were -exactly the same as his own. He was forced against his will to get out -of bed and to follow the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the -long, white road, down to the sea. Here they were in that little cove -where Traill and Miss Desart had been that afternoon. They sat with -their backs against the rocks, and in all the air there was a strange, -uncertain light, and the sea came over the shore in sullen, dreamy -movements, as a tired woman's fingers move when she is sewing. - -Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession -of gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces -were white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung -at their sides. - -He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice—that this must not -be allowed—and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was all -wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens—but he could -not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces that he -knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and then—his -own. - -He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back -up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into -his room. - -He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his -surprise he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although -there had been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he -could distinguish every object perfectly—and then he realized slowly -that things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not -his, his bed was not there—that photograph.... - -Someone was in the bed. - -For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between -the window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been -walking in his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - -He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the -counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was -smiling. - -Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity—here was -his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed—he bent over -the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... it would be -very easy. - -Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept -from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES I. - -THE next day, its brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its -train great things. - -The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the -last day of the summer term, because it was a more private family -affair. - -One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, one -fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, but it was -in the midst of the family that it was done. - -Parents—mothers and fathers and cousins—were indeed there, but they, -too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual -Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great -worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - -Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender -history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be -over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred -years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone -mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last -into a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom -of the Brown Hill—a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other -things the founder of Moffatt's. - -It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had -been perhaps but vaguely recognized—perchance, perchance, the surest -foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our -tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - -But this Marmadukery—a hideous word, but it serves—spread far beyond -that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the -esprit de corps signified by the School song (it began “Procul in -Cornubia,” and was violently shouted at stated intervals during the -year), the splendid appeal “to our fathers who have played in these -fields before us”—this was the cry that these banners and orations -signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true—but shout enough -about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have tears in his -eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke becomes medieval, -mystic, “the great, good man” of history, and Moffatt's is “one of our -good old schools. There's nothing like our public school system, you -know—has its faults, of course; but tradition—that 's the Thing.” - -The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone -feels it—everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir -Marmaduke is the Thing. - -He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that -he kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she -treated anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers -arrived in great numbers on these occasions, and these three great days -of the three terms were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused -events in the year. They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the -immediate return of her own children, and they marked an amazing number -of things that ought to be done at once, with the confusing feeling -about Sir Marmaduke also in the air. - -But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. -She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and -nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe—or almost -safe—and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out of the -place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had last -night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and kissed -her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be all -right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of -the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened during -the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - -Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one -very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all -sat very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - -She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and -happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of -talking to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at -a pool, flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured -no attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - -But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at -the advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: “My -dear!—no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early—one o'clock, -and cold—you don't mind, do you, dear; but there's to be such a dinner -to-night, and I've just had four mothers, and wise is n't the word for -what I've been, although I confused all their children as I always do, -bless their hearts. But, oh! the term's over, and I could go on my knees -and thank Heaven that it is, because I 've never hated anything so much, -and if it had lasted another week I should have struck off Mrs. Dormer's -head for the way she's treating you, for dead sure certain—” - -“Archie's not coming back, you know,” Isabel interrupted. - -“Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of -course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as young -and we'd be off from here tomorrow.” She stopped and sighed a little and -looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, the stiff, bare -trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. “But it's no use wishing,” -she went on cheerfully enough, “and we won't any of us think of next -term at all but only of the blessed month of freedom that's in front -of us.” Her voice softened; she put her hand on Isabel's arm. “All the -same, my dear, I'm glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It -was touching him, you know.” - -“Yes, I saw it,” the girl answered. “And I don't want him to -schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's help he 'll -be able to get a Government office of some sort.” She hesitated, then -said, smiling a little, “Are you and Mr. Comber—” She stopped. - -“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber bruskily, “we are—and there 's no doubt -that things are better than they have been. I suppose marriage is always -like that: there 's the thrilling time at first, and then you find it -is n't there any longer and you've got to make up your mind to getting -along. Things rub you up, you know, and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome -as anything, and then there's a good big row and the air's cleared—and -shall I wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?” - -“The black one fits the day better,” said Isabel absent-mindedly. She -was wondering whether the time would ever come when she and Archie would -feel ordinary about each other. - -“But isn't it funny,” she went on, “that here we are at the end of the -term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all our quarrels and -fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming impossible? It -was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone.” - -“It all comes,” said Mrs. Comber, “of our living too close. Now that -we're going to spread out over the holidays, we 're as friendly as -anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. Dormer as much as -ever”—which was difficult to believe when that lady arrived at a -quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel and to go with them -to the prize-giving. - -Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black -neck to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of -this she spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one -another as they walked down the path to the school hall. - -“And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?” - -“I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the housemaid. -I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I had to speak -to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and she gave -notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and unless I -can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able to get away.” - -“Really, what servants are coming to!” Mrs. Dormer was struggling -with her collar like a dog. “Poor Mrs. Comber, I am so sorry—of course -management's the thing, but we haven't all the gift and can't expect to -have it.” - -“And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over -Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be so nice -if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I have -n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. Rose -yesterday—quite a nice girl she sounded—who's been under-parlormaid at -Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, and never a fault to find -with her except a tendency to catching cold, which made her sniff at -times.” - -“Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to -spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have -loved—” - -For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface -responsible. II. - -Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible -for clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this -morning, that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had -hitherto been. The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as -he was not returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was -concerned. He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term -had shown him that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought -himself. His pride, his temper, his irritation—all these things were -lions with which he had never fought before: now they must always, for -the future, be consciously kept in check. - -He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going -away—now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, -together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the -buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He -could not sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad -dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened -suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. -Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep -properly to-night. - -At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on -this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they -all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble -that he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - -Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to -him. - -He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The -floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the -air was full of dust. - -“Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's all this?” - -“Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you 've come. I was coming -round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm off for good.” - -“Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment. - -“Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have -finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I -die—nothing can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.” - -“What are you going to do?” asked Traill. - -“I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've saved a tiny hit of -money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a shot at anything. -Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!” - -He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with -dust on his cheeks and his hair on end. - -“Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all, I'm on the same game. -I don't know what I'm going to do either. We 're both in the same box.” - -“Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you. -I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years -of this; but I'm going to have a shot—so wish me luck!” - -“Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We 'll do it -together—we 'll see heaps of each other.” - -“Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm too dry and dusty -a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm better alone. -But I 'll come and see you one day.” - -“You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what you said about -the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see -you. You were quite right.” - -“Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, “you had a -hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. It drove -you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning, -I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, you met Miss -Desart here.” - -“Yes,” said Traill, “that makes it worth it fifty times over.” - -“And now,” went on Birkland grimly, “this afternoon you shall see the -closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our tradition. -You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with the -term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that pervades -the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, maker of -strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which we all, -from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share.” He spread his -arms. “Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!—to get out of it! And -now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If it hadn't been for you, -Traill, I believe I'd be here still. Well, perhaps it's to breaking -stones on a road that I'm going... at any rate, it won't be this.” - -And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his -influence. III. - -But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly -feeling, with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had -little to do. This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling -or a triumph at approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' -troubled and confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening -consciousness that he had again, now for the second time, missed his -chance. - -This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; -not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - -To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, -they would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same -insignificant creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and -then it would be worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, -and in the distant ages it would be told how once there had been a young -man, straight from the University, who had flung him to the ground -and trampled on him, and beaten him, in all probability, with his own -umbrella.... - -Ah, no! it was not to be borne—the thing must be done; there must be no -missing of an opportunity this third time. - -He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. -Somerset-Walpole knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he -suffered no punishment. Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus -had looked at him as though he would like to speak to him, but he could -not think of Garden Minimus now—there were other more important things -to think about. - -Of course it must be done that night—there was only one night left. -Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown -himself. He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - -His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would -say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some -way that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able -to laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something -terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. -Miss Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did -not wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the -best, because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only -be unhappy if she married him. - -What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his -throat cut!—no, they would not laugh at him again! - -He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went -back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in -front of him, with the door closed. - -And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to -the school for the speeches. - -He smiled and said, “Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up—now -that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that we -should not part friends—it's all been my stupid fault, and I am so very -sorry.” - -But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path -with his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you -couldn't shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in -the evening. He heard Traill's exasperated “Oh! very well,” and then he -passed into Big School. - -He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were -always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they -came in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were -unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about -his popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore -surprise him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that -greeted Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - -The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and -the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner -by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept -them there until the end of the ceremonies—no one noticed him—no one -spoke to him—not for him were their songs and festivals. - -The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, -and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the -Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to -come. - -These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with -stout bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that -they considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive -and as nonexistent as possible—they all wore a considerable amount of -watch-chain. - -In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged -the prizes—a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been -biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside -them in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, -in patent leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was -intermittent, but regular. - -This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the -prizes, because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the -other side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality -and authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; -he stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were -seated: Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, -endeavoring to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually -as though by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many -parents. - -The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He -alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, “our -founder, hero, and example”; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur -Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the -pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the -successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of -Police in Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in -an examination that had something to do with Tropical Diseases -(more cheers); M. Watson had received the College Essay Prize at St. -Catherine's College, Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second -class in the first part of the Previous Examination at the same -university (frantic cheering, because Duffield had been last year's -captain of the Rugby football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was -exceedingly encouraging, and they could not help reflecting that Sir -Marmaduke Boniface, were he conscious of these successes, would be -extremely pleased (cheers). Passing on to the present term, he was -delighted to be able to say that never, in all his long period as -headmaster, could he remember a more equable and energetic term -(cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events of -special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those -concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a -will. It was a familiar saying that “a nation was blessed that had no -history”—well, that applied to such a term as the one just concluded -(cheers). If he might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he -was quite sure that Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man -to rejoice in this spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude -for a moment to his staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded -with so pleasant a body of men—men who understood exactly the kind of -esprit de corps necessary if a school's work were to be properly carried -on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great purpose of -making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed, the one aim -and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they might be sure that -was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept before him. He -had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, who would give -away the prizes. - -Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic -cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness -of Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the -room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's head -intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved -their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed -their immovability. - -Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he -believed in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he -should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like -to say one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning -prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who failed -to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.” It wasn't -always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. No—um—ah—he -never used to win prizes at school himself. It wasn't always the -boys—here he pulled himself up and remembered that he had said it -before. There was something else that he'd wanted to say, but he'd quite -forgotten what it was. Here he was conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and -thought that he'd never seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem -to be able to escape them. What a dangerous-looking man! - -So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them from -our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of paper on -which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched -his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the third row, -suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. He would -advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and -now he would give away the prizes. IV. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's -speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to -speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least, that his -eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson acute -discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching him -with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was not -aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because he looked -so queer, as though he had a headache.” - -He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second -Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of -Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not -matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at -issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated -impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager -realization. - -He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. -And suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken -himself, forcibly, out of one room into another—out of a room in which -there was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise -dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place -that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that -Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, -but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - -What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his -place. He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, -stupid faces. That Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her bony -neck; that silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming garments; -that Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she were of any -importance to anyone—all of them listening to these things that -Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing these... Lies! - -Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the -wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's -face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with -that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his -head. He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that -they could stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step -forward and tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat -governors, to the little man with the shining boots on the platform? -They knew that these thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had -it not been slow torture for them all, had not that man with the white -beard full knowledge of these lies that he was telling? What was his -private quarrel with Traill as compared with this monstrous injustice? -He was pale now, with a long red mark against the white of his cheek. He -had stepped right away from the wall and the small boys of the First and -Second Forms were watching him. - -It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, -that it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than -the others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this -place! Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he -remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before -in the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt -by Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! -what rot! He could have shouted it to the roof—“Lies! Lies! Lies!” - -There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his -speech—ladies' dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along the -floor—and then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his hands -against one another—they were hot and dry and something rather like a -bobbin on a latch went up and down in his throat—his eyes were burning. -He moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to the -central gangway between the blocks of boys. - -And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies -of “Tennyson's Poems,” Sir Robert Ball's “Wonders of the Heavens,” “The -Works of Spencer,” and other volumes of our admirable classics. They -began with the bottom of the school, and a small fat boy with a crimson -face, boots that creaked like a badly-oiled door and were shaped like -Chinese boats, staggered up to the platform. A lady, prominent for -her size and large picture hat moved eagerly in her chair, clapped -vehemently with her white gloves and so proclaimed herself a mother. - -Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to -each prizewinner—“something that they could remember afterwards, you -know”—and began to say something to the small and red-faced boy, but was -startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory breathing close to his ear. -Turning round, he discovered that three more small boys were waiting -anxiously for their turn and that others were coming up the room. He -therefore hurried along with “Here you are, my boy. Remember that prizes -aren't everything in life—hope you 'll read it—delightful book.” - -Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He -must wait—now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech -to thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To -his excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were -looking at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must -have felt as indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been -telling them. But those governors should know the truth for once at any -rate and in a way that they should not forget... strangely, in the back -of his mind he wished that his mother could be present.... - -The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered -according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, -had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest -of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very -pleased with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a -flushed face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the -leading rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with -a book and a few pleasant words—fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came quicker -as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - -Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. -It had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so -distinguished a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that -afternoon. It must have been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time -amongst so many engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. -(Cheers—Sir Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at -his shirt cuffs as though his engagements were written down there.) They -on their part were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the -room, however young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as -long as he lived, those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it -was not only for the winners of prizes that life was intended (here -Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and -the governors moved restlessly in their chairs), but (and here -Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a new note) it might not be, perhaps, -presumptuous of him to hope that it was not only for them that afternoon -might have pleasant memories. For Sir Arthur Spalding also, he might -hope, there would be times in the future when he would look back and -remember that he had seen, for an instant at least, one of our British -public schools in one of its happiest and most prosperous phases. He -might flatter himself— - -“It 's all lies!” - -The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. -To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the -over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, -there may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange -master of theirs—“that old ass Pompous”—seen his edging from the wall -into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands clenching -and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that sudden -lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his feet, -could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to the -governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively desiring -his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the staff, -the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a wind, -“What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered little cries, -they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice—they were held, -paralyzed. - -And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange -figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window -upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his -gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - -“It's lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one upon another. “I -don't care—I must speak. Ladies and gentlemen,”—he caught his throat for -a moment with his hand—“I know that this is no occasion for saying those -things, but no one else has the courage—the courage. It is not true what -he has been saying”—he pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white -patriarch. “We are unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by -that man—we are not paid enough—we are not considered at all—never -considered—everything is wrong—we all hate each other—we hate him—he -hates us—we are unhappy—it is all hell.” - -He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from -head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell here... -hell!” - -And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly -to his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by -the wide doors behind him. - -There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - -“It 's Perrin.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM I. - -HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across -the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, -nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that -his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest -in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact -was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the -rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might -hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they -might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, -ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. -Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as -though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, -the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly -something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the -table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, -worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly -and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was -surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That -morning it had meant so much, now—— - -It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, -greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a -tyrant. - -He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind -his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What -would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must -be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions -that had been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the -other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill -being always in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most -certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly -there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their -solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only -that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That -quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one -was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious -quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill -aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in -the world. - -What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would -the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and -thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with -his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they -would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they -would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had -hitherto despised. - -He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that -hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - -The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, -but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the -world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the -darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would be -time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room -before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. -Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - -He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course -they would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. -He felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they -had to say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden -silence, and then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their -plans; perhaps they had already prepared a written protest supporting -his own outburst. - -He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes -and a beating heart to the Upper School. - -He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered -the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire—all of them, -he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they -seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - -“Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for years.” - -And the other voices came together: - -“Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a disgrace, a -thing like that happening.” - -“Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all the holidays in -the world!” - -“No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have got -started before anyone saw him.” - -“Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of -him.” - -But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these -speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a -smile and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - -They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the -fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no -movement. They watched him. - -He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were -watching him, he thought, curiously. - -His confidence began to leave him. - -“It's nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum! ha!” - -There was no answer. - -“Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't I? Yes, -indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He stopped -again. - -Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were -looking at the papers. - -Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him -any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of -course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; -had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he -had seized his—well! - -“Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I flatter myself that -something will come of it. It will be difficult for them, I think, to -disregard that altogether—hum—yes.” - -There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - -“Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?” - -“Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.” - -Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - -“Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I should -go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you 're wanting. -Take my advice. Bed's the place—shouldn't go to chapel if I were -you—hem.” - -“No, shouldn't go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly. - -Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried. “Why -shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a holiday?” - -“You 're tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That's what it is. We're all -tired—overdone. We've all been feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing -term's come to an end. I knew something would happen. You 're tired, -Perrin.” - -“Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. “Tired! -It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't like to see me taking the -lead—you hate my coming to the front. You've always hated me, the lot -of you. You 're jealous, that's what it is. You 're cruel”—his voice -suddenly broke—“I was helping you all. That's why I spoke—and now—” - -And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. II. - -Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that's what they -are—beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!” - -He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a -note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - -'.ir: - -Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible -to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel.... - -So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of -the window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes—the boys from -the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy -chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night—the dark-swelling trees -rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells stopped -and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that his head -was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the evening -scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his feverish -brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common room -to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He might -have known that that would be the way that they would take it—he was a -fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future. He -would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace -himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be -the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined -he was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or -tittle of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his -feet. To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would -sound a very different note. - -He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were -cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it -was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, -and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - -His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought -of Traill—-Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one -thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection -somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public -outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he -confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had -been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it -was that he was going to do. - -He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although -it was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn—“Lord, -dismiss us with Thy Blessing”—and singing it too with vigor that, -exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching freedom. -He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the window. -Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - -Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. He -could be humble or he could he arrogant—he could plead for mercy or -he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two -possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as -possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There -would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must -make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions -were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - -On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped -the sides of his chair—well, he would find that he had made a mistake. -The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body trembled—in -half an hour there would be this battle! - -In half an hour!—in less than half an hour! Already the opening of the -chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the evening -breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and singing. -On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed into -preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was -the last night of the term—there was to be a concert—and by this time -to-morrow— - -They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more -there was silence—the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were closed. - -Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the -very heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his -enemy had been Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the -ingenuity of the devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin -had thought that it was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, -with extraordinary clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. -That spider with that dark study for his web was spinning, always -spinning—more effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with -its dim light, surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other -room into which he was going frightened him against his will. He was -determined that he would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the -back of his mind was an undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, -Moy-Thompson would get the better of him. - -He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not -beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's -study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table -by the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical -busts on the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white -beard at the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with -flashes of golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - -Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not -raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen -down slowly, looked up and smiled. - -“Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you coming -at this time? Sit down, won't you?” - -Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed -haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to -collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - -“But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this easy-chair -by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his hands, sat -down. - -“I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this letter—hum, -yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked -solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he 'll wait—of course, he 'll -wait—of course, he 'll wait.” - -At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. -His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his -clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - -“Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really, only a few -moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a long day. But come, -Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've got to discuss this -matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I -have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter.” - -Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr. Perrin, I -beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am most anxious to prove to you -that I am nothing but friendly in this matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and -tapped his nails, with sharp little rattling noises, one against -the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm sure you must agree with me that a -disturbance like that of this afternoon is exceedingly unusual and I may -say with very considerable truth that no one who was present was more -completely and remarkably surprised than myself. I do not pretend,” he -went on with a smile and lifting a deprecating hand towards the fire, -“that I am so pleasantly self-assured as to believe that there is no -unsound plank in this good ship of ours; there are many things, I am -sure, that would be the better for a newer and a younger hand, but I had -supposed—and naturally supposed, I think—that any complaints that there -were would be brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to -time complaints have been brought to me and I may say that I have always -dealt with them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson -paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you know that -you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have come to me -with any complaint of any kind?” - -Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long -speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular -and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was -bent towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he -would reply and half started from his chair. - -Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - -“No—please, a moment—may I not explain myself? although it needs surely -no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that has always, I -believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had yesterday been -questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely trust and honor -I should have named yourself.” He paused and then slowly added, “I -need scarcely remind you that it is only a fortnight since there passed -between us, in this very room, an interview of the most friendly and -confidential description.” - -There was no word from the chair. - -“You must remember that, during the many years that have passed since -you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You have -had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I -have always been frank with you—you 've seized none of them. All the -more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what occurred -to-day.” - -At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled -with silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his -brain. What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the -things that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, -it was true; it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and -Moy-Thompson, all these years, great friends. Other members of the -staff may have rebelled and quarreled and disputed, but he had always -supported authority. He remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the -pleasure that he had taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews -in that very room. This momentous and horrible fact rose now before -him and froze any reply that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's -devoted henchman for twenty years—was he the right man to head a -rebellion now? - -In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - -“Well,” said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against another, “I see -that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in some of my remarks. -These things are facts—that you have been twenty years without a -complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here more rubbing -of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard task that -demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this outbreak; -an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an outbreak for -which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its nature, I -should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and habits—” -Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, “Well, what is the -only explanation? What can be the only explanation?” - -Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - -“Well,” continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, “overwork, of course. -Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last weeks, -things were being a little too much for you—hum—yes—natural enough, -natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a long time since you -were out of harness—yes, indeed.” - -“I 'm not tired.” - -“Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the -game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient -excuse for to-day's little episode—the only excuse indeed (this a little -more sharply)—but an excuse that we all of us—I speak for others as -well as myself—are only too ready to seize. A holiday, my friend, a -holiday—there we have our doctor's medicine.” - -Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised -his head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the -worst. He faced it with despair—he knew as he heard the other man's -words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he -make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting -and abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that -he was merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of -the terror that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle -contempt and the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - -Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him -that this was not quite so simple as it appeared—that this old man in -his dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in -the dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his -head was buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. -To have Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, -was to have Perrin silenced, humbled—finally quieted. But how was he to -battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the -accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those -many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn -consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid to -that white beard, these things rose and defeated him—defeated him on the -last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - -Yet he tried to say something. - -He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - -“I had reason,” he said slowly, “for what I did. I meant what I said and -I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of us and I -want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did this -afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us all -to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me—if anyone else had -done it—” - -His head dropped—his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, “I want -to hand in my resignation.” - -The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently -and a little sadly: - -“I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel that I -have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think me -unfriendly—my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly—if I say that -this opinion of yours—a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps—owes something -to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I beg of you -is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait until you are -stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that the governors -will only too readily allow you a holiday during next term—when the -summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in body and mind.” - -Tick—tick—tick went the clock—“Here's a good offer—Here's a good offer.” - -“I wish to hand in my resignation,” said Mr. Perrin. - -“Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all be -genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making -your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps—” - -“I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is -scandalous—scandalous—” - -“I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you feel about it -as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few weeks. Write to -me. Write to the governors—write to anyone you please. But wait—let me -urge you to wait.” - -Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again there was -silence. Then at last: - -“Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the strength to -break with anything. I'm no use—no good.” He got to his feet and then -suddenly broke out: - -“But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, but I'm right. -What I've said is true, it's all true. You 're a devil. You've had us -all at your mercy for years and years. You've worked us against one -another until you've rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and -you 're pleased—you 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a -God's parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts and you've -eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for us, but there's hell for you -somewhere. I see it and I know it.” - -He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - -It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some -judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world -about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. III. - -But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was -thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his -defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - -He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no -more for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the -heart of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an -utterly useless man. - -He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation -in his face. He was no good. - -He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the -door he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, -looking very shy. - -Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at -all. - -“Good evening.” - -“Good evening.” - -“Won't you sit down?” - -“No, thank you. I only came in for a moment.” - -“Oh, all right. What is it?” - -“Oh! Only I wanted to tell you—that—well—oh, that I thought you were -awfully plucky this afternoon.” - -“Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really—it was a very foolish thing to -do.” - -“No—really—the other fellows did n't understand—” - -“Oh, yes! They understood very well.” - -Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to -go through with it. - -“Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know—not coming back—and I -thought that it would be a pity if we parted—well, sick with each other. -What do you say? We've had one or two turn-ups, but we 're friends, are -n't we?” - -“Of course.” - -“Shake hands, will you?” - -They shook hands. - -“Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't you? Always -awfully pleased. Well, I must be going.” - -And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - -But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's utter -despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his life. -“He had made it up with the chap,” but Perrin, in the dark, was looking, -with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray figure that had -haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him face to face. - -And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - - - - -CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW I. - -WITH the coming dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, -sitting in his chair without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, -the gray cold pane of his window and the last faint glow of the sinking -coals that lingered in the grate. He did not know what he could have -said to Moy-Thompson, what he ought to have said. He thought that he -might have faced it out better had the interview been in some other -place. There were so many things that hung about that room and made it -impossible for him to speak. He had not known that it would be so hard. - -But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all -these many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had -been coming upon him but he had never confessed it—now it stared him in -the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. -He knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and -face the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the -courage to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had -not even had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would -do. - -And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant -enough man if only someone had tried to like him—and then these -headaches—and then those days when his brain was so strangely -confused—no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if Isabel -Desart.—-Well, why think about it? They all mocked him—even Moy-Thompson -did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was very sick -and tired of life. II. - -The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very -silent as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. -Some clock downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black -cold grate and saw that soon it would be sunrise. - -The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything -was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making -everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the -pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the -middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - -At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with -a little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it -was hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the -solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the -dark hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the -half-light. - -He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into -the mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; -its beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of -him, almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause -before he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the -daytime, but now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle -of the hours when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when -the brown earth and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in -the pageant. The breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness -of the first moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the -movement and stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter -day bare branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen -sun—now everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - -He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In -front of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the -threads and fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of -the land hid it great fountains of color were held behind the cloud -and the suggestion of their richness was passing already into the -thickly-curtained gray. - -Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off -across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was -growing with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out -sharp and black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud -was slowly filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through -the heart of it a little avenue of trees ran—now they were gaunt and -stiff in two lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end -of the little avenue there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running -sharply to the white road beneath, and then below the road again there -is the sea. It is a wonderful view from here, for the sea curves like a -silver bowl into infinite distance. Through the country-side it is known -as “The Golden View,” not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving -and heaving beneath its gray veil with the faintest threads of color -beginning to interlace the fabric of it. - -Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and -looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in -front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun -rose above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. “To -fling oneself down on to that cold white road” was a very easy death to -die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the courage. -He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - -He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw -coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. III. - -He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought -that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of -his life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She -was dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - -And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. -“Oh!” he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his voice was full -of pain. - -“Good morning, Mr. Perrin,” she said very easily; “I could not sleep and -I had thought that I would come down here to see the sun rise—and then -I saw you pass through the school gates and I was impertinent enough to -follow you. I want to talk to you.” - -“To talk to me?” - -He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - -“Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there just as -the sun rises.” - -He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full -of what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. -He glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she -was! He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - -“I hope you didn't very much want to be alone,” she said smiling at him; -“but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I have been wanting—very -badly—ever since yesterday afternoon—to speak to you.” - -“Since yesterday afternoon,” he repeated bitterly. “You must feel as -they all do, about that.” - -“I don't know how the others feel,” she answered almost fiercely. “That -is no business of mine. But I understood, I sympathized, a great deal -more than you would believe—and I wanted to tell you so.” - -“You couldn't understand—you couldn't sympathize. It doesn't touch you -anywhere. You 're going to-day and you won't come back. Well, don't -think of any of us again. Don't try and help us—it only makes it worse -for us.” - -“No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would -understand—and even if I am going away it would be something for both of -us if we knew that we had parted friends, that—” - -But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working -most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered -what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking -dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some -strange greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his -back and in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - -“Oh, please—don't,” and then she stayed in infinite distress waiting for -him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so thin and ragged, in the cold -morning air, and her heart was full of the deepest aching pity. - -At last he turned round to her. “Let us go on,” he said roughly; “I -am all in pieces—don't mind me—you shouldn't have spoken to me like -that—it's more than I can stand.” Then after a pause he went on, “You -mustn't talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend -of yours.” - -“That is for me to say,” she answered gently. “I have been so wrong all -this term. I have only made things worse instead of better and I did so -want to help. It's been awful this term and yesterday afternoon was the -worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had agreed with the things you -said!” - -“It is n't any use,” he answered. “It's too late.” - -“It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't let me help you, -why then perhaps you 'll help me.” - -“Help you?” - -“Yes—if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we part like -this—I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a little of what -you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It isn't kind to me to leave -it like this.” - -There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she -was; her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt -bitterly that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every -word that she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if -she went away without speaking she would regret it all her life. - -At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute -control of himself and his voice was quite steady. - -“No—I hadn't meant to be rude like that—only you took me by surprise. -I've made a wretched muddle of things and, since yesterday afternoon, -I 've seen that I'm a complete failure in every possible sense of the -word. You are so splendid in all ways—and you are going to have such a -splendid life—that we are at the opposite ends of the world, you and I.” - -She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all -its little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the -strange creature whom she had known before. - -“No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so -miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have -made things better between you and Archie—Mr. Traill—all that wretched -quarreling—and yet I felt so helpless.” - -“No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man feeling -that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and the -younger man resenting the older man's interference—and neither Traill -nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were pressed up -against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. No, you -had n't very much to do with it.” - -But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, -half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering -whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of -all self-consciousness, held him back— - -He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. “And -then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I -was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him -if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair that -he should have everything—youth, health, prospects, -popularity—everything—and I nothing. I had never been a likable man, -perhaps, but there seemed to be no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to -do things—” - -He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot -with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling -back like gates before the sun. - -“—And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making his -speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place—the system—that I -had been up against all this time, and not any one person—and suddenly -I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know—and I thought I'd done rather a -big thing. I thought the other men would be glad that I had led the way. -I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious and frightened, but the other -men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed—and suddenly everything cleared -and I saw what this place had made of me. They say that it takes a man -all a lifetime to know himself—well, I 've got that knowledge early. I -know what I am.” - -She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. “You 're -going to have a fine life,” he said; “there are so many people that you -will do good to—but you have been everything to one useless creature.” - -“I shall always be proud to be your friend.” Curiously, in the growing -light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she felt more -strongly moved than she had ever been before—yes, even Archie Traill's -wooing had not touched her as this did. - -“I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you,” at last she said -brokenly, “but I shall never, all my life through, forget you. I shall -want, please, always to hear—” - -“To hear?” His lips twisted into a strange smile. “Ah, you must n 't -want that.” - -“Why not? What are you going to do—now?” - -“To do?” He was still strangely smiling. “What is there for me to do? -I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no means and I am -fit for nothing but schoolmastering—” - -“Cannot you come back here—in spite of it all?” - -“Come back?” - -“Yes.” - -“Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so unimportant -that—it does n't matter.” - -“You will—promise that you will!” - -“Ah, it is all so useless,” he said, shaking his head. “Before, when I -had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but now, -when that is all gone—” - -“Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand”—her eyes were flaming—“you -must—you must. Don't you see that you 're being given such a chance! -Think of the pluck of it—after all that has happened—to come back, -knowing what they think of you, knowing what you think of yourself. Oh! -I envy you. I believe the only thing we 're in the world for is to have -courage—that answers everything—and some of us have such fat, easy lives -that we've no chance at all. But you to come back with your teeth set, -to build it all up again, to will it all back! Oh! it's splendid! -And Archie and I will have our happy, ordinary existences—just going -along—and you 'll be here doing the finest thing in the world. I'd -change places with you to-morrow,” she magnificently ended up. - -“You see it like that?” he said slowly almost to himself. - -“Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all this -term's been for—to bring to a head—to show you your great chance. That -'s life—everything leading up to the one big thing—and now this is -yours.” - -“My God!” he whispered, “If I could!” - -“You must,” she answered, “I believe in you—come back—fight it—win.” - -But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - -“No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I 've had my -spirit broken—this place has broken it.” - -“No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance—take it.” - -“All these years,” he answered grimly, “twenty years—it's a long time -for a man. I can't begin all over again.” - -“Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight as you see -things now—It 's never been the same before.” - -He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - -“Do you believe I could do it?” he said. - -“Of course I do.” - -“Win back respect—make them forget yesterday—go on with the old -torture—” he shuddered and buried his face in his hands. - -“I believe in you,” she answered steadfastly. - -He drew a deep breath. “At last!” - -“I believe in you.” - -“You are not saying that only to comfort met” - -“No; you know that I am not.” - -“To come back—to go on—to face it all.” - -“It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall know—I shall always -remember.” - -As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would -not have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that -brief moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell that -Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some way a -new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he do -anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - -There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the sea -swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly -blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded -the brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through -the brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a -white gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out -to sea. - -Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come back,” he -said. - -The new day shone about their heads. IV. - -Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. Comber -was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only for -a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and pleasant than he had -been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys were returning that -afternoon. - -“Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's a bill from that -dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't leave one -alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and I told her only -a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk until Easter—well, -some marmalade, then, if you won't have another—what train did you say -you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm so glad it's a sunny day—you were -up quite early weren't you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. -Dormer had to say about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and -now I shan't have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's -shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash, so -that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?” - -“Of what all?” asked Isabel. - -“Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been queer all -this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what he 'll do now?” - -“I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel. - -“Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if he -can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors -that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm sure -we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been most queer all -this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie and everything. -Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under his thumb.” - -Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - -Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a -fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the -things that she ought to do. - -“Dear?” said Isabel. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - -“I want you to do something for me.” - -“Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's hill for -that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—” - -“No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen altogether to -me.” - -“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - -“Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin is coming back. I saw him this morning—” - -“You saw him this morning! Isabel!” - -“Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View. He talked -to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or people. There -must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside and so dull -outside.” - -“I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered slowly, “but I -cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I can't really.” - -“Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when I think -of Archie and myself and our lives—and all the other people with lives -like them—and then when I think of all the awkward, bad-mannered, stiff, -jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm ashamed!” - -Mrs. Comber was astonished. “Well, my dear,” she said, “it does seem to -have affected you—really. Of course I want to be kind to everybody—even -Mrs. Dormer—and of course I 'll believe what you say, and I'm sure I'm -very sorry for him, and it won't be pleasant for him coming back.” - -“No,” said Isabel. “It won't—no one ought ever to come back here -again—but if only you 'll be a friend to him— - -“You see,” she went on again, “he's the kind of man whom those things -matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever taken any interest in him or -any trouble—and now if you and I—” - -“Anything,” said Mrs. Comber, “that you want me to do.” - -“I sometimes think,” said Isabel, “that the world's topsy-turvy. People -seem to put so much value on all the outside things, and if someone's -ugly and awkward—” - -Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at the -door of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown portmanteau—a -very old brown portmanteau—and he put it on the cab. It was a very old -cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - -Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old -shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - -The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - -Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that -he would. - -Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious -beauty of that day she seemed to get her answer. - -Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - -“It shall be all right, next term,” said Mr. Perrin. - - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52211 *** diff --git a/old/52211-h/52211-h.htm b/old/52211-h/52211-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 10d97d7..0000000 --- a/old/52211-h/52211-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9284 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole - </title> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52211 ***</div> - - - <h1> - THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - </h1> - <h3> - A Tragi-Comedy - </h3> - <h2> - By Hugh Walpole - </h2> - <h4> - Author Of “Fortitude,” “The Prelude To Adventure,” - Etc. - </h4> - <h4> - New York George H. Doran Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1911 - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <blockquote> - <p> - “The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: - Nor Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House - Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort.”—Pilgrim's - Progress - </p> - </blockquote> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - PUNCH - </h3> - <p> - My Dear Punch, - </p> - <p> - There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to - you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them - all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day - last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, and - we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the top—an - inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large black cat. - </p> - <p> - It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. - Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than - anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good - things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good - things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this book. - </p> - <p> - Yours affectionately, - </p> - <h3> - HUGH WALPOLE. - </h3> - <p> - Chelsea, January 1911. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA - AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND ADVICE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY - OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL - THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN - PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; - THEY OPEN FIRE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; - CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME SKIRMISHING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH - THE LADIES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; - “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO DESTROY....” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY - ALL MAKE SPEECHES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF - HIS KINGDOM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL - SOUND ADVICE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>INCENT PERRIN said - to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: “It shall be all - right this term”—and then, “It <i>shall</i> be”—and - then, “<i>This</i> term.” A cold wintry sun watched him from - above the brown shaggy wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery - blue, and on its surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A - little wind sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had - nearly reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. - He stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood - straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a - sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the red - light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front of it - the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - </p> - <p> - “It <i>shall</i> be all right this term,” said Mr. Perrin, and - he pulled his rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little - wind was playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He - was long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not - been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript - pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore was - too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of someone - who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and watery, and his - eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His age was about - forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over twenty - years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were folded - behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that trailed - along the ground. - </p> - <p> - His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top of - the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the - distant Brown Wood. - </p> - <p> - The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The - sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of a - hammer, and the tiny whisper—as of someone who tells eagerly, but - mysteriously, a secret—was the beating of the waves far at the - bottom of the hill against the rocks. - </p> - <p> - Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the chimneys - of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of some - hidden bonfire. - </p> - <p> - The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up - the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude of - bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very small - indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched their - hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, glanced at - them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the brown buildings - again. - </p> - <p> - “Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers.” he said to - himself quickly; “Barker Minor, French.. . ;” then his mind - swung back to its earlier theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the - road with his stick, “It shall <i>be</i> all right <i>this</i> term.” - </p> - <p> - The school clock—he knew the sound so well that he often thought he - heard it at home in Buckinghamshire—struck half-past three. He - hastened his steps. His holidays had been good—better than usual; he - had played golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots - and fools as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently - about Education—shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, - and What a Mother can do for her Boy—all favorite subjects of his. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad—perhaps the new man - would be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be <i>worse</i> than - Searle of the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just - down from the University—he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - </p> - <p> - No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; but - there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then—he - stopped once more and drew a deep breath—there was Miss Desart. He - tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer than - others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss Desart.... - He coughed. - </p> - <p> - He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at - his heels. - </p> - <p> - The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; - the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room - that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, - moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and the - long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore a - perpetual odor of food in the air. On a “mutton day”—there - were three “mutton” days a week—this odor hung in heavy, - clammy folds about the ceiling, and on those days there were always more - boys kept in than on the other days—on so small a thing may - punishment hang. - </p> - <p> - To-day—this being the first day of the term—-the room was - exceedingly tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows - of pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, - a name— - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Perrin,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Dormer,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Clinton,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Traill.” - </p> - <p> - Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and - his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting <i>their</i> - papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall was an - enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines running - across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over which were - two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and St. Peter's, - Rome. - </p> - <p> - Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the - windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen—a - gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round empty - flower-bed, a stone wall. - </p> - <p> - On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of - bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, - cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, a - short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were - drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at it—a - practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - </p> - <p> - However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. - Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. “Ah! here we are again!” - he said, with easy jocularity. - </p> - <p> - Dormer gave him a hand, and said, “Glad to see you, Perrin; had good - holidays?” - </p> - <p> - Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, “You - old nut!” - </p> - <p> - Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that - all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was most - inclined to be easy and pleasant. - </p> - <p> - “Ha! no cake!” he said, with a surprised air. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say, I'm so sorry,” said Clinton, with his mouth - full, “I took the last. Ring the bell.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It was - cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The Lower - School was divided into two houses—Dormer was house-master of one, - and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under - house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to - Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival - camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and - play. - </p> - <p> - “I say, Perrin, “have you made out your bath-lists? Then there - are locker-names—I want.” Perrin snapped at his bread and - butter. “Ah, Dormer, please—my tea first.” - </p> - <p> - “All right; only, it's getting on to four.” - </p> - <p> - For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the - door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, “Come in!” - </p> - <p> - The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a - misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a - shuffling of feet. - </p> - <p> - Perrin walked slowly to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of - us eager to come back, of course—um—yes. Well, you know you - oughtn't to come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your - names then—another five minutes. It's up on the board. Well, - Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? <i>Don't</i> you know that ten - minutes past four is ten minutes past four and <i>not</i> four o'clock?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, please, sir—but, sir—” - </p> - <p> - Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, ha,” he said, smiling reflectively; “had him there!” - </p> - <p> - Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, - Cummin; 10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—” - </p> - <p> - The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - </p> - <p> - The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man. - Perrin looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first - impression of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very - young and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very - dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, - turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His - hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his - eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back - very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else, - tremendously clean. - </p> - <p> - He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. - Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been old - enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he - had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end of the - term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a pig-headed - ass.... - </p> - <p> - But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble - about it, and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists - and dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I - must say as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It - 's <i>in</i> a man if he 's going to do it—I've - always managed them all right—never any trouble—hum, ha! Yes, - you 'll find them the first few days just a little restive—seeing - what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on them.” - </p> - <p> - Traill asked about the holiday task. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, Dormer set that. <i>Ivanhoe</i>—Scott, you know. - Just got to read out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let - them go when you hear the chapel bell.” - </p> - <p> - Traill was profuse in his thanks. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all—anything you want to know.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin smiled at him. - </p> - <p> - There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, - and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had the - bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and their - common rooms. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Sexton?” Perrin cleared his throat. - </p> - <p> - “Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I - could find, sir—Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, - sir.” Sexton backed out of the room. - </p> - <p> - Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying - anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at - him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin - took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about - discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their mothers, - and finally said a word about serving their country. - </p> - <p> - Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. “It will be safer - for you to hand it over to me,” he said slowly and impressively. - “Then you shall have it when you want it.” - </p> - <p> - A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, one - by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy—he had - apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby—had only two - halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, “Well, - Rackets?” - </p> - <p> - Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets.” - Perrin dropped the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after - the other. “I don't think you will ever see these half-crowns - again.” He smiled. - </p> - <p> - Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the - money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly in - his eye. He struggled to keep it back—he dug his fist into it, - turned round, and fled from the room. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was amused. “Caught friend Rackets on the hip,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four men - put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. Traill - hung back a little. “You take the big room with me, Traill,” - said Dormer. “I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper.” - </p> - <p> - They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There - was a sudden cessation of confused whispers—complete silence, and - then Perrin's voice: “Question one. Who were Richard I., - Gurth, Wamba, Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n—hyphen...” - </p> - <p> - The door closed. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and a - silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - </p> - <p> - The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about the - path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell of - onions.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL - EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T would be fitting - at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's impressions, at - the end of the first week, of the place and the people. But here one is - met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that Traill himself was - not given to gathering impressions at all—he felt things, but he - never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language and an abbreviated - vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; motives, the way that - things hung and were interdependent one upon the other, the sense of - contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on tragedy and of irony - upon both, never hit him anywhere. - </p> - <p> - Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end - of the first week. - </p> - <p> - There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, and - there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was engaged, - quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing medley of - “things to be done and things not to be done” that that first - week must necessarily entail. - </p> - <p> - His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be - said here now, once and for all, the entire <i>motif</i> of this episode—it - is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real - reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being - the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the people in - the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and unnecessary; - but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way and their own - time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they must have their - place. - </p> - <p> - Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all - things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to - think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. He - had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a “Blue” - for Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of - these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to - thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - </p> - <p> - His “Blue” would undoubtedly have secured him something better - than a post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left - it, lazily, until the last and had been forced to accept what he could - get; in a term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - </p> - <p> - All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an - interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of “learning - the ropes,” and he could not therefore he expected to regard - masters, boys, or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, - indeed, one of the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he - remained, for so long a period, blind to all that was going on. - </p> - <p> - In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He - found the world an entirely delightful place—there was Rugby - football in the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid - walks; there was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there - was his mother—a widow, and he was her only son—whom he - entirely worshiped; there were one or two excellent friends of his from - Clifton and Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there - were one or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom - he had liked very much indeed. - </p> - <p> - He read a little—liked it when he had time; had a passion for - Napoleon, whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was - even stirred—again when he had time—by certain sorts of - poetry. - </p> - <p> - And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most - difficult of decision—as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had - any feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - </p> - <p> - He certainly—if he had it at this time—could not put it into - words; but I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of - consciousness about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had - been lying there waiting. - </p> - <p> - He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that he went - to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's - influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of Pendragon - and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for <i>Richard Feverel</i> - quite so passionately had he not had something—some poetry and - feeling—already in him. - </p> - <p> - The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter to - his mother. He says of Moffatt's: “You never saw anything so - hideous. The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell - so new, the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's - like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they - were inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should - go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the sun - setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand—it 's the - fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand...” - </p> - <p> - That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the way - that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal more - about it than he ever said to anyone. - </p> - <p> - Cambridge may have done something for him—few people can spend three - years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind of - development, although probably—because we are English—it is - unconscious. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete - idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' - meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in - conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took the - lowest—a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just - above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - </p> - <p> - The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master—a venerable-looking - clergyman, with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers—sat at the - end of the table in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an - excuse to fly into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or - two; Perrin, Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large - stout man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a - clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much too - big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that at - any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony little - man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed to goad - Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose hand - continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly - deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as - they roved about. - </p> - <p> - During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up and - the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and - disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention - to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On - several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and - Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - </p> - <p> - As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and - individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he - had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book - concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was - very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things - stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent his - time in hating England and preparing to leave it—an escape that he - never achieved. - </p> - <p> - The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the - most “interesting” of them. He was fierce and caustic in his - manner to everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - </p> - <p> - White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his - mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - </p> - <p> - None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his - work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all of - them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that they - liked him; but he did not think about it. - </p> - <p> - His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. - Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his - football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years - before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin - asked him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to - him at infinite length. - </p> - <p> - Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; - and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite - indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He - could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, from - that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather than any - keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - </p> - <p> - It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a - good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had so - much to do with everything that occurred—quite unconsciously, poor - lady, as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was over—that - she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - </p> - <p> - The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however casual, - were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those - qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and her - air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be even - larger. - </p> - <p> - Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at - foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish - descent—and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign - enough. There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her - continual smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a - great deal of her red cheeks. - </p> - <p> - In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the - youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, - with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, to - unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and - enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some - knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, - athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her lamp - was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she would be - happy for ever. That—the keeping of it alight—seemed, as she - looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. She - did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse and - even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate tracing, - removes it altogether—merely, as it may seem to some cynical - observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the moment - of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to hold on - to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a plucky - determination to make the “second best” do, to the final blind - acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance - to that earlier glorious radiance. - </p> - <p> - Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young - lover into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the - Middle Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, - would need an exhaustive treatise on “Public School Education as - applied to our Masters” for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this - faithful account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some - solution to that and other more complex riddles. - </p> - <p> - It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined - stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married - life, at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the - complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber - were hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from <i>her</i>. - </p> - <p> - She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended - her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far as - Freddie was concerned—she was continually hoping and expecting that - it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three - boys—fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious—cared, they showed her - quite plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, - to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that - pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent - her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in hiding her - love under a troubled indifference and being entirely disregarded.... They - were unpleasant boys. - </p> - <p> - Another place for digging was the ground of “things,” of - property. Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost - nothing—they were very poor, and she “managed” badly—now, - she had always had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to - an amazing degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous kind - of way, to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her - valuables. They were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and - school-bills for the boys, consumed any money that there might happen to - be, and consumed it in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she was never - able to prevent or correct. But things had come to her—been given, - left, or eagerly seized in a wild moment's extravagance,—and - these she cherished with all her eyes and hands. The peacock-blue Liberty - screen, the ormolu clock, some few pieces of dainty Dresden china, some - brass Indian pots, a small but musically charming piano, some sketches and - two good prints, and edition de luxe of Walter Pater (a wedding-present, - and she had never opened one of these beautiful volumes), some silver, a - teapot, a tray, some cups that Freddie had won in an earlier, more - glorious period, some small pieces of jewelry—over these things she - passed every morning with a delicate, lingering touch. - </p> - <p> - Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her valuables - she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about them.... - They seemed—dumb things as they were—to give her something of - the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so - continually searching. - </p> - <p> - She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and acquaintances - as she was in her movements and her finances. She was famous for her want - of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and bluntness of speech; - famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to make people like her—an - attempt that, from its transparency, always with wiser and more cynical - persons failed. - </p> - <p> - She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about them - all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with the town - and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although she wondered in - a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover a satisfactory reason. - She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into people's lives and - being hurriedly bundled out again—which “bundling,” at - every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - </p> - <p> - But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of course, - to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber no simple - succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her free, - spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; but to - none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that she was to - Mrs. Comber. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and - for so long a period, down to Moffatt's—a proceeding that her - London friends could never even vaguely understand. That she—having, - as she might, such a glorious “time” in London behind her—should - care to go and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a - school, with those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities - (this term to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a - total mystery. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed a - poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only - partial. - </p> - <p> - In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was at - Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - </p> - <p> - Of the place—the surroundings, the look of it all, the “sense” - of it—there is more to be said in a moment—being seen, more - completely perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is - enough here that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to - Isabel deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be - afraid that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black - rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages - that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere - else in the world—these were all things that she dreamed of - afterwards, when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to - her, of danger and confusion. - </p> - <p> - She herself “fitted in” as only a few people out of the many - that go there could ever do. - </p> - <p> - With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her straight - eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the swing of her - arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength and honesty might - forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a delightful boy—splendidly - healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes startling in her hatred of - things and people, sometimes arrogant in her assured enthusiasms; Mrs. - Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had told her so much, knew of the - other side of her, of her tenderness, her understanding. - </p> - <p> - The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of - peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and - she generally did. - </p> - <p> - It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that she - did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons—Miss Bonhurst, the - two Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago - been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. She - very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what she - had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She - allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she means, - had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, fifteen years - before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually finding new - reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on people who had had - nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and puritanical, and hated - Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these things. - </p> - <p> - Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each other, - but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike of the other - ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they should assert - their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber and Mrs. Dormer - looked down on them. - </p> - <p> - The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss Madder—stout - and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for the undeniable - fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name for a pleasanter - one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a warmth and - good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - </p> - <p> - And so there they all were—most of them—a background, and - simply, as individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by - reason of their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - </p> - <p> - They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at - all—Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. - Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - </p> - <p> - It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the - Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, and - Truro inland to the left—both at an equal distance—as the - farthest boundaries. - </p> - <p> - Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill—undulating, - gently, vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue - or gray of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - </p> - <p> - The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, with - the little village—Chattock—at its feet, curling with its - steep, cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is a - wood—the Brown Wood—and it hangs with all its feathery trees - in friendly, eager fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded - cove (so tiny and so perfect in its shape and color that it almost audibly - cries out not to be touched). There is a little part of the wood where the - trees part and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, right over the - gray carpet of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its creaking and - bending and rustling, is saying to the water and what the water, with its - slipping and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. Of the two towns - Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the Vandals, modern and - monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its outskirts—that - was the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there is a row of modern - villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his visits there, was - concerned with the chief house there—The Flutes, owned by a certain - Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, although senior, a - friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in its position and in - the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what moments he could to - visit it and to snatch a respite there. - </p> - <p> - Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the - “lobster red” and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so - that he took its wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an - added sense of richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace - stood to him for an “escape,” he would have realized also his - growing protest against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on - occasions to Truro—because he liked the walk over the hill, because - he liked certain quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon - Street, in the higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the - dark quiet and solemnity of the Cathedral. - </p> - <p> - The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life - that he was leading at Moffatt's—the sides of it that are soon - to be given you in detail—that led him to notice these places. - Contrast drove him to a sudden opening of his eyes—contrast and - Isabel Desart. He was growing so very quickly. - </p> - <p> - In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one - could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the funny - old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling at The - Flutes, and “Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully - kind,” and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about - the people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all - about Isabel Desart. - </p> - <p> - It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the preliminaries - could be said to be over. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN - BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Mrs. Comber - asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was delighted, although he - assumed as great an indifference as possible. This was at the end of the - first week of term, and he had not spoken to Miss Desart—he had - merely bowed to her across the grass and gone indoors to teach the Lower - Third algebra with a beating heart. - </p> - <p> - He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was giving - the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have been very - different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured woman (he - did not always like her) had noticed his attachment—as he thought - most carefully concealed—to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - </p> - <p> - He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had - stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had - played tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it - was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and - Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty years - he was in love. - </p> - <p> - The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept away - in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since the - last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the way that - he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with enthusiasm). He - talked to the men of his Club about “the absurdity of considering - forty-five any age,” and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. He gave - his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight at night, - looking at it often in the glass. - </p> - <p> - He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a - white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being - somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him as - soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about “getting a house,” - even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the old - lady. - </p> - <p> - She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young - person be? Perhaps she would not like her—in any case, it meant - taking a second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew - sides of him that no one else knew—she saw him as a little, thin, - serious hoy in knickerbockers. - </p> - <p> - But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long - thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he - was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he - covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if - she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - </p> - <p> - But most of all he was afraid of something—he could never give it a - name—that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term - advanced. He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad - details, of a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the - masters and the rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers—the - end-of-termy feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the - last week or two when examinations came, seeing red. - </p> - <p> - No—this term it <i>shall</i> be all right. He felt, as he said - good-by to his mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and - prove that it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was - Miss Desart. Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers - together. Oh! what things he could do! - </p> - <p> - And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So many - wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were given during - the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the conversation that - it would give rise to, of all the people that would in all probability be - angry with all the other people because they had been asked or because - they had not. There was, generally, a reason for a dinner. Some important - person had to be asked, some unimportant people had to be worked off, - someone was conscious that there had not been a dinner-party for a very - long time. But on this occasion there was no reason except that Mrs. - Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had at once thought of Isabel, - and had conceived a plan. - </p> - <p> - Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent - Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the - Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, - because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so - much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - </p> - <p> - All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited were - concerned. One chance word at dinner—some errant, tiny omission or - commission—and anything might happen: the time might be made - miserable for everybody. - </p> - <p> - But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the first - place “ways and means.” How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no - words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a boat - between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of - not-being-smart-enough. - </p> - <p> - Were things not right—if there were no meringues, no mushroom - savories (there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel—well, - the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, - there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie - scowling over his <i>Greek Athletes</i> to such an extent that it wouldn't - do to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved in - reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every - dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie back. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor woman, - only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive Freddie only - more completely “in.” Something was sure to happen, before the - evening was over, to annoy him—she would have “such a time - afterwards.” But it always, of course, might be the other way. He - might suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly - fond, she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him—he used to - like a game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply - been disastrous. - </p> - <p> - She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards—she was very, - very bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in her - heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. - She plunged desperately to win it all back again—she was known - throughout the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - </p> - <p> - It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of all. - There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. Her - heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - </p> - <p> - But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all - kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were - cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She - thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants—only - two of them, and both ill-tempered. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill—she did not - even think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a - word about Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief - object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically as - well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the - hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they met - their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, every - day of their lives. - </p> - <p> - The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and - were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters - about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered - wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn - buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to the - sea. - </p> - <p> - The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue - screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in - black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and on - the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, - where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a great - deal lower than it need have been). - </p> - <p> - They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to - explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's - always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent “heart” - hand she had, only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous - results. “They like them best with jam in them—you shall see - to-night if they aren't good; and there was really no reason at all - why they shouldn't have come off, but we had such bad luck, and I - oughtn't to have played my King when I did; I'm always telling - him that he ought to go and dress a little earlier—but he stays - working.” - </p> - <p> - Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with a - sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the - back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in the - common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour too long, - with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had quarreled - furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing about it. - Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort from her, and - Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - </p> - <p> - Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent - Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling in - one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. She was - standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; when she - moved it was as though that was the only movement possible—her limbs - did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, before they - could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her brown eyes were - smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, and his heart was - beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten before. - </p> - <p> - He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found - that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of two - of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was so - broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He found a - kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its brazen size - and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt near the collar. - His suit—it had done duty for a great many years—was painfully - shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there was a small - tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His hair, in spite of - water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder than ever; his coat - fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in the most distressing - manner. - </p> - <p> - All these things were new discomforts and distresses—he had never - cared about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt - that they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that - he was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' - conversation he was proud of his appearance. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be recorded as - the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite absurd—over-dressed - in fact. - </p> - <p> - His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face in - brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful white - waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with pale - blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the - sleeves. - </p> - <p> - But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it was - quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. Could - it be that Perrin was shabby... <i>not</i> that Traill was smart? - </p> - <p> - Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that - there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed - them back again. - </p> - <p> - They all went in to dinner. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously - recognized him—even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality - to a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - </p> - <p> - He had never seen her before—that is, he had never detached her from - the vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees - and the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had been - in love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those fugitive - episodes—the way that it had been, in an instant, like a candle - blown out—had led him to fancy that love was always like that; he - had even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way a - complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that - yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have a - sense of beauty and strange wonder—something that had suddenly, like - streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's - dining-room. - </p> - <p> - He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the silk - of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her hair, and - the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, touched the - white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been a - schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not answer - her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - </p> - <p> - “And you like it!” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>love</i> it.” - </p> - <p> - “So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions.” She still - looked at him very gravely. “The boys like you so far.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! they told you!” He was pleased at that. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! one soon knows—they are cruelly frank.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. Mrs. - Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly long - time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses that - are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was moodily - staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, who was - trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her chair and - gazing at Landseer's “Dignity and Imprudence” that hung - on the opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - </p> - <p> - It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room got - up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her - dining-room. It was a room, she felt, “with nothing at all in it.” - It had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new - one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something - that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, - although she could give no reason—perhaps she did not care about - dogs. The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs - to the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and - tattered books that never got cleared away. - </p> - <p> - All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, with - a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was missing. - The set had been one of their wedding-presents—the nicest present - that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a brave smile to - anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her husband's - gloomy face. - </p> - <p> - But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. Perrin, - feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for him, that she - wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad when her duty - would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to Traill again. - </p> - <p> - Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, for - him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... His thoughts - hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. Traill—Traill... - with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He splashed his soup - on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came to him—Miss - Madder's fat, cheerful voice: “Oh! I think we shall fill the - West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms—all new boys, - poor dears.”... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table to - Dormer: “It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has - one hour less than the rest of us—that middle hour ten to eleven...” - </p> - <p> - The same old subjects, the same old dinners—but with her he was - going to escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow - wings. - </p> - <p> - He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He - was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - </p> - <p> - But Traill had taken her in.... - </p> - <p> - And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand as - though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the stud—the - large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, and used his - official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to create an - impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - </p> - <p> - Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his - sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he - tried, of the things that <i>he</i> could do, if— - </p> - <p> - “If?” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... - one never knew—” He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a - glass of Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - </p> - <p> - Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and - Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues - had arrived—there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues - although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both—and - conversation was quite lively. - </p> - <p> - “I do hope,” said Mrs. Dormer, “that there will be - several extra halves this term.” - </p> - <p> - And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on - the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for - every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our - duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?” - </p> - <p> - It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies should - have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence involved. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular body - that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. Comber; she - had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - </p> - <p> - She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in - the amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of - Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample - confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make a - scandal at Moffatt's—and the propriety of the schoolmaster, - the anxious, eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other - profession. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by - sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>do</i> hope the football will be good this season,” she - said at last, quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know why - she had said a thing like that—she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't - like such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked - about gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. - “It always rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking - about it; and how she can bear that colored green when it's the last - color she <i>ought</i> to wear, I <i>can't</i> think; if it weren't - for these flies—what do you call them!—the roses would have - done quite well.” But her eyes stared desperately down the table at - Freddie, and she saw that he would not look at her, and she knew that the - dinner had been only one more nail in her coffin. - </p> - <p> - There was still, of course, Bridge. - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p> - Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, they - were all tremendously—as of course you must be at such small tables—conscious - of each other. - </p> - <p> - They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her - husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with Mrs. - Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - </p> - <p> - It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole - situation that Perrin was forced to gaze—over a very small - intervening space—at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest - of the evening. He was always a bad Bridge player—he thought that he - disguised his bad play by a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night - the confusion of his thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad - claret that he had drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her - cards, caused his play to be something insane. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every - prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least - five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that she - had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first deal, - her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to follow - any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her chair and a - sharp, “Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done better than - that.” - </p> - <p> - For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing - an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been - at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six - days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone did, - failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards hurriedly - together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused way. He knew - that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her so terribly - badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure that Traill was - laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which he played. If only he, - Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what things he might have - done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a little every time he - moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a little stir of - disapproval. - </p> - <p> - At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing of - lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. Comber had - most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, she was lost. - If she played badly, her husband, although playing against her, was - infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, As it was, - she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of the good cards - that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. She held her - cards so badly—she never could make them into a fan, and every now - and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - </p> - <p> - Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into sentences - that had to be instantly checked—as, for instance: “Oh, I saw - Mrs.———— I'm so sorry, it 's my lead.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe <i>this</i> term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... <i>What</i> - are trumps?” - </p> - <p> - Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and - the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a gilt - frame, and they gave her comfort. - </p> - <p> - The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; they - had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She wouldn't - look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against the other, - pulling his mustache. - </p> - <p> - “No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your - rubber, Mrs. Comber? Yes, we <i>ought</i> to have won.... No, I can't - think how it was.” - </p> - <p> - “Considering the way my wife's been playing,” said - Freddie Comber brutally, “I think it is just as well to stop.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer to - get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every now and - again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair (always on - the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate action. - </p> - <p> - “Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet - to-morrow, of course, although I can't think why they aren't - going to play golf—there's going to be <i>such</i> a storm in - an hour or two, isn't there?—probably because it's - football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, good-by.” Everyone departed. Mr. - Perrin stood desperately with something going up and down in his throat. - He had a sentence in his head: “Please, Miss Desart, <i>do</i> let - me see you back to the lodge.” (Mrs. Comber had had to plant her out - there to sleep because there was no room in their own tiny house.) He - meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched his mortar-board - frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard Traill's voice: - </p> - <p> - “Oh! please, Miss Desart—of course, I'll see you back. - Good night, Mrs. Comber. Thank you <i>so</i> much—I've <i>loved</i> - it. Good night, Comber. Night, Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's - dark.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, - “Good night, Mr. Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - He was left alone on the step. - </p> - <h3> - VI. - </h3> - <p> - I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very - slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. Her - bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her - hostess. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Mrs. Comber,” she said, and then checked herself as - though there were some disloyalty in talking about her. “I hate Mrs. - Dormer,” she added quietly. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like her,” Traill said. “And Dormer's - such a jolly little man. I don't envy; him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's - anyone's fault here about anything they do. It's all a case of - nerves.” - </p> - <p> - There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory - whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down the - path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white light on - the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled against it - in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants bending to the - soil. - </p> - <p> - The scent of trees—vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear - and pungent—was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, - rolling in long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. - The wind's whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies - of it swept about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly - against them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - </p> - <p> - They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and - assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. But - there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that he - might never perhaps get to know her better. - </p> - <p> - When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment - silently. - </p> - <p> - Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of - the road, “There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all - through me. It <i>was</i> depressing to-night, was n't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Just a little,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow, I'm glad you like it—being here. Mind you - always do. I don't want to be pessimistic when you are just - beginning; but—well, you don't mean to stay here for ever, do - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think not,” he answered eagerly. “Only a term - or two at the most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right—because—really it isn't a very - good place to be—this.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making - things out worse than they really are.” She paused a moment, and - then she went on: “Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just - before you get into the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes - it. You will see at the right time of the year lots of green apples on the - trees, but they never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the - spring! I 've seen men working there sometimes. I don't know - what it is, but nothing 's any good there. They call it in the - village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... Well, I've stayed here - a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison.” - </p> - <p> - “That's cheerful,” he said, laughing. “It would, I - suppose, be awful if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer - and the rest of them; but this time next year will see me somewhere - better, I hope.” - </p> - <p> - “Mind you stick to that,” she said eagerly. “I have a - horrible kind of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here - they are still—soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear - thinking of.” - </p> - <p> - “One must have ambition,” he answered her confidently. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - </p> - <p> - He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke - furiously. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T the end of his - first month young Traill looked back, as it were from the top of a hill, - and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How much of this - pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her during that - period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his agreeable - acceptance of things as they were without any very definite challenge to - them to be different, it is impossible to say. - </p> - <p> - The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that there - was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone - passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were - from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's - voice as he went round the dormitories turning lights out—never a - moment's pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in - no way a reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their - untidy, scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the - Upper Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because - of his football. - </p> - <p> - The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he - might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of - unrest and discomfort in their common room. - </p> - <p> - With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to - supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness of - the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's - parents (aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the - melancholy inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer - relations with him. - </p> - <p> - He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room - things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly - equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself on - several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and - insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the bath - and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their irritation - from their original connection with Perrin, and this might have led him, - had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not like Perrin and - that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon things—he was - always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and where there was an - empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on Isabel. - </p> - <p> - The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, inconsiderable. - </p> - <p> - Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, - on the other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In - this bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he - might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both - baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked body - gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. Traill - was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he could - have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as the days - passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's - complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself - annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. - There were words. - </p> - <p> - “I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?” - </p> - <p> - “Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your - place....” - </p> - <p> - Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the - midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If - Traill had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like - him. - </p> - <p> - The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had - breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They - clubbed together and provided three newspapers—the <i>Morning Post</i>, - the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person - who came in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in - last, because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected - that the <i>Morning Post</i> should be left for him. But Traill, as he - paid the same subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. - Clinton always took the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and therefore Perrin had to be - contented with the <i>Cornish News</i>. There was at last an argument. - Traill refused to give way. The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute - silence. Perrin came no more to Traill's room for an evening chat—a - very small matter. - </p> - <p> - But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in - any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game of - football; he was in a glow because he was in love—moreover, he had - never quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had made - any progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She came down - sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the evening, he had - walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above the dark, cloudy - trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet—and at every meeting - he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the afternoon he liked to - walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once or twice he bicycled over - to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir Henry Trojan was a man who - had appealed to him immensely. In spite of his size and strength and - simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of doors and read little, he - had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. He showed Traill a great - many things that were new to him. He began to feel a sense of color; he - saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed village, the sweeping, - striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped sometimes in his walks and drew - a deep breath at the way that the lights and colors were hung about him. - Of course the contrast of his school life drove these other things against - him—and also his love for Isabel. - </p> - <p> - These little things would have no importance were it not that they all - helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think - about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very - definite way. - </p> - <p> - He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - </p> - <p> - And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most - amazing way.... - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had definite - personality—aggressive in its influence—and contempt of the - rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their own - terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his back. - </p> - <p> - He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. He - was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he - appreciated his humor. - </p> - <p> - And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. His - room was untidy—littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks - of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there were - signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared for, sets - of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving of Whistler's - portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and from the night - outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the scent of decaying - leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - </p> - <p> - Birkland was thin—sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; - heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little - gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled - in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open - window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - </p> - <p> - “And so you like it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—immensely!” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. - There's plenty of exercise—the hours are healthy—the - fellows are quite nice fellows. I like teaching.” - </p> - <p> - Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his - principal reason. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you - like the other men?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's - splendid.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—and Perrin?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As - a matter of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some - time or other. As a matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't - the other way round—one day.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause, and then Birkland said, “And so you like it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, of course; don't you?” - </p> - <p> - Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather - uncertainly, “Don't you?” - </p> - <p> - He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man—as a matter of - fact he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he - scarcely ever read novels. - </p> - <p> - Then Birkland spoke: “You had better not ask me that, young man, if - you want an encouraging answer.” - </p> - <p> - Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: “I'm - going to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your - soul, and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's - soul for—well!—I should be afraid to say how long. I'm - afraid—I don't really care very much about the safety of yours—but - I care enough to speak to you; and the one thing I say to you is—get - out—get away. Fly for your life.” His voice sank to a whisper. - “If you don't, you will die very soon—in a year perhaps. - We are all dead here, and we died a great many years ago.” - </p> - <p> - Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering - candles at Birkland. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say,” he said, “that's a bit of - exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose one is tired sometimes, of course; - but, after all, there are a good many men in the country who make a pretty - good thing out of mastering and are n't so very miserable.” - </p> - <p> - It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on Birkland's - part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - </p> - <p> - But the other man went on: “I shouldn't have said this at all - if I hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of - experience behind me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm - bothering you, I'm sure; but now I've begun I'm going - on, and you've got to listen. You can't say you haven't - been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the common room and - seen what kind of men they are?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Traill; “but,” he added - modestly, “I'm not observant, you know. I'm not at all a - clever kind of chap.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in - their faces right enough. Mind you—what I'm saying to you - doesn't apply to the first-class public school. That's a - different kind of thing altogether. I'm talking about places like - Moffatt's—places that are trying to be what they are not—to - do what they can't do—to get higher than they can reach. There - are thousands of them all over the country—places where the men are - underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them hating each - other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut each other's - throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they teach?” - </p> - <p> - He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but - showing in its tensity his emotion. - </p> - <p> - “It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there - is more room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid - better; there is a chance of getting a house; there is the <i>esprit de - corps</i> of the school... but here, my God!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - </p> - <p> - “Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. - Don't I know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever - when I came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you - try for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are - too old—too old at thirty-three—earning two hundred a year... - too old! and liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the - Head doesn't like you—turned out with nothing to go to; and he - knows that you are afraid of him and he has games with you.” - </p> - <p> - Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland - to talk like this! - </p> - <p> - “You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers - about you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be - allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like you. - Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something will - come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with the Head, - because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You must not be - friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and will - immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring against - him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we shall all hate - you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. You think that you - are going to teach with freshness and interest—you are full of eager - plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will be immediately killed. You - must not have them—they are not good for examinations—you are - trying to show that you are superior.” - </p> - <p> - Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. - It is murder—self-murder. You are going to kill—you have got - to kill—every fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will - be laughed at for your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be - allowed any fine vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are - neglecting your work. You have no time. Here we are—fifteen men—all - hating each other, loathing everything that the other man does—the - way he eats, the way he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to - each other, we eat together, we meet all day until late at night—hating - each other.” - </p> - <p> - “After all,” said Traill, still smiling, “it is only a - month or two, and there are holidays.” - </p> - <p> - “If term lasted another week or two,” went on Birkland - quietly, “murder would be committed. The holidays come, and you go - out into the world to find that you are different from all other men—to - find that they know that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, - egotistic. You realize it slowly; you see them shunning you—and then - back you go again. God knows, they should not hate us—these others! - they should pity us. If you marry, see what it is—look at Mrs. - Dormer, Mrs. Comber, Mrs. Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their - life. There is marriage—no money, no prospects, perhaps in the end - starvation! And gradually there creeps over you a dreadful and horrible - inertia: you do not care—you do not think—you are a ghost. If - one of us dies, we do not mind—we do not think about it. Only, - towards the end of the term, when the examinations come, there creeps - about the place a new devil. All our nerve is gone; our hatred of each - other begins to be active. It is the end-of-termy devil.... Another week - or two, and there is no knowing what we might do. We are all tired, - horribly tired. Be careful then what you do and what you say.” - </p> - <p> - “My word!” said Traill, filling his pipe, “what a - horrible picture of things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's - hysteria!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! of course you don't see it!” he said. “After - all, why should you? But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm - resigned enough now. Besides, it's the beginning of the term. I'm - inclined to think it's untrue, myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch - White after he's had an interview with the Head—see Perrin and - Comber together later on—study Mrs. Comber. But don't you - bother. You won't listen to me—why should you? Only, in ten - years' time you 'll remember.” - </p> - <p> - After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in his - sharp, caustic way. - </p> - <p> - “I say,” said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, - “that was all rot; was n't it?” - </p> - <p> - “What was?” asked Birkland. - </p> - <p> - “Why, about the place—this place.” - </p> - <p> - “All rot!” said Birkland gravely. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But of course one dismisses these things very soon—especially, and - immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - </p> - <p> - Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men that - Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory - exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse - into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in the - dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed - shadow; life is sharp, pungent—formed with faint blue skies, dim and - shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered - balloon between saucer-clouds. - </p> - <p> - Archie Traill, on a free afternoon—an early frost had made the - ground too hard for football—in the week after that Birkland - evening, stood in the village street as the church clock struck half-past - three, and he thanked God for a half-holiday. - </p> - <p> - The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea - had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, and - the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue - horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone - and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The brown - church tower seemed to sway—so motionless was the rest of the world—with - the clatter of its chiming clocks. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr. - Traill,” and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the - rest of her movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little - ironically and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a - strange place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help - finding it funny. - </p> - <p> - Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on - vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - </p> - <p> - “And she only sixteen—what a size!” - </p> - <p> - “Only sixteen!—to think of it!” - </p> - <p> - “With her great legs and all!” - </p> - <p> - “Only sixteen...!” - </p> - <p> - The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full of - things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his - presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, - drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a - presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her - that he loved her—and it was n't time yet. - </p> - <p> - But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. “We must - talk, one of us—it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming.” - </p> - <p> - She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road and - looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - </p> - <p> - “We are both so frightfully young,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes,” he said, laughing at her; “but why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, - and I for my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you - were going to be old enough, but I don't think you are.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that I can't—” he began. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! it isn't for anything that you <i>can't</i> do!” - she broke in. “It's just because you don't see it—why - should you? You 're too much in the middle—I suppose it's - only outsiders who can really understand. But I get so depressed sometimes - with it all that I think that I will leave it and go back to London and - never come here again. One doesn't seem to be any use—no use - at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. Poor Mr. Traill! I - always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm not gloomy - really in the least.” - </p> - <p> - “But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You - mustn't think of it.” - </p> - <p> - He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. “Why?” - she said gravely. “Do you like my being here?” And then, - before he could say anything, she added, reflectively, “Well, that's - one, at any rate. - </p> - <p> - “I have to go in here,” she said, stopping before a gate with - a drive behind it. “Tea, you understand.” Then she gave him - her hand. “Although you don't in the least know what I mean, - you 're a help,” she said; “and I shall look across the - chapel floor in the evening and know that I have a friend. Sometimes when - I'm down here—out of it—and everything's so fresh - and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true—the - things that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them.” - She went through the gate and looked back at him. “But I don't - want to have to be sorry for you as well—please,” she added, - and was lost in the trees. - </p> - <p> - But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved a step—or - even a good many steps further—was ready that she should be sorry or - have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her claiming - Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating and so - swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which he might - eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my intention to - give you all his symptoms—his passion is in no way the chief point; - it was simply one of the things that helped in the culminating issue. - </p> - <p> - Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little - conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting - tea-party—three old ladies who regarded her as something very - dangerous and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to - turn into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their - dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone - whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language was - not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of the - tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the expression - of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and thought of - Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and courteous - speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, “Don't go to - London, please,” and he had meant it—it was almost as though - he had appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in - front of him. <i>She</i> knew, of course—she had seen it happen so - very often before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, - eager challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that things - would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, grim, - baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of Moffatt's - were alive, moving—crushing, as in some story that she had once - read, relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he had - suddenly seen or understood something of that—there had come to him - some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came - quickly. She liked him—she had liked him from the first—she - liked him very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all - that she could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them - behind her with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be - three old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their - fires and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little - people realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! - How they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - </p> - <p> - It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and - ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, - and the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. - There was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the - gates behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, “Good evening, - Miss Desart,” and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin - always made her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively - shrank back, but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately - ashamed of her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his - voice trembled—-he seemed troubled about something; and then that - feeling of pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her - voice was softer and more tender. - </p> - <p> - “It was—um—a great piece of good fortune for me that I - should be passing just when you were coming out—a great piece of - good fortune.” - </p> - <p> - He seemed very nervous. - </p> - <p> - “And for me too,” she said; “this hill grows - extraordinarily dark, and I stayed on longer than I ought to have done. - Have you been paying calls, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no! I—um—never pay calls—merely a stroll down - to the village to buy some tobacco—merely that—nothing more... - yes, merely that... simply some tobacco.” - </p> - <p> - She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might be - reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he - lingered. She hastened her steps. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not sure that it is n't raining—I felt a drop - just now, I thought—and it was such a lovely afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped. - </p> - <p> - She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the - warmth and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible - and escape from this strange, awkward man. - </p> - <p> - She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower - School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but - then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. - “Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can - only learn by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous - thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest - and pleasant. Of course, I haven't seen very much of him, but I must - say that what I 've seen of him I've liked.” - </p> - <p> - They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the - horizon. - </p> - <p> - In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. Perrin's - face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was clenching and - unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie had risen at the - back above his collar... his eyes were looking into hers and beseeching - her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - </p> - <p> - They had come to the gates. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Desart...” - </p> - <p> - They both came to a halt in the road. - </p> - <p> - “Yes?” she said, smiling at him. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if...” - </p> - <p> - He stopped again desperately. - </p> - <p> - “What can I do?” she said, still smiling at him. He looked so - odd, standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His - eyes had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - </p> - <p> - “I would be so glad if—one day—so flattered if—you - would—will—um—come for a walk, one day.” He - stopped with a jerk. - </p> - <p> - She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the - path to the house. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night.” - </p> - <p> - He stood looking after her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR - PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ATER there is Mr. - Perrin heavily—with the midday mutton close about his head—surveying, - in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small boys who gaze at him - with staring eyes and jumping throats. - </p> - <p> - It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the - ears—Browning's “Patriot,” one verse a week, to be - said every Tuesday morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, - completely forgotten, every Tuesday morning second hour. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I go in the rain and, more than needs - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The rope—the rope—the rope— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in - man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, - to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where <i>Advanced Algebra - and Mensuration</i> hold perpetual war and rivalry. - </p> - <p> - It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a - football match—a great football match against a mighty Truro team,—and - already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive murmur - at the dusty panes. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested no - remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red tablecloth—a - tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his case was hopeless: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A rope—a rope that— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, the - whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. Outside, - in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, perfectly; - but it was too late. - </p> - <p> - At last one prisoner only remained—Garden Minimus, a cheerful, - untidy person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his - hair. - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole school—had - liked him best for the last two years. When things were really black, when - headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed to hang about him in - a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden Minimus. He flattered - himself that the boy was not aware of this partiality; but the boy, he was - sure, liked him. He treated him always with an elaborate irony that the - boy seemed to understand in some curious way. Garden would stand, with his - head on one side like a rather intelligent small dog, and although he - rarely said anything more than “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” - Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - </p> - <p> - On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word of - “The Patriot,” and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. “I'm afraid, - friend Garden,” he said, “that it will devolve upon your - lordship—hum—ha—that you should write this poem of the - noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than fifty times. I grieve—I - sympathize—I am your humble servant; but the law commands.” - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, - with a most engaging smile, “There's a most ripping footer - match this afternoon, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Fool though I am,” said Mr. Perrin, “I have - nevertheless observed that there is, as you say, a footer match. - Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The Patriot' calls you, friend - Garden.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be an awful pity,” said Garden reflectively, without - paying the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, “to miss a decent game - like that.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, “All - right, Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you - aren't careful!” - </p> - <p> - Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead - lowering. Outside the door he muttered, “Silly, pompous ass!” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting - to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. - He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part - immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a - fool to try, and they resented his airs. - </p> - <p> - He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his head - between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns above - his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the - football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening fear - that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to him. - He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every time - that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - </p> - <p> - She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that - she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for a - walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his mother - that the thing was practically arranged. - </p> - <p> - As for that puppy, Traill—well, he 'd kept him in his place, - thank Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more - and more—conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he - met anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring - things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the - patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him - furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only - brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He - looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some English - essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a silly china - figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a cocked hat. - This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated him. The old - gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had always meant to get - rid of it, but for some reason or other he never could destroy it. - </p> - <p> - Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - </p> - <p> - As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - </p> - <p> - The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a - dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, “Scho-o-l!” rose - and fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a - superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited - him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected to - despise it. - </p> - <p> - In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of his - own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and sticky - green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided their - attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?” - </p> - <p> - “Can't help it—Grey's barging—Oh! I say, run - it, Morton. That's it! Pick it up—dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!” - </p> - <p> - “I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine—Thanks! - Where's Garden, you chaps?” - </p> - <p> - “Swotting up for Old Pompous.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was - rather sweet on Garden.” - </p> - <p> - “So he is—but Garden can't stand him.” - </p> - <p> - “No wonder—blithering ass, with his long words!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say—they 've got it! There's Morton off - again—Oh! he's going! Well run, my word! He's in! No, he - isn't! The back's got him! No, he hasn't! Hurray! Try! - Good old Morton!” - </p> - <p> - Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a less - crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself spoken - of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, trembled - before him. He always told himself that all the members of the staff were - in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt—it hurt badly. - </p> - <p> - Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks - of boys—each boy with his friend—the familiar mantle of - loneliness, that he had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He - saw Comber in the distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted - Mrs. Comber and Miss Desart. - </p> - <p> - He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his very - worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle was - glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of his - coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, - because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that - dislike with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and - watched the game. - </p> - <p> - “We appear to be winning,” said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at - three small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. “We - appear—um—to be winning. Morton has secured a try.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'm so glad,” gasped Mrs. Comber—she was out - of breath. “Morton's a nice boy—we had him once in our - house, and I do hope the school will win, because it's so nice for - everybody's tempers, and the boys like it—and there's - that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most beautifully.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked - at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. - Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his - direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a - breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the - touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the - field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart - gave a long-drawn “Oh!” Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. - Perrin moodily stroked his mustache. - </p> - <p> - The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground—a very - pretty try. - </p> - <p> - “Good old Traillers!” - </p> - <p> - “That's something like!” - </p> - <p> - “Isn't he spiffing?”—and then Miss Desart's, - “Oh! that was splendid!” beat about Mr. Perrin's poor - head, that was aching horribly. - </p> - <p> - “That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's - half-time.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared - once more to be volubly pleasant. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the - top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three - trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they stood - and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt suddenly - as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets of white - light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown fields. - </p> - <p> - Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin - went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed about him. - He sat down to his pile of English essays on “Town and Country—Which - is the best to live in?” with a confused sense of running men, - lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the mantelpiece, - and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - </p> - <p> - At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented - “The Patriot” neatly written fifty times. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a - dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it - was to be over by twelve. “Do let us,” Lady Trojan wrote, - “put you up. You will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming - down for the night from London. He will want to see you so badly.” - Traill wrote back, accepting the dance, but explaining that he must return - on the same evening, quoting as his imperative necessity early morning - preparation. - </p> - <p> - It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very - obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order to - free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and receive - definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to a single - dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed that the - rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently any intention - of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning school to - Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was - conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous - man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. - He moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called - to him, “Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that Moy-Thompson's - garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in the sun; he - noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like a prison; - he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the - half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at - his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely - apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a - little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long - gray beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now - and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that - Moy-Thompson was smiling. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson said, “But I think I told you that Maurice was on no - account to have an exeat.” - </p> - <p> - White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: “Yes, I - know. But his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not - seen his son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances—” - </p> - <p> - “That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he - should not have an exeat.” - </p> - <p> - “No—but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of - the case, you would not object.” - </p> - <p> - “What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? - What are you paid to do?” - </p> - <p> - White made no answer. - </p> - <p> - “Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things - here, you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your - place.” - </p> - <p> - “No,”—White's voice was very low—“I - have no complaint. I am sorry if—” - </p> - <p> - “You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any - paid position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when - you please. Doubtless you are better informed.” - </p> - <p> - Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had - rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance - at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; but - again Moy-Thompson said, “Just a moment, Traill.” - </p> - <p> - He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost stepped - across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long haggard - figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing with them - there in the room. - </p> - <p> - The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, - shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped him - naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the other - to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - </p> - <p> - The room seemed full of pain—it seemed to cross and recross in - waves. White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered - eyes out through the door. - </p> - <p> - Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed him. - Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his hand and - caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a - frightened, startled look, he stepped away. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad to - get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it would - be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult to get up - in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal—he now - emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in his - life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, lean, - untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in the - sense of his arrogance. - </p> - <p> - They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were extremely - disagreeable. - </p> - <p> - He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He was - always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his form. - He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he had met - there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping in—and - at night he dreamt—he was almost sure that she loved him.... - Whenever they met now they were very silent. - </p> - <p> - He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, - wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, fine - day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the hard, white - road. - </p> - <p> - As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind in - his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea came - to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those brown - buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old self; he - sang to himself. - </p> - <p> - A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood - black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, - stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little - sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the night. - The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster against the - dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - </p> - <p> - He sang aloud. - </p> - <p> - It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much - before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as - imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he was a - schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was delightful - to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden and strolled about - the paths together; he was much improved since the Cambridge days, Traill - thought—less self-assured and with wider interests. And then Sir - Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader feeling of life—sanity and - health and strength—and lie had an admirable sense of humor. - </p> - <p> - And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. He - thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him in - the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little round - white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The hedges, - like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. He - took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he - tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click it - broke in half. - </p> - <p> - He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair—supposing - he had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - </p> - <p> - He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he saw - that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might climb. - He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another hand on the - window-sill drew him level. - </p> - <p> - He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it up, - and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, jumped. He - was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the crockery in the - world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of it seemed to go - rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that he had cut his - hand and had bruised his knee. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: the - tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped - down straight amongst the cups and plates. - </p> - <p> - He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the - blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. - Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was - Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Who's there? What's that?” Perrin held a poker in - his other hand. - </p> - <p> - Traill got up slowly from the floor. “It is I—Traill,” - he stammered. He was still feeling stunned. - </p> - <p> - Perrin held the candle a little closer. “Oh, is it you, Traill?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am - sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly. - “You woke me up.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I am most awfully sorry.” - </p> - <p> - Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his - candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined - to move. - </p> - <p> - “You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it - as though he were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.” - </p> - <p> - Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?” - he said at last, slowly. - </p> - <p> - What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - </p> - <p> - “I did n't know that this was a girls' school,” - Traill said at last, sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he - was tired, and in a very bad temper. - </p> - <p> - Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in - like this!” - </p> - <p> - The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge, - gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - </p> - <p> - Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill - enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - </p> - <p> - “I can't help it,” he said, shaking; “you look so - funny, so frightfully odd!” - </p> - <p> - Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been disturbed - in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he said nothing at - all. He moved slowly down the passage. - </p> - <p> - Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>O Perrin, in his - sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring wind and crashing - sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china that lived on the - mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him and bent over the bed - and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his transit and was large in the - leg and trailed behind him a long black gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin - by buzzing like a wasp. - </p> - <p> - He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the - words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning - and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, - restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the - discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to confirm - the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing—he - had climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - </p> - <p> - Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky - and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was - perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening - gambit of “saying things under your breath that looked bad, but - couldn't possibly be heard,” to the triumphant checkmate of a - studied, sarcastic politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - </p> - <p> - Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old - hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over - him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with - ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew - against the panes. - </p> - <p> - His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the first - book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their - brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of the - figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - </p> - <p> - He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and heaviest - boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, called - Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. Somerset-Walpole—his - fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his hair dust—stood with - his mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague wonder as to why, when - he ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind would invariably wander to - the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's neck and the silly - leaves dancing about outside. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the form - laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the youngster - back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour in drawing - hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then smudging them - out with his fingers. - </p> - <p> - Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, - frowning face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt - wildly from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty - purring at his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, - only when the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, - suddenly, that he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his - hands and twist them back further and further until they cracked. He would - like to take his little fat arms and close his fingers about them and - pinch them until they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white - knuckles and beat them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright - blue eyes. Perrin began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a - little. - </p> - <p> - “Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began - to pinch the back of his neck. - </p> - <p> - “You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I - am sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve to - think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your preparation - last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, you know—you - will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it out - thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.” - </p> - <p> - But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... - He saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was - shaking with rage. - </p> - <p> - “Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him - a push. He sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the - rest of the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had - rung and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I - think fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's - sleeve with his hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite - contempt in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of - the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to - Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they - could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and - accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days - that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming anyone - in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being against - him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such opportunities of - retaliation as were given him. At the same time these little confidential - talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the senior master at the - Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not have these little talks; - it did not occur to him that the reason might be that Dormer was too - honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far as Traill was concerned, - Perrin really felt that it did not do to have masters leaping through - windows at any hour of the night. The accidental fact that he disliked - Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, nothing whatever to do with - it; he would have felt it just as strongly his duty to speak about it had - the offender been his dearest friend. - </p> - <p> - The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and - broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's - good. The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in - chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire - with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for a walk - with him... and then another walk... and then another... and then.... - </p> - <p> - And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too - terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; - it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks on - the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy places - on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, and its - depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be remarked once - more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill damage that he - embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, but only because - it helped his sense of importance. He was already wishing that he had told - Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times instead of fifteen, so - cheered and inspired did he feel. - </p> - <p> - The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect for - each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, - and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question - should be: “What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?” - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the - people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and it - is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew from - the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking Traill. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think, well enough,” he answered, looking out of the - window. “The boys like him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they like him; do they?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that - he sticks to his work as he should do.” - </p> - <p> - “Why! What does he do?” - </p> - <p> - “I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at - one o'clock this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, did you!” Moy-Thompson smiled. “Where had he been?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't ask.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole business - had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to his own - rooms. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. He - found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of the - rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went - gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations with - the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His mind - was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was only - rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead of - correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out of - the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - </p> - <p> - He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the - first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the - Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - </p> - <p> - Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. - There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen stiff - wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the staff - waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most irritating - quarter of an hour of the day. - </p> - <p> - Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the - table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's - match. As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: “Toggett at - three-quarter is perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's - choice. Traill may be able to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the - game is absolutely nil.” Comber has resented Traill's entrance - into the school football from the very first. He, although many years past - his game, had hitherto led the Rugby enthusiasts of the school—he - had been supreme on the Committee and had had the last word about the - teams. Traill's football, however, was so obviously superior to - anything that the school had had for a great many years that he was - received with open arms. He had not perhaps been as judiciously submissive - to Comber as he might have been, but he had always deferred his opinion - and had never been goaded by Comber's caustic contradictions into - ill-temper. - </p> - <p> - He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up - to the table, said, “Thanks, Comber.” - </p> - <p> - Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: “What - the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think....” - By the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's - discipline. - </p> - <p> - “I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I - were you,” Birkland was saying. “It's so delightful for - me, being just under you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to - think that they really <i>are</i> enjoying themselves.” - </p> - <p> - Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. “I keep them perfectly - still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a - pin drop.” - </p> - <p> - “You must have dropped a cartload of them,” said Birkland, - frowning. “Try and drop less next time.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. - That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. “I thought - things were a little too pleasant to last,” he said. His mind flew - back to the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have - said anything. Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He - shrugged his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, - that schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a - little unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should - go wrong, through no fault of one's own. - </p> - <p> - Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked - him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he - caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled at - him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of the - dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he had - been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - </p> - <p> - Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no - definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, as - water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, - suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, of - the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such brilliant - things as the world contained, it should be allowed to continue. His own - position was lost in the perpetual vision of White standing, as he had - seen him, with bent head. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Traill,” said Moy-Thompson. “Sit down. I have been - wanting to have a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite - convenient?” - </p> - <p> - “Perfectly,” said Traill. - </p> - <p> - “I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I - have had no opportunity. I must try and manage next week.” - </p> - <p> - Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. “I hope that you - have had no trouble with discipline.” - </p> - <p> - “None. The boys are excellent.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is splendid.” There was a pause; then the beard was - suddenly lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. “I hope - that you take your work seriously, Mr. Traill.” Traill flushed a - little. “I think that I do,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “That is well.... Because we are—ah! um—a great - institution, a very great institution. We owe our traditions—um, eh—a - very serious and determined attention to detail. To work together, as one - man, for the good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, - all in friendly brotherhood—um, yes.” Traill said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at - work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause we - have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope,” Traill said, “that you have not found me - wanting, that you have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked—” - </p> - <p> - “Worked? Ah, yes.” Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his - fingers together. “But what about play, eh? What about play?” - Traill flushed. “As to football—” - </p> - <p> - “No, it is not football. It is merely a detail—quite a detail. - But Mr. Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this - morning through the window. I confess that I was surprised.” - </p> - <p> - “That is quite true,” said Traill, in a low voice. “I - went—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! no! please!” Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. - “No details are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I - think, say any more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will - agree with me that it should not occur again.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry—” Traill said. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and - play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we - ask. To pass for a moment to another matter.” Moy-Thompson put his - hand on some papers. “Here are the scholarship questions that you - have set—geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we - require. If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me - to-morrow. Yes. Thank you.... Good morning.” Traill rose, took the - papers in his hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as - though Birkland himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of - persecution. The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he - had Perrin to thank for it. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him - throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great joints - of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the incessant - noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and voices, the - dreary monotony and repetition of it—Perrin's face seen at the - end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - </p> - <p> - But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had the - opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no time - in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage joy - that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made - Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - </p> - <p> - The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, - discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, - rushed down to the sea. - </p> - <p> - A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff that - jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three sides, by - a furious, heaving flood. - </p> - <p> - Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of the - sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them fell with - a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift succession, - first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents about to strike, - then falling with a curve and glistering, shining backs, then sweeping, - tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him the wind screamed and - tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent and creaked along the - road; the rain lashed his face. - </p> - <p> - He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his - hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as - she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, - that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw - him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was - too great—the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into - their clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out - his hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind - almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept - about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer to - him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed close - against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without a word, - they moved slowly down the road.... - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p> - It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the - opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and - Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had - disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to him - a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as a - crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting - people—he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if - anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - </p> - <p> - Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - </p> - <p> - Perrin said, “Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of - you. Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?” - But he wasn't smiling. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Traill, slowly. “There's nothing you - can do for me. But I want to speak to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, sit down; won't you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thanks. I 'll stand.” Traill cleared his throat. - “Did you by any chance say anything to the Head about my coming in - last night?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin smiled. “My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and - is it really, after all, any business of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says - that you told him—I want to know why you told him.” - </p> - <p> - “It is my business,” Perrin said, “as housemaster here - to find out anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late - hours, your disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's - progress,—um, yes.” - </p> - <p> - The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not - altogether been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event - of the afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and - indeed it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and - being well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little - ashamed of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger - against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his good-humor - and equability. - </p> - <p> - So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said - quietly, “I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been - neglecting my duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's - outing during the term can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to - you about it because I have been feeling during these last weeks that we - have not been very good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up - together here so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it - makes everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I - am very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, had - been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt that - he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish - comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels - always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, - hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he - liked young Traill very much. - </p> - <p> - He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was - his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had ever - at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already passed - him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had laughed at - him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the taunting jeers - that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of his fellow-beings - had, in his time, played upon him. - </p> - <p> - And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must - show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and - really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with her - white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his knees, - kissing her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that—um, - yes. One must, you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are - older you will see that there is something in what I say—um. We - know, you see; schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, - well, I'm sure I'm very glad.” - </p> - <p> - But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant tempers - were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. The patronage - of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his “When you are older,” - and the rest. - </p> - <p> - “All right,” he said hotly; “keep that advice for - others. I don't know that I was so wrong, after all. What business - of yours was it to go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain - things that a gentleman doesn't do.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, really!”—the little man on the mantelpiece was - smiling again. Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his - chair. “Your apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive - something to your age, but that sort of impertinence—I don't - think you remember to whom you are speaking. You are the junior master - here, you must be taught that, and when those who are wiser than yourself - choose to give you some advice, you should take it gratefully.” - </p> - <p> - Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - </p> - <p> - “My God! you conceited, insufferable—” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of my room!” - </p> - <p> - “All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of my room!” Perrin's eyes were starting out of - his head. - </p> - <p> - Traill swung on his heel. “I won't forget this in a hurry,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - “Take care you don't come in here again,” Perrin shouted - after him. The door was banged. - </p> - <p> - Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he - had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands - to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece - and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from - under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in - the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT, during the - week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly reasserted itself - once more. After all, it was really impossible to be angry with anyone - when the world was alight and trembling with so wonderful an adventure. - They had each of them written to those in authority. Isabel had a - complacent father who knew something of young Traill's family and, - answering at once, said that he would come down to see them and made it - his only stipulation that the engagement should last for at least a year, - until they were both a little older. Traill's mother was delighted - with anything that could give her son such happiness. It had all been very - sudden of course; but then, was not true love always like that? Had not - she, a great many years ago, fallen in love with Archie's father - “all in a minute,” and was not that the beautiful incautious - way that the new practical generation seemed so often to forget? So, she - sent him her blessing and also wrote a little note to Isabel. - </p> - <p> - But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day to - reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk and - chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel knew, to - any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone at the - school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they would feel - that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would not be - pleasant. - </p> - <p> - So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They met in - the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel floor, and - they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in the - letter-box. - </p> - <p> - But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel about - his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - </p> - <p> - “When we ourselves are so happy,” she said, “we can't - quarrel with anyone—and, poor man, no wonder his temper is - irritable. He's a miserably disappointed man, and I don't - think he's very well either. He looks dreadfully white and strained - sometimes. We can afford to put up with some ill-temper from other people, - Archie, just now. When we are so happy and he is so unhappy, it is a - little unfair, isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and agreeable. - But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other a little at - meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill made were - cut short at once without hesitation. - </p> - <p> - Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week - heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow—he had headaches, bad - headaches; and his form suffered. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm - broke—the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at - Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange - myths grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's - a strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts for - their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central - combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but - also others—the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world - of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that - umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded green - umbrella—now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all - umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign token - of all that was to come. - </p> - <p> - Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This - Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate - contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, - stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic - piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from - it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's - grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with - nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp—so that - there is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and - insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the - present—this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - </p> - <p> - It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of - the week. - </p> - <p> - There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of religious - stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions are flung at - the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the rest and repose of - the preceding day. - </p> - <p> - Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was different - from the other six days of the week, and although it might not on its - arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given it, - nevertheless it was something—a landmark if nothing else. - </p> - <p> - And now on this dark and dreary Monday—with the first hour a tedious - and bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal and - embittered Latin exercise—that early rising to the cold summoning of - the hell was anything but pleasant. - </p> - <p> - Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious - torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and cried - with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the paths - were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - </p> - <p> - Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early - preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it nearly - always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he hurried - down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding the bodies - of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as they rushed - furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - </p> - <p> - He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly selected - the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the Upper - School. - </p> - <p> - That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was in - the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of - twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. M. - Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, - appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion - passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys - well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done - without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual - persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various - offenders. - </p> - <p> - A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the two - hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the - digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill - rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He - hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - </p> - <p> - The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior - common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of - yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. - The brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and - draughts that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the - room. - </p> - <p> - A small fire was burning in the grate—a mountain of black coal and - stray spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper - hanging from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in the - kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices and a - clatter of cups. - </p> - <p> - It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who - was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and - Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - </p> - <p> - Clinton seized the <i>Morning Post</i> and, with a grunt of - dissatisfaction at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never - thought very intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike - Monday and rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his - share of the breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the <i>Morning - Post</i> dull, and relapsed on to the <i>Daily Mail</i>. The rain and the - quarreling in the kitchen were very disturbing. - </p> - <p> - Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very - great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, and he - found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative person - with one—it was not necessary to think about him. - </p> - <p> - “My word,” said Clinton, his eyes glued to the <i>Daily Mail</i>, - “the London Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins - yesterday—two goals and a try to a try—all that man Binton—extraordinary - three-quarter—no flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder - if they 'll catch that chap Deakin?” - </p> - <p> - “Deakin?” said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his - breakfast. How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well—in a year's - time! - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you know—the Hollins Road murder—the man who cut - his wife and mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't - tell which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front - door.” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” said Traill, shortly, “following up murder - trials like that is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized.” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining - sausages. “Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? - He won't want any more.” - </p> - <p> - “He sometimes does,” said Traill, feeling that at the moment - he hated Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole - world. “He's awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't - find anything.” - </p> - <p> - Clinton smiled. “He's rather amusing when he's sick,” - he said. “He so often is. By the way, has the Head passed those - exam, questions of yours yet?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Traill, frowning. “He 's made me do - them five times now, and last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions - that he himself had suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, - and he called me, politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's - no question that he's got his knife into me now, and I've got - friend Perrin to thank for it!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, “Perrin - does n't love you—there's no question of that. Young - Garden Minimus has been helping the feud.” - </p> - <p> - “Garden? What's he got to do with it?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet—well, - Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about - telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That - makes Pompous sick as anything.” - </p> - <p> - “I like the kid especially,” Traill said. “He 's - rather a favorite of mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Clinton. “Well, look out for trouble, that - 's all. There 'll be open war between you soon if you are not - careful.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a - conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door for - a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - </p> - <p> - “Well, a hundred times,” Perrin was saying, “and you don't - go out till you 've done it.” - </p> - <p> - Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. - Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there - was a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - </p> - <p> - “Really, it's too bad,” he said to no one in particular - and certainly not to Traill. “I don't know what's come - over that boy—nothing but continuous impertinence. He shall go up to - the Head if he isn't careful. Such a nice boy, too, before this - term.” - </p> - <p> - At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the <i>Morning Post</i> and - Clinton the <i>Daily Mail</i>. He looked as though he were going to say - something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood in - front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary - window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy - heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - </p> - <p> - He had slept badly—had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, - of his own miserable condition, of his poor mother—and then, - slumbering at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake - by that thundering, clamoring bell. - </p> - <p> - He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat - stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. Then he - had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been “playing - about” and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink and - had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, - Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible - confusion of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - </p> - <p> - He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; - but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the subject - of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting up clean - in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up to the matron - to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some people's - school days have been vastly exaggerated! - </p> - <p> - Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy - portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the crime, - had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the rest of the - hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and had hinted - that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment might be - relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered under his - breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word “Pompous.” - </p> - <p> - All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they - amounted to a great deal—and all before half-past eight in the - morning. Also he had had very little to eat. - </p> - <p> - He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon - with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at all - costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, - when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance of - the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - </p> - <p> - “I really think, Clinton,” he said, “that a little less - appetite on your part in the early morning would be better for everyone - concerned.” - </p> - <p> - Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, - “All right, old chap—I always have an awful appetite in the - morning. I always had.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - </p> - <p> - Clinton said, “I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your - sleeve.” - </p> - <p> - And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and feebly - tried to brush it off with his hand. - </p> - <p> - Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely the - atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been on such bad - terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were discomforts, - difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the term and the - place and the people as he had never loathed any of them before; he felt - that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to teach - Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. books - up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. The rain - was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as though it - had some personal grievance against them. - </p> - <p> - Robert, the general factotum—a long, pale man with a spotty face and - a wonderful capacity for dropping china—came in to collect the - breakfast things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still - deep in the <i>Morning Post.</i> - </p> - <p> - Perrin came in with a clouded brow. “I can't find,” he - said, “my umbrella.” - </p> - <p> - The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but - there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking - for papers. - </p> - <p> - “Robert, have you seen my umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella last - week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room—an umbrella - with lace, pink—Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas - in the stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. - Perrin had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No—perhaps - one of the young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of - Robert. - </p> - <p> - “Clinton!” No answer. “Clinton!” - </p> - <p> - At last Clinton turned round. - </p> - <p> - “Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “No, old man—why should I? Isn't it outside?” - </p> - <p> - It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite - determined that he would <i>not</i> under any circumstances use anyone - else's umbrella. - </p> - <p> - He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very - angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his - humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that - there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in - impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he began - to mutter to himself—the little red and yellow china man was - creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were - trembling like leaves. - </p> - <p> - He came into the common room again. “I can't think—” - he said, with his trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it - yesterday—last night. Clinton, you <i>must</i> have seen it.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so - profoundly irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts - are far away. “No—I don't think I've seen it. What - did I do with that Algebra? Oh! there it is. My word! is n't it - raining!” - </p> - <p> - The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. - Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a - furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the - conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, - “you <i>must</i> have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want - to go out.” - </p> - <p> - “There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking - a little frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - </p> - <p> - It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. Then - on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken that - morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - </p> - <p> - Of course it <i>must</i> be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort - of umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be - likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward. - </p> - <p> - He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the <i>Morning Post</i>. - </p> - <p> - Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. - “I <i>must</i> have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert. - “I want to go to the Upper School.” - </p> - <p> - He had left the door a little open. - </p> - <p> - “I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath - his fingers. - </p> - <p> - Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - </p> - <p> - “I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm - afraid I must have taken it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken - it if I had dreamed—” - </p> - <p> - “You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first - one I saw this morning. I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours - is missing. I assure you—” - </p> - <p> - He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile - drove Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - </p> - <p> - “You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without - asking? I never heard such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of - a piece—all of a piece!” - </p> - <p> - “But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As - though a man mightn't take another man's umbrella without all - this disturbance. It's too absurd.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's - all of a piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior - here. You come here thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. - Oh, yes! we've all got to bow down to everything that your Highness - chooses to say. We must give up everything to your Highness—our - clothes, our possessions—you conceited—insufferable puppy!” - </p> - <p> - These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself with - rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his - misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he - had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had - been against him at every turn. - </p> - <p> - All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did - not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the - room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could - hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, - supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob - and ruin him. - </p> - <p> - “Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a - little, and conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he - did not want to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly - sorry that I took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any - reason to speak to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not - here.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. - “Oh! of course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is - all of a piece with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how - to behave like a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen - don't steal other people's things. You can be put in prison - for that sort of thing, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill, - beginning in his anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. - “I don't want your beastly things—keep them to yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you - two. Don't make such a row here—everyone can hear. Wait until - later.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was shaking - his fist in Traill's face. - </p> - <p> - “It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll - give you something for saying that—I 'll let you know.” - And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my umbrella! Give me my - umbrella!” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill. - “I left it somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You - can jolly well go and look for it.” - </p> - <p> - And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap - began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face - with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon - the breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he - rose he brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had - left upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of - streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything - came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed - together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - </p> - <p> - Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland and - Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's - absolute silence. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's - lip was cut and bleeding—coffee was on Perrin's collar; their - faces were very white. - </p> - <p> - For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they - passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - </p> - <p> - In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella have - its beginning. - </p> - <p> - Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had - been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours with - a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what simpler - can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, more nearly - concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO - SOME SKIRMISHING - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL DESART heard - about it early on the afternoon of the same day. Traill himself told her - as he stood with her for a moment outside the school gates before he went - down to football. - </p> - <p> - She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been that - it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a way, - made a fool of himself—that to struggle in that fashion with a man - like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great deal - more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and her - feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to be - feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of - these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone to - be pitied—that was the reason of her kindness to him—and now - that he was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her - pity for him was increased. - </p> - <p> - But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than she - could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been through, - she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he would not be - likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a climax. - </p> - <p> - They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough to - get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she put - it to herself, “spread out”; but halfterm was only just over - and she did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's - feeling, she saw, was mainly one of disgust—the same kind of - sensation that he would have had if he had not been able to have his bath - in the morning. About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make - that kind of disturbance about so small a thing.... - </p> - <p> - Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that “it - wasn't done” and that Perrin was therefore an “outsider,” - and that there the thing ended. - </p> - <p> - Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this and - knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. But she - was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and simply to - tell him that she was sorry. - </p> - <p> - “One thing, you know,” she said, smiling at him and blushing a - little. “We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! must we?” he said, shrinking back a little. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to - be talk about all this business. Of course, there is, heaps—and you - must let me do my share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - He had not figured the talk that there would be—he saw it all now in - an instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking - further still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be - involved; but he was much too simple a person to think this further vision - anything but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent - about umbrellas.... - </p> - <p> - He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their - engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the - Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between chapel - and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning struggle had been - brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and Birkland, much - earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy one—one hour - followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there were boys to see - and games to play and all the accumulated details to fill in any odd - moments that there might be,—so that, with the exception of short - sentences and exclamations and a general air of pleasurable surprise - pervading everything, no real movement was possible until this evening - hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and naked than ever—although - it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was cold and chill. - </p> - <p> - Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; Birkland - and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, West, were also - there. Little West was so obvious and striking an example of his type that - it seemed as though he had been especially created to stand to the end of - time as an example of what a Board School education and a pushing - disposition can do for a man. He was short and square, with a shaggy, - unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy complexion that two - generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. He was a little bald - on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, and spoke slowly and with - great care. He had worked exceedingly hard all his youth and was the only - master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were unimpaired and his optimism - (concerning his own future) unchecked. His most striking feature were his - hard, burning, little eyes, and it was with these that he kept order in - class. - </p> - <p> - He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. - Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his - clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do - Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, he - would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief and - principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own - subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's - sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - </p> - <p> - Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. - The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill a - conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the football - out of his hands and supplanted him completely—whenever he thought - of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to do anything, - because Traill had never given himself away. He played football a great - deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had ever played it. - Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now at last Comber - glowed with the thought of the things that he would be able to do. He - intended it in no way maliciously—it was simply that the younger - generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to Comber's - rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. Then - Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest - of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, - on the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a - pompous, pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's - duty to uphold the senior staff. - </p> - <p> - He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger - impressively in the air. “There they were, you know, rolling—positively - rolling—on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits - and the coffee streaming all over the floor—you never saw anything - like it. And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out - of the room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we - weren't there; didn't they, Birkland?” - </p> - <p> - Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on his - face, as though he were saying, “This is their kind of life. Look at - Comber there, now—how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for a - month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are - being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as bad - as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of having - a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!” - </p> - <p> - But he didn't say anything—he just sat there listening, with - his contemptuous smile, to Comber. - </p> - <p> - “An awful noise, you know, they made,” Comber went on. “And - anything funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair - all tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek - bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!” - </p> - <p> - “At all events,” said Birkland dryly, “we ought all to - be glad that you got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's - something to be thankful for, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's all very well, Birkland,” Comber answered - angrily; “you were amused enough yourself, really—you know you - were. In any case,” he went on importantly, “the thing can't - go on, you know. We can't have junior masters flinging themselves at - the throats of senior ones. That sort of thing must be stopped.” - </p> - <p> - So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone trimmed - their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and was not - afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with Traill; and - supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no easy thing - to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for instance, - thought so. - </p> - <p> - “It is—<i>dégoûtant</i>,” he cried, waving his hands in - the air, “that a young man, that is here one month, two months, - should catch the throat of his senior. These things,” he added with - the air of one who waves gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are - not done in my country.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them - better, Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend - silence.” - </p> - <p> - M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly at - Comber. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to - encourage that sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I - daresay you would like all the boys to be springing at one another's - throats in the same way; if that's what you want, well—“; - and he waved his hands expressively. - </p> - <p> - “It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin - to have made such a fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's - umbrella without being struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's - childish. It's just the sort of thing that Perrin <i>would</i> do.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the - way that Traill's treated him, and you see what you'd say and - do. All I know is that you would n't stand it for a minute, you of - all men, Birkland.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of - tempers, old man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay - claim to good temper whatever else you may have.” - </p> - <p> - West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West,” - Birkland said. “You naturally would be.” West was all the more - annoyed because he didn't in the least understand what Birkland - meant. - </p> - <p> - The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally and - did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. White was - sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without saying - anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was there at - all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was to make - him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and therefore - Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would receive. But - White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had given him, and - now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, “I think - Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper - because another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's - been very hardly used—at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be - to live with.” - </p> - <p> - Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he - could find no words at all. - </p> - <p> - At last he broke out, “Well, all I can say is that you people don't - know what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like - Traill to go about stealing people's things—” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Comber,” Birkland broke in. “You've no - right to say stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole - anything; you'd better be more careful of your words.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I call it stealing anyhow,” said Comber hotly. “You - can call it what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words - of your own for these things. But when a man takes something that is n't - his and keeps it—” - </p> - <p> - “He didn't keep it,” Birkland said angrily. “You - 're grossly prejudiced, just as you always are.” - </p> - <p> - “What about yourself?” West broke in. “People in glass - houses—” - </p> - <p> - At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. Comber - was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before—not that it - very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - </p> - <p> - He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to - be in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't - like to mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it - long enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if - only people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them—well, - it might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would be - a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of course, - if one's education had been neglected.... - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for - science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair - must be the same, there was no question about it. - </p> - <p> - Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing that - he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big <i>debacle</i>. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for - everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was - excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - </p> - <p> - “I say!” he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think?” he cried again, “Traill has just - told me. He 's engaged to Miss Desart.” - </p> - <p> - At that there was dead silence—for an instant nobody spoke. Then - Comber got up from his chair. “Well, I'm damned!” he - said. - </p> - <p> - This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once then - the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss Desart had - stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate friend. His wife - was devoted to her and would, of course, at once espouse her cause. But - this piece of news made him, Comber, even angrier than he had been before. - His feeling about the engagement defied analysis, but it rested in some - curious, hidden way on some strange streak of vanity in him. He had always - cared very especially for Miss Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, - heavy way, little attentions and regards that he gave to very few people. - He had always thought that she had very great admiration and reverence for - himself, and now she had engaged herself without a word to him about it to - someone whom he disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, - he knew that his wife would be delighted—more trouble at home. Here - was White openly insulting him in the common room; he was called names by - Birkland; a nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to - that); his wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two—with - a muttered word or two, he left the gathering. - </p> - <p> - For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a new - color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for Miss - Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock in the - face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would never have - accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she should be - handed over to his hated rival. - </p> - <p> - “Does Perrin know?” was West's eager question. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Clinton smiling, “I'm just going to - tell him.” - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in - front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so - much depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened - by it—not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or - indeed of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past - the terror of tongues—but rather afraid of himself and the way that - he might be going to behave. - </p> - <p> - He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that - there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. He - knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a hero—a - hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, with a - great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face in - the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief in - his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other boys, - that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some preacher - in a sermon—he went to sermons very often in those days—say - that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, and - that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people did not - know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking out for it, - and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own fault—all - this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on the watch for - this chance—this splendid moment. - </p> - <p> - That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do the - right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather a - pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - </p> - <p> - Then there was the other Mr. Perrin—the ill-tempered, pompous, - sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he - recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was in - command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as he - phrased it, to “do him down.” - </p> - <p> - Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this - morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce - and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing - continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had - been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination - to make a good thing of it! This young Traill—and then Perrin No. 2 - showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in the - air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only prove the - kind of man that he <i>could</i> be! If he could only get out of this, - away from it—if someone would take him away from it: he did not feel - strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And then, - suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining light, his - beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him and care for - him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; and then at the - thought of it he began to smile, and a little color crept into his pale - cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, he might be quite - pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter so little! - </p> - <p> - He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into a - delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults that - he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the opportunities - that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought about him. And - then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to great things: he - would have a little house, there would be children, he would be his own - master, life would be free, splendid, above all, tranquil. He could make - her so fond of him—he was sure that he could; there were sides of - him that no one had ever seen—even his mother did not know all that - was in him. - </p> - <p> - Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock on - the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have - returned it before.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thanks!” Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. - “Won't you sit down?” - </p> - <p> - “No thanks, I'm taking prep.” Nevertheless, Clinton - lingered a little, talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the - mantelpiece, fingering things—a practice that always annoyed Perrin - intensely,—then he took up the little china man and looked at him. - “Rum chap that,” he said. “Well, chin-chin—” - He moved off; he stood for a moment by the door. “Oh, I say!” - he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; “have you heard - the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just told me.” - He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging the door - behind him. - </p> - <p> - Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head fell - between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there for a - long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster and - faster—he was like a wild animal in a cage. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was white, - his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked the thing - up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, smashed into - atoms.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL told Mrs. - Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that good lady, owing to - the interruption of the other good ladies and her own Mr. Comber, was - unable to say anything really about it until just before going to bed. - Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very much about it in any case - quite at first, because her breath was so entirely taken away by surprise, - and then afterwards by delight and excitement. For herself this term had, - so far, been rather a difficult affair: money had been hard, and Freddie - had been even harder—and hard, as she complained, in such strange, - tricky comers—never when you would expect him to be and always when - you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber considered terribly unfair, because - if one knew what he was going to mind, one would look out for it and be - especially careful; but when he let irritating things pass without a word - and then “flew out” when there was nothing for anyone to be - distressed about, life became a hideous series of nightmares with the - enemy behind every hedge. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she had - arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the condition - of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her—she called it - submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the limits - of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the world - bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world except - Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely unselfish kind, - so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own - discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her size - and volubility and color. - </p> - <p> - Isabel talked to her in her bedroom—it was of course also Freddie's, - but he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas <i>she</i>, by a - series of touches—the light green wall-paper and the hard black of - the shining looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not - very many, but all made the most of),—had made it her own - unmistakably, so that everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of - welcome. It was indeed, in spite of the light green paper, a noisy - impression, and one had always the feeling that things—the china, - the silver, and the chairs—jumped when one wasn't in, charged, - as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. Comber's temperament and - the color of her dresses. - </p> - <p> - But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the - least mind the stridency of it—in fact it all rather suited the - sense of battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to - say that they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked - it. Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all - his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one - felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being - there. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown - on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have - these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that - skirt of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame - me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!” Here she hugged and - kissed and patted her hand. “And he is <i>such</i> a nice young man, - although Freddie doesn't like him, you know, over the football or - something, although I'm sure I never know what men's reasons - are for disliking one another, and Freddie's especially; but I liked - him ever since he dined here that night, although I didn't really - see much of him because, you know, he played Bridge at the other table and - I was <i>much</i> too worried!” She drew a breath, and then added - quite simply, like a child, and in that way of hers that was so perfectly - fascinating: “My dear, I love you, and I want you to be happy, and I - think you will—and I want <i>you</i> to love me.” - </p> - <p> - Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her very - tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there was more - pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was terribly - hard for some people. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, it is wonderful,” she said at last, looking with - her clear, beautiful eyes straight in front of her. “One never knew - how wonderful until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer - has ever said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has - ever thought it—and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose,” - she added laughing; “but it only means that I'm up to all the - surprises and ready for them.” - </p> - <p> - “You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it,” Mrs. - Comber said slowly. “I don't think the other party has really - very much to do with it. You never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a - matter of fact he's the very nicest and trustiest young man, and no - one could ever be a brute to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to - anyone else—and I wish I'd remembered about that skirt.” - </p> - <p> - The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, came - about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that - everything was most splendidly right. - </p> - <p> - “And now, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber, “tell me what this - is that I hear about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard - the veriest words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time - about not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's - always doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn.” - </p> - <p> - Isabel looked grave. - </p> - <p> - “It seems the silliest affair,” she said; “and yet it's - a great pity, because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But - that's why we announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll - be, it appears, a case of taking sides.” - </p> - <p> - “It always is here,” said Mrs. Comber, “when there's - the slightest opportunity of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of - opportunity this time,” Isabel said sighing. “It really is <i>too</i> - silly. Apparently Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation - in Upper School this morning without asking. They hadn't been - getting on very well before, and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella - and Archie said that he'd taken it, there was a regular fight. The - worst of it is that there were lots of people there; and now, of course, - it is all over the school, and it will never be left alone as it ought to - be.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, “it will be the - opportunity for all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. - How perfectly absurd of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I - always said so, and now it only proves it, and I wish he'd never - come here. Of course you know that I'm with you, my dear; but I'm - afraid that Freddie won't be, because he doesn't like your - Archie, and there's no getting over it—and on whose side all - the others will be there's no knowing whatever—and indeed I - don't like to think of it all.” - </p> - <p> - She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her - worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, - instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors - and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the - crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised soon - to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she cried, “will they hate us?” - </p> - <p> - “They 'll do their best, my dear,” said that lady - solemnly, “to hate somebody.” - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next - afternoon. - </p> - <p> - Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's - relief that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' - terror at its horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of - course, in the first place those of any “at home” whatever—the - stilted and sterile fact of being there sacrificially for anyone to - trample on in the presence of a delighted audience and a glittering - tea-table. But in Mrs. Comber's case there was the additional - trouble of “town” and “school” never in the least - suiting, although “town” was only a question of local houses - like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have combined, one - would have thought, easily enough. - </p> - <p> - The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the - jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the - quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter that - is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the conversation of - the ladies of Moffatt's in this way—it was a thing of far - deeper and graver import. - </p> - <p> - The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion - made what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply - malicious conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a - perpetual battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its - weightiest result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that - things said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the - safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that - whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it - was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays as - days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and - hoping that she would “get off,” so to speak, on that. But on - occasions like the present, when there was really something to talk about, - she shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong - enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought - her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then she - couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella - Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where - they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's - engagement as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that - bright, young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some - odd, obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - </p> - <p> - She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her silver, - tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin pieces of - bread-and-butter, that the “town” would, on this occasion at - any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really - “getting at” things; but, of course, as it happened, the - “town” for once wasn't there at all, and the battle - raged quite splendidly. - </p> - <p> - The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically - enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that they - represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; and poor - Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and wished that the - little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly the reason of their - separate appearances and the danger that they were, severally and - individually. - </p> - <p> - The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as - securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and - drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. - Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so far - as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented - her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy whose - accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads - spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - </p> - <p> - The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of - herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her chair, - and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her stouter - sister to a wonderful extent. - </p> - <p> - The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, “Well, so - Miss Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!” showed immediately which - of the two pieces of news was considered the most important. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, “and I'm sure it's - delightful. Do have one of those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they - 're quite fresh; and I want you especially to notice that little - water-color over there by the screen, because I bought it in Truro last - week for simply nothing at Pinner's, and I believe it's quite - a good one—I'm sure we 're all delighted.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. “They 're a little young,” - she said in so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly - transferred, against her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest - attire, into the heart of Siberia. “And what's this I hear - from my husband about Mr. Perrin and Mr. Traill tumbling about on the - floor together this morning—something about an umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, - “I heard something this morning about it.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely - as she did on this afternoon—she seemed to chill the room with her - presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to - various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that - they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's - only way of easing the situation, “Do have another little pink cake, - Mrs. Thompson,” failed altogether on this occasion, and she could - only stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with a - start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the morning's - proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. “You were down there, - Miss Madder; tell us all about it.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and - having heard what she called “the first struggle,” and having - yielded eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine - curiosity—having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and - Mr. Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Actually on the floor!” said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, actually on the floor—also all the breakfast things and - coffee all over the tablecloth.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the cold - eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from her - position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't to—also - the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever sister - afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as her - opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. Traill - was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was the harder - one to live with—and that it had been a clean tablecloth that - morning. - </p> - <p> - “I call it disgraceful,” was the only light that the younger - Miss Madder would throw upon the question. - </p> - <p> - For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, “And - really about an umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work - and beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, “that Mr. Traill - borrowed Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that - there was a dispute.” - </p> - <p> - But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the - question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect - that that had upon the disturbance in question. - </p> - <p> - “I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively; - “and I cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and - I must say that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. - Traill's temper was uncertain.” - </p> - <p> - “Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss - Madder with a sniff. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know - what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her - peace. - </p> - <p> - The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an opinion - from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady - understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a - question of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master - attacks an older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in - the dust and that before a large audience, the whole system of education - is in danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and - other masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and - then other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second - boys showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the - question of property. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—One had one's things—here she was - sure Mrs. Comber would agree—and if one didn't keep a tight - hold of them in these days, one simply did n 't know where one would - be. Of course one umbrella was a small thing; but, after all, it <i>was</i> - aggravating on a wet morning not to find it and then to have no excuse - whatever offered to one—anyone would be cross about it. And, after - all, with some people if you gave them an inch they took an ell, as the - saying was, and if one didn't show firmness over a small thing like - this, it would only lead to people taking other things without asking - until one really did n't know where one was. Of course, it was a - pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his self-control as completely as he - appeared to have done, but nevertheless one could quite understand how - aggravating it was. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no - light matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty - years were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were - to be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by - anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, then - one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then - what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and - finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—Enlarged the original issue. It was really - rather difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to - congratulate the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was - of course perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst - still so young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with - that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't - develop into. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without - mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of - married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of - discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in - blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an - exceedingly poor time. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It was not - her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the present - occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous figure of - Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against her, and there - in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her lap, with the - black silk of her dress shining in little white lines where the light - caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie entirely. Whatever - happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this again and - again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found her anger - rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in Miss Madder's - hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense of the hat and - why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't suit her, and whether - Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in a nice green grave - with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract - questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she - listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more than - anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly - attacked. - </p> - <p> - Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated Isabel—Isabel - who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, even and cold, - went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the corner, and her hands - began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. Suddenly in an instant - Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten save Isabel, and she burst - out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: “Really, Mrs. Dormer, you - are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all agree that it's - a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else down because someone - else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I should never - want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who was matron here - two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel with her and - putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything of it, and I - remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for it back again. - I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a fuss about - nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows it; - but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear - Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful - fellow, and I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's - very unkind of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep - breath. - </p> - <p> - “Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, - “I'm sure we none of us wish them anything but happiness. - Please don't have the impression that we are not eager for their - good.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder, - “that you have rather misunderstood our position in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have,” broke - in Mrs. Comber hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had - spoken so quickly. - </p> - <p> - “You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don't - think we can any of us have two feelings about the question of discipline. - I'm sure you agree with us there, Mrs. Comber.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber. - </p> - <p> - But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and - they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not be - able to come and stay again—they were of one mind. - </p> - <p> - Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of that - silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell - Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - </p> - <p> - Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, Freddie - had still to be faced. - </p> - <p> - His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly - not in a line with her own. - </p> - <p> - Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a - crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, - because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie Traill, - and indeed with everyone in the present story. - </p> - <p> - But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,” - as she used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which - disaster she was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled - kind of way why it was that they should all have wanted to be so - disagreeable, why, as a development of that, everyone always preferred to - be disagreeable rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu - clock and the peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, - with their color and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim, - misty, vague, and lost almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn't - really anyone's fault at all—that it was the system, the - place, the tightness and closeness and helplessness that did for - everybody; that nobody could escape from it, and that the finest saint, - the most noble character, would be crushed and broken in that remorseless - mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the mills of a - rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring at the clock - and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these women, crushed, - beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss Madder, her own - Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even already young - Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave... once. The coals clicked - in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down the darkening - paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all up—she must - leave Freddie and the children and go away... anywhere... she could not - endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, peevish, - scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his hours, and that - annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish very little - better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to be pleasant - and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella affair. - </p> - <p> - “Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all - coming to, I should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a - month or two, and he goes and takes a senior master's things without - asking leave, and then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard - anything like it. The fellow wants kicking out altogether.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Well, why don't you say something? You've got some - opinion about it, I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's - gone and got himself engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl - thinking of? They 're both much too young anyhow. It's absurd. - I 'll tell her what I think of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's - so happy about it, and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to - both of us that she deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be - successful. After all, if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very - young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very difficult man to get on with. You - know, dear, you've always said—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously, - “I 've never advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and - betters in the face, and if you think I have, you 're mightily - mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart was - dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber - was glad that the girl was not with them. - </p> - <p> - She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and - her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary - dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's - scowling face. - </p> - <p> - At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little - drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and - she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest of - the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of - places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and forests - and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no travail nor - ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw Freddie as he had - once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen about him, and in - her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her and she could make - no mistakes. - </p> - <p> - Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she smiled - at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was nearly out. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a - nice, cheerful room for a man to come into, isn't it, after he's - tired and cold with work? I have got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm - a lucky man, I am.” - </p> - <p> - Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten - it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the - use of making a noise and fuss with it now?” - </p> - <p> - Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look - here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business.” - </p> - <p> - “What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her - cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I'm - not going to have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I - object to him—he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants - putting in his place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near - here. I won't have him in the house, and it's just as well he - should know it. So don't you go asking him here.” - </p> - <p> - She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have - told Isabel that I am glad, and I <i>am</i> glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I - don't think it was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, - you know you are not quite fair to him because of his football, or - something silly, and I'm sure you don't mind him, really—you - don't like Mr. Perrin, you know.” - </p> - <p> - This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could - possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie - Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to - swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things - alone that don't belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I - 've got for disliking young Traill—it's enough if I say - that he's not to come here—and Miss Isabel shall hear that - from my own lips.” - </p> - <p> - In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as he - was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at the - mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew herself - up. - </p> - <p> - “You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult - Isabel here, when she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so - good. I love her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. - “This is defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I - tell you that he shall not come here.” - </p> - <p> - “And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly - came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We 'll see - about the master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her - brooch, and she fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her - hands spread out against it, staring at him.... - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant - wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They - both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had - suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations - could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be worse—they - could never be the same. - </p> - <p> - But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. - Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay - against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, because - her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was - appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years was - brought to life by that blow. - </p> - <p> - “My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I - did not mean anything—I am not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... - Please—” - </p> - <p> - His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. She - took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him fixedly. - </p> - <p> - “You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At - least, you have never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.” - </p> - <p> - Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then - she went slowly out of the room. - </p> - <p> - He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a - whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark - buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” - And then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to - the shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO - DESTROY....” - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the month - that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a week of that - original incident there was no one in the establishment who had not his or - her especial grievance against someone else. In the Senior common room, at - the middle morning hour, the whole staff might be seen, silent, grave, - bending with sheer resolution over the daily papers, eloquent backs turned - to their enemies, every now and again abstract sarcasm designed for some - very concrete resting-place. - </p> - <p> - That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the - original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something - that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's - purpose to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any - small detail be the provocation, the battle was the thing. - </p> - <p> - Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to watch - and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; what a - delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents and verbs - in with their principal parts of <i>savior</i> and <i>dire</i> and their - conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and - exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting your - neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious misconception—all - this within so small an area of ground, so slight a period of time, at so - wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - </p> - <p> - The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy - in the school, but here there was not so intense a division—there - was indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the - whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old - Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the - custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply - a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once - accepted as a fearful authority—between this and the novel and - athletic Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... - why? There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old - Pompous's umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his - property? He would n't hesitate to take someone else's things - if he wanted them.... Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion - amongst all those who came beneath his discipline—as to the way that - he took this, there is more to be said later. - </p> - <p> - But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel - and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was - nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw - something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should have - taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the - circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took - the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse - combat. No—the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of - it, when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, they - were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance—they were - almost lost and forgotten—and the reason of this was that everyone - in the place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance - silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an issue - between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being worked out - in silence—even the spectators themselves made no comment, but Mrs. - Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that “Everyone was - so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that no one said - anything at all”—and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - </p> - <p> - Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those - most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, and - her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's - experience of it, because the only difference between herself and the rest - was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more discerning - intuition. - </p> - <p> - In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own battles. - It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the place, with - the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time being at any rate, - up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed herself to be - engaged to Mr. Traill—there were no two opinions about it. It was - not ladylike—she was allying herself, to disorder and tumult, she - was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking down of persons - in authority—above all, she was setting herself up, whatever that - might mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first day in Mrs. Comber's - drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She - loved a battle—she had never realized before how dearly she loved - it, she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head - up and her eyes flashing fire—she was quiet unless she was attacked; - but so soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled - on and the trumpet sounded. In a way—and it seemed to her curious - when she looked back upon it—this month of hers was stirring and - even rather delightful. - </p> - <p> - But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that - something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness - and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. - But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside - help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had - dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing—she only - begged her not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to - attempt to bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Comber was now a different person—her animated volubility - had disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a - pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken to. - But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel had never - liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have disappeared. - He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any rate he was - quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he was on the - watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that his eyes would - leave his work and stray about the room as though he were searching for - something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, and sometimes when she - spoke to him he would start and look at her curiously, almost - suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she knew. He was not - kind and attentive to her, as he had been before—she felt sure that - he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her miserable, and she - loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her back from speaking to - Mrs. Comber about it all—but something prevented her. - </p> - <p> - The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, - more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any attitude - towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided camps—it - all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very childishness it could - not have a serious conclusion; but as the days went on and she saw into it - all more deeply, the pathos of it caught her heart and she could have - cried to think of what men they might have been, of the things that they - might have done. Some of them seemed to seek her out now with a - courtliness and deference that they had never shown her before. Birkland, - of whom she had always been rather frightened, spoke to her now whenever - there was an opportunity, and his sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she - saw the sadness in their gray depths, and she felt in the pressure of his - hands that he wanted now to be friends with her. White, too, was different - now. He said very little to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak - at all was a wonderful thing, but there were a few words about his - affection for Archie. - </p> - <p> - With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to do - something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly able - to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her - engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty—it was a case of - waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than that—something - was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and that atmosphere to be - afraid. But it was not until later than this that she began to be afraid - definitely of Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something grew - when she perceived the inertia of the others—inertia was perhaps - scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing - impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait for - the result. - </p> - <p> - And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, having - for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation—she could - not put it more optimistically than that—before the end of the term - came. - </p> - <p> - It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her—indeed, her - flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger Miss - Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles whatever—but - rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to explain. She wished to - prevent things happening, was the way that she herself would have put it; - but that did not hinder her from feeling a natural anxiety that Miss - Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have some of their own shots back - before the end of the term was reached. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. - Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly drawn - days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the brittle - leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get him to see - the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first on the - question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at once against a - bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her ignorance of public - school and university laws had formerly hidden from her. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as - he summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world - for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a - fellow felt—there were things a man couldn't do. She found - that the laws of the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison - with the stone tables of public school custom: “The man was a - bounder”—“There were things a fellow couldn't do.” - </p> - <p> - She had not expected him to go and beg for peace—she had not - probably altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all - left her with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so - immensely young, and therefore to be—most delightful of duties—looked - after. Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of - his nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between - them be a great many tussles and battles. - </p> - <p> - But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very - gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then - kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. - Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and hid - it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out and saw - that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly discovered - that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people were taking - sides about him—all this was horrible. - </p> - <p> - He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. “I never meant to - knock the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella—all - this fuss!”—which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, - because the thing was done and there was no more to be said about it. He - thought a great deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand - up for her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him - any satisfaction—that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder - against the “low, bounding” world, and he declared, as he - looked at her, that he loved her more and more every day. - </p> - <p> - But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes - with regard to that gentleman could only look one way—he would not - make advances. - </p> - <p> - The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, she - felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite - watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but when - she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and - she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a great - many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was—cross, - irritable, violent, even wicked—he was, at any rate, lonely, and - that was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - </p> - <p> - She could not, of course, make Archie see that. “The fellow's - always wanted to be lonely—thinks himself much too good for other - people's society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a - beast, he must expect to be left alone.” - </p> - <p> - <i>That</i> did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from - the fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled - with anyone before—people <i>never</i> did quarrel with him; and now - suddenly here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, stiff - and sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him whenever he - got the opportunity. - </p> - <p> - Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under - these circumstances—but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. - Isabel herself was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as - possible. He wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light - and sunshine at the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, - comfortable, a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class - found that nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and he - snapped at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always - gentle, but his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far - away from tears. - </p> - <p> - But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud with - Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, always - amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed and was at - last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, afraid of - what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag Archie out of - it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and all this - discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was ninety at - least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult - education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several - stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were - very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries of - people getting along together. Her present feeling was something akin to - Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being - flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being - hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and - hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of Mr. - Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before the end - of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That something in - the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations was busy about - the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in the most singular - way would break out; there was continual quarreling in the common room, - strange rumors were carried of things that people had said—it was - all a question of strain. - </p> - <p> - There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of - snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and - when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black - and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in - Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was - no other light in the room. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her - hand, silently staring at the fire. - </p> - <p> - Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the - consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the - trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good - night to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves - stretched to breaking-point—all this overwhelmed her. She had never - felt so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep anything - at all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... to-morrow; it - might be too late. - </p> - <p> - She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that he - had called him a “rotten little counter-jumper,” and that West - had made an allusion to “stealing things.” Where were they - all? What were they all doing to be fighting like this? - </p> - <p> - They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the fire, - and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling coal, - were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go - mad. What is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? - Oh! I <i>do</i> want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. - For the last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been - no peace at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from - the fire; “I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there - are only three weeks more of the term, because I 'm sure that - somebody would be cutting somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, - and I wouldn't mind very much if somebody would cut mine.” She - gave a little choke in her throat, and then suddenly her head fell forward - into her hands, and she burst into passionate sobbing. - </p> - <p> - Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair and - took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long time, and - the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the snow had begun - to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against the window. - </p> - <p> - At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I - should have done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my - eyes are a perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't - help it. Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've - stood it as long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think - I shall go away and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you - 're let alone.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mrs. Comber;” said Isabel, still holding her hand, - “do tell me about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of - course, I 've seen that something 's happened between you and - Mr. Comber. I can see that he is most dreadfully sorry about something, - and I know that he wants to make it up. But this silence is worse than - anything, and if you 'd only have it out, both of you, I'm - sure it would get all right.” - </p> - <p> - “No, dear.” Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. - “It's not that so much. Freddie and I will get all right - again, I expect, and even be better together than we were be-for; but all - this business has shown me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've - known it really all the time, and I used to pretend that if one was nice - enough to people one could n't be altogether a failure, because they - wanted one to like them—and that's the truth. Nobody wants me - to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in the world. I'm - not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless and silly and - untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so - badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was - all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you - 're going to be married there's an end of you, the only person - I had.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie and I,” said Isabel softly, “will care for you - to the end of your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't - you? And you know that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him - looking at you during these last weeks as though he could die for you, and - then he's been afraid to say anything. It's only this horrid - place that has got in the way so dreadfully.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. “Do you really think so, my - dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's - been different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and - is n't worried about his form; but things are always worse at - examination time, and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through - as quickly as possible; and something <i>dreadful did</i> happen the other - day, and I know he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps - things will be all right.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, - after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: “You know, - Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten - you, but Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of - me, but I don't quite like it—” - </p> - <p> - “Like what?” said Isabel. “Well, Mr. Perrin; he's - been looking so queer ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay - you haven't noticed anything, and I daresay it may be all my own - imaginations, and I'm sure in a place like this one might imagine - anything—” - </p> - <p> - “How does he look queer,” said Isabel quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say - about him. You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he - didn't care about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't - another reason for his disliking Archie—” - </p> - <p> - “Care about me?” said Isabel laughing; “why, no, of - course not. He's only spoken to me once or twice.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mrs. Comber, “I've seen him looking - at you in the strangest way in chapel. And his face has got so white and - thin and drawn, I'm really quite sorry for the poor man. And his - eyes are so odd, as though he was trying to see something that wasn't - there. And the boys say that he's so strange in class sometimes and - stops suddenly in the middle of a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. - Clinton was telling me that he never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when - Archie's there he gets very white and shakes all over and leaves the - room. I only want you to warn Archie to be careful, because when a man's - lonely like that and begins to think about things, he might do anything.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what could he do?” Isabel said, with a little catch in - her breath. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't know, dear,” Mrs. Comber said rather - uncertainly. “Only when examinations come on they do seem to get - into the men's heads so, and it's only that I thought that - Archie might be careful and ready if Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all...” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the - room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and - the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, - Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside gather - ominously about her. - </p> - <p> - She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other a - moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each other. - </p> - <p> - “At any rate,” said Isabel, “whatever else this place - may do, it can't alter our being together. You 've always got - me, you know.” - </p> - <p> - But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were strained, - perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; but she - longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and she could - not sleep at nights. - </p> - <p> - And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke to - her. - </p> - <p> - She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was just - turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; there - was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and purple - shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though cut out of - paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against the sky. He - came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted to speak to her, - so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up to her—with his - gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black mortar-board, with his - thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his straggly, unkept mustache—she - had a moment of ungovernable fear. She could give no reason for it, but - she knew that her impulse was to turn and run away, anywhere so that she - might escape from him. - </p> - <p> - Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and held - out her hand. - </p> - <p> - She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that - didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - </p> - <p> - “How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a - long time. Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like - this.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped her - hand and held it. - </p> - <p> - “I 've been wanting to say...” he said in an odd voice, - and there he stopped and stood staring at her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said gently. - </p> - <p> - His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face - with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - </p> - <p> - “I've wanted to say—um, ah—to congratulate you...” - </p> - <p> - He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! thank you!” she said impulsively, coming up to him and - putting her hand on his arm. “Thank you so very much!” and - then she could say no more. - </p> - <p> - He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant - horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech - that he had learnt, “I wanted to congratulate you on your - engagement. I hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm - afraid I 'm a little late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm - a little late. Yes. Good morning!” - </p> - <p> - Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the - path. - </p> - <p> - As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that her - vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>EANWHILE, many - things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On that night after - Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement to Traill, he - did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black grate without - moving until the morning. He did not know until this had happened to him - how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in middle life there - comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that he has missed - ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were other ambitions that - would have been more profitable of pursuit; and then, if the rest of his - days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he must make reckoning with - other things that have perhaps no glitter nor promise, but will give him - enough—life has no compensation for cynics. - </p> - <p> - In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that his - last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest boyhood, - was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, it seemed - to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at the altar. A - great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his head in his - hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The things that he - could have done had she been faithful to him!—that was the way he - put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He had pleaded - his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on his breast, - and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and stroked her - hair. - </p> - <p> - And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came in - at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared about - him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man like him—that - sort of creature? - </p> - <p> - What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; it - pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other men - might sport with it—other beardless boys like Traill.... - </p> - <p> - He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show God - that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that—he would - mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid—ah! - but he <i>was</i> afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid since - those days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat listening - to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such lurid and - wonderful accuracy. - </p> - <p> - God was like that—He took away from you all the things that made - life worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards - because you resented His behavior. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that - the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very - large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head ached, - it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he had now so - long attempted to control came creeping out—that other Mr. Perrin - who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin whom he did - not want his friends to see. - </p> - <p> - On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin seemed - to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, Mr. Perrin - fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was watching. He was - wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, but it was an evil - face—all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had gone wrong. Mr. - Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last he had broken out, - and perhaps he would never go away again. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - </p> - <p> - Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was - something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some - connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as - he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, - there was nothing to be angry about—of course not—no; but he - knew that there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he - ought to do to young Traill. What was it? - </p> - <p> - Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. - Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from the - room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very desolate - and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and so end it - all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot themselves, or - they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be afraid to do any of - those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in an inconsequent way, - of the sight that he would look afterwards. - </p> - <p> - There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his - great chance—the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. - Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to give - him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing he showed - them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, supposing he - won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of course, it was - absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not “do” - magnificently anywhere. - </p> - <p> - No, he was no good—he was done for. He thought, as he heard the - clock strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at - the yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then - four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were ugly - flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss - Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his thin, - sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - </p> - <p> - His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and - enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - </p> - <p> - Young Traill had done this—young Traill was his enemy... young - Traill! He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - </p> - <p> - And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper - flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all - resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When - he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in his - mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat - with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great - black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the - eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, - wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and - the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - </p> - <p> - It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that was - trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He found at - once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, and as the - days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling inside him that - he must not let out was always stronger and more violent when Traill was - there. Of course they did not speak to one another, but it was something - more active than mere silent avoidance. They had struggled on the floor - together, struggled before Comber and Birkland—Perrin would not - forget that. He remembered it as an act of faith and said to himself a - great many times. He always found that when he was in the room with Traill - something seemed to drag him across the floor towards him, and he had to - hold himself back. - </p> - <p> - This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind on - his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his form, - because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst them. They - must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and he thought that - when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked amongst themselves. - They had always done that of course, but now there was an added reason. - </p> - <p> - There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always - hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the master - who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door of the hall - and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see whether - they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had seemed to him - most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands raised to his - eyes, one after the other—hands that were ill-kept, bitten, and - ragged, and torn—this had been, in some bidden way, irritating. Now - it was much more irritating, so that when it was his week on duty and this - horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, as it seemed to him, with - insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to beat them all down, to run - amok amongst them, to trample until all the hands were broken and - bleeding. - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He used - to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him up, and - he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very inky. Then - Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly eye, had - sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to escape, but with - a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands were always - beautifully clean—he did not look at Perrin. This was, of course, a - very small affair. - </p> - <p> - But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently - behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end “per - Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum” and a great clatter of forms being - dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices—then he - wanted to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew that - he must not. - </p> - <p> - One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone in - the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to him. - </p> - <p> - Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned - his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: “I say, Perrin, - isn't this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be - speaking to a fellow—I'm sorry if I did things, but you know—” - </p> - <p> - And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had - moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and Traill - had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - </p> - <p> - But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. - No! that man must not get out—he must at all costs be kept in his - box. And so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - </p> - <p> - Traill did not try to speak to him again. - </p> - <p> - With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked - afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, - and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way and - said, “Go back, and do it again—do it again,” as though - he were not thinking of what he said. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather - thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white - faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with ink, - and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces hanging - down, stupid things like toads. - </p> - <p> - He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no effort - now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, other - numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if it was - right—that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could - help it. He did not analyze his silence—it was merely a fact that he - did not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his - own... it reminded him of things that hurt. - </p> - <p> - But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference - except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do - things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than - had hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the - difference more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that - there was to say about his form. - </p> - <p> - It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out - that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was that - he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very - provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, - because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One - morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt that - Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill to do - this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the Upper - School—moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it - opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. Perrin - could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door at all but - at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was standing, and - at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he turned round - sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - </p> - <p> - The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of - conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly to - Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill with all - his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. It was not - hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite him at - dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though someone - at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging the cloth - with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do - things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept in a - box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was that people - were talking about him. This might almost be called the Irritation of the - Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw a closed door—and - they were very many—he knew that there were people behind it who - were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very softly, a door - and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one in the room, he was - sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind chairs. Once when he - opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss Madden was alone in the - room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped her work and screamed, - which was foolish of her. - </p> - <p> - But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like to - have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said—he was - sure that she would be kind—and he stared at her very hard in - chapel, because he saw her so very little at other times, and because he - would like to know what she was thinking about. He would like to know - whether it was about the same things as his things—and so he stared - at her in a curious way. - </p> - <p> - And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which - he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the - first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had - written saying how much she had missed it—so he must not forget it - again. - </p> - <p> - He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly - broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think of - his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his hands - to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture of her - sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from him. He - sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and paper and - began, as he had begun for a great many years: - </p> - <p> - “Dear old lady... - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he did - now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held the - lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with his head - between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his mother; - and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that had been about - him during these days fell from him, and he regained his clear vision—he - began to write as he always did:— - </p> - <p> - “...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I - really didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these - days with the examinations coming on and everything. - </p> - <p> - “I'm very well, except that I have these headaches—nothing - at all, and I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope - you 're all right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. - Keeping warm's the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that - shawl that Miss Bennett gave you is the very thing—mind you wear it, - and don't sit in draughts. I'm all right...” - </p> - <p> - And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between his - hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be - afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... - His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have lifted - away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him to the - ground. He did not hate Traill—Traill could not help it; but he - wanted her—oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - </p> - <p> - He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled so - that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his last - hold on life, to pray. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to - that state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like - that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so hard—there - are so many little things—there is no time!... They will not let me - alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me someone to - love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do not let me go - back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I may do...” - </p> - <p> - But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with his - head on his arm. - </p> - <p> - And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself there—and - it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly frightened, - because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the other Mr. - Perrin—and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and he - cursed God and stumbled to his bed. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was quite - sure now that God hated him. - </p> - <p> - Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping that - box closed—he was damned anyhow. - </p> - <p> - Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of - anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing on - his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, because - it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was sure that it - would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore Traill must go. - </p> - <p> - He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to consider - it.... - </p> - <p> - These days before the examinations began were very difficult for - everybody, and Perrin began that hideous “getting behind-hand” - that made things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever - catching up. There were all the term's marks to be added up before - the examinations began, there were trial papers and test questions to be - set, and therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he - was not able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his - chair with his hands folded in front of him and think of—Traill—and - then he would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were - others to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room—sometimes - a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there - scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with - all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his room. - </p> - <p> - But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin welcomed - it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune with his - own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very difficult - one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been before. - </p> - <p> - The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was - multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now - filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, - whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one or - two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others naturally - had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that had broken out - over the umbrella incident had developed until there was very little to - prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this occasion, West was the - person who was let off easily by the examination list, and he was not the - kind of man to allow his advantage to pass without comment. - </p> - <p> - Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common room. - He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the window - and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat there: for - instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they were not - watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs—it - would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, - and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must - run, screaming, from the room—or to twist Birk-land's ears - round and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be - pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - </p> - <p> - At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly all - gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - </p> - <p> - Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his corner. - </p> - <p> - “It will be very pleasant,” West said, smiling a little, - “to have that third hour off all through this week. I can't - think, Comber, why Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to - do—I—” - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake,” Comber broke out furiously, “stop - it! Aren't we all sick to death with hearing of your beastly good - luck? Don't we all know that the whole thing's about as unfair - as it is possible for anything to be? Just keep quiet about it if you can.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course, Comber,” said West. “You grudge a man - any bit of luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew - anything more selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you - 'd have let us know about it all right.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West,” said Dormer. - “Leave it alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired - out as we can be? We've had enough fighting this term to last us a - century.” - </p> - <p> - With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a - common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - </p> - <p> - They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, and - they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their eyes. - </p> - <p> - With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their - heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in a - cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only - Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest with - his back against the wall, spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to - fill a great many years. We 're a wretched enough crew.” - </p> - <p> - He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder sometimes,” he went on, “how long we are going - to stand it. Most of us have been here a great many years—most of us - have had our hopes broken a great many years ago—most of us have - lost our pluck—” Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, - because he paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. “This term - has been worse than any other since I have been here. We have all been - very near doing things as well as thinking them. I wonder if you others - have ever thought, as I have thought sometimes, that we have no right to - be here?” - </p> - <p> - “How do you mean,” said Comber slowly, “no right?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting and - cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or - friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who used - us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him notice and - go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do things—we - all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot of us, now—” - He paused again, but there was still silence. “They say to us—the - people outside—that it is our own fault, that other men have made a - fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is - splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. I - know that—we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid - lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man that - we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have tried to do - decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a minute is our - own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come and try and see - what they will make of it.” - </p> - <p> - A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one spoke. - Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands waving in - the air. - </p> - <p> - “But it is not too late—it is not too late, I tell you. Let us - break from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that - unless they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, - unless they give us more freedom, we will leave—in a body. There is - a chance if we can act together, and better, far better, that we break - stones in the road, that we die free men than this... that this should go - on.” - </p> - <p> - His voice was almost a shout. “My God!” he cried, “think - of it! Think of our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act - together and break free!—free!” - </p> - <p> - He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved - together. Cries broke from them. - </p> - <p> - “You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't - stand it. It's our last chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Now! Let us go now!” - </p> - <p> - “Let us go and face him!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. “Now or never!” - he cried. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the - voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved—the voice of a thousand - years of authority: “The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as - soon as possible.” - </p> - <p> - It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see what - he would do. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held by - Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to - hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak—then, with a - helpless gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the - room, and passed out through the door. - </p> - <p> - There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin - laughed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH examinations - there comes a new element into the life of the term—it is an element - of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching end of an impossible - situation; it is, an element of despair in so far as it provides an - overpowering number of answers, differing in the minutest particulars, to - the same questions; and is even an element of romance, because it heralds - the appearance of a final order in which boys will beat other boys, - generally in a surprising and unforeseen manner. But whatever it means it - also tightens to a higher pitch any situation that there may have been - before, so that anything that seemed impossible now appears incredible; - the days are like years, and the hours, filled with the empty scratching - of pens and the rubbing of blotting-paper, stretch infinitely into the - distance and hide release. - </p> - <p> - Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force - extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the - situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon - it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was - hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid - attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, - invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was - concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan whereby - every master set and corrected the papers of some other master's - form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most admirable - opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report always led, - next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, with the hapless - master who had incurred it in the rôle of victim. Therefore, if, as was - usually the case, your especial enemy was correcting the papers of your - form and would write a report on them, unless something were done to - appease him, you were, during the whole of the next term, delivered over - mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You might perchance appease your - enemy, or you might yourself be examining <i>his</i> form, in which case - you had every opportunity of a pleasant retort. At any rate, this plan - invariably inflamed any hostilities that might already be in existence and - resulted in the provision of at least half a dozen victims for Mr. - Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - </p> - <p> - For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and - misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, - because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term - the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays—also - he considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic - conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that - prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a - rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - </p> - <p> - He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from earlier - papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him and waited. - There was only one subject now in the whole world, and all these curious - boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these appalling noises, and - then these equally appalling silences, only diverted his attention and - prevented his thinking. - </p> - <p> - There were always three of them now—himself, the other Mr. Perrin, - and Traill—they always went about together. When he was taking an - examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the other - Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the room, - and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but away - from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at - him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - </p> - <p> - Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was - accompanied by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with - their own affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of—one couldn't - possibly have anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. - Sometimes it was curiously confused, because there were two Traills—a - Traill who moved about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and - the Traill who stood always by the door and never moved at all except to - slip away. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very much - indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. There had - been something once about an umbrella, and there was something else about - Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden Minimus; but none - of these things were fixed very resolutely in his mind, and his thoughts - slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - </p> - <p> - It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go on - like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long hours - whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and what he - could do. - </p> - <p> - There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two figures - at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He saw - suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it was - like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at it, - frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, and - the world would once more grow dark. - </p> - <p> - At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to realize - then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous it was. - </p> - <p> - Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy - figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden - Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's - round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth - quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - </p> - <p> - At last he said, “Oh!—Ah!—Garden—I haven't - seen much of you lately. How do the exams go?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to be - kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - </p> - <p> - But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and his - eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for help. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir—I—I could n't - do the geography this morning, sir.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the - road. - </p> - <p> - “When do you go for—um, ah,—your holidays, Garden?” - </p> - <p> - Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he - was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, “awfully - sick about something—not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing.” - </p> - <p> - He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was “jolly odd” - during these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of - every other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help—after all, Old - Pompous had been beastly decent to him—and then there came an - overwhelming sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had - suddenly appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He - looked down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a - murmured word about “having to meet some fellows—beastly late,” - was off. - </p> - <p> - Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school - buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the - other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat - prowls.... - </p> - <p> - About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had - never been inside it—he knew only that plain brown door with marks - near the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - </p> - <p> - But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by the - windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square black - lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy to turn, and - then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be inside—he - would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and the - chairs... it might be useful to know. - </p> - <p> - He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down the - passage; there was no one there—it was all very silent. The sun of - the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the - shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - </p> - <p> - He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands behind - his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened - again—he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very - loudly indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near - the window—the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver - hair-brushes and the china basin and jug. - </p> - <p> - It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one - photograph. - </p> - <p> - He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss - Desart—Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - </p> - <p> - He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. Then - he went out, closing the door softly behind him. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, - and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in - the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - </p> - <p> - Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected no - papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks—none of them - were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the papers; - other masters left all the results until the end. It was not considered - strange that Perrin had posted no results. - </p> - <p> - But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have done - something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his hands to - his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of course, he ought - to correct them—he ought to say what was good and what was bad. - </p> - <p> - He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his fingers - because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on French - Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - </p> - <p> - “I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of <i>donner, - recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir</i>...” - </p> - <p> - Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one—he had always found that that was - difficult. He turned over the page: - </p> - <p> - J'eu, tu eus, il eut—that looked wrong.. . - </p> - <p> - Again, here was Simpson Minor—“Je fus, tu fus, il fut”—surely - that was confused in some way. - </p> - <p> - The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and all - of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, flying - into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under the table - and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered wildly on the - floor. - </p> - <p> - The silly papers stared at him: - </p> - <p> - “Je dors tous...” - </p> - <p> - “Il faut que...” - </p> - <p> - “I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt...” - </p> - <p> - “Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns...” - </p> - <p> - And then, Simpson Minor: “Je fus, tu fus...” - </p> - <p> - He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the - floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was - maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to - trample on them—he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and - wildly stamping... . - </p> - <p> - And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped - still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could not - collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - </p> - <p> - Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the - important thing—the important thing was between himself and Traill; - that was what he must think about. - </p> - <p> - This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, - he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill - would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - </p> - <p> - The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - </p> - <p> - It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision that - something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with a - pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack on - his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered on - the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... - Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that he had - already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out. Wednesday - morning came. - </p> - <p> - Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday - morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - </p> - <p> - He gave out the Old Testament questions: - </p> - <p> - “1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and - Abiram; its cause and effects. - </p> - <p> - “2. Write briefly a life of Aaron...” - </p> - <p> - He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was - Wednesday—before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came - to him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - </p> - <p> - “6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I - have found favor in thy sight.' “'Let us make a captain - and let us return into Egypt.' - </p> - <p> - “'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'.rdquo; - </p> - <p> - He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him - afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was a - complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been - there for people to laugh at and mock him. - </p> - <p> - If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use—he might - have married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and - now the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He - hated Traill—of course he hated Traill; but it was not really - because of that that he was going to kill Traill—it was only because - he wanted to show all these people that he could do something: he was not - useless, after all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, - after all, the laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not - be able to kiss Miss Desart very much longer—another day, and he - would never be able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - </p> - <p> - Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and - easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - </p> - <p> - He had given God His opportunity—he had prayed to God and besought - Him; he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and - to be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the - distance, but everything had been very hard, and that was God's - fault for making it so hard. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not be - expecting that. - </p> - <p> - Still more would he surprise the place—Moffatt's—that - place that had treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a - grand, big thing to kill his enemy! - </p> - <p> - On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked - slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long dining-hall. - The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside every round, - shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a long, glittering - line right down the table, and the sun caught their gleaming steel and - flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them fascinated Mr. Perrin—it - was with a knife that he would kill Traill—he would cut Traill's - throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and felt their edges—they - were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great many of them—you - could cut a great many throats with all those knives, but he did not want - to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's—Traill was - his enemy. - </p> - <p> - At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys on - either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Cromer—um—yes, very pleasant. Our little friend - will amuse himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on - Christmas Day. Um, yes—and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! - Whitby—long way. Yes, able to read your holiday task in the train.” - </p> - <p> - He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was - brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering - the gravy over the cloth. - </p> - <p> - After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail - across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light of - the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a - transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors - behind it. - </p> - <p> - Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious - shapes—perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of - the sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that - could see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, - and fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular - creatures with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were - splendid galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and - mountain ranges—they were all very strange and beautiful, and - perhaps this was the last time that he would see them. - </p> - <p> - Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the - direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they - were Miss Desart and Traill—there was no doubt at all that that was - Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was - Traill. - </p> - <p> - The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be - amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know how - he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from - behind and strangle him with his hands. - </p> - <p> - And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the - path. - </p> - <p> - It was a day of ghosts—even the brown color of the earth of the hill - that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one - felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring place, - but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked hedges, and, - at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the cottages of the - village. - </p> - <p> - The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like the - rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, with - his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, and he - could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were discussing, - probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him to think that - he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the other Mr. Perrin - also. - </p> - <p> - They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path to - the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path the - mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of the sea by - gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges piercing the - sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the other figures had - preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden by boulders. He - hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, and then he hung - back a little lest he should be too close to them. They were still talking - very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led to a sheltered cove. - At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, and Perrin hid behind a - rock and watched them. - </p> - <p> - The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that made - the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the water - made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded away into - the mist again. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down behind - his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on the - sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it and - sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw that, he - knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss Desart was - there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and his eyes - filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there had been - someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there had ever been - anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his eyes. He had not - come there to cry—he had come there for vengeance, and then, at that - thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor a creature that - he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he were to miss even this - chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, he tried to gather together - all his reasons for hating Traill; but he couldn't think properly, - and the pebbles on which he was sitting were pressing into his trousers, - and his neck was hurting because he craned it so. - </p> - <p> - At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do - nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he got - up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly up the - path again. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the last - time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear - determination of settling things up. - </p> - <p> - His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had - corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - </p> - <p> - He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out - imaginary examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was - for the last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in - which they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - </p> - <p> - Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This - took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to - overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - </p> - <p> - <i>Dear Old Lady:</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret - it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a - failure. There is £100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get - things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you very - much, old lady, but I am no good.—Your loving son,</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Vincent Perrin.</i> - </p> - <p> - He fastened up the letter and addressed it to— - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Perrin, - </p> - <p> - Holly Cottage, - </p> - <p> - Bubblewick, - </p> - <p> - Bucks. - </p> - <p> - Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited - until the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the - passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down the - lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the - tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and he - tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and put - it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When he - got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly at the - knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of course. - </p> - <p> - But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got the - knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with it. - But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he was, - and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - </p> - <p> - The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a - chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There was - nothing fine about him—there was nothing fine about anyone at - Moffatt's—they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there - would be speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - </p> - <p> - But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It was - quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night—he - might just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was - shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his lamp. - </p> - <p> - He hated the dark—he had always hated it—and so he hurried - into his bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking - so that it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed - the matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - </p> - <p> - He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his shirt - and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the black - marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At last he - blew out the candle and got into bed. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was asleep—but - after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was conscious of - someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the other Mr. Perrin - was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the room was quite - dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that he could see that - he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were exactly the same as - his own. He was forced against his will to get out of bed and to follow - the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the long, white road, down to - the sea. Here they were in that little cove where Traill and Miss Desart - had been that afternoon. They sat with their backs against the rocks, and - in all the air there was a strange, uncertain light, and the sea came over - the shore in sullen, dreamy movements, as a tired woman's fingers - move when she is sewing. - </p> - <p> - Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession of - gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces were - white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung at - their sides. - </p> - <p> - He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice—that this must - not be allowed—and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was - all wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens—but - he could not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces - that he knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and - then—his own. - </p> - <p> - He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back - up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into his - room. - </p> - <p> - He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his surprise - he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although there had - been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he could - distinguish every object perfectly—and then he realized slowly that - things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not his, his - bed was not there—that photograph.... - </p> - <p> - Someone was in the bed. - </p> - <p> - For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between the - window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been walking in - his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - </p> - <p> - He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the - counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was - smiling. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity—here - was his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed—he - bent over the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... - it would be very easy. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept from - the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day, its - brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its train great things. - </p> - <p> - The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the last - day of the summer term, because it was a more private family affair. - </p> - <p> - One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, - one fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, - but it was in the midst of the family that it was done. - </p> - <p> - Parents—mothers and fathers and cousins—were indeed there, but - they, too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual - Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great - worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - </p> - <p> - Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender - history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be - over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred - years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone - mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last into - a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of the - Brown Hill—a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other - things the founder of Moffatt's. - </p> - <p> - It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had been - perhaps but vaguely recognized—perchance, perchance, the surest - foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our - tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - </p> - <p> - But this Marmadukery—a hideous word, but it serves—spread far - beyond that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the - <i>esprit de corps</i> signified by the School song (it began “Procul - in Cornubia,” and was violently shouted at stated intervals during - the year), the splendid appeal “to our fathers who have played in - these fields before us”—this was the cry that these banners - and orations signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true—but - shout enough about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have - tears in his eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke - becomes medieval, mystic, “the great, good man” of history, - and Moffatt's is “one of our good old schools. There's - nothing like our public school system, you know—has its faults, of - course; but tradition—that 's the Thing.” - </p> - <p> - The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone feels - it—everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir - Marmaduke is the Thing. - </p> - <p> - He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that he - kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she treated - anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers arrived in great - numbers on these occasions, and these three great days of the three terms - were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused events in the year. - They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the immediate return of - her own children, and they marked an amazing number of things that ought - to be done at once, with the confusing feeling about Sir Marmaduke also in - the air. - </p> - <p> - But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. - She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and - nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe—or almost - safe—and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out - of the place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had - last night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and - kissed her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be - all right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of - the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened - during the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - </p> - <p> - Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one - very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all sat - very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - </p> - <p> - She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and - happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of talking - to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at a pool, - flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured no - attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - </p> - <p> - But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at the - advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: “My - dear!—no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early—one - o'clock, and cold—you don't mind, do you, dear; but - there's to be <i>such</i> a dinner to-night, and I've just had - four mothers, and wise is n't the word for what I've been, - although I confused all their children as I always do, bless their hearts. - But, oh! the term's over, and I could go on my knees and thank - Heaven that it is, because I 've never hated anything so much, and - if it had lasted another week I should have struck off Mrs. Dormer's - head for the way she's treating you, for dead sure certain—” - </p> - <p> - “Archie's not coming back, you know,” Isabel - interrupted. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of - course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as - young and we'd be off from here tomorrow.” She stopped and - sighed a little and looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, - the stiff, bare trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. “But it's - no use wishing,” she went on cheerfully enough, “and we won't - any of us think of next term at all but only of the blessed month of - freedom that's in front of us.” Her voice softened; she put - her hand on Isabel's arm. “All the same, my dear, I'm - glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It was touching him, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I saw it,” the girl answered. “And I don't - want him to schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's - help he 'll be able to get a Government office of some sort.” - She hesitated, then said, smiling a little, “Are you and Mr. Comber—” - She stopped. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber bruskily, “we are—and - there 's no doubt that things are better than they have been. I - suppose marriage is always like that: there 's the thrilling time at - first, and then you find it is n't there any longer and you've - got to make up your mind to getting along. Things rub you up, you know, - and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome as anything, and then - there's a good big row and the air's cleared—and shall I - wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?” - </p> - <p> - “The black one fits the day better,” said Isabel - absent-mindedly. She was wondering whether the time would ever come when - she and Archie would feel ordinary about each other. - </p> - <p> - “But isn't it funny,” she went on, “that here we - are at the end of the term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all - our quarrels and fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming - impossible? It was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone.” - </p> - <p> - “It all comes,” said Mrs. Comber, “of our living too - close. Now that we're going to spread out over the holidays, we - 're as friendly as anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. - Dormer as much as ever”—which was difficult to believe when - that lady arrived at a quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel - and to go with them to the prize-giving. - </p> - <p> - Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black neck - to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of this she - spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one another as they - walked down the path to the school hall. - </p> - <p> - “And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?” - </p> - <p> - “I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the - housemaid. I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I - had to speak to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and - she gave notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and - unless I can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able - to get away.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, what servants are coming to!” Mrs. Dormer was - struggling with her collar like a dog. “Poor Mrs. Comber, I am <i>so</i> - sorry—of course management's the thing, but we haven't - all the gift and can't expect to have it.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over - Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be <i>so</i> - nice if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I - have n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. - Rose yesterday—quite a nice girl she sounded—who's been - under-parlormaid at Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, - and never a fault to find with her except a tendency to catching cold, - which made her sniff at times.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to - spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have loved—” - </p> - <p> - For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface responsible. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible for - clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this morning, - that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had hitherto been. - The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as he was not - returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was concerned. - He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term had shown him - that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought himself. His - pride, his temper, his irritation—all these things were lions with - which he had never fought before: now they must always, for the future, be - consciously kept in check. - </p> - <p> - He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going away—now - he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, together, - forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the buildings of - Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He could not - sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad dream... he - could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened suddenly in a - great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. Of course it - had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep properly - to-night. - </p> - <p> - At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on - this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they - all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble that - he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - </p> - <p> - Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to him. - </p> - <p> - He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The - floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the - air was full of dust. - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's - all this?” - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you - 've come. I was coming round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm - off for good.” - </p> - <p> - “Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have - finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I die—nothing - can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.” - </p> - <p> - “What are you going to do?” asked Traill. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've - saved a tiny hit of money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a - shot at anything. Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!” - </p> - <p> - He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with dust - on his cheeks and his hair on end. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all, - I'm on the same game. I don't know what I'm going to do - either. We 're both in the same box.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a - beautiful lady to help you. I'm alone, and most of the spirit's - knocked out of me after twenty years of this; but I'm going to have - a shot—so wish me luck!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We - 'll do it together—we 'll see heaps of each other.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm - too dry and dusty a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm - better alone. But I 'll come and see you one day.” - </p> - <p> - “You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what - you said about the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I - came in to see you. You were quite right.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, - “you had a hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. - It drove you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the - beginning, I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, - you met Miss Desart here.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Traill, “that makes it worth it fifty times - over.” - </p> - <p> - “And now,” went on Birkland grimly, “this afternoon you - shall see the closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our - tradition. You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with - the term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that - pervades the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, - maker of strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which - we all, from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share.” He - spread his arms. “Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!—to - get out of it! And now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If - it hadn't been for you, Traill, I believe I'd be here still. - Well, perhaps it's to breaking stones on a road that I'm - going... at any rate, it won't be this.” - </p> - <p> - And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his - influence. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly feeling, - with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had little to do. - This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling or a triumph at - approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' troubled and - confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening consciousness that - he had again, now for the second time, missed his chance. - </p> - <p> - This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; - not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - </p> - <p> - To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, they - would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same insignificant - creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and then it would be - worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, and in the distant - ages it would be told how once there had been a young man, straight from - the University, who had flung him to the ground and trampled on him, and - beaten him, in all probability, with his own umbrella.... - </p> - <p> - Ah, no! it was not to be borne—the thing must be done; there must be - no missing of an opportunity this third time. - </p> - <p> - He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. Somerset-Walpole - knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he suffered no punishment. - Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus had looked at him as though - he would like to speak to him, but he could not think of Garden Minimus - now—there were other more important things to think about. - </p> - <p> - Of course it must be done that night—there was only one night left. - Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown himself. - He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - </p> - <p> - His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would - say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some way - that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able to - laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something - terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. Miss - Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did not - wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the best, - because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only be - unhappy if she married him. - </p> - <p> - What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his throat - cut!—no, they would not laugh at him again! - </p> - <p> - He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went - back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in - front of him, with the door closed. - </p> - <p> - And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to - the school for the speeches. - </p> - <p> - He smiled and said, “Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up—now - that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that - we should not part friends—it's all been my stupid fault, and - I am so very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path with - his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you couldn't - shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in the evening. - He heard Traill's exasperated “Oh! very well,” and then - he passed into Big School. - </p> - <p> - He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were - always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they came - in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were - unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about his - popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore surprise - him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that greeted - Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - </p> - <p> - The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and - the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner - by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept - them there until the end of the ceremonies—no one noticed him—no - one spoke to him—not for him were their songs and festivals. - </p> - <p> - The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, - and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the - Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to - come. - </p> - <p> - These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with stout - bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that they - considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive and as - nonexistent as possible—they all wore a considerable amount of - watch-chain. - </p> - <p> - In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged the - prizes—a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been - biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside them - in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, in patent - leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was intermittent, but - regular. - </p> - <p> - This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the prizes, - because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the other - side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality and - authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; he - stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were seated: - Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, endeavoring - to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually as though - by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many parents. - </p> - <p> - The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He - alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, “our - founder, hero, and example”; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur - Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the - pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the - successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of Police in - Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in an examination - that had something to do with Tropical Diseases (more cheers); M. Watson - had received the College Essay Prize at St. Catherine's College, - Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second class in the first part - of the Previous Examination at the same university (frantic cheering, - because Duffield had been last year's captain of the Rugby - football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was exceedingly encouraging, - and they could not help reflecting that Sir Marmaduke Boniface, were he - conscious of these successes, would be extremely pleased (cheers). Passing - on to the present term, he was delighted to be able to say that never, in - all his long period as headmaster, could he remember a more equable and - energetic term (cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events - of special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those - concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a will. It - was a familiar saying that “a nation was blessed that had no history”—well, - that applied to such a term as the one just concluded (cheers). If he - might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he was quite sure that - Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man to rejoice in this - spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude for a moment to his - staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded with so pleasant a - body of men—men who understood exactly the kind of <i>esprit de - corps</i> necessary if a school's work were to be properly carried - on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great purpose of - making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed, - the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they - might be sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept - before him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, - who would give away the prizes. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic - cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness of - Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the - room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's - head intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved - their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed their - immovability. - </p> - <p> - Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he believed - in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he - should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like to say - one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning - prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who - failed to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.” - It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. - No—um—ah—he never used to win prizes at school himself. - It wasn't always the boys—here he pulled himself up and - remembered that he had said it before. There was something else that he'd - wanted to say, but he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was - conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and thought that he'd never - seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem to be able to escape them. - What a dangerous-looking man! - </p> - <p> - So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them - from our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of - paper on which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched - his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the - third row, suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. - He would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and - now he would give away the prizes. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's - speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to - speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least, - that his eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson - acute discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching - him with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was - not aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because - he looked so queer, as though he had a headache.” - </p> - <p> - He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second - Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of - Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not - matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at - issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated - impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager - realization. - </p> - <p> - He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. And - suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken himself, - forcibly, out of one room into another—out of a room in which there - was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise - dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place - that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that - Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, - but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - </p> - <p> - What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his place. - He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, stupid - faces. <i>That</i> Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her bony - neck; <i>that</i> silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming - garments; <i>that</i> Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she - were of any importance to anyone—all of them listening to these - things that Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing - these... Lies! - </p> - <p> - Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the - wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's - face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with - that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his head. - He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that they could - stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step forward and - tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat governors, to the - little man with the shining boots on the platform? They knew that these - thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had it not been slow torture - for them all, had not that man with the white beard full knowledge of - these lies that he was telling? What was his private quarrel with Traill - as compared with this monstrous injustice? He was pale now, with a long - red mark against the white of his cheek. He had stepped right away from - the wall and the small boys of the First and Second Forms were watching - him. - </p> - <p> - It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, that - it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than the - others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this place! - Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he - remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before in - the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt by - Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! what - rot! He could have shouted it to the roof—“Lies! Lies! Lies!” - </p> - <p> - There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his speech—ladies' - dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along the floor—and - then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his hands against one - another—they were hot and dry and something rather like a bobbin on - a latch went up and down in his throat—his eyes were burning. He - moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to the central - gangway between the blocks of boys. - </p> - <p> - And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies - of “Tennyson's Poems,” Sir Robert Ball's “Wonders - of the Heavens,” “The Works of Spencer,” and other - volumes of our admirable classics. They began with the bottom of the - school, and a small fat boy with a crimson face, boots that creaked like a - badly-oiled door and were shaped like Chinese boats, staggered up to the - platform. A lady, prominent for her size and large picture hat moved - eagerly in her chair, clapped vehemently with her white gloves and so - proclaimed herself a mother. - </p> - <p> - Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to - each prizewinner—“something that they could remember - afterwards, you know”—and began to say something to the small - and red-faced boy, but was startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory - breathing close to his ear. Turning round, he discovered that three more - small boys were waiting anxiously for their turn and that others were - coming up the room. He therefore hurried along with “Here you are, - my boy. Remember that prizes aren't everything in life—hope - you 'll read it—delightful book.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He must - wait—now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech to - thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To his - excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were looking - at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must have felt as - indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been telling them. But - those governors should know the truth for once at any rate and in a way - that they should not forget... strangely, in the back of his mind he - wished that his mother could be present.... - </p> - <p> - The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered - according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, - had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest - of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very pleased - with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a flushed - face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the leading - rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with a book - and a few pleasant words—fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came - quicker as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - </p> - <p> - Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. It - had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so distinguished - a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that afternoon. It must have - been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time amongst so many - engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. (Cheers—Sir - Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at his shirt cuffs - as though his engagements were written down there.) They on their part - were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the room, however - young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as long as he lived, - those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it was not only for the - winners of prizes that life was intended (here Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated - many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and the governors moved - restlessly in their chairs), but (and here Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a - new note) it might not be, perhaps, presumptuous of him to hope that it - was not only for them that afternoon might have pleasant memories. For Sir - Arthur Spalding also, he might hope, there would be times in the future - when he would look back and remember that he had seen, for an instant at - least, one of our British public schools in one of its happiest and most - prosperous phases. He might flatter himself— - </p> - <p> - “It 's all lies!” - </p> - <p> - The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. - To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the - over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, there - may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange master of - theirs—“that old ass Pompous”—seen his edging from - the wall into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands - clenching and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that - sudden lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his - feet, could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to - the governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively - desiring his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the - staff, the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a - wind, “What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered - little cries, they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice—they - were held, paralyzed. - </p> - <p> - And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange - figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window - upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his - gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - </p> - <p> - “It's lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one - upon another. “I don't care—I must speak. Ladies and - gentlemen,”—he caught his throat for a moment with his hand—“I - know that this is no occasion for saying those things, but no one else has - the courage—the courage. It is not true what he has been saying”—he - pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white patriarch. “We are - unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by that man—we are not - paid enough—we are not considered at all—never considered—everything - is wrong—we all hate each other—we hate <i>him</i>—he - hates <i>us</i>—we are unhappy—it is all hell.” - </p> - <p> - He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from - head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell - here... hell!” - </p> - <p> - And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly to - his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by the - wide doors behind him. - </p> - <p> - There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - </p> - <p> - “It 's Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was entirely - unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across the green - quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, nor grass, nor - gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that his words may - have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest in what had - happened after he had left the building. The one fact was there before - him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the rejected, had flung - into the midst of them all his bomb. They might hate him now; the - governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they might deny - indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, ignore him. - His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. Everything in it - watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as though nothing - tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, the little specks of - dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly something gleaming from - beneath the pile of examination papers on the table. He turned the papers - over, and there, shining against the old, worn-out tablecloth, was the - knife. He stared at it and then very slowly and thoughtfully put it away - in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was surprised, amazed, at the - indifference with which he looked at it. That morning it had meant so - much, now—— - </p> - <p> - It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, - greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a - tyrant. - </p> - <p> - He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind his - back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What would - they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must be an - enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions that had - been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the other - Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill being always - in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most - certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly - there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their - solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only - that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That - quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one - was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious - quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill aside - with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in the - world. - </p> - <p> - What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would - the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and - thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with - his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they - would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they would - find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had hitherto - despised. - </p> - <p> - He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that - hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - </p> - <p> - The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, - but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the - world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the - darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would - be time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room - before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. - Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - </p> - <p> - He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course they - would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. He - felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they had to - say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden silence, and - then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their plans; perhaps - they had already prepared a written protest supporting his own outburst. - </p> - <p> - He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes - and a beating heart to the Upper School. - </p> - <p> - He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered - the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire—all of them, - he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they - seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for - years.” - </p> - <p> - And the other voices came together: - </p> - <p> - “Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a - disgrace, a thing like that happening.” - </p> - <p> - “Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all - the holidays in the world!” - </p> - <p> - “No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have - got started before anyone saw him.” - </p> - <p> - “Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of - him.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these - speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a smile - and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - </p> - <p> - They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the - fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no - movement. They watched him. - </p> - <p> - He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were - watching him, he thought, curiously. - </p> - <p> - His confidence began to leave him. - </p> - <p> - “It's nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum! - ha!” - </p> - <p> - There was no answer. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't - I? Yes, indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He - stopped again. - </p> - <p> - Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were - looking at the papers. - </p> - <p> - Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him - any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of - course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; - had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he - had seized his—well! - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I - flatter myself that something will come of it. It will be difficult for - them, I think, to disregard that altogether—hum—yes.” - </p> - <p> - There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - </p> - <p> - “Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?” - </p> - <p> - “Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.” - </p> - <p> - Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I - should go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you - 're wanting. Take my advice. Bed's the place—shouldn't - go to chapel if I were you—hem.” - </p> - <p> - “No, shouldn't go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly. - </p> - <p> - Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried. - “Why shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a - holiday?” - </p> - <p> - “You 're tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That's - what it is. We're all tired—overdone. We've all been - feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing term's come to an end. - I knew something would happen. You 're tired, Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - “Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. - “Tired! It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't - like to see me taking the lead—you hate my coming to the front. You've - always hated me, the lot of you. You 're jealous, that's what - it is. You 're cruel”—his voice suddenly broke—“I - was helping you all. That's why I spoke—and now—” - </p> - <p> - And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that's what they - are—beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!” - </p> - <p> - He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a - note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - </p> - <p> - <i>'.ir:</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible - to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel....</i> - </p> - <p> - So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of the - window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes—the boys from - the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy - chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night—the dark-swelling - trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells - stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that - his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the - evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his - feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common - room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He - might have known that that would be the way that they would take it—he - was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future. - He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace - himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be - the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined he - was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or tittle - of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his feet. - To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would sound a - very different note. - </p> - <p> - He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were - cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it - was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, - and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - </p> - <p> - His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought of - Traill—-Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one - thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection - somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public - outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he - confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had - been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it was - that he was going to do. - </p> - <p> - He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it - was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn—“Lord, - dismiss us with Thy Blessing”—and singing it too with vigor - that, exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching - freedom. He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the - window. Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. - He could be humble or he could he arrogant—he could plead for mercy - or he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two - possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as - possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There - would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must - make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions - were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - </p> - <p> - On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped - the sides of his chair—well, he would find that he had made a - mistake. The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body - trembled—in half an hour there would be this battle! - </p> - <p> - In half an hour!—in less than half an hour! Already the opening of - the chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the - evening breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and - singing. On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed - into preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was - the last night of the term—there was to be a concert—and by - this time to-morrow— - </p> - <p> - They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more - there was silence—the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were - closed. - </p> - <p> - Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the very - heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his enemy had been - Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the ingenuity of the - devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin had thought that it - was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, with extraordinary - clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. That spider with that - dark study for his web was spinning, always spinning—more - effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with its dim light, - surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other room into which he - was going frightened him against his will. He was determined that he - would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the back of his mind was an - undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, Moy-Thompson would get the - better of him. - </p> - <p> - He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not - beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's - study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table by - the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical busts on - the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white beard at - the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with flashes of - golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not - raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen - down slowly, looked up and smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't - inconvenient for you coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed haggard - and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to collect his - thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - </p> - <p> - “But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this - easy-chair by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between - his hands, sat down. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this - letter—hum, yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which - some heavy clock ticked solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he - 'll wait—of course, he 'll wait—of course, he - 'll wait.” - </p> - <p> - At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. - His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his - clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really, - only a few moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a - long day. But come, Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've - got to discuss this matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can - assure you that I have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you - in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr. - Perrin, I beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am - most anxious to prove to you that I am nothing but friendly in this - matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and tapped his nails, with sharp little - rattling noises, one against the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm - sure you must agree with me that a disturbance like that of this afternoon - is exceedingly unusual and I may say with very considerable truth that no - one who was present was more completely and remarkably surprised than - myself. I do not pretend,” he went on with a smile and lifting a - deprecating hand towards the fire, “that I am so pleasantly - self-assured as to believe that there is no unsound plank in this good - ship of ours; there are many things, I am sure, that would be the better - for a newer and a younger hand, but I had supposed—and naturally - supposed, I think—that any complaints that there were would be - brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to time complaints - <i>have</i> been brought to me and I may say that I have always dealt with - them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson - paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you - know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have - come to me with any complaint of any kind?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long - speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular - and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was bent - towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he would reply - and half started from his chair. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - </p> - <p> - “No—please, a moment—may I not explain myself? although - it needs surely no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that - has always, I believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had - yesterday been questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely - trust and honor I should have named yourself.” He paused and then - slowly added, “I need scarcely remind you that it is only a - fortnight since there passed between us, in this very room, an interview - of the most friendly and confidential description.” - </p> - <p> - There was no word from the chair. - </p> - <p> - “You must remember that, during the many years that have passed - since you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You - have had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I - have always been frank with you—you 've seized none of them. - All the more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what - occurred to-day.” - </p> - <p> - At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled with - silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his brain. - What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the things - that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, it was true; - it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and Moy-Thompson, all - these years, great friends. Other members of the staff may have rebelled - and quarreled and disputed, but he had always supported authority. He - remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the pleasure that he had - taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews in that very room. - This momentous and horrible fact rose now before him and froze any reply - that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's devoted henchman for - twenty years—was he the right man to head a rebellion now? - </p> - <p> - In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against - another, “I see that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in - some of my remarks. These things are facts—that you have been twenty - years without a complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here - more rubbing of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard - task that demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this - outbreak; an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an - outbreak for which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its - nature, I should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and - habits—” Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, - “Well, what is the only explanation? What can be the only - explanation?” - </p> - <p> - Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, “overwork, - of course. Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last - weeks, things were being a little too much for you—hum—yes—natural - enough, natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a - long time since you were out of harness—yes, indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'm not tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the - game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient - excuse for to-day's little episode—the only excuse indeed - (this a little more sharply)—but an excuse that we all of us—I - speak for others as well as myself—are only too ready to seize. A - holiday, my friend, a holiday—there we have our doctor's - medicine.” - </p> - <p> - Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised his - head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the worst. He - faced it with despair—he knew as he heard the other man's - words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he - make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting and - abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that he was - merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of the terror - that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle contempt and - the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - </p> - <p> - Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him that - this was not quite so simple as it appeared—that this old man in his - dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in the - dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his head was - buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. To have - Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, was to - have Perrin silenced, humbled—finally quieted. But how was he to - battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the - accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those - many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn - consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid to - that white beard, these things rose and defeated him—defeated him on - the last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - </p> - <p> - Yet he tried to say something. - </p> - <p> - He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - </p> - <p> - “I had reason,” he said slowly, “for what I did. I meant - what I said and I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of - us and I want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did - this afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us - all to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me—if - anyone else had done it—” - </p> - <p> - His head dropped—his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, - “I want to hand in my resignation.” - </p> - <p> - The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently and - a little sadly: - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel - that I have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think - me unfriendly—my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly—if - I say that this opinion of yours—a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps—owes - something to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I beg - of you is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait until you - are stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that the governors - will only too readily allow you a holiday during next term—when the - summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in body and mind.” - </p> - <p> - Tick—tick—tick went the clock—“Here's a good - offer—Here's a good offer.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish to hand in my resignation,” said Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all - be genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making - your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps—” - </p> - <p> - “I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is - scandalous—scandalous—” - </p> - <p> - “I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you - feel about it as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few - weeks. Write to me. Write to the governors—write to anyone you - please. But wait—let me urge you to wait.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again - there was silence. Then at last: - </p> - <p> - “Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the - strength to break with anything. I'm no use—no good.” He - got to his feet and then suddenly broke out: - </p> - <p> - “But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, - but I'm right. What I've said is true, it's all true. - You 're a devil. You've had us all at your mercy for years and - years. You've worked us against one another until you've - rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and you 're pleased—you - 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a God's - parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts - and you've eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for - us, but there's hell for you somewhere. I see it and I know it.” - </p> - <p> - He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - </p> - <p> - It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some - judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world - about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was - thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his - defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - </p> - <p> - He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no more - for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the heart - of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an - utterly useless man. - </p> - <p> - He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation - in his face. He was no good. - </p> - <p> - He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the door - he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, looking very - shy. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at - all. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Good evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Won't you sit down?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you. I only came in for a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right. What is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Only I wanted to tell you—that—well—oh, that - I thought you were awfully plucky this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really—it was a very - foolish thing to do.” - </p> - <p> - “No—really—the other fellows did n't understand—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes! They understood very well.” - </p> - <p> - Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to - go through with it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know—not coming - back—and I thought that it would be a pity if we parted—well, - sick with each other. What do you say? We've had one or two - turn-ups, but we 're friends, are n't we?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course.” - </p> - <p> - “Shake hands, will you?” - </p> - <p> - They shook hands. - </p> - <p> - “Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't - you? Always awfully pleased. Well, I must be going.” - </p> - <p> - And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - </p> - <p> - But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's - utter despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his - life. “He had made it up with the chap,” but Perrin, in the - dark, was looking, with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray - figure that had haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him - face to face. - </p> - <p> - And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH the coming - dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, sitting in his chair - without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, the gray cold pane of his - window and the last faint glow of the sinking coals that lingered in the - grate. He did not know what he could have said to Moy-Thompson, what he - ought to have said. He thought that he might have faced it out better had - the interview been in some other place. There were so many things that - hung about that room and made it impossible for him to speak. He had not - known that it would be so hard. - </p> - <p> - But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all these - many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had been - coming upon him but he had never confessed it—now it stared him in - the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. He - knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and face - the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the courage - to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had not even - had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would do. - </p> - <p> - And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant - enough man if only someone had tried to like him—and then these - headaches—and then those days when his brain was so strangely - confused—no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if - Isabel Desart.—-Well, why think about it? They all mocked him—even - Moy-Thompson did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was - very sick and tired of life. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very silent - as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. Some clock - downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black cold grate and - saw that soon it would be sunrise. - </p> - <p> - The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything - was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making - everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the - pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the - middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - </p> - <p> - At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with a - little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it was - hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the - solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the dark - hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the half-light. - </p> - <p> - He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into the - mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; its - beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of him, - almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause before - he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the daytime, but - now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle of the hours - when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when the brown earth - and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in the pageant. The - breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness of the first - moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the movement and - stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter day bare - branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen sun—now - everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - </p> - <p> - He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In front - of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the threads and - fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of the land hid it - great fountains of color were held behind the cloud and the suggestion of - their richness was passing already into the thickly-curtained gray. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off - across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was growing - with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out sharp and - black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud was slowly - filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through the heart of - it a little avenue of trees ran—now they were gaunt and stiff in two - lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end of the little avenue - there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running sharply to the white road - beneath, and then below the road again there is the sea. It is a wonderful - view from here, for the sea curves like a silver bowl into infinite - distance. Through the country-side it is known as “The Golden View,” - not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving and heaving beneath its - gray veil with the faintest threads of color beginning to interlace the - fabric of it. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and - looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in - front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun rose - above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. “To - fling oneself down on to that cold white road” was a very easy death - to die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the - courage. He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw - coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought - that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of his - life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She was - dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - </p> - <p> - And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. - “Oh!” he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his - voice was full of pain. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, Mr. Perrin,” she said very easily; “I - could not sleep and I had thought that I would come down here to see the - sun rise—and then I saw you pass through the school gates and I was - impertinent enough to follow you. I want to talk to you.” - </p> - <p> - “To talk to me?” - </p> - <p> - He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there - just as the sun rises.” - </p> - <p> - He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full of - what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. He - glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she was! - He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you didn't very much want to be alone,” she said - smiling at him; “but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I - have been wanting—very badly—ever since yesterday afternoon—to - speak to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Since yesterday afternoon,” he repeated bitterly. “You - must feel as they all do, about that.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how the others feel,” she answered almost - fiercely. “That is no business of mine. But I understood, I - sympathized, a great deal more than you would believe—and I wanted - to tell you so.” - </p> - <p> - “You couldn't understand—you couldn't sympathize. - It doesn't touch you anywhere. You 're going to-day and you - won't come back. Well, don't think of any of us again. Don't - try and help us—it only makes it worse for us.” - </p> - <p> - “No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would - understand—and even if I am going away it would be something for - both of us if we knew that we had parted friends, that—” - </p> - <p> - But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working - most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered - what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking - dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some strange - greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his back and - in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, please—don't,” and then she stayed in - infinite distress waiting for him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so - thin and ragged, in the cold morning air, and her heart was full of the - deepest aching pity. - </p> - <p> - At last he turned round to her. “Let us go on,” he said - roughly; “I am all in pieces—don't mind me—you - shouldn't have spoken to me like that—it's more than I - can stand.” Then after a pause he went on, “You mustn't - talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend of yours.” - </p> - <p> - “That is for me to say,” she answered gently. “I have - been so wrong all this term. I have only made things worse instead of - better and I did so want to help. It's been awful this term and - yesterday afternoon was the worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had - agreed with the things you said!” - </p> - <p> - “It is n't any use,” he answered. “It's too - late.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't - let me help you, why then perhaps you 'll help me.” - </p> - <p> - “Help you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we - part like this—I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a - little of what you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It - isn't kind to me to leave it like this.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she was; - her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt bitterly - that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every word that - she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if she went away - without speaking she would regret it all her life. - </p> - <p> - At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute control - of himself and his voice was quite steady. - </p> - <p> - “No—I hadn't meant to be rude like that—only you - took me by surprise. I've made a wretched muddle of things and, - since yesterday afternoon, I 've seen that I'm a complete - failure in every possible sense of the word. You are so splendid in all - ways—and you are going to have such a splendid life—that we - are at the opposite ends of the world, you and I.” - </p> - <p> - She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all its - little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the - strange creature whom she had known before. - </p> - <p> - “No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so - miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have made - things better between you and Archie—Mr. Traill—all that - wretched quarreling—and yet I felt so helpless.” - </p> - <p> - “No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man - feeling that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and - the younger man resenting the older man's interference—and - neither Traill nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were - pressed up against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. - No, you had n't very much to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, - half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering - whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of all - self-consciousness, held him back— - </p> - <p> - He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. “And - then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I - was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him - if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair that he - should have everything—youth, health, prospects, popularity—everything—and - I nothing. I had never been a likable man, perhaps, but there seemed to be - no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to do things—” - </p> - <p> - He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot - with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling back - like gates before the sun. - </p> - <p> - “—And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making - his speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place—the - system—that I had been up against all this time, and not any one - person—and suddenly I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know—and - I thought I'd done rather a big thing. I thought the other men would - be glad that I had led the way. I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious - and frightened, but the other men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed—and - suddenly everything cleared and I saw what this place had made of me. They - say that it takes a man all a lifetime to know himself—well, I - 've got that knowledge early. I know what I am.” - </p> - <p> - She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. “You - 're going to have a fine life,” he said; “there are so - many people that you will do good to—but you have been everything to - one useless creature.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall always be proud to be your friend.” Curiously, in the - growing light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she - felt more strongly moved than she had ever been before—yes, even - Archie Traill's wooing had not touched her as this did. - </p> - <p> - “I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you,” at - last she said brokenly, “but I shall never, all my life through, - forget you. I shall want, please, always to hear—” - </p> - <p> - “To hear?” His lips twisted into a strange smile. “Ah, - you must n 't want that.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not? What are you going to do—now?” - </p> - <p> - “To do?” He was still strangely smiling. “What is there - for me to do? I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no - means and I am fit for nothing but schoolmastering—” - </p> - <p> - “Cannot you come back here—in spite of it all?” - </p> - <p> - “Come back?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so - unimportant that—it does n't matter.” - </p> - <p> - “You will—promise that you will!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, it is all so useless,” he said, shaking his head. “Before, - when I had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but - now, when that is all gone—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand”—her eyes - were flaming—“you <i>must</i>—you <i>must</i>. Don't - you see that you 're being given such a chance! Think of the pluck - of it—after all that has happened—to come back, knowing what - they think of you, knowing what you think of yourself. Oh! I envy you. I - believe the only thing we 're in the world for is to have courage—that - answers everything—and some of us have such fat, easy lives that we've - no chance at all. But you to come back with your teeth set, to build it - all up again, to will it all back! Oh! it's splendid! And Archie and - I will have our happy, ordinary existences—just going along—and - you 'll be here doing the finest thing in the world. I'd - change places with you to-morrow,” she magnificently ended up. - </p> - <p> - “You see it like that?” he said slowly almost to himself. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all - this term's been for—to bring to a head—to show you your - great chance. That 's life—everything leading up to the one - big thing—and now this is yours.” - </p> - <p> - “My God!” he whispered, “If I could!” - </p> - <p> - “You must,” she answered, “I believe in you—come - back—fight it—win.” - </p> - <p> - But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - </p> - <p> - “No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I - 've had my spirit broken—this place has broken it.” - </p> - <p> - “No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance—take - it.” - </p> - <p> - “All these years,” he answered grimly, “twenty years—it's - a long time for a man. I can't begin all over again.” - </p> - <p> - “Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight - as you see things now—It 's never been the same before.” - </p> - <p> - He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Do you believe I could do it?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Win back respect—make them forget yesterday—go on with - the old torture—” he shuddered and buried his face in his - hands. - </p> - <p> - “I believe in you,” she answered steadfastly. - </p> - <p> - He drew a deep breath. “At last!” - </p> - <p> - “I believe in you.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not saying that only to comfort met” - </p> - <p> - “No; you know that I am not.” - </p> - <p> - “To come back—to go on—to face it all.” - </p> - <p> - “It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall - know—I shall always remember.” - </p> - <p> - As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would not - have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief - moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell - that Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some - way a new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he - do anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the - sea swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly - blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded the - brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through the - brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a white - gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out to sea. - </p> - <p> - Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come - back,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The new day shone about their heads. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. - Comber was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only - for a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and - pleasant than he had been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys - were returning that afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's - a bill from that dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't - leave one alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and - I told her only a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk - until Easter—well, some marmalade, then, if you won't have - another—what train did you say you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm - so glad it's a sunny day—you were up quite early weren't - you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. Dormer had to say - about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and now I shan't - have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's - shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash, - so that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?” - </p> - <p> - “Of what all?” asked Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been - queer all this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what - he 'll do now?” - </p> - <p> - “I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if - he can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors - that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm - sure we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been - most queer all this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie - and everything. Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under - his thumb.” - </p> - <p> - Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a - fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the - things that she ought to do. - </p> - <p> - “Dear?” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to do something for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's - hill for that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—” - </p> - <p> - “No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen - altogether to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin <i>is</i> coming back. I saw him - this morning—” - </p> - <p> - “You saw him this morning! Isabel!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View. - He talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or - people. There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside - and so dull outside.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered - slowly, “but I cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I - can't really.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when - I think of Archie and myself and our lives—and all the other people - with lives like them—and then when I think of all the awkward, - bad-mannered, stiff, jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm - ashamed!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was astonished. “Well, my dear,” she said, “it - does seem to have affected you—really. Of course I want to be kind - to everybody—even Mrs. Dormer—and of course I 'll - believe what you say, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for him, and - it won't be pleasant for him coming back.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Isabel. “It won't—no one ought - ever to come back here again—but if only you 'll be a friend - to him— - </p> - <p> - “You see,” she went on again, “he's the kind of - man whom those things matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever - taken any interest in him or any trouble—and now if you and I—” - </p> - <p> - “Anything,” said Mrs. Comber, “that you want me to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes think,” said Isabel, “that the world's - topsy-turvy. People seem to put so much value on all the outside things, - and if someone's ugly and awkward—” - </p> - <p> - Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at the door - of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown portmanteau—a - very old brown portmanteau—and he put it on the cab. It was a very - old cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old - shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - </p> - <p> - The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - </p> - <p> - Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that he - would. - </p> - <p> - Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious beauty - of that day she seemed to get her answer. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - </p> - <p> - “It <i>shall</i> be all right, next term,” said Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52211 ***</div> - </body> -</html> - diff --git a/old/old/52211-h.htm.2021-01-24 b/old/old/52211-h.htm.2021-01-24 deleted file mode 100644 index 173cc70..0000000 --- a/old/old/52211-h.htm.2021-01-24 +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9693 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
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- The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole
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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Gods and Mr. Perrin
- A Tragi-Comedy
-
-Author: Hugh Walpole
-
-Release Date: June 1, 2016 [EBook #52211]
-Last Updated: March 16, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN ***
-
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-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
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-</pre>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN
- </h1>
- <h3>
- A Tragi-Comedy
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Hugh Walpole
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author Of “Fortitude,” “The Prelude To Adventure,”
- Etc.
- </h4>
- <h4>
- New York George H. Doran Company
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1911
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /> <br />
- </p>
- <blockquote>
- <p>
- “The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness:
- Nor Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House
- Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort.”—Pilgrim's
- Progress
- </p>
- </blockquote>
- <p>
- <br /> <br />
- </p>
- <h3>
- TO
- </h3>
- <h3>
- PUNCH
- </h3>
- <p>
- My Dear Punch,
- </p>
- <p>
- There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to
- you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them
- all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day
- last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, and
- we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the top—an
- inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large black cat.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr.
- Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than
- anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good
- things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good
- things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this book.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yours affectionately,
- </p>
- <h3>
- HUGH WALPOLE.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Chelsea, January 1911.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA
- AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND ADVICE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY
- OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL
- THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN
- PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA;
- THEY OPEN FIRE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA;
- CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME SKIRMISHING </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH
- THE LADIES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA;
- “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO DESTROY....” </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY
- ALL MAKE SPEECHES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF
- HIS KINGDOM </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL
- SOUND ADVICE
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>INCENT PERRIN said
- to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: “It shall be all
- right this term”—and then, “It <i>shall</i> be”—and
- then, “<i>This</i> term.” A cold wintry sun watched him from
- above the brown shaggy wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery
- blue, and on its surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A
- little wind sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had
- nearly reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there.
- He stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood
- straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a
- sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the red
- light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front of it
- the blue, vast sweep of the sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It <i>shall</i> be all right this term,” said Mr. Perrin, and
- he pulled his rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little
- wind was playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He
- was long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not
- been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript
- pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore was
- too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of someone
- who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and watery, and his
- eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His age was about
- forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over twenty
- years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were folded
- behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that trailed
- along the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top of
- the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the
- distant Brown Wood.
- </p>
- <p>
- The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The
- sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of a
- hammer, and the tiny whisper—as of someone who tells eagerly, but
- mysteriously, a secret—was the beating of the waves far at the
- bottom of the hill against the rocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the chimneys
- of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of some
- hidden bonfire.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up
- the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude of
- bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very small
- indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched their
- hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, glanced at
- them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the brown buildings
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers.” he said to
- himself quickly; “Barker Minor, French.. . ;” then his mind
- swung back to its earlier theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the
- road with his stick, “It shall <i>be</i> all right <i>this</i> term.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The school clock—he knew the sound so well that he often thought he
- heard it at home in Buckinghamshire—struck half-past three. He
- hastened his steps. His holidays had been good—better than usual; he
- had played golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots
- and fools as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently
- about Education—shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality,
- and What a Mother can do for her Boy—all favorite subjects of his.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad—perhaps the new man
- would be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be <i>worse</i> than
- Searle of the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just
- down from the University—he would probably do what Perrin suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; but
- there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then—he
- stopped once more and drew a deep breath—there was Miss Desart. He
- tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer than
- others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss Desart....
- He coughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at
- his heels.
- </p>
- <p>
- The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold;
- the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room
- that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood,
- moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and the
- long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore a
- perpetual odor of food in the air. On a “mutton day”—there
- were three “mutton” days a week—this odor hung in heavy,
- clammy folds about the ceiling, and on those days there were always more
- boys kept in than on the other days—on so small a thing may
- punishment hang.
- </p>
- <p>
- To-day—this being the first day of the term—-the room was
- exceedingly tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows
- of pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label,
- a name—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Perrin,”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Dormer,”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Clinton,”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Traill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and
- his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting <i>their</i>
- papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall was an
- enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines running
- across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over which were
- two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and St. Peter's,
- Rome.
- </p>
- <p>
- Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the
- windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen—a
- gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round empty
- flower-bed, a stone wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of
- bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced,
- cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, a
- short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were
- drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at it—a
- practice that Perrin greatly disliked.
- </p>
- <p>
- However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly.
- Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. “Ah! here we are again!”
- he said, with easy jocularity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dormer gave him a hand, and said, “Glad to see you, Perrin; had good
- holidays?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, “You
- old nut!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that
- all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was most
- inclined to be easy and pleasant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha! no cake!” he said, with a surprised air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I say, I'm so sorry,” said Clinton, with his mouth
- full, “I took the last. Ring the bell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It was
- cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The Lower
- School was divided into two houses—Dormer was house-master of one,
- and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under
- house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to
- Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival
- camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and
- play.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, Perrin, “have you made out your bath-lists? Then there
- are locker-names—I want.” Perrin snapped at his bread and
- butter. “Ah, Dormer, please—my tea first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right; only, it's getting on to four.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the
- door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, “Come in!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a
- misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a
- shuffling of feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin walked slowly to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of
- us eager to come back, of course—um—yes. Well, you know you
- oughtn't to come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your
- names then—another five minutes. It's up on the board. Well,
- Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? <i>Don't</i> you know that ten
- minutes past four is ten minutes past four and <i>not</i> four o'clock?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, please, sir—but, sir—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, ha,” he said, smiling reflectively; “had him there!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto,
- Cummin; 10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—”
- </p>
- <p>
- The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man.
- Perrin looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first
- impression of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very
- young and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very
- dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers,
- turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His
- hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his
- eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back
- very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else,
- tremendously clean.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them.
- Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been old
- enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he
- had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end of the
- term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a pig-headed
- ass....
- </p>
- <p>
- But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble
- about it, and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists
- and dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I
- must say as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It
- 's <i>in</i> a man if he 's going to do it—I've
- always managed them all right—never any trouble—hum, ha! Yes,
- you 'll find them the first few days just a little restive—seeing
- what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill asked about the holiday task.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, Dormer set that. <i>Ivanhoe</i>—Scott, you know.
- Just got to read out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let
- them go when you hear the chapel bell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill was profuse in his thanks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all—anything you want to know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin smiled at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened,
- and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had the
- bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and their
- common rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Sexton?” Perrin cleared his throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I
- could find, sir—Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room,
- sir.” Sexton backed out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying
- anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at
- him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin
- took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about
- discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their mothers,
- and finally said a word about serving their country.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. “It will be safer
- for you to hand it over to me,” he said slowly and impressively.
- “Then you shall have it when you want it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, one
- by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy—he had
- apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby—had only two
- halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, “Well,
- Rackets?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets.”
- Perrin dropped the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after
- the other. “I don't think you will ever see these half-crowns
- again.” He smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the
- money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly in
- his eye. He struggled to keep it back—he dug his fist into it,
- turned round, and fled from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin was amused. “Caught friend Rackets on the hip,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four men
- put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. Traill
- hung back a little. “You take the big room with me, Traill,”
- said Dormer. “I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There
- was a sudden cessation of confused whispers—complete silence, and
- then Perrin's voice: “Question one. Who were Richard I.,
- Gurth, Wamba, Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n—hyphen...”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door closed.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and a
- silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about the
- path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell of
- onions....
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL
- EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T would be fitting
- at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's impressions, at
- the end of the first week, of the place and the people. But here one is
- met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that Traill himself was
- not given to gathering impressions at all—he felt things, but he
- never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language and an abbreviated
- vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; motives, the way that
- things hung and were interdependent one upon the other, the sense of
- contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on tragedy and of irony
- upon both, never hit him anywhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end
- of the first week.
- </p>
- <p>
- There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, and
- there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was engaged,
- quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing medley of
- “things to be done and things not to be done” that that first
- week must necessarily entail.
- </p>
- <p>
- His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be
- said here now, once and for all, the entire <i>motif</i> of this episode—it
- is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real
- reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being
- the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the people in
- the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and unnecessary;
- but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way and their own
- time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they must have their
- place.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all
- things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to
- think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. He
- had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a “Blue”
- for Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of
- these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to
- thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- His “Blue” would undoubtedly have secured him something better
- than a post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left
- it, lazily, until the last and had been forced to accept what he could
- get; in a term or two he hoped to return to Clifton.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an
- interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of “learning
- the ropes,” and he could not therefore he expected to regard
- masters, boys, or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is,
- indeed, one of the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he
- remained, for so long a period, blind to all that was going on.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He
- found the world an entirely delightful place—there was Rugby
- football in the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid
- walks; there was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there
- was his mother—a widow, and he was her only son—whom he
- entirely worshiped; there were one or two excellent friends of his from
- Clifton and Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there
- were one or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom
- he had liked very much indeed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He read a little—liked it when he had time; had a passion for
- Napoleon, whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was
- even stirred—again when he had time—by certain sorts of
- poetry.
- </p>
- <p>
- And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most
- difficult of decision—as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had
- any feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He certainly—if he had it at this time—could not put it into
- words; but I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of
- consciousness about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had
- been lying there waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that he went
- to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's
- influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of Pendragon
- and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for <i>Richard Feverel</i>
- quite so passionately had he not had something—some poetry and
- feeling—already in him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter to
- his mother. He says of Moffatt's: “You never saw anything so
- hideous. The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell
- so new, the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's
- like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they
- were inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should
- go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the sun
- setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand—it 's the
- fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand...”
- </p>
- <p>
- That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the way
- that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal more
- about it than he ever said to anyone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Cambridge may have done something for him—few people can spend three
- years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind of
- development, although probably—because we are English—it is
- unconscious.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete
- idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters'
- meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in
- conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took the
- lowest—a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just
- above his head, and it knocked him if he moved.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master—a venerable-looking
- clergyman, with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers—sat at the
- end of the table in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an
- excuse to fly into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or
- two; Perrin, Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large
- stout man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a
- clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much too
- big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that at
- any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony little
- man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed to goad
- Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose hand
- continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly
- deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as
- they roved about.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up and
- the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and
- disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention
- to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On
- several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and
- Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and
- individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he
- had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book
- concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was
- very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things
- stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent his
- time in hating England and preparing to leave it—an escape that he
- never achieved.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the
- most “interesting” of them. He was fierce and caustic in his
- manner to everybody and was feared by the whole staff.
- </p>
- <p>
- White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his
- mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his
- work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all of
- them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that they
- liked him; but he did not think about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable.
- Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his
- football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years
- before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin
- asked him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to
- him at infinite length.
- </p>
- <p>
- Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly;
- and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite
- indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He
- could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, from
- that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather than any
- keen and tangible idea of her that he realized.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a
- good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had so
- much to do with everything that occurred—quite unconsciously, poor
- lady, as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was over—that
- she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however casual,
- were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those
- qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and her
- air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be even
- larger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at
- foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish
- descent—and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign
- enough. There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her
- continual smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a
- great deal of her red cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the
- youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy,
- with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, to
- unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and
- enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some
- knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome,
- athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her lamp
- was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she would be
- happy for ever. That—the keeping of it alight—seemed, as she
- looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. She
- did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse and
- even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate tracing,
- removes it altogether—merely, as it may seem to some cynical
- observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the moment
- of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to hold on
- to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a plucky
- determination to make the “second best” do, to the final blind
- acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance
- to that earlier glorious radiance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young
- lover into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the
- Middle Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece,
- would need an exhaustive treatise on “Public School Education as
- applied to our Masters” for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this
- faithful account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some
- solution to that and other more complex riddles.
- </p>
- <p>
- It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined
- stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married
- life, at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the
- complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber
- were hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from <i>her</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended
- her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far as
- Freddie was concerned—she was continually hoping and expecting that
- it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three
- boys—fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious—cared, they showed her
- quite plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age,
- to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that
- pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent
- her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in hiding her
- love under a troubled indifference and being entirely disregarded.... They
- were unpleasant boys.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another place for digging was the ground of “things,” of
- property. Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost
- nothing—they were very poor, and she “managed” badly—now,
- she had always had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to
- an amazing degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous kind
- of way, to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her
- valuables. They were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and
- school-bills for the boys, consumed any money that there might happen to
- be, and consumed it in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she was never
- able to prevent or correct. But things had come to her—been given,
- left, or eagerly seized in a wild moment's extravagance,—and
- these she cherished with all her eyes and hands. The peacock-blue Liberty
- screen, the ormolu clock, some few pieces of dainty Dresden china, some
- brass Indian pots, a small but musically charming piano, some sketches and
- two good prints, and edition de luxe of Walter Pater (a wedding-present,
- and she had never opened one of these beautiful volumes), some silver, a
- teapot, a tray, some cups that Freddie had won in an earlier, more
- glorious period, some small pieces of jewelry—over these things she
- passed every morning with a delicate, lingering touch.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her valuables
- she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about them....
- They seemed—dumb things as they were—to give her something of
- the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so
- continually searching.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and acquaintances
- as she was in her movements and her finances. She was famous for her want
- of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and bluntness of speech;
- famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to make people like her—an
- attempt that, from its transparency, always with wiser and more cynical
- persons failed.
- </p>
- <p>
- She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about them
- all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with the town
- and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although she wondered in
- a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover a satisfactory reason.
- She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into people's lives and
- being hurriedly bundled out again—which “bundling,” at
- every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before.
- </p>
- <p>
- But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of course,
- to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber no simple
- succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her free,
- spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; but to
- none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that she was to
- Mrs. Comber.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and
- for so long a period, down to Moffatt's—a proceeding that her
- London friends could never even vaguely understand. That she—having,
- as she might, such a glorious “time” in London behind her—should
- care to go and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a
- school, with those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities
- (this term to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a
- total mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed a
- poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only
- partial.
- </p>
- <p>
- In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was at
- Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the place—the surroundings, the look of it all, the “sense”
- of it—there is more to be said in a moment—being seen, more
- completely perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is
- enough here that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to
- Isabel deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be
- afraid that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black
- rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages
- that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere
- else in the world—these were all things that she dreamed of
- afterwards, when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to
- her, of danger and confusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She herself “fitted in” as only a few people out of the many
- that go there could ever do.
- </p>
- <p>
- With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her straight
- eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the swing of her
- arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength and honesty might
- forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a delightful boy—splendidly
- healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes startling in her hatred of
- things and people, sometimes arrogant in her assured enthusiasms; Mrs.
- Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had told her so much, knew of the
- other side of her, of her tenderness, her understanding.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of
- peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and
- she generally did.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that she
- did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs.
- Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons—Miss Bonhurst, the
- two Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago
- been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. She
- very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what she
- had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She
- allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she means,
- had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, fifteen years
- before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually finding new
- reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on people who had had
- nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and puritanical, and hated
- Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these things.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each other,
- but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike of the other
- ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they should assert
- their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber and Mrs. Dormer
- looked down on them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss Madder—stout
- and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for the undeniable
- fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name for a pleasanter
- one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a warmth and
- good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so there they all were—most of them—a background, and
- simply, as individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by
- reason of their very existence, factors in assisting the result.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at
- all—Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs.
- Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- A word, finally, about the surrounding country.
- </p>
- <p>
- It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the
- Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, and
- Truro inland to the left—both at an equal distance—as the
- farthest boundaries.
- </p>
- <p>
- Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill—undulating,
- gently, vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue
- or gray of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, with
- the little village—Chattock—at its feet, curling with its
- steep, cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is a
- wood—the Brown Wood—and it hangs with all its feathery trees
- in friendly, eager fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded
- cove (so tiny and so perfect in its shape and color that it almost audibly
- cries out not to be touched). There is a little part of the wood where the
- trees part and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, right over the
- gray carpet of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its creaking and
- bending and rustling, is saying to the water and what the water, with its
- slipping and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. Of the two towns
- Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the Vandals, modern and
- monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its outskirts—that
- was the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there is a row of modern
- villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his visits there, was
- concerned with the chief house there—The Flutes, owned by a certain
- Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, although senior, a
- friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in its position and in
- the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what moments he could to
- visit it and to snatch a respite there.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the
- “lobster red” and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so
- that he took its wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an
- added sense of richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace
- stood to him for an “escape,” he would have realized also his
- growing protest against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on
- occasions to Truro—because he liked the walk over the hill, because
- he liked certain quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon
- Street, in the higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the
- dark quiet and solemnity of the Cathedral.
- </p>
- <p>
- The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life
- that he was leading at Moffatt's—the sides of it that are soon
- to be given you in detail—that led him to notice these places.
- Contrast drove him to a sudden opening of his eyes—contrast and
- Isabel Desart. He was growing so very quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one
- could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the funny
- old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling at The
- Flutes, and “Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully
- kind,” and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about
- the people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all
- about Isabel Desart.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the preliminaries
- could be said to be over.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN
- BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Mrs. Comber
- asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was delighted, although he
- assumed as great an indifference as possible. This was at the end of the
- first week of term, and he had not spoken to Miss Desart—he had
- merely bowed to her across the grass and gone indoors to teach the Lower
- Third algebra with a beating heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was giving
- the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have been very
- different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured woman (he
- did not always like her) had noticed his attachment—as he thought
- most carefully concealed—to Miss Desart and wanted to help him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had
- stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had
- played tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it
- was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and
- Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty years
- he was in love.
- </p>
- <p>
- The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept away
- in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since the
- last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the way that
- he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with enthusiasm). He
- talked to the men of his Club about “the absurdity of considering
- forty-five any age,” and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. He gave
- his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight at night,
- looking at it often in the glass.
- </p>
- <p>
- He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a
- white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being
- somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him as
- soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about “getting a house,”
- even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the old
- lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young
- person be? Perhaps she would not like her—in any case, it meant
- taking a second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew
- sides of him that no one else knew—she saw him as a little, thin,
- serious hoy in knickerbockers.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long
- thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he
- was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he
- covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if
- she cared for him, there might yet be a chance.
- </p>
- <p>
- But most of all he was afraid of something—he could never give it a
- name—that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term
- advanced. He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad
- details, of a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the
- masters and the rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers—the
- end-of-termy feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the
- last week or two when examinations came, seeing red.
- </p>
- <p>
- No—this term it <i>shall</i> be all right. He felt, as he said
- good-by to his mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and
- prove that it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was
- Miss Desart. Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers
- together. Oh! what things he could do!
- </p>
- <p>
- And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So many
- wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were given during
- the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the conversation that
- it would give rise to, of all the people that would in all probability be
- angry with all the other people because they had been asked or because
- they had not. There was, generally, a reason for a dinner. Some important
- person had to be asked, some unimportant people had to be worked off,
- someone was conscious that there had not been a dinner-party for a very
- long time. But on this occasion there was no reason except that Mrs.
- Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had at once thought of Isabel,
- and had conceived a plan.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent
- Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the
- Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder,
- because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so
- much and quite so spitefully as the others would.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited were
- concerned. One chance word at dinner—some errant, tiny omission or
- commission—and anything might happen: the time might be made
- miserable for everybody.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the first
- place “ways and means.” How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no
- words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a boat
- between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of
- not-being-smart-enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- Were things not right—if there were no meringues, no mushroom
- savories (there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel—well,
- the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand,
- there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie
- scowling over his <i>Greek Athletes</i> to such an extent that it wouldn't
- do to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved in
- reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every
- dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie back.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor woman,
- only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive Freddie only
- more completely “in.” Something was sure to happen, before the
- evening was over, to annoy him—she would have “such a time
- afterwards.” But it always, of course, might be the other way. He
- might suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly
- fond, she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him—he used to
- like a game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply
- been disastrous.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards—she was very,
- very bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in her
- heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes.
- She plunged desperately to win it all back again—she was known
- throughout the neighborhood as the worst player in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of all.
- There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. Her
- heart sank because of all the things that might happen.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all
- kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were
- cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She
- thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants—only
- two of them, and both ill-tempered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill—she did not
- even think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a
- word about Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief
- object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically as
- well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the
- hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they met
- their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, every
- day of their lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and
- were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters
- about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered
- wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn
- buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to the
- sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue
- screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in
- black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and on
- the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back,
- where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a great
- deal lower than it need have been).
- </p>
- <p>
- They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to
- explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's
- always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent “heart”
- hand she had, only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous
- results. “They like them best with jam in them—you shall see
- to-night if they aren't good; and there was really no reason at all
- why they shouldn't have come off, but we had such bad luck, and I
- oughtn't to have played my King when I did; I'm always telling
- him that he ought to go and dress a little earlier—but he stays
- working.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with a
- sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the
- back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in the
- common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour too long,
- with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had quarreled
- furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing about it.
- Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort from her, and
- Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent
- Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling in
- one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. She was
- standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; when she
- moved it was as though that was the only movement possible—her limbs
- did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, before they
- could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her brown eyes were
- smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, and his heart was
- beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten before.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found
- that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of two
- of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was so
- broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He found a
- kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its brazen size
- and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt near the collar.
- His suit—it had done duty for a great many years—was painfully
- shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there was a small
- tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His hair, in spite of
- water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder than ever; his coat
- fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in the most distressing
- manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- All these things were new discomforts and distresses—he had never
- cared about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt
- that they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that
- he was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes'
- conversation he was proud of his appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be recorded as
- the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite absurd—over-dressed
- in fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face in
- brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful white
- waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with pale
- blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the
- sleeves.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it was
- quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. Could
- it be that Perrin was shabby... <i>not</i> that Traill was smart?
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that
- there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed
- them back again.
- </p>
- <p>
- They all went in to dinner.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously
- recognized him—even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality
- to a vague approval... and she liked his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never seen her before—that is, he had never detached her from
- the vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees
- and the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had been
- in love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those fugitive
- episodes—the way that it had been, in an instant, like a candle
- blown out—had led him to fancy that love was always like that; he
- had even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way a
- complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that
- yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have a
- sense of beauty and strange wonder—something that had suddenly, like
- streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's
- dining-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the silk
- of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her hair, and
- the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, touched the
- white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been a
- schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not answer
- her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you like it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>love</i> it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions.” She still
- looked at him very gravely. “The boys like you so far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! they told you!” He was pleased at that.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! one soon knows—they are cruelly frank.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. Mrs.
- Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly long
- time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses that
- are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was moodily
- staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, who was
- trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her chair and
- gazing at Landseer's “Dignity and Imprudence” that hung
- on the opposite wall as though she had never seen it before.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room got
- up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her
- dining-room. It was a room, she felt, “with nothing at all in it.”
- It had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new
- one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something
- that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her,
- although she could give no reason—perhaps she did not care about
- dogs. The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs
- to the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and
- tattered books that never got cleared away.
- </p>
- <p>
- All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, with
- a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was missing.
- The set had been one of their wedding-presents—the nicest present
- that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a brave smile to
- anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her husband's
- gloomy face.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. Perrin,
- feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for him, that she
- wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad when her duty
- would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to Traill again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, for
- him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... His thoughts
- hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. Traill—Traill...
- with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He splashed his soup
- on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came to him—Miss
- Madder's fat, cheerful voice: “Oh! I think we shall fill the
- West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms—all new boys,
- poor dears.”... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table to
- Dormer: “It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has
- one hour less than the rest of us—that middle hour ten to eleven...”
- </p>
- <p>
- The same old subjects, the same old dinners—but with her he was
- going to escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow
- wings.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He
- was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Traill had taken her in....
- </p>
- <p>
- And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand as
- though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the stud—the
- large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, and used his
- official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to create an
- impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his
- sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he
- tried, of the things that <i>he</i> could do, if—
- </p>
- <p>
- “If?” said Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man...
- one never knew—” He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a
- glass of Freddie Comber's very bad claret.
- </p>
- <p>
- Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and
- Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues
- had arrived—there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues
- although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both—and
- conversation was quite lively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do hope,” said Mrs. Dormer, “that there will be
- several extra halves this term.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on
- the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for
- every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our
- duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies should
- have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence involved.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular body
- that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. Comber; she
- had now an excuse for being offended for weeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in
- the amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of
- Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample
- confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make a
- scandal at Moffatt's—and the propriety of the schoolmaster,
- the anxious, eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other
- profession.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by
- sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>do</i> hope the football will be good this season,” she
- said at last, quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know why
- she had said a thing like that—she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't
- like such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked
- about gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat.
- “It always rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking
- about it; and how she can bear that colored green when it's the last
- color she <i>ought</i> to wear, I <i>can't</i> think; if it weren't
- for these flies—what do you call them!—the roses would have
- done quite well.” But her eyes stared desperately down the table at
- Freddie, and she saw that he would not look at her, and she knew that the
- dinner had been only one more nail in her coffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was still, of course, Bridge.
- </p>
- <h3>
- V.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, they
- were all tremendously—as of course you must be at such small tables—conscious
- of each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her
- husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with Mrs.
- Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another.
- </p>
- <p>
- It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole
- situation that Perrin was forced to gaze—over a very small
- intervening space—at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest
- of the evening. He was always a bad Bridge player—he thought that he
- disguised his bad play by a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night
- the confusion of his thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad
- claret that he had drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her
- cards, caused his play to be something insane.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every
- prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least
- five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that she
- had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first deal,
- her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to follow
- any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her chair and a
- sharp, “Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done better than
- that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing
- an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been
- at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six
- days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone did,
- failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards hurriedly
- together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused way. He knew
- that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her so terribly
- badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure that Traill was
- laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which he played. If only he,
- Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what things he might have
- done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a little every time he
- moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a little stir of
- disapproval.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing of
- lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. Comber had
- most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, she was lost.
- If she played badly, her husband, although playing against her, was
- infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, As it was,
- she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of the good cards
- that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. She held her
- cards so badly—she never could make them into a fan, and every now
- and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into sentences
- that had to be instantly checked—as, for instance: “Oh, I saw
- Mrs.———— I'm so sorry, it 's my lead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe <i>this</i> term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... <i>What</i>
- are trumps?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and
- the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a gilt
- frame, and they gave her comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; they
- had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She wouldn't
- look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against the other,
- pulling his mustache.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your
- rubber, Mrs. Comber? Yes, we <i>ought</i> to have won.... No, I can't
- think how it was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Considering the way my wife's been playing,” said
- Freddie Comber brutally, “I think it is just as well to stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer to
- get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every now and
- again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair (always on
- the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate action.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet
- to-morrow, of course, although I can't think why they aren't
- going to play golf—there's going to be <i>such</i> a storm in
- an hour or two, isn't there?—probably because it's
- football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, good-by.” Everyone departed. Mr.
- Perrin stood desperately with something going up and down in his throat.
- He had a sentence in his head: “Please, Miss Desart, <i>do</i> let
- me see you back to the lodge.” (Mrs. Comber had had to plant her out
- there to sleep because there was no room in their own tiny house.) He
- meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched his mortar-board
- frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard Traill's voice:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! please, Miss Desart—of course, I'll see you back.
- Good night, Mrs. Comber. Thank you <i>so</i> much—I've <i>loved</i>
- it. Good night, Comber. Night, Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's
- dark.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice,
- “Good night, Mr. Perrin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was left alone on the step.
- </p>
- <h3>
- VI.
- </h3>
- <p>
- I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very
- slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. Her
- bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her
- hostess.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Mrs. Comber,” she said, and then checked herself as
- though there were some disloyalty in talking about her. “I hate Mrs.
- Dormer,” she added quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't like her,” Traill said. “And Dormer's
- such a jolly little man. I don't envy; him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's
- anyone's fault here about anything they do. It's all a case of
- nerves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory
- whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down the
- path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white light on
- the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled against it
- in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants bending to the
- soil.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scent of trees—vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear
- and pungent—was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea,
- rolling in long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them.
- The wind's whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies
- of it swept about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly
- against them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and
- assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. But
- there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that he
- might never perhaps get to know her better.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment
- silently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of
- the road, “There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all
- through me. It <i>was</i> depressing to-night, was n't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a little,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyhow, I'm glad you like it—being here. Mind you
- always do. I don't want to be pessimistic when you are just
- beginning; but—well, you don't mean to stay here for ever, do
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think not,” he answered eagerly. “Only a term
- or two at the most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right—because—really it isn't a very
- good place to be—this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making
- things out worse than they really are.” She paused a moment, and
- then she went on: “Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just
- before you get into the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes
- it. You will see at the right time of the year lots of green apples on the
- trees, but they never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the
- spring! I 've seen men working there sometimes. I don't know
- what it is, but nothing 's any good there. They call it in the
- village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... Well, I've stayed here
- a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's cheerful,” he said, laughing. “It would, I
- suppose, be awful if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer
- and the rest of them; but this time next year will see me somewhere
- better, I hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind you stick to that,” she said eagerly. “I have a
- horrible kind of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here
- they are still—soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear
- thinking of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One must have ambition,” he answered her confidently.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke
- furiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T the end of his
- first month young Traill looked back, as it were from the top of a hill,
- and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How much of this
- pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her during that
- period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his agreeable
- acceptance of things as they were without any very definite challenge to
- them to be different, it is impossible to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that there
- was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone
- passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were
- from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's
- voice as he went round the dormitories turning lights out—never a
- moment's pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in
- no way a reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their
- untidy, scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the
- Upper Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because
- of his football.
- </p>
- <p>
- The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he
- might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of
- unrest and discomfort in their common room.
- </p>
- <p>
- With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to
- supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness of
- the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's
- parents (aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the
- melancholy inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer
- relations with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room
- things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly
- equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself on
- several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and
- insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the bath
- and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their irritation
- from their original connection with Perrin, and this might have led him,
- had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not like Perrin and
- that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon things—he was
- always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and where there was an
- empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, inconsiderable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors,
- on the other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In
- this bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he
- might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both
- baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked body
- gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. Traill
- was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he could
- have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as the days
- passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's
- complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself
- annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together.
- There were words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your
- place....”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the
- midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If
- Traill had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had
- breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They
- clubbed together and provided three newspapers—the <i>Morning Post</i>,
- the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person
- who came in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in
- last, because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected
- that the <i>Morning Post</i> should be left for him. But Traill, as he
- paid the same subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be.
- Clinton always took the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and therefore Perrin had to be
- contented with the <i>Cornish News</i>. There was at last an argument.
- Traill refused to give way. The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute
- silence. Perrin came no more to Traill's room for an evening chat—a
- very small matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in
- any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game of
- football; he was in a glow because he was in love—moreover, he had
- never quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had made
- any progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She came down
- sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the evening, he had
- walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above the dark, cloudy
- trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet—and at every meeting
- he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the afternoon he liked to
- walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once or twice he bicycled over
- to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir Henry Trojan was a man who
- had appealed to him immensely. In spite of his size and strength and
- simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of doors and read little, he
- had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. He showed Traill a great
- many things that were new to him. He began to feel a sense of color; he
- saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed village, the sweeping,
- striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped sometimes in his walks and drew
- a deep breath at the way that the lights and colors were hung about him.
- Of course the contrast of his school life drove these other things against
- him—and also his love for Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- These little things would have no importance were it not that they all
- helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think
- about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very
- definite way.
- </p>
- <p>
- He never analyzed things; he took things and used them.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most
- amazing way....
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had definite
- personality—aggressive in its influence—and contempt of the
- rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their own
- terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his back.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. He
- was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he
- appreciated his humor.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. His
- room was untidy—littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks
- of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there were
- signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared for, sets
- of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving of Whistler's
- portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and from the night
- outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the scent of decaying
- leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland was thin—sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache;
- heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little
- gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled
- in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open
- window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so you like it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—immensely!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well—why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants.
- There's plenty of exercise—the hours are healthy—the
- fellows are quite nice fellows. I like teaching.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his
- principal reason.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you
- like the other men?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's
- splendid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—and Perrin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As
- a matter of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some
- time or other. As a matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't
- the other way round—one day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause, and then Birkland said, “And so you like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, of course; don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather
- uncertainly, “Don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man—as a matter of
- fact he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he
- scarcely ever read novels.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Birkland spoke: “You had better not ask me that, young man, if
- you want an encouraging answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: “I'm
- going to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your
- soul, and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's
- soul for—well!—I should be afraid to say how long. I'm
- afraid—I don't really care very much about the safety of yours—but
- I care enough to speak to you; and the one thing I say to you is—get
- out—get away. Fly for your life.” His voice sank to a whisper.
- “If you don't, you will die very soon—in a year perhaps.
- We are all dead here, and we died a great many years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering
- candles at Birkland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I say,” he said, “that's a bit of
- exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose one is tired sometimes, of course;
- but, after all, there are a good many men in the country who make a pretty
- good thing out of mastering and are n't so very miserable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on Birkland's
- part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the other man went on: “I shouldn't have said this at all
- if I hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of
- experience behind me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm
- bothering you, I'm sure; but now I've begun I'm going
- on, and you've got to listen. You can't say you haven't
- been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the common room and
- seen what kind of men they are?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Traill; “but,” he added
- modestly, “I'm not observant, you know. I'm not at all a
- clever kind of chap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in
- their faces right enough. Mind you—what I'm saying to you
- doesn't apply to the first-class public school. That's a
- different kind of thing altogether. I'm talking about places like
- Moffatt's—places that are trying to be what they are not—to
- do what they can't do—to get higher than they can reach. There
- are thousands of them all over the country—places where the men are
- underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them hating each
- other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut each other's
- throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they teach?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but
- showing in its tensity his emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there
- is more room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid
- better; there is a chance of getting a house; there is the <i>esprit de
- corps</i> of the school... but here, my God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time.
- Don't I know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever
- when I came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you
- try for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are
- too old—too old at thirty-three—earning two hundred a year...
- too old! and liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the
- Head doesn't like you—turned out with nothing to go to; and he
- knows that you are afraid of him and he has games with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland
- to talk like this!
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers
- about you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be
- allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like you.
- Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something will
- come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with the Head,
- because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You must not be
- friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and will
- immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring against
- him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we shall all hate
- you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. You think that you
- are going to teach with freshness and interest—you are full of eager
- plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will be immediately killed. You
- must not have them—they are not good for examinations—you are
- trying to show that you are superior.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things.
- It is murder—self-murder. You are going to kill—you have got
- to kill—every fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will
- be laughed at for your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be
- allowed any fine vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are
- neglecting your work. You have no time. Here we are—fifteen men—all
- hating each other, loathing everything that the other man does—the
- way he eats, the way he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to
- each other, we eat together, we meet all day until late at night—hating
- each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “After all,” said Traill, still smiling, “it is only a
- month or two, and there are holidays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If term lasted another week or two,” went on Birkland
- quietly, “murder would be committed. The holidays come, and you go
- out into the world to find that you are different from all other men—to
- find that they know that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow,
- egotistic. You realize it slowly; you see them shunning you—and then
- back you go again. God knows, they should not hate us—these others!
- they should pity us. If you marry, see what it is—look at Mrs.
- Dormer, Mrs. Comber, Mrs. Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their
- life. There is marriage—no money, no prospects, perhaps in the end
- starvation! And gradually there creeps over you a dreadful and horrible
- inertia: you do not care—you do not think—you are a ghost. If
- one of us dies, we do not mind—we do not think about it. Only,
- towards the end of the term, when the examinations come, there creeps
- about the place a new devil. All our nerve is gone; our hatred of each
- other begins to be active. It is the end-of-termy devil.... Another week
- or two, and there is no knowing what we might do. We are all tired,
- horribly tired. Be careful then what you do and what you say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My word!” said Traill, filling his pipe, “what a
- horrible picture of things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's
- hysteria!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! of course you don't see it!” he said. “After
- all, why should you? But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm
- resigned enough now. Besides, it's the beginning of the term. I'm
- inclined to think it's untrue, myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch
- White after he's had an interview with the Head—see Perrin and
- Comber together later on—study Mrs. Comber. But don't you
- bother. You won't listen to me—why should you? Only, in ten
- years' time you 'll remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in his
- sharp, caustic way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say,” said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out,
- “that was all rot; was n't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was?” asked Birkland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, about the place—this place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All rot!” said Birkland gravely.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But of course one dismisses these things very soon—especially, and
- immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill.
- </p>
- <p>
- Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men that
- Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory
- exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse
- into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in the
- dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed
- shadow; life is sharp, pungent—formed with faint blue skies, dim and
- shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered
- balloon between saucer-clouds.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie Traill, on a free afternoon—an early frost had made the
- ground too hard for football—in the week after that Birkland
- evening, stood in the village street as the church clock struck half-past
- three, and he thanked God for a half-holiday.
- </p>
- <p>
- The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea
- had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, and
- the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue
- horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone
- and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The brown
- church tower seemed to sway—so motionless was the rest of the world—with
- the clatter of its chiming clocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr.
- Traill,” and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the
- rest of her movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little
- ironically and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a
- strange place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help
- finding it funny.
- </p>
- <p>
- Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on
- vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she only sixteen—what a size!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only sixteen!—to think of it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With her great legs and all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only sixteen...!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full of
- things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his
- presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible,
- drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a
- presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her
- that he loved her—and it was n't time yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. “We must
- talk, one of us—it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road and
- looked at her, she put her hand on his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are both so frightfully young,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes,” he said, laughing at her; “but why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys,
- and I for my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you
- were going to be old enough, but I don't think you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that I can't—” he began.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! it isn't for anything that you <i>can't</i> do!”
- she broke in. “It's just because you don't see it—why
- should you? You 're too much in the middle—I suppose it's
- only outsiders who can really understand. But I get so depressed sometimes
- with it all that I think that I will leave it and go back to London and
- never come here again. One doesn't seem to be any use—no use
- at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. Poor Mr. Traill! I
- always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm not gloomy
- really in the least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You
- mustn't think of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. “Why?”
- she said gravely. “Do you like my being here?” And then,
- before he could say anything, she added, reflectively, “Well, that's
- one, at any rate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have to go in here,” she said, stopping before a gate with
- a drive behind it. “Tea, you understand.” Then she gave him
- her hand. “Although you don't in the least know what I mean,
- you 're a help,” she said; “and I shall look across the
- chapel floor in the evening and know that I have a friend. Sometimes when
- I'm down here—out of it—and everything's so fresh
- and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true—the
- things that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them.”
- She went through the gate and looked back at him. “But I don't
- want to have to be sorry for you as well—please,” she added,
- and was lost in the trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved a step—or
- even a good many steps further—was ready that she should be sorry or
- have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her claiming
- Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating and so
- swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which he might
- eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my intention to
- give you all his symptoms—his passion is in no way the chief point;
- it was simply one of the things that helped in the culminating issue.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little
- conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting
- tea-party—three old ladies who regarded her as something very
- dangerous and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to
- turn into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their
- dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone
- whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language was
- not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of the
- tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the expression
- of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and thought of
- Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and courteous
- speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, “Don't go to
- London, please,” and he had meant it—it was almost as though
- he had appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in
- front of him. <i>She</i> knew, of course—she had seen it happen so
- very often before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright,
- eager challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that things
- would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, grim,
- baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of Moffatt's
- were alive, moving—crushing, as in some story that she had once
- read, relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he had
- suddenly seen or understood something of that—there had come to him
- some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came
- quickly. She liked him—she had liked him from the first—she
- liked him very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all
- that she could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them
- behind her with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be
- three old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their
- fires and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little
- people realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive!
- How they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's!
- </p>
- <p>
- It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and
- ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top,
- and the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky.
- There was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the
- gates behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, “Good evening,
- Miss Desart,” and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin
- always made her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively
- shrank back, but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately
- ashamed of her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his
- voice trembled—-he seemed troubled about something; and then that
- feeling of pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her
- voice was softer and more tender.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was—um—a great piece of good fortune for me that I
- should be passing just when you were coming out—a great piece of
- good fortune.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed very nervous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And for me too,” she said; “this hill grows
- extraordinarily dark, and I stayed on longer than I ought to have done.
- Have you been paying calls, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no! I—um—never pay calls—merely a stroll down
- to the village to buy some tobacco—merely that—nothing more...
- yes, merely that... simply some tobacco.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might be
- reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he
- lingered. She hastened her steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not sure that it is n't raining—I felt a drop
- just now, I thought—and it was such a lovely afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the
- warmth and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible
- and escape from this strange, awkward man.
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower
- School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but
- then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked.
- “Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can
- only learn by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous
- thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest
- and pleasant. Of course, I haven't seen very much of him, but I must
- say that what I 've seen of him I've liked.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the
- horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. Perrin's
- face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was clenching and
- unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie had risen at the
- back above his collar... his eyes were looking into hers and beseeching
- her like the eyes of a dumb animal.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had come to the gates.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Desart...”
- </p>
- <p>
- They both came to a halt in the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes?” she said, smiling at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if...”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped again desperately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can I do?” she said, still smiling at him. He looked so
- odd, standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His
- eyes had moved from her face and were gazing up the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would be so glad if—one day—so flattered if—you
- would—will—um—come for a walk, one day.” He
- stopped with a jerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the
- path to the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood looking after her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR
- PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ATER there is Mr.
- Perrin heavily—with the midday mutton close about his head—surveying,
- in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small boys who gaze at him
- with staring eyes and jumping throats.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the
- ears—Browning's “Patriot,” one verse a week, to be
- said every Tuesday morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly,
- completely forgotten, every Tuesday morning second hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- I go in the rain and, more than needs
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The rope—the rope—the rope—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in
- man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly,
- to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where <i>Advanced Algebra
- and Mensuration</i> hold perpetual war and rivalry.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a
- football match—a great football match against a mighty Truro team,—and
- already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive murmur
- at the dusty panes.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested no
- remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red tablecloth—a
- tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his case was hopeless:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- A rope—a rope that—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, the
- whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. Outside,
- in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, perfectly;
- but it was too late.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last one prisoner only remained—Garden Minimus, a cheerful,
- untidy person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his
- hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole school—had
- liked him best for the last two years. When things were really black, when
- headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed to hang about him in
- a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden Minimus. He flattered
- himself that the boy was not aware of this partiality; but the boy, he was
- sure, liked him. He treated him always with an elaborate irony that the
- boy seemed to understand in some curious way. Garden would stand, with his
- head on one side like a rather intelligent small dog, and although he
- rarely said anything more than “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,”
- Perrin felt that he grasped the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word of
- “The Patriot,” and had made no attempt whatever to learn it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. “I'm afraid,
- friend Garden,” he said, “that it will devolve upon your
- lordship—hum—ha—that you should write this poem of the
- noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than fifty times. I grieve—I
- sympathize—I am your humble servant; but the law commands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said,
- with a most engaging smile, “There's a most ripping footer
- match this afternoon, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fool though I am,” said Mr. Perrin, “I have
- nevertheless observed that there is, as you say, a footer match.
- Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The Patriot' calls you, friend
- Garden.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be an awful pity,” said Garden reflectively, without
- paying the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, “to miss a decent game
- like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, “All
- right, Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you
- aren't careful!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead
- lowering. Outside the door he muttered, “Silly, pompous ass!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting
- to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity.
- He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part
- immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a
- fool to try, and they resented his airs.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his head
- between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns above
- his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the
- football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening fear
- that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to him.
- He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every time
- that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that
- she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for a
- walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his mother
- that the thing was practically arranged.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for that puppy, Traill—well, he 'd kept him in his place,
- thank Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more
- and more—conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he
- met anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring
- things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the
- patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him
- furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only
- brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He
- looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some English
- essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a silly china
- figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a cocked hat.
- This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated him. The old
- gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had always meant to get
- rid of it, but for some reason or other he never could destroy it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a
- dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, “Scho-o-l!” rose
- and fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a
- superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited
- him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected to
- despise it.
- </p>
- <p>
- In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of his
- own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and sticky
- green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided their
- attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't help it—Grey's barging—Oh! I say, run
- it, Morton. That's it! Pick it up—dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine—Thanks!
- Where's Garden, you chaps?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Swotting up for Old Pompous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was
- rather sweet on Garden.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he is—but Garden can't stand him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No wonder—blithering ass, with his long words!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I say—they 've got it! There's Morton off
- again—Oh! he's going! Well run, my word! He's in! No, he
- isn't! The back's got him! No, he hasn't! Hurray! Try!
- Good old Morton!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a less
- crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself spoken
- of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, trembled
- before him. He always told himself that all the members of the staff were
- in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt—it hurt badly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks
- of boys—each boy with his friend—the familiar mantle of
- loneliness, that he had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He
- saw Comber in the distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted
- Mrs. Comber and Miss Desart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his very
- worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle was
- glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of his
- coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin,
- because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that
- dislike with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and
- watched the game.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We appear to be winning,” said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at
- three small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. “We
- appear—um—to be winning. Morton has secured a try.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I'm so glad,” gasped Mrs. Comber—she was out
- of breath. “Morton's a nice boy—we had him once in our
- house, and I do hope the school will win, because it's so nice for
- everybody's tempers, and the boys like it—and there's
- that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most beautifully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked
- at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention.
- Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his
- direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a
- breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the
- touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the
- field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart
- gave a long-drawn “Oh!” Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr.
- Perrin moodily stroked his mustache.
- </p>
- <p>
- The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground—a very
- pretty try.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good old Traillers!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's something like!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't he spiffing?”—and then Miss Desart's,
- “Oh! that was splendid!” beat about Mr. Perrin's poor
- head, that was aching horribly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's
- half-time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared
- once more to be volubly pleasant.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the
- top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three
- trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they stood
- and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt suddenly
- as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets of white
- light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin
- went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed about him.
- He sat down to his pile of English essays on “Town and Country—Which
- is the best to live in?” with a confused sense of running men,
- lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the mantelpiece,
- and Miss Desart's shining eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented
- “The Patriot” neatly written fifty times.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a
- dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it
- was to be over by twelve. “Do let us,” Lady Trojan wrote,
- “put you up. You will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming
- down for the night from London. He will want to see you so badly.”
- Traill wrote back, accepting the dance, but explaining that he must return
- on the same evening, quoting as his imperative necessity early morning
- preparation.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very
- obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order to
- free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and receive
- definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to a single
- dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed that the
- rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently any intention
- of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning school to
- Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was
- conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous
- man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table.
- He moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called
- to him, “Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that Moy-Thompson's
- garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in the sun; he
- noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like a prison;
- he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the
- half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at
- his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely
- apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a
- little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long
- gray beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now
- and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that
- Moy-Thompson was smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moy-Thompson said, “But I think I told you that Maurice was on no
- account to have an exeat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: “Yes, I
- know. But his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not
- seen his son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he
- should not have an exeat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of
- the case, you would not object.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes?
- What are you paid to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- White made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things
- here, you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your
- place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,”—White's voice was very low—“I
- have no complaint. I am sorry if—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any
- paid position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when
- you please. Doubtless you are better informed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had
- rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance
- at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; but
- again Moy-Thompson said, “Just a moment, Traill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost stepped
- across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long haggard
- figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing with them
- there in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse,
- shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped him
- naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the other
- to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will.
- </p>
- <p>
- The room seemed full of pain—it seemed to cross and recross in
- waves. White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered
- eyes out through the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed him.
- Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his hand and
- caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a
- frightened, startled look, he stepped away.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad to
- get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it would
- be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult to get up
- in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal—he now
- emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in his
- life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, lean,
- untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in the
- sense of his arrogance.
- </p>
- <p>
- They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were extremely
- disagreeable.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He was
- always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his form.
- He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he had met
- there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping in—and
- at night he dreamt—he was almost sure that she loved him....
- Whenever they met now they were very silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp,
- wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, fine
- day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the hard, white
- road.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind in
- his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea came
- to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those brown
- buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old self; he
- sang to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood
- black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray,
- stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little
- sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the night.
- The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster against the
- dark shoulder of the Brown Hill.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sang aloud.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much
- before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as
- imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he was a
- schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was delightful
- to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden and strolled about
- the paths together; he was much improved since the Cambridge days, Traill
- thought—less self-assured and with wider interests. And then Sir
- Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader feeling of life—sanity and
- health and strength—and lie had an admirable sense of humor.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. He
- thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him in
- the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little round
- white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The hedges,
- like black, bulging pillows, closed him in.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. He
- took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he
- tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click it
- broke in half.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair—supposing
- he had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he saw
- that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might climb.
- He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another hand on the
- window-sill drew him level.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it up,
- and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, jumped. He
- was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the crockery in the
- world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of it seemed to go
- rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that he had cut his
- hand and had bruised his knee.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: the
- tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped
- down straight amongst the cups and plates.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the
- blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open.
- Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was
- Perrin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who's there? What's that?” Perrin held a poker in
- his other hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill got up slowly from the floor. “It is I—Traill,”
- he stammered. He was still feeling stunned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin held the candle a little closer. “Oh, is it you, Traill?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am
- sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly.
- “You woke me up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I am most awfully sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his
- candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined
- to move.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it
- as though he were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?”
- he said at last, slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- What the devil had it to do with Perrin!
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did n't know that this was a girls' school,”
- Traill said at last, sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he
- was tired, and in a very bad temper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in
- like this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge,
- gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears.
- </p>
- <p>
- Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill
- enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't help it,” he said, shaking; “you look so
- funny, so frightfully odd!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been disturbed
- in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he said nothing at
- all. He moved slowly down the passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>O Perrin, in his
- sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring wind and crashing
- sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china that lived on the
- mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him and bent over the bed
- and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his transit and was large in the
- leg and trailed behind him a long black gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin
- by buzzing like a wasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the
- words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning
- and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages,
- restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the
- discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to confirm
- the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing—he
- had climbed down from his perch on other occasions.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky
- and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was
- perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening
- gambit of “saying things under your breath that looked bad, but
- couldn't possibly be heard,” to the triumphant checkmate of a
- studied, sarcastic politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old
- hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over
- him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with
- ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew
- against the panes.
- </p>
- <p>
- His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the first
- book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their
- brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of the
- figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and heaviest
- boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, called
- Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. Somerset-Walpole—his
- fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his hair dust—stood with
- his mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague wonder as to why, when
- he ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind would invariably wander to
- the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's neck and the silly
- leaves dancing about outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the form
- laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the youngster
- back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour in drawing
- hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then smudging them
- out with his fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking,
- frowning face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt
- wildly from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty
- purring at his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule,
- only when the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew,
- suddenly, that he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his
- hands and twist them back further and further until they cracked. He would
- like to take his little fat arms and close his fingers about them and
- pinch them until they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white
- knuckles and beat them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright
- blue eyes. Perrin began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a
- little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began
- to pinch the back of his neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I
- am sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve to
- think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your preparation
- last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, you know—you
- will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it out
- thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm....
- He saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was
- shaking with rage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him
- a push. He sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the
- rest of the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had
- rung and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I
- think fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's
- sleeve with his hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite
- contempt in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of
- the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to
- Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they
- could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and
- accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days
- that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming anyone
- in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being against
- him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such opportunities of
- retaliation as were given him. At the same time these little confidential
- talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the senior master at the
- Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not have these little talks;
- it did not occur to him that the reason might be that Dormer was too
- honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far as Traill was concerned,
- Perrin really felt that it did not do to have masters leaping through
- windows at any hour of the night. The accidental fact that he disliked
- Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, nothing whatever to do with
- it; he would have felt it just as strongly his duty to speak about it had
- the offender been his dearest friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and
- broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's
- good. The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in
- chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire
- with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for a walk
- with him... and then another walk... and then another... and then....
- </p>
- <p>
- And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too
- terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web;
- it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks on
- the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy places
- on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, and its
- depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be remarked once
- more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill damage that he
- embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, but only because
- it helped his sense of importance. He was already wishing that he had told
- Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times instead of fifteen, so
- cheered and inspired did he feel.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect for
- each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries,
- and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question
- should be: “What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the
- people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and it
- is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew from
- the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking Traill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I think, well enough,” he answered, looking out of the
- window. “The boys like him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, they like him; do they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that
- he sticks to his work as he should do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why! What does he do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at
- one o'clock this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, did you!” Moy-Thompson smiled. “Where had he been?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't ask.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole business
- had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to his own
- rooms.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. He
- found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of the
- rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went
- gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations with
- the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His mind
- was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was only
- rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead of
- correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out of
- the window, his thoughts on Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the
- first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the
- Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive.
- There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen stiff
- wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the staff
- waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most irritating
- quarter of an hour of the day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the
- table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's
- match. As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: “Toggett at
- three-quarter is perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's
- choice. Traill may be able to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the
- game is absolutely nil.” Comber has resented Traill's entrance
- into the school football from the very first. He, although many years past
- his game, had hitherto led the Rugby enthusiasts of the school—he
- had been supreme on the Committee and had had the last word about the
- teams. Traill's football, however, was so obviously superior to
- anything that the school had had for a great many years that he was
- received with open arms. He had not perhaps been as judiciously submissive
- to Comber as he might have been, but he had always deferred his opinion
- and had never been goaded by Comber's caustic contradictions into
- ill-temper.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up
- to the table, said, “Thanks, Comber.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: “What
- the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think....”
- By the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's
- discipline.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I
- were you,” Birkland was saying. “It's so delightful for
- me, being just under you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to
- think that they really <i>are</i> enjoying themselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. “I keep them perfectly
- still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a
- pin drop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must have dropped a cartload of them,” said Birkland,
- frowning. “Try and drop less next time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant.
- That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. “I thought
- things were a little too pleasant to last,” he said. His mind flew
- back to the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have
- said anything. Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He
- shrugged his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room,
- that schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a
- little unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should
- go wrong, through no fault of one's own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked
- him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he
- caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled at
- him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of the
- dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he had
- been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no
- definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, as
- water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now,
- suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, of
- the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such brilliant
- things as the world contained, it should be allowed to continue. His own
- position was lost in the perpetual vision of White standing, as he had
- seen him, with bent head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Traill,” said Moy-Thompson. “Sit down. I have been
- wanting to have a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite
- convenient?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perfectly,” said Traill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I
- have had no opportunity. I must try and manage next week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. “I hope that you
- have had no trouble with discipline.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None. The boys are excellent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! that is splendid.” There was a pause; then the beard was
- suddenly lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. “I hope
- that you take your work seriously, Mr. Traill.” Traill flushed a
- little. “I think that I do,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is well.... Because we are—ah! um—a great
- institution, a very great institution. We owe our traditions—um, eh—a
- very serious and determined attention to detail. To work together, as one
- man, for the good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions,
- all in friendly brotherhood—um, yes.” Traill said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at
- work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause we
- have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope,” Traill said, “that you have not found me
- wanting, that you have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Worked? Ah, yes.” Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his
- fingers together. “But what about play, eh? What about play?”
- Traill flushed. “As to football—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it is not football. It is merely a detail—quite a detail.
- But Mr. Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this
- morning through the window. I confess that I was surprised.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is quite true,” said Traill, in a low voice. “I
- went—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! no! please!” Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand.
- “No details are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I
- think, say any more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will
- agree with me that it should not occur again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry—” Traill said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and
- play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we
- ask. To pass for a moment to another matter.” Moy-Thompson put his
- hand on some papers. “Here are the scholarship questions that you
- have set—geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we
- require. If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me
- to-morrow. Yes. Thank you.... Good morning.” Traill rose, took the
- papers in his hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as
- though Birkland himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of
- persecution. The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he
- had Perrin to thank for it.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him
- throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great joints
- of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the incessant
- noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and voices, the
- dreary monotony and repetition of it—Perrin's face seen at the
- end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had the
- opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no time
- in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage joy
- that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made
- Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him!
- </p>
- <p>
- The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud,
- discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone,
- rushed down to the sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff that
- jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three sides, by
- a furious, heaving flood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of the
- sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them fell with
- a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift succession,
- first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents about to strike,
- then falling with a curve and glistering, shining backs, then sweeping,
- tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him the wind screamed and
- tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent and creaked along the
- road; the rain lashed his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his
- hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as
- she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment,
- that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw
- him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was
- too great—the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into
- their clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out
- his hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind
- almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept
- about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer to
- him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed close
- against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without a word,
- they moved slowly down the road....
- </p>
- <h3>
- V.
- </h3>
- <p>
- It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the
- opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and
- Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had
- disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to him
- a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as a
- crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting
- people—he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if
- anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin said, “Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of
- you. Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?”
- But he wasn't smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Traill, slowly. “There's nothing you
- can do for me. But I want to speak to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, well, sit down; won't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thanks. I 'll stand.” Traill cleared his throat.
- “Did you by any chance say anything to the Head about my coming in
- last night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin smiled. “My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and
- is it really, after all, any business of yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says
- that you told him—I want to know why you told him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my business,” Perrin said, “as housemaster here
- to find out anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late
- hours, your disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's
- progress,—um, yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not
- altogether been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event
- of the afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and
- indeed it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and
- being well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little
- ashamed of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger
- against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his good-humor
- and equability.
- </p>
- <p>
- So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said
- quietly, “I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been
- neglecting my duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's
- outing during the term can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to
- you about it because I have been feeling during these last weeks that we
- have not been very good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up
- together here so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it
- makes everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I
- am very sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, had
- been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt that
- he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish
- comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels
- always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly,
- hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he
- liked young Traill very much.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was
- his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had ever
- at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already passed
- him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had laughed at
- him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the taunting jeers
- that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of his fellow-beings
- had, in his time, played upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must
- show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and
- really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with her
- white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his knees,
- kissing her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that—um,
- yes. One must, you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are
- older you will see that there is something in what I say—um. We
- know, you see; schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes,
- well, I'm sure I'm very glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant tempers
- were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. The patronage
- of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his “When you are older,”
- and the rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” he said hotly; “keep that advice for
- others. I don't know that I was so wrong, after all. What business
- of yours was it to go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain
- things that a gentleman doesn't do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, really!”—the little man on the mantelpiece was
- smiling again. Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his
- chair. “Your apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive
- something to your age, but that sort of impertinence—I don't
- think you remember to whom you are speaking. You are the junior master
- here, you must be taught that, and when those who are wiser than yourself
- choose to give you some advice, you should take it gratefully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God! you conceited, insufferable—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of my room!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of my room!” Perrin's eyes were starting out of
- his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill swung on his heel. “I won't forget this in a hurry,”
- he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take care you don't come in here again,” Perrin shouted
- after him. The door was banged.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he
- had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands
- to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece
- and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from
- under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in
- the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT, during the
- week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly reasserted itself
- once more. After all, it was really impossible to be angry with anyone
- when the world was alight and trembling with so wonderful an adventure.
- They had each of them written to those in authority. Isabel had a
- complacent father who knew something of young Traill's family and,
- answering at once, said that he would come down to see them and made it
- his only stipulation that the engagement should last for at least a year,
- until they were both a little older. Traill's mother was delighted
- with anything that could give her son such happiness. It had all been very
- sudden of course; but then, was not true love always like that? Had not
- she, a great many years ago, fallen in love with Archie's father
- “all in a minute,” and was not that the beautiful incautious
- way that the new practical generation seemed so often to forget? So, she
- sent him her blessing and also wrote a little note to Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day to
- reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk and
- chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel knew, to
- any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone at the
- school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they would feel
- that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would not be
- pleasant.
- </p>
- <p>
- So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They met in
- the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel floor, and
- they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in the
- letter-box.
- </p>
- <p>
- But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel about
- his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When we ourselves are so happy,” she said, “we can't
- quarrel with anyone—and, poor man, no wonder his temper is
- irritable. He's a miserably disappointed man, and I don't
- think he's very well either. He looks dreadfully white and strained
- sometimes. We can afford to put up with some ill-temper from other people,
- Archie, just now. When we are so happy and he is so unhappy, it is a
- little unfair, isn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and agreeable.
- But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other a little at
- meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill made were
- cut short at once without hesitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week
- heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow—he had headaches, bad
- headaches; and his form suffered.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm
- broke—the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at
- Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange
- myths grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's
- a strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts for
- their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central
- combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but
- also others—the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world
- of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that
- umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded green
- umbrella—now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all
- umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign token
- of all that was to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This
- Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate
- contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded,
- stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic
- piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from
- it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's
- grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with
- nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp—so that
- there is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and
- insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the
- present—this is the Battle of the Umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of
- the week.
- </p>
- <p>
- There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of religious
- stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions are flung at
- the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the rest and repose of
- the preceding day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was different
- from the other six days of the week, and although it might not on its
- arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given it,
- nevertheless it was something—a landmark if nothing else.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now on this dark and dreary Monday—with the first hour a tedious
- and bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal and
- embittered Latin exercise—that early rising to the cold summoning of
- the hell was anything but pleasant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious
- torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and cried
- with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the paths
- were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp.
- </p>
- <p>
- Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early
- preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it nearly
- always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he hurried
- down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding the bodies
- of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as they rushed
- furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly selected
- the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the Upper
- School.
- </p>
- <p>
- That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was in
- the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of
- twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. M.
- Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room,
- appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion
- passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys
- well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done
- without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual
- persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various
- offenders.
- </p>
- <p>
- A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the two
- hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the
- digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill
- rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He
- hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior
- common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of
- yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling.
- The brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and
- draughts that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- A small fire was burning in the grate—a mountain of black coal and
- stray spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper
- hanging from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in the
- kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices and a
- clatter of cups.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who
- was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and
- Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton seized the <i>Morning Post</i> and, with a grunt of
- dissatisfaction at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never
- thought very intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike
- Monday and rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his
- share of the breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the <i>Morning
- Post</i> dull, and relapsed on to the <i>Daily Mail</i>. The rain and the
- quarreling in the kitchen were very disturbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very
- great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, and he
- found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative person
- with one—it was not necessary to think about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My word,” said Clinton, his eyes glued to the <i>Daily Mail</i>,
- “the London Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins
- yesterday—two goals and a try to a try—all that man Binton—extraordinary
- three-quarter—no flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder
- if they 'll catch that chap Deakin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Deakin?” said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his
- breakfast. How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well—in a year's
- time!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you know—the Hollins Road murder—the man who cut
- his wife and mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't
- tell which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front
- door.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” said Traill, shortly, “following up murder
- trials like that is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining
- sausages. “Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he?
- He won't want any more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He sometimes does,” said Traill, feeling that at the moment
- he hated Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole
- world. “He's awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't
- find anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton smiled. “He's rather amusing when he's sick,”
- he said. “He so often is. By the way, has the Head passed those
- exam, questions of yours yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Traill, frowning. “He 's made me do
- them five times now, and last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions
- that he himself had suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him,
- and he called me, politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's
- no question that he's got his knife into me now, and I've got
- friend Perrin to thank for it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, “Perrin
- does n't love you—there's no question of that. Young
- Garden Minimus has been helping the feud.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Garden? What's he got to do with it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet—well,
- Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about
- telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That
- makes Pompous sick as anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like the kid especially,” Traill said. “He 's
- rather a favorite of mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Clinton. “Well, look out for trouble, that
- 's all. There 'll be open war between you soon if you are not
- careful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a
- conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door for
- a moment and revealed Garden Minimus.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, a hundred times,” Perrin was saying, “and you don't
- go out till you 've done it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath.
- Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there
- was a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, it's too bad,” he said to no one in particular
- and certainly not to Traill. “I don't know what's come
- over that boy—nothing but continuous impertinence. He shall go up to
- the Head if he isn't careful. Such a nice boy, too, before this
- term.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the <i>Morning Post</i> and
- Clinton the <i>Daily Mail</i>. He looked as though he were going to say
- something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood in
- front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary
- window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy
- heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had slept badly—had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart,
- of his own miserable condition, of his poor mother—and then,
- slumbering at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake
- by that thundering, clamoring bell.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat
- stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. Then he
- had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been “playing
- about” and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink and
- had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early,
- Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible
- confusion of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy;
- but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the subject
- of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting up clean
- in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up to the matron
- to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some people's
- school days have been vastly exaggerated!
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy
- portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the crime,
- had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the rest of the
- hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and had hinted
- that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment might be
- relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered under his
- breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word “Pompous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they
- amounted to a great deal—and all before half-past eight in the
- morning. Also he had had very little to eat.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon
- with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at all
- costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt,
- when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance of
- the eye, that there were sausages no longer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really think, Clinton,” he said, “that a little less
- appetite on your part in the early morning would be better for everyone
- concerned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was,
- “All right, old chap—I always have an awful appetite in the
- morning. I always had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton said, “I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your
- sleeve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and feebly
- tried to brush it off with his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely the
- atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been on such bad
- terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were discomforts,
- difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the term and the
- place and the people as he had never loathed any of them before; he felt
- that he could not possibly last until the holidays.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to teach
- Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. books
- up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. The rain
- was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as though it
- had some personal grievance against them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Robert, the general factotum—a long, pale man with a spotty face and
- a wonderful capacity for dropping china—came in to collect the
- breakfast things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still
- deep in the <i>Morning Post.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin came in with a clouded brow. “I can't find,” he
- said, “my umbrella.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but
- there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking
- for papers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Robert, have you seen my umbrella?”
- </p>
- <p>
- No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella last
- week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room—an umbrella
- with lace, pink—Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas
- in the stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr.
- Perrin had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No—perhaps
- one of the young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of
- Robert.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Clinton!” No answer. “Clinton!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last Clinton turned round.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, old man—why should I? Isn't it outside?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite
- determined that he would <i>not</i> under any circumstances use anyone
- else's umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very
- angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his
- humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that
- there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in
- impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he began
- to mutter to himself—the little red and yellow china man was
- creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were
- trembling like leaves.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came into the common room again. “I can't think—”
- he said, with his trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it
- yesterday—last night. Clinton, you <i>must</i> have seen it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so
- profoundly irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts
- are far away. “No—I don't think I've seen it. What
- did I do with that Algebra? Oh! there it is. My word! is n't it
- raining!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging.
- Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a
- furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the
- conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the matter?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum,
- “you <i>must</i> have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want
- to go out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking
- a little frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face.
- </p>
- <p>
- It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. Then
- on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken that
- morning might be Perrin's umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course it <i>must</i> be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort
- of umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be
- likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the <i>Morning Post</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back.
- “I <i>must</i> have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert.
- “I want to go to the Upper School.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had left the door a little open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath
- his fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm
- afraid I must have taken it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken
- it if I had dreamed—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first
- one I saw this morning. I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours
- is missing. I assure you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile
- drove Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without
- asking? I never heard such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of
- a piece—all of a piece!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As
- though a man mightn't take another man's umbrella without all
- this disturbance. It's too absurd.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's
- all of a piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior
- here. You come here thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you.
- Oh, yes! we've all got to bow down to everything that your Highness
- chooses to say. We must give up everything to your Highness—our
- clothes, our possessions—you conceited—insufferable puppy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself with
- rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his
- misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he
- had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had
- been against him at every turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did
- not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the
- room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could
- hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling,
- supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob
- and ruin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a
- little, and conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he
- did not want to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly
- sorry that I took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any
- reason to speak to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not
- here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy.
- “Oh! of course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is
- all of a piece with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how
- to behave like a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen
- don't steal other people's things. You can be put in prison
- for that sort of thing, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill,
- beginning in his anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation.
- “I don't want your beastly things—keep them to yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you
- two. Don't make such a row here—everyone can hear. Wait until
- later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was shaking
- his fist in Traill's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll
- give you something for saying that—I 'll let you know.”
- And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my umbrella! Give me my
- umbrella!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill.
- “I left it somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You
- can jolly well go and look for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap
- began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face
- with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon
- the breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he
- rose he brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had
- left upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of
- streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything
- came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed
- together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland and
- Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's
- absolute silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's
- lip was cut and bleeding—coffee was on Perrin's collar; their
- faces were very white.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they
- passed, without a spoken word, through the open door.
- </p>
- <p>
- In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella have
- its beginning.
- </p>
- <p>
- Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had
- been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours with
- a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what simpler
- can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, more nearly
- concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO
- SOME SKIRMISHING
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL DESART heard
- about it early on the afternoon of the same day. Traill himself told her
- as he stood with her for a moment outside the school gates before he went
- down to football.
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been that
- it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a way,
- made a fool of himself—that to struggle in that fashion with a man
- like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great deal
- more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and her
- feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to be
- feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of
- these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone to
- be pitied—that was the reason of her kindness to him—and now
- that he was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her
- pity for him was increased.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than she
- could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been through,
- she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he would not be
- likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a climax.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough to
- get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she put
- it to herself, “spread out”; but halfterm was only just over
- and she did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's
- feeling, she saw, was mainly one of disgust—the same kind of
- sensation that he would have had if he had not been able to have his bath
- in the morning. About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make
- that kind of disturbance about so small a thing....
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that “it
- wasn't done” and that Perrin was therefore an “outsider,”
- and that there the thing ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this and
- knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. But she
- was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and simply to
- tell him that she was sorry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One thing, you know,” she said, smiling at him and blushing a
- little. “We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! must we?” he said, shrinking back a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to
- be talk about all this business. Of course, there is, heaps—and you
- must let me do my share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you
- know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not figured the talk that there would be—he saw it all now in
- an instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking
- further still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be
- involved; but he was much too simple a person to think this further vision
- anything but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent
- about umbrellas....
- </p>
- <p>
- He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their
- engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the
- Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between chapel
- and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning struggle had been
- brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and Birkland, much
- earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy one—one hour
- followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there were boys to see
- and games to play and all the accumulated details to fill in any odd
- moments that there might be,—so that, with the exception of short
- sentences and exclamations and a general air of pleasurable surprise
- pervading everything, no real movement was possible until this evening
- hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and naked than ever—although
- it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was cold and chill.
- </p>
- <p>
- Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; Birkland
- and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, West, were also
- there. Little West was so obvious and striking an example of his type that
- it seemed as though he had been especially created to stand to the end of
- time as an example of what a Board School education and a pushing
- disposition can do for a man. He was short and square, with a shaggy,
- unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy complexion that two
- generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. He was a little bald
- on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, and spoke slowly and with
- great care. He had worked exceedingly hard all his youth and was the only
- master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were unimpaired and his optimism
- (concerning his own future) unchecked. His most striking feature were his
- hard, burning, little eyes, and it was with these that he kept order in
- class.
- </p>
- <p>
- He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland.
- Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his
- clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do
- Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, he
- would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief and
- principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own
- subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's
- sallies, and was left helpless and fuming.
- </p>
- <p>
- Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen.
- The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill a
- conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the football
- out of his hands and supplanted him completely—whenever he thought
- of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to do anything,
- because Traill had never given himself away. He played football a great
- deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had ever played it.
- Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now at last Comber
- glowed with the thought of the things that he would be able to do. He
- intended it in no way maliciously—it was simply that the younger
- generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to Comber's
- rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. Then
- Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest
- of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course,
- on the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a
- pompous, pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's
- duty to uphold the senior staff.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger
- impressively in the air. “There they were, you know, rolling—positively
- rolling—on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits
- and the coffee streaming all over the floor—you never saw anything
- like it. And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out
- of the room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we
- weren't there; didn't they, Birkland?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on his
- face, as though he were saying, “This is their kind of life. Look at
- Comber there, now—how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for a
- month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are
- being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as bad
- as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of having
- a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But he didn't say anything—he just sat there listening, with
- his contemptuous smile, to Comber.
- </p>
- <p>
- “An awful noise, you know, they made,” Comber went on. “And
- anything funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair
- all tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek
- bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At all events,” said Birkland dryly, “we ought all to
- be glad that you got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's
- something to be thankful for, at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it's all very well, Birkland,” Comber answered
- angrily; “you were amused enough yourself, really—you know you
- were. In any case,” he went on importantly, “the thing can't
- go on, you know. We can't have junior masters flinging themselves at
- the throats of senior ones. That sort of thing must be stopped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone trimmed
- their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and was not
- afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with Traill; and
- supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no easy thing
- to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for instance,
- thought so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is—<i>dégoûtant</i>,” he cried, waving his hands in
- the air, “that a young man, that is here one month, two months,
- should catch the throat of his senior. These things,” he added with
- the air of one who waves gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are
- not done in my country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them
- better, Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend
- silence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly at
- Comber.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to
- encourage that sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I
- daresay you would like all the boys to be springing at one another's
- throats in the same way; if that's what you want, well—“;
- and he waved his hands expressively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin
- to have made such a fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's
- umbrella without being struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's
- childish. It's just the sort of thing that Perrin <i>would</i> do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the
- way that Traill's treated him, and you see what you'd say and
- do. All I know is that you would n't stand it for a minute, you of
- all men, Birkland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of
- tempers, old man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay
- claim to good temper whatever else you may have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West,”
- Birkland said. “You naturally would be.” West was all the more
- annoyed because he didn't in the least understand what Birkland
- meant.
- </p>
- <p>
- The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally and
- did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. White was
- sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without saying
- anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was there at
- all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was to make
- him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and therefore
- Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would receive. But
- White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had given him, and
- now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, “I think
- Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper
- because another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's
- been very hardly used—at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be
- to live with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he
- could find no words at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he broke out, “Well, all I can say is that you people don't
- know what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like
- Traill to go about stealing people's things—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Comber,” Birkland broke in. “You've no
- right to say stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole
- anything; you'd better be more careful of your words.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I call it stealing anyhow,” said Comber hotly. “You
- can call it what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words
- of your own for these things. But when a man takes something that is n't
- his and keeps it—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He didn't keep it,” Birkland said angrily. “You
- 're grossly prejudiced, just as you always are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about yourself?” West broke in. “People in glass
- houses—”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. Comber
- was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before—not that it
- very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to
- be in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't
- like to mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it
- long enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if
- only people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them—well,
- it might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would be
- a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of course,
- if one's education had been neglected....
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for
- science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair
- must be the same, there was no question about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing that
- he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big <i>debacle</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for
- everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was
- excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say!” he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you think?” he cried again, “Traill has just
- told me. He 's engaged to Miss Desart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that there was dead silence—for an instant nobody spoke. Then
- Comber got up from his chair. “Well, I'm damned!” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once then
- the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss Desart had
- stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate friend. His wife
- was devoted to her and would, of course, at once espouse her cause. But
- this piece of news made him, Comber, even angrier than he had been before.
- His feeling about the engagement defied analysis, but it rested in some
- curious, hidden way on some strange streak of vanity in him. He had always
- cared very especially for Miss Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy,
- heavy way, little attentions and regards that he gave to very few people.
- He had always thought that she had very great admiration and reverence for
- himself, and now she had engaged herself without a word to him about it to
- someone whom he disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased,
- he knew that his wife would be delighted—more trouble at home. Here
- was White openly insulting him in the common room; he was called names by
- Birkland; a nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to
- that); his wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two—with
- a muttered word or two, he left the gathering.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a new
- color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for Miss
- Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock in the
- face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would never have
- accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she should be
- handed over to his hated rival.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does Perrin know?” was West's eager question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Clinton smiling, “I'm just going to
- tell him.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in
- front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so
- much depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened
- by it—not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or
- indeed of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past
- the terror of tongues—but rather afraid of himself and the way that
- he might be going to behave.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that
- there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. He
- knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a hero—a
- hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, with a
- great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face in
- the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief in
- his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other boys,
- that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some preacher
- in a sermon—he went to sermons very often in those days—say
- that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, and
- that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people did not
- know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking out for it,
- and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own fault—all
- this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on the watch for
- this chance—this splendid moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do the
- right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather a
- pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then there was the other Mr. Perrin—the ill-tempered, pompous,
- sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he
- recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was in
- command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as he
- phrased it, to “do him down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this
- morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce
- and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing
- continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had
- been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination
- to make a good thing of it! This young Traill—and then Perrin No. 2
- showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in the
- air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only prove the
- kind of man that he <i>could</i> be! If he could only get out of this,
- away from it—if someone would take him away from it: he did not feel
- strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And then,
- suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining light, his
- beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him and care for
- him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; and then at the
- thought of it he began to smile, and a little color crept into his pale
- cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, he might be quite
- pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter so little!
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into a
- delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults that
- he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the opportunities
- that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought about him. And
- then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to great things: he
- would have a little house, there would be children, he would be his own
- master, life would be free, splendid, above all, tranquil. He could make
- her so fond of him—he was sure that he could; there were sides of
- him that no one had ever seen—even his mother did not know all that
- was in him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock on
- the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have
- returned it before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, thanks!” Perrin was always rather short with Clinton.
- “Won't you sit down?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No thanks, I'm taking prep.” Nevertheless, Clinton
- lingered a little, talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the
- mantelpiece, fingering things—a practice that always annoyed Perrin
- intensely,—then he took up the little china man and looked at him.
- “Rum chap that,” he said. “Well, chin-chin—”
- He moved off; he stood for a moment by the door. “Oh, I say!”
- he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; “have you heard
- the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just told me.”
- He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging the door
- behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head fell
- between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there for a
- long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster and
- faster—he was like a wild animal in a cage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was white,
- his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked the thing
- up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, smashed into
- atoms....
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL told Mrs.
- Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that good lady, owing to
- the interruption of the other good ladies and her own Mr. Comber, was
- unable to say anything really about it until just before going to bed.
- Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very much about it in any case
- quite at first, because her breath was so entirely taken away by surprise,
- and then afterwards by delight and excitement. For herself this term had,
- so far, been rather a difficult affair: money had been hard, and Freddie
- had been even harder—and hard, as she complained, in such strange,
- tricky comers—never when you would expect him to be and always when
- you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber considered terribly unfair, because
- if one knew what he was going to mind, one would look out for it and be
- especially careful; but when he let irritating things pass without a word
- and then “flew out” when there was nothing for anyone to be
- distressed about, life became a hideous series of nightmares with the
- enemy behind every hedge.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she had
- arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the condition
- of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her—she called it
- submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the limits
- of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the world
- bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world except
- Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely unselfish kind,
- so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own
- discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her size
- and volubility and color.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel talked to her in her bedroom—it was of course also Freddie's,
- but he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas <i>she</i>, by a
- series of touches—the light green wall-paper and the hard black of
- the shining looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not
- very many, but all made the most of),—had made it her own
- unmistakably, so that everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of
- welcome. It was indeed, in spite of the light green paper, a noisy
- impression, and one had always the feeling that things—the china,
- the silver, and the chairs—jumped when one wasn't in, charged,
- as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. Comber's temperament and
- the color of her dresses.
- </p>
- <p>
- But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the
- least mind the stridency of it—in fact it all rather suited the
- sense of battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to
- say that they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked
- it. Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all
- his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one
- felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being
- there.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown
- on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have
- these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that
- skirt of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame
- me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!” Here she hugged and
- kissed and patted her hand. “And he is <i>such</i> a nice young man,
- although Freddie doesn't like him, you know, over the football or
- something, although I'm sure I never know what men's reasons
- are for disliking one another, and Freddie's especially; but I liked
- him ever since he dined here that night, although I didn't really
- see much of him because, you know, he played Bridge at the other table and
- I was <i>much</i> too worried!” She drew a breath, and then added
- quite simply, like a child, and in that way of hers that was so perfectly
- fascinating: “My dear, I love you, and I want you to be happy, and I
- think you will—and I want <i>you</i> to love me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her very
- tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there was more
- pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was terribly
- hard for some people.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, it is wonderful,” she said at last, looking with
- her clear, beautiful eyes straight in front of her. “One never knew
- how wonderful until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer
- has ever said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has
- ever thought it—and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose,”
- she added laughing; “but it only means that I'm up to all the
- surprises and ready for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it,” Mrs.
- Comber said slowly. “I don't think the other party has really
- very much to do with it. You never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a
- matter of fact he's the very nicest and trustiest young man, and no
- one could ever be a brute to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to
- anyone else—and I wish I'd remembered about that skirt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, came
- about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that
- everything was most splendidly right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber, “tell me what this
- is that I hear about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard
- the veriest words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time
- about not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's
- always doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel looked grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems the silliest affair,” she said; “and yet it's
- a great pity, because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But
- that's why we announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll
- be, it appears, a case of taking sides.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It always is here,” said Mrs. Comber, “when there's
- the slightest opportunity of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of
- opportunity this time,” Isabel said sighing. “It really is <i>too</i>
- silly. Apparently Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation
- in Upper School this morning without asking. They hadn't been
- getting on very well before, and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella
- and Archie said that he'd taken it, there was a regular fight. The
- worst of it is that there were lots of people there; and now, of course,
- it is all over the school, and it will never be left alone as it ought to
- be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, “it will be the
- opportunity for all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it.
- How perfectly absurd of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I
- always said so, and now it only proves it, and I wish he'd never
- come here. Of course you know that I'm with you, my dear; but I'm
- afraid that Freddie won't be, because he doesn't like your
- Archie, and there's no getting over it—and on whose side all
- the others will be there's no knowing whatever—and indeed I
- don't like to think of it all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her
- worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room,
- instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors
- and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the
- crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised soon
- to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” she cried, “will they hate us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They 'll do their best, my dear,” said that lady
- solemnly, “to hate somebody.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next
- afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's
- relief that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days'
- terror at its horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of
- course, in the first place those of any “at home” whatever—the
- stilted and sterile fact of being there sacrificially for anyone to
- trample on in the presence of a delighted audience and a glittering
- tea-table. But in Mrs. Comber's case there was the additional
- trouble of “town” and “school” never in the least
- suiting, although “town” was only a question of local houses
- like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have combined, one
- would have thought, easily enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the
- jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the
- quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter that
- is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the conversation of
- the ladies of Moffatt's in this way—it was a thing of far
- deeper and graver import.
- </p>
- <p>
- The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion
- made what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply
- malicious conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a
- perpetual battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its
- weightiest result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that
- things said rebounded like peas flung against a board.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the
- safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that
- whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it
- was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays as
- days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and
- hoping that she would “get off,” so to speak, on that. But on
- occasions like the present, when there was really something to talk about,
- she shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong
- enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought
- her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then she
- couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella
- Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where
- they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's
- engagement as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that
- bright, young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some
- odd, obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing.
- </p>
- <p>
- She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her silver,
- tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin pieces of
- bread-and-butter, that the “town” would, on this occasion at
- any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really
- “getting at” things; but, of course, as it happened, the
- “town” for once wasn't there at all, and the battle
- raged quite splendidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs.
- Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically
- enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that they
- represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; and poor
- Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and wished that the
- little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly the reason of their
- separate appearances and the danger that they were, severally and
- individually.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as
- securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and
- drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs.
- Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so far
- as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs.
- Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented
- her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy whose
- accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads
- spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term.
- </p>
- <p>
- The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of
- herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her chair,
- and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her stouter
- sister to a wonderful extent.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, “Well, so
- Miss Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!” showed immediately which
- of the two pieces of news was considered the most important.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, “and I'm sure it's
- delightful. Do have one of those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they
- 're quite fresh; and I want you especially to notice that little
- water-color over there by the screen, because I bought it in Truro last
- week for simply nothing at Pinner's, and I believe it's quite
- a good one—I'm sure we 're all delighted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. “They 're a little young,”
- she said in so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly
- transferred, against her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest
- attire, into the heart of Siberia. “And what's this I hear
- from my husband about Mr. Perrin and Mr. Traill tumbling about on the
- floor together this morning—something about an umbrella?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer,
- “I heard something this morning about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely
- as she did on this afternoon—she seemed to chill the room with her
- presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to
- various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that
- they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's
- only way of easing the situation, “Do have another little pink cake,
- Mrs. Thompson,” failed altogether on this occasion, and she could
- only stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with a
- start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the morning's
- proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. “You were down there,
- Miss Madder; tell us all about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and
- having heard what she called “the first struggle,” and having
- yielded eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine
- curiosity—having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and
- Mr. Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Actually on the floor!” said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, actually on the floor—also all the breakfast things and
- coffee all over the tablecloth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the cold
- eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from her
- position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't to—also
- the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever sister
- afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as her
- opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. Traill
- was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was the harder
- one to live with—and that it had been a clean tablecloth that
- morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I call it disgraceful,” was the only light that the younger
- Miss Madder would throw upon the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, “And
- really about an umbrella?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand,” said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work
- and beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, “that Mr. Traill
- borrowed Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that
- there was a dispute.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the
- question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect
- that that had upon the disturbance in question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively;
- “and I cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and
- I must say that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr.
- Traill's temper was uncertain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss
- Madder with a sniff.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know
- what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her
- peace.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an opinion
- from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady
- understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a
- question of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master
- attacks an older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in
- the dust and that before a large audience, the whole system of education
- is in danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and
- other masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and
- then other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second
- boys showing what they can do with knives and pistols.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the
- question of property.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—One had one's things—here she was
- sure Mrs. Comber would agree—and if one didn't keep a tight
- hold of them in these days, one simply did n 't know where one would
- be. Of course one umbrella was a small thing; but, after all, it <i>was</i>
- aggravating on a wet morning not to find it and then to have no excuse
- whatever offered to one—anyone would be cross about it. And, after
- all, with some people if you gave them an inch they took an ell, as the
- saying was, and if one didn't show firmness over a small thing like
- this, it would only lead to people taking other things without asking
- until one really did n't know where one was. Of course, it was a
- pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his self-control as completely as he
- appeared to have done, but nevertheless one could quite understand how
- aggravating it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no
- light matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty
- years were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were
- to be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by
- anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, then
- one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then
- what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and
- finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country?
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—Enlarged the original issue. It was really
- rather difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to
- congratulate the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was
- of course perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst
- still so young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with
- that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't
- develop into.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without
- mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of
- married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of
- discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in
- blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an
- exceedingly poor time.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It was not
- her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the present
- occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous figure of
- Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against her, and there
- in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her lap, with the
- black silk of her dress shining in little white lines where the light
- caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie entirely. Whatever
- happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this again and
- again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found her anger
- rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in Miss Madder's
- hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense of the hat and
- why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't suit her, and whether
- Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in a nice green grave
- with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract
- questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she
- listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more than
- anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly
- attacked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated Isabel—Isabel
- who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, even and cold,
- went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the corner, and her hands
- began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. Suddenly in an instant
- Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten save Isabel, and she burst
- out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: “Really, Mrs. Dormer, you
- are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all agree that it's
- a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else down because someone
- else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I should never
- want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who was matron here
- two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel with her and
- putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything of it, and I
- remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for it back again.
- I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a fuss about
- nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows it;
- but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear
- Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful
- fellow, and I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's
- very unkind of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep
- breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly,
- “I'm sure we none of us wish them anything but happiness.
- Please don't have the impression that we are not eager for their
- good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder,
- “that you have rather misunderstood our position in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have,” broke
- in Mrs. Comber hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had
- spoken so quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don't
- think we can any of us have two feelings about the question of discipline.
- I'm sure you agree with us there, Mrs. Comber.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and
- they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not be
- able to come and stay again—they were of one mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of that
- silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell
- Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie?
- </p>
- <p>
- Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, Freddie
- had still to be faced.
- </p>
- <p>
- His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly
- not in a line with her own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for!
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a
- crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled,
- because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie Traill,
- and indeed with everyone in the present story.
- </p>
- <p>
- But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,”
- as she used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which
- disaster she was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled
- kind of way why it was that they should all have wanted to be so
- disagreeable, why, as a development of that, everyone always preferred to
- be disagreeable rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu
- clock and the peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might,
- with their color and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim,
- misty, vague, and lost almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn't
- really anyone's fault at all—that it was the system, the
- place, the tightness and closeness and helplessness that did for
- everybody; that nobody could escape from it, and that the finest saint,
- the most noble character, would be crushed and broken in that remorseless
- mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the mills of a
- rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring at the clock
- and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these women, crushed,
- beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss Madder, her own
- Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even already young
- Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave... once. The coals clicked
- in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down the darkening
- paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all up—she must
- leave Freddie and the children and go away... anywhere... she could not
- endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, peevish,
- scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his hours, and that
- annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish very little
- better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to be pleasant
- and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all
- coming to, I should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a
- month or two, and he goes and takes a senior master's things without
- asking leave, and then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard
- anything like it. The fellow wants kicking out altogether.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, why don't you say something? You've got some
- opinion about it, I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's
- gone and got himself engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl
- thinking of? They 're both much too young anyhow. It's absurd.
- I 'll tell her what I think of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's
- so happy about it, and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to
- both of us that she deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be
- successful. After all, if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very
- young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very difficult man to get on with. You
- know, dear, you've always said—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously,
- “I 've never advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and
- betters in the face, and if you think I have, you 're mightily
- mistaken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart was
- dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber
- was glad that the girl was not with them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and
- her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary
- dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's
- scowling face.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little
- drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and
- she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest of
- the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of
- places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and forests
- and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no travail nor
- ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw Freddie as he had
- once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen about him, and in
- her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her and she could make
- no mistakes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she smiled
- at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was nearly out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a
- nice, cheerful room for a man to come into, isn't it, after he's
- tired and cold with work? I have got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm
- a lucky man, I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten
- it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the
- use of making a noise and fuss with it now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look
- here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her
- cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I'm
- not going to have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I
- object to him—he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants
- putting in his place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near
- here. I won't have him in the house, and it's just as well he
- should know it. So don't you go asking him here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have
- told Isabel that I am glad, and I <i>am</i> glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I
- don't think it was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear,
- you know you are not quite fair to him because of his football, or
- something silly, and I'm sure you don't mind him, really—you
- don't like Mr. Perrin, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could
- possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie
- Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to
- swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things
- alone that don't belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I
- 've got for disliking young Traill—it's enough if I say
- that he's not to come here—and Miss Isabel shall hear that
- from my own lips.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as he
- was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at the
- mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew herself
- up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult
- Isabel here, when she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so
- good. I love her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her.
- “This is defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I
- tell you that he shall not come here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly
- came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We 'll see
- about the master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her
- brooch, and she fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her
- hands spread out against it, staring at him....
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant
- wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They
- both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had
- suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations
- could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be worse—they
- could never be the same.
- </p>
- <p>
- But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done.
- Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay
- against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, because
- her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was
- appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years was
- brought to life by that blow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I
- did not mean anything—I am not angry—I am terribly ashamed....
- Please—”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. She
- took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him fixedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At
- least, you have never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then
- she went slowly out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a
- whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark
- buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....”
- And then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to
- the shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO
- DESTROY....”
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the month
- that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a week of that
- original incident there was no one in the establishment who had not his or
- her especial grievance against someone else. In the Senior common room, at
- the middle morning hour, the whole staff might be seen, silent, grave,
- bending with sheer resolution over the daily papers, eloquent backs turned
- to their enemies, every now and again abstract sarcasm designed for some
- very concrete resting-place.
- </p>
- <p>
- That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the
- original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something
- that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's
- purpose to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any
- small detail be the provocation, the battle was the thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to watch
- and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; what a
- delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents and verbs
- in with their principal parts of <i>savior</i> and <i>dire</i> and their
- conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and
- exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting your
- neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious misconception—all
- this within so small an area of ground, so slight a period of time, at so
- wonderfully inconsiderable an expense.
- </p>
- <p>
- The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy
- in the school, but here there was not so intense a division—there
- was indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the
- whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old
- Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the
- custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply
- a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once
- accepted as a fearful authority—between this and the novel and
- athletic Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship...
- why? There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old
- Pompous's umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his
- property? He would n't hesitate to take someone else's things
- if he wanted them.... Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion
- amongst all those who came beneath his discipline—as to the way that
- he took this, there is more to be said later.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel
- and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was
- nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw
- something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should have
- taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the
- circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took
- the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse
- combat. No—the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of
- it, when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, they
- were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance—they were
- almost lost and forgotten—and the reason of this was that everyone
- in the place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance
- silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an issue
- between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being worked out
- in silence—even the spectators themselves made no comment, but Mrs.
- Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that “Everyone was
- so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that no one said
- anything at all”—and that indeed was the remarkable fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those
- most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, and
- her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's
- experience of it, because the only difference between herself and the rest
- was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more discerning
- intuition.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own battles.
- It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the place, with
- the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time being at any rate,
- up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed herself to be
- engaged to Mr. Traill—there were no two opinions about it. It was
- not ladylike—she was allying herself, to disorder and tumult, she
- was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking down of persons
- in authority—above all, she was setting herself up, whatever that
- might mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first day in Mrs. Comber's
- drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She
- loved a battle—she had never realized before how dearly she loved
- it, she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head
- up and her eyes flashing fire—she was quiet unless she was attacked;
- but so soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled
- on and the trumpet sounded. In a way—and it seemed to her curious
- when she looked back upon it—this month of hers was stirring and
- even rather delightful.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that
- something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness
- and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right.
- But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside
- help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had
- dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing—she only
- begged her not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to
- attempt to bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Comber was now a different person—her animated volubility
- had disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a
- pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken to.
- But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel had never
- liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have disappeared.
- He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any rate he was
- quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he was on the
- watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that his eyes would
- leave his work and stray about the room as though he were searching for
- something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, and sometimes when she
- spoke to him he would start and look at her curiously, almost
- suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she knew. He was not
- kind and attentive to her, as he had been before—she felt sure that
- he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her miserable, and she
- loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her back from speaking to
- Mrs. Comber about it all—but something prevented her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought,
- more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any attitude
- towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided camps—it
- all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very childishness it could
- not have a serious conclusion; but as the days went on and she saw into it
- all more deeply, the pathos of it caught her heart and she could have
- cried to think of what men they might have been, of the things that they
- might have done. Some of them seemed to seek her out now with a
- courtliness and deference that they had never shown her before. Birkland,
- of whom she had always been rather frightened, spoke to her now whenever
- there was an opportunity, and his sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she
- saw the sadness in their gray depths, and she felt in the pressure of his
- hands that he wanted now to be friends with her. White, too, was different
- now. He said very little to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak
- at all was a wonderful thing, but there were a few words about his
- affection for Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to do
- something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly able
- to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her
- engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty—it was a case of
- waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than that—something
- was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and that atmosphere to be
- afraid. But it was not until later than this that she began to be afraid
- definitely of Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something grew
- when she perceived the inertia of the others—inertia was perhaps
- scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing
- impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait for
- the result.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, having
- for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation—she could
- not put it more optimistically than that—before the end of the term
- came.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her—indeed, her
- flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger Miss
- Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles whatever—but
- rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to explain. She wished to
- prevent things happening, was the way that she herself would have put it;
- but that did not hinder her from feeling a natural anxiety that Miss
- Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have some of their own shots back
- before the end of the term was reached.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult.
- Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly drawn
- days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the brittle
- leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get him to see
- the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first on the
- question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at once against a
- bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her ignorance of public
- school and university laws had formerly hidden from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as
- he summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world
- for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a
- fellow felt—there were things a man couldn't do. She found
- that the laws of the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison
- with the stone tables of public school custom: “The man was a
- bounder”—“There were things a fellow couldn't do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not expected him to go and beg for peace—she had not
- probably altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all
- left her with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so
- immensely young, and therefore to be—most delightful of duties—looked
- after. Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of
- his nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between
- them be a great many tussles and battles.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very
- gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then
- kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr.
- Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and hid
- it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out and saw
- that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly discovered
- that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people were taking
- sides about him—all this was horrible.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. “I never meant to
- knock the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella—all
- this fuss!”—which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man,
- because the thing was done and there was no more to be said about it. He
- thought a great deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand
- up for her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him
- any satisfaction—that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder
- against the “low, bounding” world, and he declared, as he
- looked at her, that he loved her more and more every day.
- </p>
- <p>
- But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes
- with regard to that gentleman could only look one way—he would not
- make advances.
- </p>
- <p>
- The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, she
- felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite
- watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but when
- she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and
- she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a great
- many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was—cross,
- irritable, violent, even wicked—he was, at any rate, lonely, and
- that was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not, of course, make Archie see that. “The fellow's
- always wanted to be lonely—thinks himself much too good for other
- people's society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a
- beast, he must expect to be left alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>That</i> did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from
- the fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled
- with anyone before—people <i>never</i> did quarrel with him; and now
- suddenly here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, stiff
- and sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him whenever he
- got the opportunity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under
- these circumstances—but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable.
- Isabel herself was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as
- possible. He wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light
- and sunshine at the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable,
- comfortable, a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class
- found that nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and he
- snapped at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always
- gentle, but his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far
- away from tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud with
- Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, always
- amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed and was at
- last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, afraid of
- what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag Archie out of
- it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and all this
- discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was ninety at
- least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult
- education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several
- stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were
- very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries of
- people getting along together. Her present feeling was something akin to
- Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being
- flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being
- hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and
- hedge-hogs at Moffatt's.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of Mr.
- Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before the end
- of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That something in
- the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations was busy about
- the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in the most singular
- way would break out; there was continual quarreling in the common room,
- strange rumors were carried of things that people had said—it was
- all a question of strain.
- </p>
- <p>
- There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of
- snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and
- when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black
- and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in
- Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was
- no other light in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her
- hand, silently staring at the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the
- consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the
- trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good
- night to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves
- stretched to breaking-point—all this overwhelmed her. She had never
- felt so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep anything
- at all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... to-morrow; it
- might be too late.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that he
- had called him a “rotten little counter-jumper,” and that West
- had made an allusion to “stealing things.” Where were they
- all? What were they all doing to be fighting like this?
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the fire,
- and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling coal,
- were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go
- mad. What is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this?
- Oh! I <i>do</i> want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change.
- For the last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been
- no peace at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from
- the fire; “I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there
- are only three weeks more of the term, because I 'm sure that
- somebody would be cutting somebody's throat if it lasted any longer,
- and I wouldn't mind very much if somebody would cut mine.” She
- gave a little choke in her throat, and then suddenly her head fell forward
- into her hands, and she burst into passionate sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair and
- took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long time, and
- the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the snow had begun
- to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I
- should have done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my
- eyes are a perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't
- help it. Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've
- stood it as long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think
- I shall go away and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you
- 're let alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Mrs. Comber;” said Isabel, still holding her hand,
- “do tell me about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of
- course, I 've seen that something 's happened between you and
- Mr. Comber. I can see that he is most dreadfully sorry about something,
- and I know that he wants to make it up. But this silence is worse than
- anything, and if you 'd only have it out, both of you, I'm
- sure it would get all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, dear.” Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes.
- “It's not that so much. Freddie and I will get all right
- again, I expect, and even be better together than we were be-for; but all
- this business has shown me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've
- known it really all the time, and I used to pretend that if one was nice
- enough to people one could n't be altogether a failure, because they
- wanted one to like them—and that's the truth. Nobody wants me
- to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in the world. I'm
- not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless and silly and
- untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so
- badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was
- all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you
- 're going to be married there's an end of you, the only person
- I had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie and I,” said Isabel softly, “will care for you
- to the end of your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't
- you? And you know that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him
- looking at you during these last weeks as though he could die for you, and
- then he's been afraid to say anything. It's only this horrid
- place that has got in the way so dreadfully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. “Do you really think so, my
- dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's
- been different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and
- is n't worried about his form; but things are always worse at
- examination time, and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through
- as quickly as possible; and something <i>dreadful did</i> happen the other
- day, and I know he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps
- things will be all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then,
- after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: “You know,
- Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten
- you, but Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of
- me, but I don't quite like it—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like what?” said Isabel. “Well, Mr. Perrin; he's
- been looking so queer ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay
- you haven't noticed anything, and I daresay it may be all my own
- imaginations, and I'm sure in a place like this one might imagine
- anything—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does he look queer,” said Isabel quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say
- about him. You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he
- didn't care about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't
- another reason for his disliking Archie—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Care about me?” said Isabel laughing; “why, no, of
- course not. He's only spoken to me once or twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Mrs. Comber, “I've seen him looking
- at you in the strangest way in chapel. And his face has got so white and
- thin and drawn, I'm really quite sorry for the poor man. And his
- eyes are so odd, as though he was trying to see something that wasn't
- there. And the boys say that he's so strange in class sometimes and
- stops suddenly in the middle of a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr.
- Clinton was telling me that he never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when
- Archie's there he gets very white and shakes all over and leaves the
- room. I only want you to warn Archie to be careful, because when a man's
- lonely like that and begins to think about things, he might do anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, what could he do?” Isabel said, with a little catch in
- her breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I don't know, dear,” Mrs. Comber said rather
- uncertainly. “Only when examinations come on they do seem to get
- into the men's heads so, and it's only that I thought that
- Archie might be careful and ready if Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all...”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the
- room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and
- the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell,
- Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside gather
- ominously about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other a
- moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At any rate,” said Isabel, “whatever else this place
- may do, it can't alter our being together. You 've always got
- me, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were strained,
- perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; but she
- longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and she could
- not sleep at nights.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke to
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was just
- turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; there
- was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and purple
- shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though cut out of
- paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against the sky. He
- came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted to speak to her,
- so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up to her—with his
- gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black mortar-board, with his
- thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his straggly, unkept mustache—she
- had a moment of ungovernable fear. She could give no reason for it, but
- she knew that her impulse was to turn and run away, anywhere so that she
- might escape from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and held
- out her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that
- didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a
- long time. Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like
- this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped her
- hand and held it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 've been wanting to say...” he said in an odd voice,
- and there he stopped and stood staring at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face
- with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've wanted to say—um, ah—to congratulate you...”
- </p>
- <p>
- He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! thank you!” she said impulsively, coming up to him and
- putting her hand on his arm. “Thank you so very much!” and
- then she could say no more.
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant
- horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech
- that he had learnt, “I wanted to congratulate you on your
- engagement. I hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm
- afraid I 'm a little late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm
- a little late. Yes. Good morning!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the
- path.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that her
- vague fears of the night before had taken definite form.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>EANWHILE, many
- things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On that night after
- Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement to Traill, he
- did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black grate without
- moving until the morning. He did not know until this had happened to him
- how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in middle life there
- comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that he has missed
- ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were other ambitions that
- would have been more profitable of pursuit; and then, if the rest of his
- days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he must make reckoning with
- other things that have perhaps no glitter nor promise, but will give him
- enough—life has no compensation for cynics.
- </p>
- <p>
- In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that his
- last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest boyhood,
- was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, it seemed
- to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at the altar. A
- great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his head in his
- hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The things that he
- could have done had she been faithful to him!—that was the way he
- put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He had pleaded
- his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on his breast,
- and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and stroked her
- hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came in
- at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared about
- him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man like him—that
- sort of creature?
- </p>
- <p>
- What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; it
- pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other men
- might sport with it—other beardless boys like Traill....
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show God
- that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that—he would
- mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid—ah!
- but he <i>was</i> afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid since
- those days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat listening
- to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such lurid and
- wonderful accuracy.
- </p>
- <p>
- God was like that—He took away from you all the things that made
- life worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards
- because you resented His behavior.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that
- the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very
- large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head ached,
- it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he had now so
- long attempted to control came creeping out—that other Mr. Perrin
- who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin whom he did
- not want his friends to see.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin seemed
- to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, Mr. Perrin
- fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was watching. He was
- wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, but it was an evil
- face—all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had gone wrong. Mr.
- Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last he had broken out,
- and perhaps he would never go away again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was
- something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some
- connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as
- he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No,
- there was nothing to be angry about—of course not—no; but he
- knew that there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he
- ought to do to young Traill. What was it?
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr.
- Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from the
- room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very desolate
- and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and so end it
- all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot themselves, or
- they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be afraid to do any of
- those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in an inconsequent way,
- of the sight that he would look afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his
- great chance—the chance that he had been waiting for all his life.
- Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to give
- him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing he showed
- them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, supposing he
- won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of course, it was
- absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not “do”
- magnificently anywhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- No, he was no good—he was done for. He thought, as he heard the
- clock strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at
- the yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then
- four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were ugly
- flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss
- Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his thin,
- sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!...
- </p>
- <p>
- His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and
- enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- Young Traill had done this—young Traill was his enemy... young
- Traill! He hated him, and would do him harm if he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper
- flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all
- resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When
- he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in his
- mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat
- with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great
- black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the
- eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping,
- wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and
- the skeleton was sitting on the box....
- </p>
- <p>
- It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that was
- trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He found at
- once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, and as the
- days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling inside him that
- he must not let out was always stronger and more violent when Traill was
- there. Of course they did not speak to one another, but it was something
- more active than mere silent avoidance. They had struggled on the floor
- together, struggled before Comber and Birkland—Perrin would not
- forget that. He remembered it as an act of faith and said to himself a
- great many times. He always found that when he was in the room with Traill
- something seemed to drag him across the floor towards him, and he had to
- hold himself back.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind on
- his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his form,
- because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst them. They
- must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and he thought that
- when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked amongst themselves.
- They had always done that of course, but now there was an added reason.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always
- hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the master
- who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door of the hall
- and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see whether
- they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had seemed to him
- most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands raised to his
- eyes, one after the other—hands that were ill-kept, bitten, and
- ragged, and torn—this had been, in some bidden way, irritating. Now
- it was much more irritating, so that when it was his week on duty and this
- horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, as it seemed to him, with
- insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to beat them all down, to run
- amok amongst them, to trample until all the hands were broken and
- bleeding.
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He used
- to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him up, and
- he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very inky. Then
- Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly eye, had
- sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to escape, but with
- a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands were always
- beautifully clean—he did not look at Perrin. This was, of course, a
- very small affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently
- behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end “per
- Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum” and a great clatter of forms being
- dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices—then he
- wanted to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew that
- he must not.
- </p>
- <p>
- One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone in
- the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned
- his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: “I say, Perrin,
- isn't this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be
- speaking to a fellow—I'm sorry if I did things, but you know—”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had
- moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and Traill
- had seen his face and stepped back against the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room.
- No! that man must not get out—he must at all costs be kept in his
- box. And so he had turned and left the room without saying anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill did not try to speak to him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked
- afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work,
- and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way and
- said, “Go back, and do it again—do it again,” as though
- he were not thinking of what he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather
- thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white
- faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with ink,
- and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces hanging
- down, stupid things like toads.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no effort
- now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, other
- numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if it was
- right—that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could
- help it. He did not analyze his silence—it was merely a fact that he
- did not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his
- own... it reminded him of things that hurt.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference
- except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do
- things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than
- had hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the
- difference more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that
- there was to say about his form.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out
- that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was that
- he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very
- provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him,
- because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One
- morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt that
- Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill to do
- this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the Upper
- School—moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it
- opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. Perrin
- could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door at all but
- at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was standing, and
- at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he turned round
- sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of
- conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly to
- Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill with all
- his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. It was not
- hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite him at
- dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though someone
- at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging the cloth
- with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do
- things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept in a
- box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was that people
- were talking about him. This might almost be called the Irritation of the
- Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw a closed door—and
- they were very many—he knew that there were people behind it who
- were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very softly, a door
- and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one in the room, he was
- sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind chairs. Once when he
- opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss Madden was alone in the
- room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped her work and screamed,
- which was foolish of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like to
- have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said—he was
- sure that she would be kind—and he stared at her very hard in
- chapel, because he saw her so very little at other times, and because he
- would like to know what she was thinking about. He would like to know
- whether it was about the same things as his things—and so he stared
- at her in a curious way.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which
- he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the
- first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had
- written saying how much she had missed it—so he must not forget it
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly
- broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think of
- his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his hands
- to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture of her
- sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from him. He
- sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and paper and
- began, as he had begun for a great many years:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear old lady...
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he did
- now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held the
- lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with his head
- between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his mother;
- and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that had been about
- him during these days fell from him, and he regained his clear vision—he
- began to write as he always did:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I
- really didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these
- days with the examinations coming on and everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm very well, except that I have these headaches—nothing
- at all, and I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope
- you 're all right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week.
- Keeping warm's the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that
- shawl that Miss Bennett gave you is the very thing—mind you wear it,
- and don't sit in draughts. I'm all right...”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between his
- hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be
- afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry....
- His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have lifted
- away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him to the
- ground. He did not hate Traill—Traill could not help it; but he
- wanted her—oh! he wanted her so dreadfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled so
- that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his last
- hold on life, to pray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to
- that state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like
- that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so hard—there
- are so many little things—there is no time!... They will not let me
- alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me someone to
- love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do not let me go
- back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I may do...”
- </p>
- <p>
- But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with his
- head on his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself there—and
- it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly frightened,
- because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the other Mr.
- Perrin—and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and he
- cursed God and stumbled to his bed.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was quite
- sure now that God hated him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping that
- box closed—he was damned anyhow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of
- anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing on
- his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, because
- it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was sure that it
- would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore Traill must go.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to consider
- it....
- </p>
- <p>
- These days before the examinations began were very difficult for
- everybody, and Perrin began that hideous “getting behind-hand”
- that made things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever
- catching up. There were all the term's marks to be added up before
- the examinations began, there were trial papers and test questions to be
- set, and therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he
- was not able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his
- chair with his hands folded in front of him and think of—Traill—and
- then he would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were
- others to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room—sometimes
- a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there
- scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with
- all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his room.
- </p>
- <p>
- But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin welcomed
- it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune with his
- own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very difficult
- one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been before.
- </p>
- <p>
- The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was
- multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now
- filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and,
- whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one or
- two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others naturally
- had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that had broken out
- over the umbrella incident had developed until there was very little to
- prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this occasion, West was the
- person who was let off easily by the examination list, and he was not the
- kind of man to allow his advantage to pass without comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common room.
- He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the window
- and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat there: for
- instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they were not
- watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs—it
- would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back,
- and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must
- run, screaming, from the room—or to twist Birk-land's ears
- round and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be
- pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly all
- gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be very pleasant,” West said, smiling a little,
- “to have that third hour off all through this week. I can't
- think, Comber, why Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to
- do—I—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake,” Comber broke out furiously, “stop
- it! Aren't we all sick to death with hearing of your beastly good
- luck? Don't we all know that the whole thing's about as unfair
- as it is possible for anything to be? Just keep quiet about it if you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of course, Comber,” said West. “You grudge a man
- any bit of luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew
- anything more selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you
- 'd have let us know about it all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West,” said Dormer.
- “Leave it alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired
- out as we can be? We've had enough fighting this term to last us a
- century.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a
- common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them.
- </p>
- <p>
- They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, and
- they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their
- heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in a
- cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only
- Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest with
- his back against the wall, spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to
- fill a great many years. We 're a wretched enough crew.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder sometimes,” he went on, “how long we are going
- to stand it. Most of us have been here a great many years—most of us
- have had our hopes broken a great many years ago—most of us have
- lost our pluck—” Perhaps he expected a vehement denial,
- because he paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. “This term
- has been worse than any other since I have been here. We have all been
- very near doing things as well as thinking them. I wonder if you others
- have ever thought, as I have thought sometimes, that we have no right to
- be here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you mean,” said Comber slowly, “no right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting and
- cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or
- friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who used
- us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him notice and
- go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do things—we
- all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot of us, now—”
- He paused again, but there was still silence. “They say to us—the
- people outside—that it is our own fault, that other men have made a
- fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is
- splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. I
- know that—we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid
- lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man that
- we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have tried to do
- decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a minute is our
- own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come and try and see
- what they will make of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one spoke.
- Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands waving in
- the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is not too late—it is not too late, I tell you. Let us
- break from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that
- unless they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson,
- unless they give us more freedom, we will leave—in a body. There is
- a chance if we can act together, and better, far better, that we break
- stones in the road, that we die free men than this... that this should go
- on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice was almost a shout. “My God!” he cried, “think
- of it! Think of our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act
- together and break free!—free!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved
- together. Cries broke from them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't
- stand it. It's our last chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now! Let us go now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us go and face him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. “Now or never!”
- he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the
- voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved—the voice of a thousand
- years of authority: “The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as
- soon as possible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see what
- he would do.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held by
- Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to
- hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak—then, with a
- helpless gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the
- room, and passed out through the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin
- laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH examinations
- there comes a new element into the life of the term—it is an element
- of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching end of an impossible
- situation; it is, an element of despair in so far as it provides an
- overpowering number of answers, differing in the minutest particulars, to
- the same questions; and is even an element of romance, because it heralds
- the appearance of a final order in which boys will beat other boys,
- generally in a surprising and unforeseen manner. But whatever it means it
- also tightens to a higher pitch any situation that there may have been
- before, so that anything that seemed impossible now appears incredible;
- the days are like years, and the hours, filled with the empty scratching
- of pens and the rubbing of blotting-paper, stretch infinitely into the
- distance and hide release.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force
- extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the
- situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon
- it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was
- hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid
- attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover,
- invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was
- concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan whereby
- every master set and corrected the papers of some other master's
- form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most admirable
- opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report always led,
- next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, with the hapless
- master who had incurred it in the rôle of victim. Therefore, if, as was
- usually the case, your especial enemy was correcting the papers of your
- form and would write a report on them, unless something were done to
- appease him, you were, during the whole of the next term, delivered over
- mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You might perchance appease your
- enemy, or you might yourself be examining <i>his</i> form, in which case
- you had every opportunity of a pleasant retort. At any rate, this plan
- invariably inflamed any hostilities that might already be in existence and
- resulted in the provision of at least half a dozen victims for Mr.
- Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and
- misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him,
- because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term
- the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays—also
- he considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic
- conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that
- prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a
- rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from earlier
- papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him and waited.
- There was only one subject now in the whole world, and all these curious
- boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these appalling noises, and
- then these equally appalling silences, only diverted his attention and
- prevented his thinking.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were always three of them now—himself, the other Mr. Perrin,
- and Traill—they always went about together. When he was taking an
- examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the other
- Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the room,
- and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but away
- from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at
- him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was
- accompanied by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with
- their own affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of—one couldn't
- possibly have anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one.
- Sometimes it was curiously confused, because there were two Traills—a
- Traill who moved about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and
- the Traill who stood always by the door and never moved at all except to
- slip away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very much
- indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. There had
- been something once about an umbrella, and there was something else about
- Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden Minimus; but none
- of these things were fixed very resolutely in his mind, and his thoughts
- slipped about like goldfish in a pond.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go on
- like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long hours
- whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and what he
- could do.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two figures
- at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He saw
- suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it was
- like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at it,
- frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, and
- the world would once more grow dark.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to realize
- then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy
- figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden
- Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's
- round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth
- quivering a little, he had nothing to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he said, “Oh!—Ah!—Garden—I haven't
- seen much of you lately. How do the exams go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to be
- kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and his
- eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for help.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir—I—I could n't
- do the geography this morning, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the
- road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When do you go for—um, ah,—your holidays, Garden?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he
- was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, “awfully
- sick about something—not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was “jolly odd”
- during these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of
- every other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help—after all, Old
- Pompous had been beastly decent to him—and then there came an
- overwhelming sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had
- suddenly appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He
- looked down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a
- murmured word about “having to meet some fellows—beastly late,”
- was off.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school
- buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the
- other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat
- prowls....
- </p>
- <p>
- About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had
- never been inside it—he knew only that plain brown door with marks
- near the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by the
- windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square black
- lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy to turn, and
- then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be inside—he
- would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and the
- chairs... it might be useful to know.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down the
- passage; there was no one there—it was all very silent. The sun of
- the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the
- shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands behind
- his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened
- again—he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very
- loudly indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near
- the window—the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver
- hair-brushes and the china basin and jug.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one
- photograph.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss
- Desart—Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. Then
- he went out, closing the door softly behind him.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day,
- and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in
- the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected no
- papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks—none of them
- were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the papers;
- other masters left all the results until the end. It was not considered
- strange that Perrin had posted no results.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have done
- something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his hands to
- his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of course, he ought
- to correct them—he ought to say what was good and what was bad.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his fingers
- because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on French
- Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of <i>donner,
- recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir</i>...”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one—he had always found that that was
- difficult. He turned over the page:
- </p>
- <p>
- J'eu, tu eus, il eut—that looked wrong.. .
- </p>
- <p>
- Again, here was Simpson Minor—“Je fus, tu fus, il fut”—surely
- that was confused in some way.
- </p>
- <p>
- The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and all
- of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, flying
- into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under the table
- and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered wildly on the
- floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silly papers stared at him:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Je dors tous...”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Il faut que...”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt...”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns...”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, Simpson Minor: “Je fus, tu fus...”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the
- floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was
- maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to
- trample on them—he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and
- wildly stamping... .
- </p>
- <p>
- And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped
- still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could not
- collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the
- important thing—the important thing was between himself and Traill;
- that was what he must think about.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away,
- he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill
- would go away with Miss Desart... would he?
- </p>
- <p>
- The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision that
- something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with a
- pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack on
- his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered on
- the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...
- Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that he had
- already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out. Wednesday
- morning came.
- </p>
- <p>
- Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday
- morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave out the Old Testament questions:
- </p>
- <p>
- “1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and
- Abiram; its cause and effects.
- </p>
- <p>
- “2. Write briefly a life of Aaron...”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was
- Wednesday—before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came
- to him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions:
- </p>
- <p>
- “6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I
- have found favor in thy sight.' “'Let us make a captain
- and let us return into Egypt.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'.rdquo;
- </p>
- <p>
- He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him
- afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was a
- complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been
- there for people to laugh at and mock him.
- </p>
- <p>
- If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use—he might
- have married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and
- now the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He
- hated Traill—of course he hated Traill; but it was not really
- because of that that he was going to kill Traill—it was only because
- he wanted to show all these people that he could do something: he was not
- useless, after all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but,
- after all, the laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not
- be able to kiss Miss Desart very much longer—another day, and he
- would never be able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and
- easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had given God His opportunity—he had prayed to God and besought
- Him; he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and
- to be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the
- distance, but everything had been very hard, and that was God's
- fault for making it so hard.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not be
- expecting that.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still more would he surprise the place—Moffatt's—that
- place that had treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a
- grand, big thing to kill his enemy!
- </p>
- <p>
- On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked
- slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long dining-hall.
- The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside every round,
- shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a long, glittering
- line right down the table, and the sun caught their gleaming steel and
- flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them fascinated Mr. Perrin—it
- was with a knife that he would kill Traill—he would cut Traill's
- throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and felt their edges—they
- were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great many of them—you
- could cut a great many throats with all those knives, but he did not want
- to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's—Traill was
- his enemy.
- </p>
- <p>
- At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys on
- either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! Cromer—um—yes, very pleasant. Our little friend
- will amuse himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on
- Christmas Day. Um, yes—and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah!
- Whitby—long way. Yes, able to read your holiday task in the train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was
- brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering
- the gravy over the cloth.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail
- across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light of
- the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a
- transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors
- behind it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious
- shapes—perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of
- the sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that
- could see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks,
- and fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular
- creatures with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were
- splendid galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and
- mountain ranges—they were all very strange and beautiful, and
- perhaps this was the last time that he would see them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the
- direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they
- were Miss Desart and Traill—there was no doubt at all that that was
- Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was
- Traill.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be
- amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know how
- he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from
- behind and strangle him with his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the
- path.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a day of ghosts—even the brown color of the earth of the hill
- that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one
- felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring place,
- but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked hedges, and,
- at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the cottages of the
- village.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like the
- rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, with
- his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, and he
- could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were discussing,
- probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him to think that
- he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the other Mr. Perrin
- also.
- </p>
- <p>
- They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path to
- the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path the
- mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of the sea by
- gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges piercing the
- sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the other figures had
- preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden by boulders. He
- hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, and then he hung
- back a little lest he should be too close to them. They were still talking
- very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led to a sheltered cove.
- At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, and Perrin hid behind a
- rock and watched them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that made
- the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the water
- made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded away into
- the mist again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down behind
- his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on the
- sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it and
- sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw that, he
- knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss Desart was
- there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and his eyes
- filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there had been
- someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there had ever been
- anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his eyes. He had not
- come there to cry—he had come there for vengeance, and then, at that
- thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor a creature that
- he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he were to miss even this
- chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, he tried to gather together
- all his reasons for hating Traill; but he couldn't think properly,
- and the pebbles on which he was sitting were pressing into his trousers,
- and his neck was hurting because he craned it so.
- </p>
- <p>
- At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do
- nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he got
- up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly up the
- path again.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the last
- time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear
- determination of settling things up.
- </p>
- <p>
- His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had
- corrected no papers and that something must be done about that.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out
- imaginary examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was
- for the last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in
- which they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This
- took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to
- overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Dear Old Lady:</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret
- it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a
- failure. There is £100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get
- things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you very
- much, old lady, but I am no good.—Your loving son,</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Vincent Perrin.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He fastened up the letter and addressed it to—
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Perrin,
- </p>
- <p>
- Holly Cottage,
- </p>
- <p>
- Bubblewick,
- </p>
- <p>
- Bucks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited
- until the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the
- passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down the
- lower passage, and so to the dining-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the
- tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and he
- tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and put
- it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When he
- got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly at the
- knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of course.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got the
- knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with it.
- But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he was,
- and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague.
- </p>
- <p>
- The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a
- chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There was
- nothing fine about him—there was nothing fine about anyone at
- Moffatt's—they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there
- would be speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was!
- </p>
- <p>
- But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It was
- quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night—he
- might just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was
- shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his lamp.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hated the dark—he had always hated it—and so he hurried
- into his bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking
- so that it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed
- the matches feebly and felt inclined to cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his shirt
- and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the black
- marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At last he
- blew out the candle and got into bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was asleep—but
- after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was conscious of
- someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the other Mr. Perrin
- was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the room was quite
- dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that he could see that
- he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were exactly the same as
- his own. He was forced against his will to get out of bed and to follow
- the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the long, white road, down to
- the sea. Here they were in that little cove where Traill and Miss Desart
- had been that afternoon. They sat with their backs against the rocks, and
- in all the air there was a strange, uncertain light, and the sea came over
- the shore in sullen, dreamy movements, as a tired woman's fingers
- move when she is sewing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession of
- gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces were
- white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung at
- their sides.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice—that this must
- not be allowed—and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was
- all wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens—but
- he could not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces
- that he knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and
- then—his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back
- up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into his
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his surprise
- he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although there had
- been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he could
- distinguish every object perfectly—and then he realized slowly that
- things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not his, his
- bed was not there—that photograph....
- </p>
- <p>
- Someone was in the bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between the
- window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been walking in
- his sleep; he was in Traill's room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the
- counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was
- smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity—here
- was his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed—he
- bent over the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck...
- it would be very easy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept from
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day, its
- brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its train great things.
- </p>
- <p>
- The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the last
- day of the summer term, because it was a more private family affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions,
- one fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations,
- but it was in the midst of the family that it was done.
- </p>
- <p>
- Parents—mothers and fathers and cousins—were indeed there, but
- they, too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual
- Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great
- worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender
- history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be
- over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred
- years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone
- mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last into
- a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of the
- Brown Hill—a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other
- things the founder of Moffatt's.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had been
- perhaps but vaguely recognized—perchance, perchance, the surest
- foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our
- tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this Marmadukery—a hideous word, but it serves—spread far
- beyond that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the
- <i>esprit de corps</i> signified by the School song (it began “Procul
- in Cornubia,” and was violently shouted at stated intervals during
- the year), the splendid appeal “to our fathers who have played in
- these fields before us”—this was the cry that these banners
- and orations signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true—but
- shout enough about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have
- tears in his eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke
- becomes medieval, mystic, “the great, good man” of history,
- and Moffatt's is “one of our good old schools. There's
- nothing like our public school system, you know—has its faults, of
- course; but tradition—that 's the Thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone feels
- it—everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir
- Marmaduke is the Thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that he
- kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she treated
- anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers arrived in great
- numbers on these occasions, and these three great days of the three terms
- were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused events in the year.
- They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the immediate return of
- her own children, and they marked an amazing number of things that ought
- to be done at once, with the confusing feeling about Sir Marmaduke also in
- the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over.
- She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and
- nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe—or almost
- safe—and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out
- of the place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had
- last night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and
- kissed her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be
- all right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of
- the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened
- during the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one
- very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all sat
- very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and
- happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of talking
- to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at a pool,
- flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured no
- attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke.
- </p>
- <p>
- But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at the
- advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: “My
- dear!—no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early—one
- o'clock, and cold—you don't mind, do you, dear; but
- there's to be <i>such</i> a dinner to-night, and I've just had
- four mothers, and wise is n't the word for what I've been,
- although I confused all their children as I always do, bless their hearts.
- But, oh! the term's over, and I could go on my knees and thank
- Heaven that it is, because I 've never hated anything so much, and
- if it had lasted another week I should have struck off Mrs. Dormer's
- head for the way she's treating you, for dead sure certain—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie's not coming back, you know,” Isabel
- interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of
- course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as
- young and we'd be off from here tomorrow.” She stopped and
- sighed a little and looked through the window at the hard, shining ground,
- the stiff, bare trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. “But it's
- no use wishing,” she went on cheerfully enough, “and we won't
- any of us think of next term at all but only of the blessed month of
- freedom that's in front of us.” Her voice softened; she put
- her hand on Isabel's arm. “All the same, my dear, I'm
- glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It was touching him, you
- know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I saw it,” the girl answered. “And I don't
- want him to schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's
- help he 'll be able to get a Government office of some sort.”
- She hesitated, then said, smiling a little, “Are you and Mr. Comber—”
- She stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber bruskily, “we are—and
- there 's no doubt that things are better than they have been. I
- suppose marriage is always like that: there 's the thrilling time at
- first, and then you find it is n't there any longer and you've
- got to make up your mind to getting along. Things rub you up, you know,
- and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome as anything, and then
- there's a good big row and the air's cleared—and shall I
- wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The black one fits the day better,” said Isabel
- absent-mindedly. She was wondering whether the time would ever come when
- she and Archie would feel ordinary about each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But isn't it funny,” she went on, “that here we
- are at the end of the term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all
- our quarrels and fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming
- impossible? It was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It all comes,” said Mrs. Comber, “of our living too
- close. Now that we're going to spread out over the holidays, we
- 're as friendly as anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs.
- Dormer as much as ever”—which was difficult to believe when
- that lady arrived at a quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel
- and to go with them to the prize-giving.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black neck
- to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of this she
- spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one another as they
- walked down the path to the school hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the
- housemaid. I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I
- had to speak to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and
- she gave notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and
- unless I can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able
- to get away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, what servants are coming to!” Mrs. Dormer was
- struggling with her collar like a dog. “Poor Mrs. Comber, I am <i>so</i>
- sorry—of course management's the thing, but we haven't
- all the gift and can't expect to have it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over
- Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be <i>so</i>
- nice if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I
- have n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs.
- Rose yesterday—quite a nice girl she sounded—who's been
- under-parlormaid at Colonel Forster's now for the last five years,
- and never a fault to find with her except a tendency to catching cold,
- which made her sniff at times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to
- spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have loved—”
- </p>
- <p>
- For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface responsible.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible for
- clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this morning,
- that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had hitherto been.
- The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as he was not
- returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was concerned.
- He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term had shown him
- that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought himself. His
- pride, his temper, his irritation—all these things were lions with
- which he had never fought before: now they must always, for the future, be
- consciously kept in check.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going away—now
- he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, together,
- forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the buildings of
- Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He could not
- sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad dream... he
- could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened suddenly in a
- great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. Of course it
- had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep properly
- to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on
- this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they
- all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble that
- he had made. He did not think of Perrin....
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The
- floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the
- air was full of dust.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's
- all this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you
- 've come. I was coming round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm
- off for good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have
- finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I die—nothing
- can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you going to do?” asked Traill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've
- saved a tiny hit of money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a
- shot at anything. Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with dust
- on his cheeks and his hair on end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all,
- I'm on the same game. I don't know what I'm going to do
- either. We 're both in the same box.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a
- beautiful lady to help you. I'm alone, and most of the spirit's
- knocked out of me after twenty years of this; but I'm going to have
- a shot—so wish me luck!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We
- 'll do it together—we 'll see heaps of each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm
- too dry and dusty a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm
- better alone. But I 'll come and see you one day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what
- you said about the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I
- came in to see you. You were quite right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately,
- “you had a hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really.
- It drove you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the
- beginning, I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all,
- you met Miss Desart here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Traill, “that makes it worth it fifty times
- over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” went on Birkland grimly, “this afternoon you
- shall see the closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our
- tradition. You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with
- the term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that
- pervades the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface,
- maker of strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which
- we all, from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share.” He
- spread his arms. “Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!—to
- get out of it! And now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If
- it hadn't been for you, Traill, I believe I'd be here still.
- Well, perhaps it's to breaking stones on a road that I'm
- going... at any rate, it won't be this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his
- influence.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly feeling,
- with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had little to do.
- This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling or a triumph at
- approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' troubled and
- confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening consciousness that
- he had again, now for the second time, missed his chance.
- </p>
- <p>
- This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more;
- not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good.
- </p>
- <p>
- To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, they
- would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same insignificant
- creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and then it would be
- worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, and in the distant
- ages it would be told how once there had been a young man, straight from
- the University, who had flung him to the ground and trampled on him, and
- beaten him, in all probability, with his own umbrella....
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, no! it was not to be borne—the thing must be done; there must be
- no missing of an opportunity this third time.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. Somerset-Walpole
- knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he suffered no punishment.
- Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus had looked at him as though
- he would like to speak to him, but he could not think of Garden Minimus
- now—there were other more important things to think about.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course it must be done that night—there was only one night left.
- Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown himself.
- He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would
- say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some way
- that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able to
- laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something
- terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. Miss
- Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did not
- wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the best,
- because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only be
- unhappy if she married him.
- </p>
- <p>
- What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his throat
- cut!—no, they would not laugh at him again!
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went
- back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in
- front of him, with the door closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to
- the school for the speeches.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled and said, “Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up—now
- that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that
- we should not part friends—it's all been my stupid fault, and
- I am so very sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path with
- his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you couldn't
- shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in the evening.
- He heard Traill's exasperated “Oh! very well,” and then
- he passed into Big School.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were
- always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they came
- in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were
- unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about his
- popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore surprise
- him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that greeted
- Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and
- the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner
- by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept
- them there until the end of the ceremonies—no one noticed him—no
- one spoke to him—not for him were their songs and festivals.
- </p>
- <p>
- The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers,
- and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the
- Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to
- come.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with stout
- bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that they
- considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive and as
- nonexistent as possible—they all wore a considerable amount of
- watch-chain.
- </p>
- <p>
- In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged the
- prizes—a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been
- biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside them
- in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, in patent
- leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was intermittent, but
- regular.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the prizes,
- because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the other
- side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality and
- authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; he
- stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were seated:
- Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, endeavoring
- to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually as though
- by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many parents.
- </p>
- <p>
- The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He
- alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, “our
- founder, hero, and example”; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur
- Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the
- pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the
- successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of Police in
- Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in an examination
- that had something to do with Tropical Diseases (more cheers); M. Watson
- had received the College Essay Prize at St. Catherine's College,
- Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second class in the first part
- of the Previous Examination at the same university (frantic cheering,
- because Duffield had been last year's captain of the Rugby
- football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was exceedingly encouraging,
- and they could not help reflecting that Sir Marmaduke Boniface, were he
- conscious of these successes, would be extremely pleased (cheers). Passing
- on to the present term, he was delighted to be able to say that never, in
- all his long period as headmaster, could he remember a more equable and
- energetic term (cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events
- of special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those
- concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a will. It
- was a familiar saying that “a nation was blessed that had no history”—well,
- that applied to such a term as the one just concluded (cheers). If he
- might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he was quite sure that
- Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man to rejoice in this
- spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude for a moment to his
- staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded with so pleasant a
- body of men—men who understood exactly the kind of <i>esprit de
- corps</i> necessary if a school's work were to be properly carried
- on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great purpose of
- making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed,
- the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they
- might be sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept
- before him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding,
- who would give away the prizes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic
- cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness of
- Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the
- room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's
- head intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved
- their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed their
- immovability.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he believed
- in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he
- should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like to say
- one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning
- prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who
- failed to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.”
- It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards.
- No—um—ah—he never used to win prizes at school himself.
- It wasn't always the boys—here he pulled himself up and
- remembered that he had said it before. There was something else that he'd
- wanted to say, but he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was
- conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and thought that he'd never
- seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem to be able to escape them.
- What a dangerous-looking man!
- </p>
- <p>
- So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them
- from our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of
- paper on which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched
- his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the
- third row, suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague.
- He would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and
- now he would give away the prizes.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's
- speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to
- speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least,
- that his eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson
- acute discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching
- him with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was
- not aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because
- he looked so queer, as though he had a headache.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second
- Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of
- Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not
- matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at
- issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated
- impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager
- realization.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. And
- suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken himself,
- forcibly, out of one room into another—out of a room in which there
- was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise
- dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place
- that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that
- Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure,
- but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his place.
- He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, stupid
- faces. <i>That</i> Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her bony
- neck; <i>that</i> silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming
- garments; <i>that</i> Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she
- were of any importance to anyone—all of them listening to these
- things that Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing
- these... Lies!
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the
- wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's
- face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with
- that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his head.
- He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that they could
- stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step forward and
- tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat governors, to the
- little man with the shining boots on the platform? They knew that these
- thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had it not been slow torture
- for them all, had not that man with the white beard full knowledge of
- these lies that he was telling? What was his private quarrel with Traill
- as compared with this monstrous injustice? He was pale now, with a long
- red mark against the white of his cheek. He had stepped right away from
- the wall and the small boys of the First and Second Forms were watching
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, that
- it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than the
- others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this place!
- Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he
- remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before in
- the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt by
- Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! what
- rot! He could have shouted it to the roof—“Lies! Lies! Lies!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his speech—ladies'
- dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along the floor—and
- then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his hands against one
- another—they were hot and dry and something rather like a bobbin on
- a latch went up and down in his throat—his eyes were burning. He
- moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to the central
- gangway between the blocks of boys.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies
- of “Tennyson's Poems,” Sir Robert Ball's “Wonders
- of the Heavens,” “The Works of Spencer,” and other
- volumes of our admirable classics. They began with the bottom of the
- school, and a small fat boy with a crimson face, boots that creaked like a
- badly-oiled door and were shaped like Chinese boats, staggered up to the
- platform. A lady, prominent for her size and large picture hat moved
- eagerly in her chair, clapped vehemently with her white gloves and so
- proclaimed herself a mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to
- each prizewinner—“something that they could remember
- afterwards, you know”—and began to say something to the small
- and red-faced boy, but was startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory
- breathing close to his ear. Turning round, he discovered that three more
- small boys were waiting anxiously for their turn and that others were
- coming up the room. He therefore hurried along with “Here you are,
- my boy. Remember that prizes aren't everything in life—hope
- you 'll read it—delightful book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He must
- wait—now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech to
- thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To his
- excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were looking
- at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must have felt as
- indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been telling them. But
- those governors should know the truth for once at any rate and in a way
- that they should not forget... strangely, in the back of his mind he
- wished that his mother could be present....
- </p>
- <p>
- The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered
- according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow,
- had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest
- of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very pleased
- with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a flushed
- face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the leading
- rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with a book
- and a few pleasant words—fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came
- quicker as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. It
- had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so distinguished
- a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that afternoon. It must have
- been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time amongst so many
- engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. (Cheers—Sir
- Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at his shirt cuffs
- as though his engagements were written down there.) They on their part
- were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the room, however
- young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as long as he lived,
- those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it was not only for the
- winners of prizes that life was intended (here Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated
- many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and the governors moved
- restlessly in their chairs), but (and here Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a
- new note) it might not be, perhaps, presumptuous of him to hope that it
- was not only for them that afternoon might have pleasant memories. For Sir
- Arthur Spalding also, he might hope, there would be times in the future
- when he would look back and remember that he had seen, for an instant at
- least, one of our British public schools in one of its happiest and most
- prosperous phases. He might flatter himself—
- </p>
- <p>
- “It 's all lies!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife.
- To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the
- over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, there
- may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange master of
- theirs—“that old ass Pompous”—seen his edging from
- the wall into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands
- clenching and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that
- sudden lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his
- feet, could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to
- the governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively
- desiring his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the
- staff, the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a
- wind, “What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered
- little cries, they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice—they
- were held, paralyzed.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange
- figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window
- upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his
- gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire....
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one
- upon another. “I don't care—I must speak. Ladies and
- gentlemen,”—he caught his throat for a moment with his hand—“I
- know that this is no occasion for saying those things, but no one else has
- the courage—the courage. It is not true what he has been saying”—he
- pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white patriarch. “We are
- unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by that man—we are not
- paid enough—we are not considered at all—never considered—everything
- is wrong—we all hate each other—we hate <i>him</i>—he
- hates <i>us</i>—we are unhappy—it is all hell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from
- head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell
- here... hell!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly to
- his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by the
- wide doors behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It 's Perrin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was entirely
- unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across the green
- quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, nor grass, nor
- gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that his words may
- have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest in what had
- happened after he had left the building. The one fact was there before
- him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the rejected, had flung
- into the midst of them all his bomb. They might hate him now; the
- governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they might deny
- indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, ignore him.
- His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. Everything in it
- watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as though nothing
- tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, the little specks of
- dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly something gleaming from
- beneath the pile of examination papers on the table. He turned the papers
- over, and there, shining against the old, worn-out tablecloth, was the
- knife. He stared at it and then very slowly and thoughtfully put it away
- in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was surprised, amazed, at the
- indifference with which he looked at it. That morning it had meant so
- much, now——
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger,
- greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a
- tyrant.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind his
- back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What would
- they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must be an
- enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions that had
- been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the other
- Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill being always
- in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most
- certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly
- there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their
- solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only
- that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That
- quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one
- was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious
- quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill aside
- with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in the
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would
- the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and
- thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with
- his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they
- would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they would
- find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had hitherto
- despised.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that
- hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity....
- </p>
- <p>
- The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window,
- but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the
- world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the
- darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would
- be time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room
- before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr.
- Perrin saw them gathered there, talking.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course they
- would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. He
- felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they had to
- say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden silence, and
- then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their plans; perhaps
- they had already prepared a written protest supporting his own outburst.
- </p>
- <p>
- He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes
- and a beating heart to the Upper School.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered
- the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire—all of them,
- he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they
- seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for
- years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And the other voices came together:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a
- disgrace, a thing like that happening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all
- the holidays in the world!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have
- got started before anyone saw him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these
- speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a smile
- and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the
- fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no
- movement. They watched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were
- watching him, he thought, curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- His confidence began to leave him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum!
- ha!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't
- I? Yes, indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He
- stopped again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were
- looking at the papers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him
- any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of
- course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They;
- had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he
- had seized his—well!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I
- flatter myself that something will come of it. It will be difficult for
- them, I think, to disregard that altogether—hum—yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again silence. Then Comber said pompously:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I
- should go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you
- 're wanting. Take my advice. Bed's the place—shouldn't
- go to chapel if I were you—hem.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, shouldn't go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried.
- “Why shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a
- holiday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You 're tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That's
- what it is. We're all tired—overdone. We've all been
- feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing term's come to an end.
- I knew something would happen. You 're tired, Perrin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming.
- “Tired! It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't
- like to see me taking the lead—you hate my coming to the front. You've
- always hated me, the lot of you. You 're jealous, that's what
- it is. You 're cruel”—his voice suddenly broke—“I
- was helping you all. That's why I spoke—and now—”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that's what they
- are—beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a
- note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>'.ir:</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible
- to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel....</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of the
- window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes—the boys from
- the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy
- chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night—the dark-swelling
- trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells
- stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that
- his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the
- evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his
- feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common
- room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He
- might have known that that would be the way that they would take it—he
- was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future.
- He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace
- himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be
- the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined he
- was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or tittle
- of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his feet.
- To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would sound a
- very different note.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were
- cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it
- was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely,
- and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again.
- </p>
- <p>
- His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought of
- Traill—-Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one
- thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection
- somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public
- outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he
- confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had
- been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it was
- that he was going to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it
- was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn—“Lord,
- dismiss us with Thy Blessing”—and singing it too with vigor
- that, exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching
- freedom. He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the
- window. Then he sat down again and considered the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives.
- He could be humble or he could he arrogant—he could plead for mercy
- or he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two
- possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as
- possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There
- would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must
- make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions
- were made he would promise to say no more to the governors.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped
- the sides of his chair—well, he would find that he had made a
- mistake. The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body
- trembled—in half an hour there would be this battle!
- </p>
- <p>
- In half an hour!—in less than half an hour! Already the opening of
- the chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the
- evening breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and
- singing. On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed
- into preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was
- the last night of the term—there was to be a concert—and by
- this time to-morrow—
- </p>
- <p>
- They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more
- there was silence—the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were
- closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the very
- heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his enemy had been
- Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the ingenuity of the
- devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin had thought that it
- was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, with extraordinary
- clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. That spider with that
- dark study for his web was spinning, always spinning—more
- effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with its dim light,
- surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other room into which he
- was going frightened him against his will. He was determined that he
- would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the back of his mind was an
- undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, Moy-Thompson would get the
- better of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not
- beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's
- study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table by
- the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical busts on
- the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white beard at
- the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with flashes of
- golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not
- raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen
- down slowly, looked up and smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't
- inconvenient for you coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed haggard
- and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to collect his
- thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this
- easy-chair by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between
- his hands, sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this
- letter—hum, yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which
- some heavy clock ticked solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he
- 'll wait—of course, he 'll wait—of course, he
- 'll wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin.
- His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his
- clothes were very black, his fingers were very long.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really,
- only a few moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a
- long day. But come, Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've
- got to discuss this matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can
- assure you that I have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you
- in this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr.
- Perrin, I beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am
- most anxious to prove to you that I am nothing but friendly in this
- matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and tapped his nails, with sharp little
- rattling noises, one against the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm
- sure you must agree with me that a disturbance like that of this afternoon
- is exceedingly unusual and I may say with very considerable truth that no
- one who was present was more completely and remarkably surprised than
- myself. I do not pretend,” he went on with a smile and lifting a
- deprecating hand towards the fire, “that I am so pleasantly
- self-assured as to believe that there is no unsound plank in this good
- ship of ours; there are many things, I am sure, that would be the better
- for a newer and a younger hand, but I had supposed—and naturally
- supposed, I think—that any complaints that there were would be
- brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to time complaints
- <i>have</i> been brought to me and I may say that I have always dealt with
- them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson
- paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you
- know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have
- come to me with any complaint of any kind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long
- speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular
- and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was bent
- towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he would reply
- and half started from his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—please, a moment—may I not explain myself? although
- it needs surely no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that
- has always, I believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had
- yesterday been questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely
- trust and honor I should have named yourself.” He paused and then
- slowly added, “I need scarcely remind you that it is only a
- fortnight since there passed between us, in this very room, an interview
- of the most friendly and confidential description.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no word from the chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must remember that, during the many years that have passed
- since you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You
- have had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I
- have always been frank with you—you 've seized none of them.
- All the more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what
- occurred to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled with
- silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his brain.
- What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the things
- that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, it was true;
- it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and Moy-Thompson, all
- these years, great friends. Other members of the staff may have rebelled
- and quarreled and disputed, but he had always supported authority. He
- remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the pleasure that he had
- taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews in that very room.
- This momentous and horrible fact rose now before him and froze any reply
- that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's devoted henchman for
- twenty years—was he the right man to head a rebellion now?
- </p>
- <p>
- In spite of the long silence he made no reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against
- another, “I see that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in
- some of my remarks. These things are facts—that you have been twenty
- years without a complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here
- more rubbing of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard
- task that demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this
- outbreak; an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an
- outbreak for which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its
- nature, I should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and
- habits—” Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly,
- “Well, what is the only explanation? What can be the only
- explanation?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still no word from Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, “overwork,
- of course. Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last
- weeks, things were being a little too much for you—hum—yes—natural
- enough, natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a
- long time since you were out of harness—yes, indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'm not tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the
- game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient
- excuse for to-day's little episode—the only excuse indeed
- (this a little more sharply)—but an excuse that we all of us—I
- speak for others as well as myself—are only too ready to seize. A
- holiday, my friend, a holiday—there we have our doctor's
- medicine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised his
- head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the worst. He
- faced it with despair—he knew as he heard the other man's
- words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he
- make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting and
- abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that he was
- merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of the terror
- that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle contempt and
- the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday?
- </p>
- <p>
- Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him that
- this was not quite so simple as it appeared—that this old man in his
- dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in the
- dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his head was
- buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. To have
- Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, was to
- have Perrin silenced, humbled—finally quieted. But how was he to
- battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the
- accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those
- many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn
- consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid to
- that white beard, these things rose and defeated him—defeated him on
- the last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet he tried to say something.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke in a tired, passionless voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had reason,” he said slowly, “for what I did. I meant
- what I said and I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of
- us and I want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did
- this afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us
- all to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me—if
- anyone else had done it—”
- </p>
- <p>
- His head dropped—his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily,
- “I want to hand in my resignation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently and
- a little sadly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel
- that I have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think
- me unfriendly—my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly—if
- I say that this opinion of yours—a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps—owes
- something to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I beg
- of you is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait until you
- are stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that the governors
- will only too readily allow you a holiday during next term—when the
- summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in body and mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tick—tick—tick went the clock—“Here's a good
- offer—Here's a good offer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish to hand in my resignation,” said Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all
- be genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making
- your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is
- scandalous—scandalous—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you
- feel about it as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few
- weeks. Write to me. Write to the governors—write to anyone you
- please. But wait—let me urge you to wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again
- there was silence. Then at last:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the
- strength to break with anything. I'm no use—no good.” He
- got to his feet and then suddenly broke out:
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me,
- but I'm right. What I've said is true, it's all true.
- You 're a devil. You've had us all at your mercy for years and
- years. You've worked us against one another until you've
- rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and you 're pleased—you
- 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a God's
- parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts
- and you've eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for
- us, but there's hell for you somewhere. I see it and I know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He broke away and burst stumbling from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some
- judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world
- about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was
- thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his
- defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no more
- for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the heart
- of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an
- utterly useless man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation
- in his face. He was no good.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the door
- he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, looking very
- shy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at
- all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you sit down?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thank you. I only came in for a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, all right. What is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! Only I wanted to tell you—that—well—oh, that
- I thought you were awfully plucky this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really—it was a very
- foolish thing to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—really—the other fellows did n't understand—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes! They understood very well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to
- go through with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know—not coming
- back—and I thought that it would be a pity if we parted—well,
- sick with each other. What do you say? We've had one or two
- turn-ups, but we 're friends, are n't we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shake hands, will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They shook hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't
- you? Always awfully pleased. Well, I must be going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away.
- </p>
- <p>
- But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's
- utter despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his
- life. “He had made it up with the chap,” but Perrin, in the
- dark, was looking, with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray
- figure that had haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him
- face to face.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH the coming
- dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, sitting in his chair
- without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, the gray cold pane of his
- window and the last faint glow of the sinking coals that lingered in the
- grate. He did not know what he could have said to Moy-Thompson, what he
- ought to have said. He thought that he might have faced it out better had
- the interview been in some other place. There were so many things that
- hung about that room and made it impossible for him to speak. He had not
- known that it would be so hard.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all these
- many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had been
- coming upon him but he had never confessed it—now it stared him in
- the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. He
- knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and face
- the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the courage
- to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had not even
- had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would do.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant
- enough man if only someone had tried to like him—and then these
- headaches—and then those days when his brain was so strangely
- confused—no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if
- Isabel Desart.—-Well, why think about it? They all mocked him—even
- Moy-Thompson did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was
- very sick and tired of life.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p>
- The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very silent
- as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. Some clock
- downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black cold grate and
- saw that soon it would be sunrise.
- </p>
- <p>
- The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything
- was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making
- everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the
- pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the
- middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with a
- little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it was
- hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the
- solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the dark
- hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the half-light.
- </p>
- <p>
- He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into the
- mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; its
- beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of him,
- almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause before
- he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the daytime, but
- now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle of the hours
- when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when the brown earth
- and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in the pageant. The
- breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness of the first
- moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the movement and
- stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter day bare
- branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen sun—now
- everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In front
- of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the threads and
- fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of the land hid it
- great fountains of color were held behind the cloud and the suggestion of
- their richness was passing already into the thickly-curtained gray.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off
- across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was growing
- with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out sharp and
- black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud was slowly
- filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through the heart of
- it a little avenue of trees ran—now they were gaunt and stiff in two
- lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end of the little avenue
- there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running sharply to the white road
- beneath, and then below the road again there is the sea. It is a wonderful
- view from here, for the sea curves like a silver bowl into infinite
- distance. Through the country-side it is known as “The Golden View,”
- not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving and heaving beneath its
- gray veil with the faintest threads of color beginning to interlace the
- fabric of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and
- looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in
- front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun rose
- above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. “To
- fling oneself down on to that cold white road” was a very easy death
- to die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the
- courage. He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw
- coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p>
- He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought
- that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of his
- life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She was
- dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost.
- “Oh!” he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his
- voice was full of pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good morning, Mr. Perrin,” she said very easily; “I
- could not sleep and I had thought that I would come down here to see the
- sun rise—and then I saw you pass through the school gates and I was
- impertinent enough to follow you. I want to talk to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To talk to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there
- just as the sun rises.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full of
- what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. He
- glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she was!
- He pulled his coat closer about his ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you didn't very much want to be alone,” she said
- smiling at him; “but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I
- have been wanting—very badly—ever since yesterday afternoon—to
- speak to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since yesterday afternoon,” he repeated bitterly. “You
- must feel as they all do, about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know how the others feel,” she answered almost
- fiercely. “That is no business of mine. But I understood, I
- sympathized, a great deal more than you would believe—and I wanted
- to tell you so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You couldn't understand—you couldn't sympathize.
- It doesn't touch you anywhere. You 're going to-day and you
- won't come back. Well, don't think of any of us again. Don't
- try and help us—it only makes it worse for us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would
- understand—and even if I am going away it would be something for
- both of us if we knew that we had parted friends, that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working
- most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered
- what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking
- dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some strange
- greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his back and
- in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, please—don't,” and then she stayed in
- infinite distress waiting for him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so
- thin and ragged, in the cold morning air, and her heart was full of the
- deepest aching pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he turned round to her. “Let us go on,” he said
- roughly; “I am all in pieces—don't mind me—you
- shouldn't have spoken to me like that—it's more than I
- can stand.” Then after a pause he went on, “You mustn't
- talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend of yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is for me to say,” she answered gently. “I have
- been so wrong all this term. I have only made things worse instead of
- better and I did so want to help. It's been awful this term and
- yesterday afternoon was the worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had
- agreed with the things you said!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is n't any use,” he answered. “It's too
- late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't
- let me help you, why then perhaps you 'll help me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Help you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we
- part like this—I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a
- little of what you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It
- isn't kind to me to leave it like this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she was;
- her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt bitterly
- that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every word that
- she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if she went away
- without speaking she would regret it all her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute control
- of himself and his voice was quite steady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—I hadn't meant to be rude like that—only you
- took me by surprise. I've made a wretched muddle of things and,
- since yesterday afternoon, I 've seen that I'm a complete
- failure in every possible sense of the word. You are so splendid in all
- ways—and you are going to have such a splendid life—that we
- are at the opposite ends of the world, you and I.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all its
- little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the
- strange creature whom she had known before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so
- miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have made
- things better between you and Archie—Mr. Traill—all that
- wretched quarreling—and yet I felt so helpless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man
- feeling that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and
- the younger man resenting the older man's interference—and
- neither Traill nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were
- pressed up against one another with the whole place working on our nerves.
- No, you had n't very much to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender,
- half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering
- whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of all
- self-consciousness, held him back—
- </p>
- <p>
- He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. “And
- then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I
- was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him
- if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair that he
- should have everything—youth, health, prospects, popularity—everything—and
- I nothing. I had never been a likable man, perhaps, but there seemed to be
- no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to do things—”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot
- with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling back
- like gates before the sun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “—And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making
- his speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place—the
- system—that I had been up against all this time, and not any one
- person—and suddenly I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know—and
- I thought I'd done rather a big thing. I thought the other men would
- be glad that I had led the way. I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious
- and frightened, but the other men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed—and
- suddenly everything cleared and I saw what this place had made of me. They
- say that it takes a man all a lifetime to know himself—well, I
- 've got that knowledge early. I know what I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. “You
- 're going to have a fine life,” he said; “there are so
- many people that you will do good to—but you have been everything to
- one useless creature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall always be proud to be your friend.” Curiously, in the
- growing light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she
- felt more strongly moved than she had ever been before—yes, even
- Archie Traill's wooing had not touched her as this did.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you,” at
- last she said brokenly, “but I shall never, all my life through,
- forget you. I shall want, please, always to hear—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To hear?” His lips twisted into a strange smile. “Ah,
- you must n 't want that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not? What are you going to do—now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To do?” He was still strangely smiling. “What is there
- for me to do? I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no
- means and I am fit for nothing but schoolmastering—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cannot you come back here—in spite of it all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so
- unimportant that—it does n't matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will—promise that you will!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, it is all so useless,” he said, shaking his head. “Before,
- when I had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but
- now, when that is all gone—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand”—her eyes
- were flaming—“you <i>must</i>—you <i>must</i>. Don't
- you see that you 're being given such a chance! Think of the pluck
- of it—after all that has happened—to come back, knowing what
- they think of you, knowing what you think of yourself. Oh! I envy you. I
- believe the only thing we 're in the world for is to have courage—that
- answers everything—and some of us have such fat, easy lives that we've
- no chance at all. But you to come back with your teeth set, to build it
- all up again, to will it all back! Oh! it's splendid! And Archie and
- I will have our happy, ordinary existences—just going along—and
- you 'll be here doing the finest thing in the world. I'd
- change places with you to-morrow,” she magnificently ended up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see it like that?” he said slowly almost to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all
- this term's been for—to bring to a head—to show you your
- great chance. That 's life—everything leading up to the one
- big thing—and now this is yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” he whispered, “If I could!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must,” she answered, “I believe in you—come
- back—fight it—win.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I
- 've had my spirit broken—this place has broken it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance—take
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All these years,” he answered grimly, “twenty years—it's
- a long time for a man. I can't begin all over again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight
- as you see things now—It 's never been the same before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you believe I could do it?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Win back respect—make them forget yesterday—go on with
- the old torture—” he shuddered and buried his face in his
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe in you,” she answered steadfastly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew a deep breath. “At last!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe in you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not saying that only to comfort met”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; you know that I am not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To come back—to go on—to face it all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall
- know—I shall always remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would not
- have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief
- moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell
- that Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some
- way a new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he
- do anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul?
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the
- sea swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly
- blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded the
- brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through the
- brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a white
- gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out to sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come
- back,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The new day shone about their heads.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p>
- Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs.
- Comber was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only
- for a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and
- pleasant than he had been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys
- were returning that afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's
- a bill from that dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't
- leave one alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and
- I told her only a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk
- until Easter—well, some marmalade, then, if you won't have
- another—what train did you say you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm
- so glad it's a sunny day—you were up quite early weren't
- you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. Dormer had to say
- about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and now I shan't
- have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's
- shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash,
- so that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of what all?” asked Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been
- queer all this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what
- he 'll do now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if
- he can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors
- that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm
- sure we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been
- most queer all this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie
- and everything. Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under
- his thumb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a
- fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the
- things that she ought to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear?” said Isabel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to do something for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's
- hill for that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen
- altogether to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin <i>is</i> coming back. I saw him
- this morning—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You saw him this morning! Isabel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View.
- He talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or
- people. There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside
- and so dull outside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered
- slowly, “but I cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I
- can't really.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when
- I think of Archie and myself and our lives—and all the other people
- with lives like them—and then when I think of all the awkward,
- bad-mannered, stiff, jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm
- ashamed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Comber was astonished. “Well, my dear,” she said, “it
- does seem to have affected you—really. Of course I want to be kind
- to everybody—even Mrs. Dormer—and of course I 'll
- believe what you say, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for him, and
- it won't be pleasant for him coming back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Isabel. “It won't—no one ought
- ever to come back here again—but if only you 'll be a friend
- to him—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see,” she went on again, “he's the kind of
- man whom those things matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever
- taken any interest in him or any trouble—and now if you and I—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything,” said Mrs. Comber, “that you want me to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sometimes think,” said Isabel, “that the world's
- topsy-turvy. People seem to put so much value on all the outside things,
- and if someone's ugly and awkward—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at the door
- of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown portmanteau—a
- very old brown portmanteau—and he put it on the cab. It was a very
- old cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old
- shabby overcoat, got into the cab.
- </p>
- <p>
- The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that he
- would.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious beauty
- of that day she seemed to get her answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It <i>shall</i> be all right, next term,” said Mr. Perrin.
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-
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diff --git a/old/old/old-2024-04-09/52211-0.txt b/old/old/old-2024-04-09/52211-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7215068..0000000 --- a/old/old/old-2024-04-09/52211-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7818 +0,0 @@ - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Gods and Mr. Perrin A Tragi-Comedy - -Author: Hugh Walpole - -Release Date: June 1, 2016 [EBook #52211] -Last Updated: March 16, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the -Internet Archive - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -A Tragi-Comedy - -By Hugh Walpole - -Author Of “Fortitude,” “The Prelude To Adventure,” Etc. - -New York George H. Doran Company - -1911 - - - -“The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: Nor -Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House -Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort.”—Pilgrim's Progress - - - -TO PUNCH - -My Dear Punch, - -There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to -you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them -all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day -last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, -and we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the -top—an inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large -black cat. - -It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. -Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than -anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good -things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good -things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this -book. - -Yours affectionately, HUGH WALPOLE. - -Chelsea, January 1911. - - - - - -CONTENTS - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE - -CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - -CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT - -CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - -CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN -THE SCHEME OF THINGS - -CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO - -CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - -CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING - -CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - -CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY....” - -CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - -CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - -CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - -CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - -CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - - - - -CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE I. - -VINCENT PERRIN said to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: -“It shall be all right this term”—and then, “It shall be”—and then, -“This term.” A cold wintry sun watched him from above the brown shaggy -wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery blue, and on its -surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A little wind -sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had nearly -reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. He -stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood -straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a -sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the -red light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front -of it the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - -“It shall be all right this term,” said Mr. Perrin, and he pulled his -rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little wind was -playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He was -long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not -been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript -pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore -was too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of -someone who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and -watery, and his eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His -age was about forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over -twenty years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were -folded behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that -trailed along the ground. - -His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top -of the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the -distant Brown Wood. - -The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The -sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of -a hammer, and the tiny whisper—as of someone who tells eagerly, but -mysteriously, a secret—was the beating of the waves far at the bottom of -the hill against the rocks. - -Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the -chimneys of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of -some hidden bonfire. - -The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up -the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude -of bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very -small indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched -their hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, -glanced at them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the -brown buildings again. - -“Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers.” he said to himself quickly; -“Barker Minor, French.. . ;” then his mind swung back to its earlier -theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the road with his stick, “It -shall be all right this term.” - -The school clock—he knew the sound so well that he often thought he -heard it at home in Buckinghamshire—struck half-past three. He hastened -his steps. His holidays had been good—better than usual; he had played -golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots and fools -as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently about -Education—shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, and What -a Mother can do for her Boy—all favorite subjects of his. - -Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad—perhaps the new man would -be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be worse than Searle of -the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just down -from the University—he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - -No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; -but there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then—he -stopped once more and drew a deep breath—there was Miss Desart. He -tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer -than others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss -Desart.... He coughed. - -He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at -his heels. - -The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; -the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. II. - -The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room -that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, -moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and -the long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore -a perpetual odor of food in the air. On a “mutton day”—there were three -“mutton” days a week—this odor hung in heavy, clammy folds about the -ceiling, and on those days there were always more boys kept in than on -the other days—on so small a thing may punishment hang. - -To-day—this being the first day of the term—-the room was exceedingly -tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows of -pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, -a name— - -“Mr. Perrin,” - -“Mr. Dormer,” - -“Mr. Clinton,” - -“Mr. Traill.” - -Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and -his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting -their papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall was -an enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines -running across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over -which were two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and -St. Peter's, Rome. - -Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the -windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen—a -gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round -empty flower-bed, a stone wall. - -On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of -bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, -cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, -a short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were -drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at -it—a practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - -However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. -Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. “Ah! here we are again!” he said, -with easy jocularity. - -Dormer gave him a hand, and said, “Glad to see you, Perrin; had good -holidays?” - -Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, “You -old nut!” - -Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that -all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was -most inclined to be easy and pleasant. - -“Ha! no cake!” he said, with a surprised air. - -“Oh! I say, I'm so sorry,” said Clinton, with his mouth full, “I took -the last. Ring the bell.” - -Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It -was cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The -Lower School was divided into two houses—Dormer was house-master of -one, and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under -house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to -Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival -camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and -play. - -“I say, Perrin, “have you made out your bath-lists? Then there are -locker-names—I want.” Perrin snapped at his bread and butter. “Ah, -Dormer, please—my tea first.” - -“All right; only, it's getting on to four.” - -For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the -door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, “Come in!” - -The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a -misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a -shuffling of feet. - -Perrin walked slowly to the door. - -“Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of -us eager to come back, of course—um—yes. Well, you know you oughtn't to -come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your names then—another five -minutes. It's up on the board. Well, Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? Don't you -know that ten minutes past four is ten minutes past four and not four -o'clock?” - -“Yes, sir, please, sir—but, sir—” - -Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - -“Ha, ha,” he said, smiling reflectively; “had him there!” - -Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, Cummin; -10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—” - -The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - -The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man. Perrin -looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first impression -of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very young -and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very -dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, turned -up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His hair, -parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his eyes -were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back -very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else, -tremendously clean. - -He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. -Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been -old enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he -had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end -of the term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a -pig-headed ass.... - -But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble about it, -and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists and -dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I must say -as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It 's in a man if -he 's going to do it—I've always managed them all right—never any -trouble—hum, ha! Yes, you 'll find them the first few days just a little -restive—seeing what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on -them.” - -Traill asked about the holiday task. - -“Oh, yes, Dormer set that. Ivanhoe—Scott, you know. Just got to read out -the questions, and see they don't crib. Let them go when you hear the -chapel bell.” - -Traill was profuse in his thanks. - -“Not at all—anything you want to know.” - -Perrin smiled at him. - -There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, -and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had -the bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and -their common rooms. - -“Well, Sexton?” Perrin cleared his throat. - -“Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I could -find, sir—Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, sir.” Sexton -backed out of the room. - -Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying -anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at -him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin -took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about -discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their -mothers, and finally said a word about serving their country. - -Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. “It will be safer for -you to hand it over to me,” he said slowly and impressively. “Then you -shall have it when you want it.” - -A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, -one by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy—he -had apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby—had only two -halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, “Well, -Rackets?” - -Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - -“I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets.” Perrin dropped -the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after the other. “I -don't think you will ever see these half-crowns again.” He smiled. - -Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the -money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly -in his eye. He struggled to keep it back—he dug his fist into it, turned -round, and fled from the room. - -Perrin was amused. “Caught friend Rackets on the hip,” he said. - -Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four -men put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. -Traill hung back a little. “You take the big room with me, Traill,” said -Dormer. “I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper.” - -They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There -was a sudden cessation of confused whispers—complete silence, and -then Perrin's voice: “Question one. Who were Richard I., Gurth, Wamba, -Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n—hyphen...” - -The door closed. III. - -A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and -a silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - -The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about -the path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell -of onions.... - - - - -CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER I. - -IT would be fitting at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's -impressions, at the end of the first week, of the place and the people. -But here one is met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that -Traill himself was not given to gathering impressions at all—he felt -things, but he never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language -and an abbreviated vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; -motives, the way that things hung and were interdependent one upon the -other, the sense of contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on -tragedy and of irony upon both, never hit him anywhere. - -Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end -of the first week. - -There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, -and there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was -engaged, quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing -medley of “things to be done and things not to be done” that that first -week must necessarily entail. - -His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be -said here now, once and for all, the entire motif of this episode—it -is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real -reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being -the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the -people in the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and -unnecessary; but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way -and their own time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they -must have their place. - -Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all -things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to -think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. -He had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a “Blue” for -Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of -these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to -thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - -His “Blue” would undoubtedly have secured him something better than a -post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left it, lazily, -until the last and had been forced to accept what he could get; in a -term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - -All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an -interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of “learning the -ropes,” and he could not therefore he expected to regard masters, boys, -or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, indeed, one of -the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he remained, for so -long a period, blind to all that was going on. - -In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He -found the world an entirely delightful place—there was Rugby football in -the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid walks; there -was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there was his -mother—a widow, and he was her only son—whom he entirely worshiped; -there were one or two excellent friends of his from Clifton and -Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there were one -or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom he had -liked very much indeed. - -He read a little—liked it when he had time; had a passion for Napoleon, -whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was even -stirred—again when he had time—by certain sorts of poetry. - -And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most -difficult of decision—as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had any -feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - -He certainly—if he had it at this time—could not put it into words; but -I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of consciousness -about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had been lying -there waiting. - -He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that -he went to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's -influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of -Pendragon and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for Richard -Feverel quite so passionately had he not had something—some poetry and -feeling—already in him. - -The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter -to his mother. He says of Moffatt's: “You never saw anything so hideous. -The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell so new, -the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's -like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they were -inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should -go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the -sun setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand—it 's the -fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand...” - -That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the -way that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal -more about it than he ever said to anyone. - -Cambridge may have done something for him—few people can spend three -years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind of -development, although probably—because we are English—it is unconscious. -II. - -He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete -idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' -meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in -conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took -the lowest—a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just -above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - -The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master—a venerable-looking clergyman, -with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers—sat at the end of the table -in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an excuse to fly -into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or two; Perrin, -Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large stout -man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a -clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much -too big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that -at any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony -little man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed -to goad Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose -hand continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly -deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as they -roved about. - -During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up -and the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and -disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention -to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On -several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and -Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - -As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and -individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he -had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book -concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was -very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things -stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent -his time in hating England and preparing to leave it—an escape that he -never achieved. - -The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the -most “interesting” of them. He was fierce and caustic in his manner to -everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - -White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his -mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - -None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his -work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all -of them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that -they liked him; but he did not think about it. - -His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. -Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his -football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years -before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin asked -him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to him -at infinite length. - -Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. III. - -The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; -and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite -indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He -could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, -from that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather -than any keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - -It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a -good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had so -much to do with everything that occurred—quite unconsciously, poor lady, -as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was over—that -she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - -The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however -casual, were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those -qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and -her air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be -even larger. - -Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at -foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish -descent—and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign enough. -There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her continual -smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a great deal -of her red cheeks. - -In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the -youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, -with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, -to unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and -enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some -knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, -athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her -lamp was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she -would be happy for ever. That—the keeping of it alight—seemed, as she -looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. -She did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse -and even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate -tracing, removes it altogether—merely, as it may seem to some cynical -observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the -moment of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to -hold on to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a -plucky determination to make the “second best” do, to the final blind -acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance -to that earlier glorious radiance. - -Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young lover -into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the Middle -Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, -would need an exhaustive treatise on “Public School Education as applied -to our Masters” for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this faithful -account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some solution to -that and other more complex riddles. - -It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined -stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married life, -at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the -complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber were -hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from her. - -She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended -her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far -as Freddie was concerned—she was continually hoping and expecting that -it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three -boys—fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious—cared, they showed her quite -plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, -to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that -pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent -her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in -hiding her love under a troubled indifference and being entirely -disregarded.... They were unpleasant boys. - -Another place for digging was the ground of “things,” of property. -Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost -nothing—they were very poor, and she “managed” badly—now, she had always -had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to an amazing -degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous kind of way, -to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her valuables. They -were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and school-bills for the -boys, consumed any money that there might happen to be, and consumed it -in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she was never able to prevent or -correct. But things had come to her—been given, left, or eagerly seized -in a wild moment's extravagance,—and these she cherished with all her -eyes and hands. The peacock-blue Liberty screen, the ormolu clock, some -few pieces of dainty Dresden china, some brass Indian pots, a small but -musically charming piano, some sketches and two good prints, and edition -de luxe of Walter Pater (a wedding-present, and she had never opened one -of these beautiful volumes), some silver, a teapot, a tray, some cups -that Freddie had won in an earlier, more glorious period, some small -pieces of jewelry—over these things she passed every morning with a -delicate, lingering touch. - -Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her -valuables she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about -them.... They seemed—dumb things as they were—to give her something of -the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so -continually searching. - -She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and -acquaintances as she was in her movements and her finances. She was -famous for her want of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and -bluntness of speech; famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to -make people like her—an attempt that, from its transparency, always with -wiser and more cynical persons failed. - -She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about -them all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with -the town and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although -she wondered in a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover -a satisfactory reason. She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into -people's lives and being hurriedly bundled out again—which “bundling,” -at every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - -But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of -course, to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber -no simple succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her -free, spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; -but to none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that -she was to Mrs. Comber. - -Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and -for so long a period, down to Moffatt's—a proceeding that her London -friends could never even vaguely understand. That she—having, as she -might, such a glorious “time” in London behind her—should care to go -and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a school, with -those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities (this term -to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a total -mystery. - -Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed -a poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only -partial. - -In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was -at Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - -Of the place—the surroundings, the look of it all, the “sense” of -it—there is more to be said in a moment—being seen, more completely -perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is enough here -that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to Isabel -deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be afraid -that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black -rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages -that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere -else in the world—these were all things that she dreamed of afterwards, -when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to her, of -danger and confusion. - -She herself “fitted in” as only a few people out of the many that go -there could ever do. - -With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her -straight eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the -swing of her arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength -and honesty might forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a -delightful boy—splendidly healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes -startling in her hatred of things and people, sometimes arrogant in her -assured enthusiasms; Mrs. Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had -told her so much, knew of the other side of her, of her tenderness, her -understanding. - -The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of -peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and -she generally did. - -It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that -she did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons—Miss Bonhurst, the two -Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - -Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago -been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. -She very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what -she had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She -allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - -Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she -means, had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, -fifteen years before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually -finding new reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on -people who had had nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and -puritanical, and hated Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these -things. - -Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each -other, but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike -of the other ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they -should assert their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber -and Mrs. Dormer looked down on them. - -The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss -Madder—stout and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for the -undeniable fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name for -a pleasanter one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a -warmth and good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - -And so there they all were—most of them—a background, and simply, as -individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by reason of -their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - -They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at -all—Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. -Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. IV. - -A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - -It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the -Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, -and Truro inland to the left—both at an equal distance—as the farthest -boundaries. - -Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill—undulating, gently, -vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue or gray -of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - -The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, -with the little village—Chattock—at its feet, curling with its steep, -cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is a wood—the -Brown Wood—and it hangs with all its feathery trees in friendly, eager -fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded cove (so tiny and -so perfect in its shape and color that it almost audibly cries out not -to be touched). There is a little part of the wood where the trees part -and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, right over the gray carpet -of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its creaking and bending and -rustling, is saying to the water and what the water, with its slipping -and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. Of the two towns -Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the Vandals, modern and -monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its outskirts—that was -the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there is a row of modern -villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his visits there, was -concerned with the chief house there—The Flutes, owned by a certain -Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, although senior, a -friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in its position and -in the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what moments he could to -visit it and to snatch a respite there. - -Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the -“lobster red” and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so that he took its -wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an added sense of -richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace stood to him -for an “escape,” he would have realized also his growing protest -against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on occasions to -Truro—because he liked the walk over the hill, because he liked certain -quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon Street, in the -higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the dark quiet -and solemnity of the Cathedral. - -The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life -that he was leading at Moffatt's—the sides of it that are soon to be -given you in detail—that led him to notice these places. Contrast drove -him to a sudden opening of his eyes—contrast and Isabel Desart. He was -growing so very quickly. - -In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one -could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the -funny old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling -at The Flutes, and “Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully -kind,” and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about the -people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all -about Isabel Desart. - -It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the -preliminaries could be said to be over. - - - - -CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT I. - -WHEN Mrs. Comber asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was -delighted, although he assumed as great an indifference as possible. -This was at the end of the first week of term, and he had not spoken to -Miss Desart—he had merely bowed to her across the grass and gone indoors -to teach the Lower Third algebra with a beating heart. - -He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was -giving the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have -been very different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured -woman (he did not always like her) had noticed his attachment—as he -thought most carefully concealed—to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - -He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had -stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had played -tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it -was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and -Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty -years he was in love. - -The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept -away in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since -the last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the -way that he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with -enthusiasm). He talked to the men of his Club about “the absurdity of -considering forty-five any age,” and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. -He gave his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight -at night, looking at it often in the glass. - -He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a -white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being -somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him -as soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about “getting a house,” -even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the -old lady. - -She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young -person be? Perhaps she would not like her—in any case, it meant taking a -second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew sides of -him that no one else knew—she saw him as a little, thin, serious hoy in -knickerbockers. - -But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long -thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he -was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he -covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if -she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - -But most of all he was afraid of something—he could never give it a -name—that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term advanced. -He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad details, of -a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the masters and the -rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers—the end-of-termy -feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the last week or -two when examinations came, seeing red. - -No—this term it shall be all right. He felt, as he said good-by to his -mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and prove that -it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was Miss Desart. -Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers together. Oh! -what things he could do! - -And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. II. - -Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So -many wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were -given during the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the -conversation that it would give rise to, of all the people that would in -all probability be angry with all the other people because they had -been asked or because they had not. There was, generally, a reason for -a dinner. Some important person had to be asked, some unimportant people -had to be worked off, someone was conscious that there had not been a -dinner-party for a very long time. But on this occasion there was no -reason except that Mrs. Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had -at once thought of Isabel, and had conceived a plan. - -Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent -Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the -Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, -because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so -much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - -All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited -were concerned. One chance word at dinner—some errant, tiny omission or -commission—and anything might happen: the time might be made miserable -for everybody. - -But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the -first place “ways and means.” How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no -words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a -boat between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of -not-being-smart-enough. - -Were things not right—if there were no meringues, no mushroom savories -(there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel—well, -the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, -there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie -scowling over his Greek Athletes to such an extent that it wouldn't do -to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved -in reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every -dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie -back. - -Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor -woman, only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive -Freddie only more completely “in.” Something was sure to happen, -before the evening was over, to annoy him—she would have “such a time -afterwards.” But it always, of course, might be the other way. He might -suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly fond, -she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him—he used to like a -game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply been -disastrous. - -She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards—she was very, very -bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in her -heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. She -plunged desperately to win it all back again—she was known throughout -the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - -It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of -all. There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. -Her heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - -But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all -kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were -cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She -thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants—only -two of them, and both ill-tempered. - -Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill—she did not even -think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a word -about Mr. Perrin. III. - -Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief -object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically -as well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the -hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they -met their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, -every day of their lives. - -The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and -were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters -about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered -wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn -buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to -the sea. - -The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue -screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in -black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and -on the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, -where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a -great deal lower than it need have been). - -They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to -explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's -always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent “heart” hand she had, -only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous results. “They -like them best with jam in them—you shall see to-night if they aren't -good; and there was really no reason at all why they shouldn't have come -off, but we had such bad luck, and I oughtn't to have played my King -when I did; I'm always telling him that he ought to go and dress a -little earlier—but he stays working.” - -Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with -a sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the -back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in -the common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour -too long, with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had -quarreled furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing -about it. Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort -from her, and Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - -Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent -Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling -in one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. -She was standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; -when she moved it was as though that was the only movement possible—her -limbs did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, -before they could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her -brown eyes were smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, -and his heart was beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten -before. - -He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found -that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of -two of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was -so broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He -found a kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its -brazen size and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt -near the collar. His suit—it had done duty for a great many years—was -painfully shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there -was a small tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His -hair, in spite of water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder -than ever; his coat fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in -the most distressing manner. - -All these things were new discomforts and distresses—he had never cared -about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt that -they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that he -was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' conversation he -was proud of his appearance. - -Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be -recorded as the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite -absurd—over-dressed in fact. - -His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face -in brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful -white waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with -pale blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the -sleeves. - -But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it -was quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. -Could it be that Perrin was shabby... not that Traill was smart? - -Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that -there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed -them back again. - -They all went in to dinner. IV. - -Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously -recognized him—even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality to -a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - -He had never seen her before—that is, he had never detached her from the -vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees and -the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had been in -love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those fugitive -episodes—the way that it had been, in an instant, like a candle blown -out—had led him to fancy that love was always like that; he had -even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way a -complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that -yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have -a sense of beauty and strange wonder—something that had suddenly, like -streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's -dining-room. - -He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the -silk of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her -hair, and the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, -touched the white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been -a schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not -answer her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - -“And you like it!” - -“I love it.” - -“So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions.” She still looked at -him very gravely. “The boys like you so far.” - -“Ah! they told you!” He was pleased at that. - -“Oh! one soon knows—they are cruelly frank.” - -Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. -Mrs. Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly -long time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses -that are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was -moodily staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, -who was trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her -chair and gazing at Landseer's “Dignity and Imprudence” that hung on the -opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - -It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room -got up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her -dining-room. It was a room, she felt, “with nothing at all in it.” It -had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new -one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something -that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, -although she could give no reason—perhaps she did not care about dogs. -The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs to -the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and -tattered books that never got cleared away. - -All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, -with a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was -missing. The set had been one of their wedding-presents—the nicest -present that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a -brave smile to anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her -husband's gloomy face. - -But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. -Perrin, feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for -him, that she wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad -when her duty would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to -Traill again. - -Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, -for him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... -His thoughts hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. -Traill—Traill... with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He -splashed his soup on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came -to him—Miss Madder's fat, cheerful voice: “Oh! I think we shall fill -the West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms—all new boys, -poor dears.”... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table to -Dormer: “It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has one hour -less than the rest of us—that middle hour ten to eleven...” - -The same old subjects, the same old dinners—but with her he was going to -escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow wings. - -He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He -was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - -But Traill had taken her in.... - -And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand as -though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the stud—the -large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, and used his -official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to create an -impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - -Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his -sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he -tried, of the things that he could do, if— - -“If?” said Isabel. - -“Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... -one never knew—” He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a glass of -Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - -Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and -Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues -had arrived—there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues -although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both—and -conversation was quite lively. - -“I do hope,” said Mrs. Dormer, “that there will be several extra halves -this term.” - -And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on -the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - -“Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for -every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our -duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?” - -It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies -should have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence -involved. - -Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular -body that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. -Comber; she had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - -She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in the -amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of -Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample -confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make a -scandal at Moffatt's—and the propriety of the schoolmaster, the anxious, -eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other profession. - -Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by -sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - -“I do hope the football will be good this season,” she said at last, -quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - -Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know -why she had said a thing like that—she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't like -such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked about -gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. “It always -rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking about it; and how she -can bear that colored green when it's the last color she ought to wear, -I can't think; if it weren't for these flies—what do you call them!—the -roses would have done quite well.” But her eyes stared desperately down -the table at Freddie, and she saw that he would not look at her, and she -knew that the dinner had been only one more nail in her coffin. - -There was still, of course, Bridge. V. - -Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, -they were all tremendously—as of course you must be at such small -tables—conscious of each other. - -They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her -husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with -Mrs. Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - -It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole -situation that Perrin was forced to gaze—over a very small intervening -space—at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest of the evening. He was -always a bad Bridge player—he thought that he disguised his bad play by -a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night the confusion of his -thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad claret that he had -drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her cards, caused his -play to be something insane. - -Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every -prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least -five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that -she had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first -deal, her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to -follow any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her -chair and a sharp, “Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done -better than that.” - -For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing -an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been -at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six -days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone -did, failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards -hurriedly together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused -way. He knew that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her -so terribly badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure -that Traill was laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which -he played. If only he, Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what -things he might have done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a -little every time he moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a -little stir of disapproval. - -At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing -of lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. -Comber had most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, -she was lost. If she played badly, her husband, although playing against -her, was infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, -As it was, she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of -the good cards that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. -She held her cards so badly—she never could make them into a fan, and -every now and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - -Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into -sentences that had to be instantly checked—as, for instance: “Oh, I saw -Mrs.———— I'm so sorry, it 's my lead.” - -“I believe this term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... What are trumps?” - -Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and -the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a -gilt frame, and they gave her comfort. - -The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; -they had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She -wouldn't look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against -the other, pulling his mustache. - -“No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your rubber, Mrs. -Comber? Yes, we ought to have won.... No, I can't think how it was.” - -“Considering the way my wife's been playing,” said Freddie Comber -brutally, “I think it is just as well to stop.” - -Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer -to get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every -now and again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair -(always on the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate -action. - -“Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet to-morrow, -of course, although I can't think why they aren't going to play -golf—there's going to be such a storm in an hour or two, isn't -there?—probably because it's football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, -good-by.” Everyone departed. Mr. Perrin stood desperately with something -going up and down in his throat. He had a sentence in his head: “Please, -Miss Desart, do let me see you back to the lodge.” (Mrs. Comber had had -to plant her out there to sleep because there was no room in their own -tiny house.) He meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched his -mortar-board frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard Traill's -voice: - -“Oh! please, Miss Desart—of course, I'll see you back. Good night, Mrs. -Comber. Thank you so much—I've loved it. Good night, Comber. Night, -Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's dark.” - -Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, “Good -night, Mr. Perrin.” - -He was left alone on the step. VI. - -I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very -slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. -Her bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her -hostess. - -“Poor Mrs. Comber,” she said, and then checked herself as though there -were some disloyalty in talking about her. “I hate Mrs. Dormer,” she -added quietly. - -“I don't like her,” Traill said. “And Dormer's such a jolly little man. -I don't envy; him.” - -“Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's anyone's fault -here about anything they do. It's all a case of nerves.” - -There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory -whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down -the path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white -light on the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled -against it in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants -bending to the soil. - -The scent of trees—vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear and -pungent—was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, rolling in -long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. The wind's -whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies of it swept -about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly against -them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - -They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and -assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. -But there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that -he might never perhaps get to know her better. - -When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment -silently. - -Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of -the road, “There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all through -me. It was depressing to-night, was n't it?” - -“Just a little,” he said. - -“Anyhow, I'm glad you like it—being here. Mind you always do. I don't -want to be pessimistic when you are just beginning; but—well, you don't -mean to stay here for ever, do you?” - -“I should think not,” he answered eagerly. “Only a term or two at the -most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school.” - -“That's right—because—really it isn't a very good place to be—this.” - -“Why not?” he asked. - -“It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making things -out worse than they really are.” She paused a moment, and then she went -on: “Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just before you get into -the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes it. You will see at -the right time of the year lots of green apples on the trees, but they -never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the spring! I 've -seen men working there sometimes. I don't know what it is, but nothing -'s any good there. They call it in the village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... -Well, I've stayed here a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison.” - -“That's cheerful,” he said, laughing. “It would, I suppose, be awful -if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer and the rest of -them; but this time next year will see me somewhere better, I hope.” - -“Mind you stick to that,” she said eagerly. “I have a horrible kind -of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here they are -still—soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear thinking of.” - -“One must have ambition,” he answered her confidently. - -She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - -He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke -furiously. - - - - -CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR I. - -AT the end of his first month young Traill looked back, as it were from -the top of a hill, and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How -much of this pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her -during that period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his -agreeable acceptance of things as they were without any very definite -challenge to them to be different, it is impossible to say. - -The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that -there was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone -passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were -from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's voice -as he went round the dormitories turning lights out—never a moment's -pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in no way a -reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their untidy, -scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the Upper -Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because of -his football. - -The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he -might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of -unrest and discomfort in their common room. - -With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to -supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness -of the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's parents -(aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the melancholy -inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer relations with -him. - -He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room -things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly -equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself -on several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and -insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the -bath and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their -irritation from their original connection with Perrin, and this might -have led him, had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not -like Perrin and that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon -things—he was always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and -where there was an empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on -Isabel. - -The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, -inconsiderable. - -Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, on the -other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In this -bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he -might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both -baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked -body gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. -Traill was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he -could have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as -the days passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's -complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself -annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. -There were words. - -“I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?” - -“Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your place....” - -Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the -midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If Traill -had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like him. - -The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had -breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They -clubbed together and provided three newspapers—the Morning Post, the -Daily Mail, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person who came -in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in last, -because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected that -the Morning Post should be left for him. But Traill, as he paid the same -subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. Clinton always -took the Daily Mail, and therefore Perrin had to be contented with the -Cornish News. There was at last an argument. Traill refused to give way. -The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute silence. Perrin came no more -to Traill's room for an evening chat—a very small matter. - -But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in -any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game of -football; he was in a glow because he was in love—moreover, he had never -quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had made any -progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She came down -sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the evening, he -had walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above the dark, -cloudy trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet—and at every -meeting he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the afternoon he -liked to walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once or twice he -bicycled over to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir Henry -Trojan was a man who had appealed to him immensely. In spite of his size -and strength and simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of doors and -read little, he had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. He showed -Traill a great many things that were new to him. He began to feel -a sense of color; he saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed -village, the sweeping, striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped -sometimes in his walks and drew a deep breath at the way that the lights -and colors were hung about him. Of course the contrast of his school -life drove these other things against him—and also his love for Isabel. - -These little things would have no importance were it not that they all -helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think -about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very -definite way. - -He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - -And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most -amazing way.... II. - -Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had -definite personality—aggressive in its influence—and contempt of the -rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their -own terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his -back. - -He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. -He was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he -appreciated his humor. - -And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. -His room was untidy—littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks -of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there -were signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared -for, sets of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving -of Whistler's portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and -from the night outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the -scent of decaying leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - -Birkland was thin—sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; -heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little -gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled -in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open -window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - -“And so you like it?” - -“Yes—immensely!” - -“Why?” - -“Well—why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. There's -plenty of exercise—the hours are healthy—the fellows are quite nice -fellows. I like teaching.” - -Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his -principal reason. - -“Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?” - -“Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton.” - -“Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you like the -other men?” - -“Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's splendid.” - -“Yes—and Perrin?” - -“Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As a matter -of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice.” - -“Yes—everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some time or other. As a -matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't the other way round—one -day.” - -There was a pause, and then Birkland said, “And so you like it.” - -“Yes, of course; don't you?” - -Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather -uncertainly, “Don't you?” - -He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man—as a matter of fact -he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he -scarcely ever read novels. - -Then Birkland spoke: “You had better not ask me that, young man, if you -want an encouraging answer.” - -Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: “I'm going -to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your soul, -and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's soul for—well!—I -should be afraid to say how long. I'm afraid—I don't really care very -much about the safety of yours—but I care enough to speak to you; and -the one thing I say to you is—get out—get away. Fly for your life.” His -voice sank to a whisper. “If you don't, you will die very soon—in a year -perhaps. We are all dead here, and we died a great many years ago.” - -Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering -candles at Birkland. - -“Oh! I say,” he said, “that's a bit of exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose -one is tired sometimes, of course; but, after all, there are a good many -men in the country who make a pretty good thing out of mastering and are -n't so very miserable.” - -It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on -Birkland's part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - -But the other man went on: “I shouldn't have said this at all if I -hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of experience behind -me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm bothering you, I'm sure; -but now I've begun I'm going on, and you've got to listen. You can't -say you haven't been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the -common room and seen what kind of men they are?” - -“Of course,” said Traill; “but,” he added modestly, “I'm not observant, -you know. I'm not at all a clever kind of chap.” - -“Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in their faces -right enough. Mind you—what I'm saying to you doesn't apply to the -first-class public school. That's a different kind of thing altogether. -I'm talking about places like Moffatt's—places that are trying to be -what they are not—to do what they can't do—to get higher than they can -reach. There are thousands of them all over the country—places where -the men are underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them -hating each other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut -each other's throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they -teach?” - -He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but -showing in its tensity his emotion. - -“It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there is more -room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid better; there -is a chance of getting a house; there is the esprit de corps of the -school... but here, my God!” - -Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - -“Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. Don't I -know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever when I -came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you try -for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are too -old—too old at thirty-three—earning two hundred a year... too old! and -liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the Head doesn't like -you—turned out with nothing to go to; and he knows that you are afraid -of him and he has games with you.” - -Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland to -talk like this! - -“You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers about -you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be -allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like -you. Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something -will come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with -the Head, because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You -must not be friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and -will immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring -against him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we -shall all hate you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. -You think that you are going to teach with freshness and interest—you -are full of eager plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will -be immediately killed. You must not have them—they are not good for -examinations—you are trying to show that you are superior.” - -Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - -“Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. It -is murder—self-murder. You are going to kill—you have got to kill—every -fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will be laughed at for -your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be allowed any fine -vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are neglecting your -work. You have no time. Here we are—fifteen men—all hating each other, -loathing everything that the other man does—the way he eats, the way -he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to each other, we eat -together, we meet all day until late at night—hating each other.” - -“After all,” said Traill, still smiling, “it is only a month or two, and -there are holidays.” - -“If term lasted another week or two,” went on Birkland quietly, “murder -would be committed. The holidays come, and you go out into the world to -find that you are different from all other men—to find that they know -that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, egotistic. You -realize it slowly; you see them shunning you—and then back you go again. -God knows, they should not hate us—these others! they should pity us. -If you marry, see what it is—look at Mrs. Dormer, Mrs. Comber, Mrs. -Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their life. There is marriage—no -money, no prospects, perhaps in the end starvation! And gradually there -creeps over you a dreadful and horrible inertia: you do not care—you do -not think—you are a ghost. If one of us dies, we do not mind—we do not -think about it. Only, towards the end of the term, when the examinations -come, there creeps about the place a new devil. All our nerve is gone; -our hatred of each other begins to be active. It is the end-of-termy -devil.... Another week or two, and there is no knowing what we might do. -We are all tired, horribly tired. Be careful then what you do and what -you say.” - -“My word!” said Traill, filling his pipe, “what a horrible picture of -things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's hysteria!” - -Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - -“Oh! of course you don't see it!” he said. “After all, why should you? -But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm resigned enough now. Besides, -it's the beginning of the term. I'm inclined to think it's untrue, -myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch White after he's had an interview -with the Head—see Perrin and Comber together later on—study Mrs. Comber. -But don't you bother. You won't listen to me—why should you? Only, in -ten years' time you 'll remember.” - -After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in -his sharp, caustic way. - -“I say,” said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, “that was -all rot; was n't it?” - -“What was?” asked Birkland. - -“Why, about the place—this place.” - -“All rot!” said Birkland gravely. III. - -But of course one dismisses these things very soon—especially, and -immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - -Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men -that Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory -exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse -into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in -the dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - -Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed -shadow; life is sharp, pungent—formed with faint blue skies, dim and -shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered -balloon between saucer-clouds. - -Archie Traill, on a free afternoon—an early frost had made the ground -too hard for football—in the week after that Birkland evening, stood in -the village street as the church clock struck half-past three, and he -thanked God for a half-holiday. - -The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea -had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, -and the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue -horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone -and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The brown -church tower seemed to sway—so motionless was the rest of the world—with -the clatter of its chiming clocks. - -Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr. Traill,” -and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the rest of her -movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little ironically -and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a strange -place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help finding it -funny. - -Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on -vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - -“And she only sixteen—what a size!” - -“Only sixteen!—to think of it!” - -“With her great legs and all!” - -“Only sixteen...!” - -The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full -of things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his -presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, -drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a -presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her -that he loved her—and it was n't time yet. - -But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. “We must talk, -one of us—it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming.” - -She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road -and looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - -“We are both so frightfully young,” she said. - -“Why, yes,” he said, laughing at her; “but why not?” - -“Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, and I for -my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you were -going to be old enough, but I don't think you are.” - -“I know that I can't—” he began. - -“Oh! it isn't for anything that you can't do!” she broke in. “It's -just because you don't see it—why should you? You 're too much in the -middle—I suppose it's only outsiders who can really understand. But I -get so depressed sometimes with it all that I think that I will leave it -and go back to London and never come here again. One doesn't seem to -be any use—no use at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. -Poor Mr. Traill! I always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm -not gloomy really in the least.” - -“But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You mustn't -think of it.” - -He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. “Why?” she -said gravely. “Do you like my being here?” And then, before he could say -anything, she added, reflectively, “Well, that's one, at any rate. - -“I have to go in here,” she said, stopping before a gate with a drive -behind it. “Tea, you understand.” Then she gave him her hand. “Although -you don't in the least know what I mean, you 're a help,” she said; “and -I shall look across the chapel floor in the evening and know that I have -a friend. Sometimes when I'm down here—out of it—and everything's so -fresh and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true—the things -that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them.” She went through -the gate and looked back at him. “But I don't want to have to be sorry -for you as well—please,” she added, and was lost in the trees. - -But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved -a step—or even a good many steps further—was ready that she should be -sorry or have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her -claiming Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating -and so swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which -he might eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my -intention to give you all his symptoms—his passion is in no way -the chief point; it was simply one of the things that helped in the -culminating issue. - -Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little -conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting -tea-party—three old ladies who regarded her as something very dangerous -and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to turn -into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their -dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone -whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language -was not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of -the tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the -expression of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and -thought of Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and -courteous speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, “Don't go to -London, please,” and he had meant it—it was almost as though he had -appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in -front of him. She knew, of course—she had seen it happen so very often -before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, eager -challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that things -would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, grim, -baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of Moffatt's -were alive, moving—crushing, as in some story that she had once read, -relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he had -suddenly seen or understood something of that—there had come to him -some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came -quickly. She liked him—she had liked him from the first—she liked him -very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all that she -could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them behind her -with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be three -old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their fires -and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little people -realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! How -they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - -It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and -ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, and -the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. There -was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the gates -behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, “Good evening, Miss -Desart,” and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin always made -her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively shrank back, -but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately ashamed of -her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his voice -trembled—-he seemed troubled about something; and then that feeling of -pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her voice was -softer and more tender. - -“It was—um—a great piece of good fortune for me that I should be passing -just when you were coming out—a great piece of good fortune.” - -He seemed very nervous. - -“And for me too,” she said; “this hill grows extraordinarily dark, and I -stayed on longer than I ought to have done. Have you been paying calls, -too?” - -“Oh, no! I—um—never pay calls—merely a stroll down to the village to buy -some tobacco—merely that—nothing more... yes, merely that... simply some -tobacco.” - -She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might -be reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he -lingered. She hastened her steps. - -“I'm not sure that it is n't raining—I felt a drop just now, I -thought—and it was such a lovely afternoon.” - -“Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped. - -She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the warmth -and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible and escape -from this strange, awkward man. - -She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower -School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but -then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.” - -Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. -“Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can only learn -by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous -thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.” - -“Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest and pleasant. Of course, -I haven't seen very much of him, but I must say that what I 've seen of -him I've liked.” - -They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the -horizon. - -In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. -Perrin's face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was -clenching and unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie -had risen at the back above his collar... his eyes were looking into -hers and beseeching her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - -They had come to the gates. - -“Miss Desart...” - -They both came to a halt in the road. - -“Yes?” she said, smiling at him. - -“I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if...” - -He stopped again desperately. - -“What can I do?” she said, still smiling at him. He looked so odd, -standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His eyes -had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - -“I would be so glad if—one day—so flattered if—you would—will—um—come -for a walk, one day.” He stopped with a jerk. - -She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the -path to the house. - -“Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night.” - -He stood looking after her. - - - - -CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN -THE SCHEME OF THINGS I. - -LATER there is Mr. Perrin heavily—with the midday mutton close about his -head—surveying, in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small boys -who gaze at him with staring eyes and jumping throats. - -It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the -ears—Browning's “Patriot,” one verse a week, to be said every Tuesday -morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, completely forgotten, -every Tuesday morning second hour. - - -I go in the rain and, more than needs - -The rope—the rope—the rope— - - -Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in -man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, -to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where Advanced Algebra and -Mensuration hold perpetual war and rivalry. - -It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a -football match—a great football match against a mighty Truro team,—and -already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive -murmur at the dusty panes. - -But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested -no remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red -tablecloth—a tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his -case was hopeless: - - -A rope—a rope that— - - -Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, -the whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. -Outside, in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, -perfectly; but it was too late. - -At last one prisoner only remained—Garden Minimus, a cheerful, untidy -person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his hair. - -Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole -school—had liked him best for the last two years. When things were -really black, when headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed -to hang about him in a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden -Minimus. He flattered himself that the boy was not aware of this -partiality; but the boy, he was sure, liked him. He treated him always -with an elaborate irony that the boy seemed to understand in some -curious way. Garden would stand, with his head on one side like a rather -intelligent small dog, and although he rarely said anything more than -“Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - -On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word -of “The Patriot,” and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - -Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. “I'm afraid, friend Garden,” -he said, “that it will devolve upon your lordship—hum—ha—that you should -write this poem of the noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than fifty -times. I grieve—I sympathize—I am your humble servant; but the law -commands.” - -Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, with -a most engaging smile, “There's a most ripping footer match this -afternoon, sir.” - -“Fool though I am,” said Mr. Perrin, “I have nevertheless observed that -there is, as you say, a footer match. Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The -Patriot' calls you, friend Garden.” - -“It would be an awful pity,” said Garden reflectively, without paying -the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, “to miss a decent game like -that.” - -Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, “All right, -Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you aren't -careful!” - -Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead -lowering. Outside the door he muttered, “Silly, pompous ass!” - -Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting -to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. -He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part -immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a -fool to try, and they resented his airs. - -He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his -head between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns -above his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the -football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening -fear that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to -him. He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every -time that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - -She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that -she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for -a walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his -mother that the thing was practically arranged. - -As for that puppy, Traill—well, he 'd kept him in his place, thank -Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more -and more—conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he met -anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring -things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the -patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him -furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only -brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He -looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some -English essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a -silly china figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a -cocked hat. This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated -him. The old gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had -always meant to get rid of it, but for some reason or other he never -could destroy it. - -Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - -As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - -The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a -dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, “Scho-o-l!” rose and -fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a -superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited -him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected -to despise it. - -In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of -his own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and -sticky green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided -their attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - -“Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?” - -“Can't help it—Grey's barging—Oh! I say, run it, Morton. That's it! Pick -it up—dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!” - -“I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine—Thanks! Where's -Garden, you chaps?” - -“Swotting up for Old Pompous.” - -“Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was rather sweet -on Garden.” - -“So he is—but Garden can't stand him.” - -“No wonder—blithering ass, with his long words!” - -“Oh! I say—they 've got it! There's Morton off again—Oh! he's going! -Well run, my word! He's in! No, he isn't! The back's got him! No, he -hasn't! Hurray! Try! Good old Morton!” - -Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a -less crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself -spoken of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, -trembled before him. He always told himself that all the members of the -staff were in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt—it hurt badly. - -Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks of -boys—each boy with his friend—the familiar mantle of loneliness, that he -had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He saw Comber in the -distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted Mrs. Comber and -Miss Desart. - -He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his -very worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle -was glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of -his coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - -Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, -because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that dislike -with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and watched -the game. - -“We appear to be winning,” said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at three -small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. “We appear—um—to -be winning. Morton has secured a try.” - -“Yes, I'm so glad,” gasped Mrs. Comber—she was out of breath. “Morton's -a nice boy—we had him once in our house, and I do hope the school will -win, because it's so nice for everybody's tempers, and the boys like -it—and there's that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most -beautifully.” - -Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked -at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. -Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his -direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a -breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the -touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the -field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart -gave a long-drawn “Oh!” Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. Perrin moodily -stroked his mustache. - -The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground—a very pretty -try. - -“Good old Traillers!” - -“That's something like!” - -“Isn't he spiffing?”—and then Miss Desart's, “Oh! that was splendid!” -beat about Mr. Perrin's poor head, that was aching horribly. - -“That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's -half-time.” - -Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared -once more to be volubly pleasant. - -But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the -top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three -trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they -stood and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt -suddenly as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets -of white light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown -fields. - -Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin -went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed -about him. He sat down to his pile of English essays on “Town and -Country—Which is the best to live in?” with a confused sense of running -men, lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the -mantelpiece, and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - -At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented “The -Patriot” neatly written fifty times. II. - -It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a -dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it was -to be over by twelve. “Do let us,” Lady Trojan wrote, “put you up. You -will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming down for the night from -London. He will want to see you so badly.” Traill wrote back, accepting -the dance, but explaining that he must return on the same evening, -quoting as his imperative necessity early morning preparation. - -It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very -obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order -to free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and -receive definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to -a single dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed -that the rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently -any intention of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning -school to Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was -conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous -man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. He -moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called -to him, “Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment.” - -Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that -Moy-Thompson's garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in -the sun; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like -a prison; he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the -half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at -his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely -apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a -little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long gray -beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now -and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that -Moy-Thompson was smiling. - -Moy-Thompson said, “But I think I told you that Maurice was on no -account to have an exeat.” - -White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: “Yes, I know. But -his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not seen his -son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances—” - -“That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he should -not have an exeat.” - -“No—but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of the case, -you would not object.” - -“What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? What -are you paid to do?” - -White made no answer. - -“Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things here, -you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your -place.” - -“No,”—White's voice was very low—“I have no complaint. I am sorry if—” - -“You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any paid -position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when -you please. Doubtless you are better informed.” - -Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had -rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance -at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; -but again Moy-Thompson said, “Just a moment, Traill.” - -He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost -stepped across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long -haggard figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing -with them there in the room. - -The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, -shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped -him naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the -other to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - -The room seemed full of pain—it seemed to cross and recross in waves. -White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered eyes out -through the door. - -Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed -him. Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his -hand and caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a -frightened, startled look, he stepped away. III. - -When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad -to get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it -would be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult -to get up in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal—he now -emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in -his life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, -lean, untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in -the sense of his arrogance. - -They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were -extremely disagreeable. - -He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He -was always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his -form. He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he -had met there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping -in—and at night he dreamt—he was almost sure that she loved him.... -Whenever they met now they were very silent. - -He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, -wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, -fine day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the -hard, white road. - -As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind -in his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea -came to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those -brown buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old -self; he sang to himself. - -A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood -black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, -stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little -sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the -night. The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster -against the dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - -He sang aloud. - -It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much -before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as -imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he -was a schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was -delightful to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden -and strolled about the paths together; he was much improved since -the Cambridge days, Traill thought—less self-assured and with wider -interests. And then Sir Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader -feeling of life—sanity and health and strength—and lie had an admirable -sense of humor. - -And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. -He thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him -in the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little -round white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The -hedges, like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - -He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. -He took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he -tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click -it broke in half. - -He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair—supposing he -had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - -He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he -saw that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might -climb. He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another -hand on the window-sill drew him level. - -He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it -up, and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, -jumped. He was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the -crockery in the world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of -it seemed to go rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that -he had cut his hand and had bruised his knee. - -For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: -the tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped -down straight amongst the cups and plates. - -He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the -blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. -Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was -Perrin. - -“Who's there? What's that?” Perrin held a poker in his other hand. - -Traill got up slowly from the floor. “It is I—Traill,” he stammered. He -was still feeling stunned. - -Perrin held the candle a little closer. “Oh, is it you, Traill?” - -“Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am sorry.” - -“You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly. “You woke me -up.” - -“Yes; I am most awfully sorry.” - -Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his -candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined -to move. - -“You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it as though he -were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - -“Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.” - -Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?” he said at -last, slowly. - -What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - -“I did n't know that this was a girls' school,” Traill said at last, -sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he was tired, and in -a very bad temper. - -Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in like this!” - -The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge, -gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - -Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill -enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - -“I can't help it,” he said, shaking; “you look so funny, so frightfully -odd!” - -Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been -disturbed in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he -said nothing at all. He moved slowly down the passage. - -Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - - - - -CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO I. - -TO Perrin, in his sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring -wind and crashing sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china -that lived on the mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him -and bent over the bed and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his -transit and was large in the leg and trailed behind him a long black -gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin by buzzing like a wasp. - -He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the -words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning -and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, -restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the -discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to -confirm the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing—he had -climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - -Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. II. - -Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky -and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was -perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening -gambit of “saying things under your breath that looked bad, but couldn't -possibly be heard,” to the triumphant checkmate of a studied, sarcastic -politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - -Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old -hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over -him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with -ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew -against the panes. - -His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the -first book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their -brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of -the figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - -He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and -heaviest boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, called -Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. Somerset-Walpole—his -fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his hair dust—stood with his -mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague wonder as to why, when he -ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind would invariably wander to -the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's neck and the silly leaves -dancing about outside. - -Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the -form laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the -youngster back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour -in drawing hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then -smudging them out with his fingers. - -Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, frowning -face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt wildly -from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty purring at -his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, only when -the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, suddenly, that -he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his hands and twist them -back further and further until they cracked. He would like to take his -little fat arms and close his fingers about them and pinch them until -they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white knuckles and beat -them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Perrin -began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a little. - -“Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began to pinch -the back of his neck. - -“You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I am -sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve -to think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your -preparation last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, -you know—you will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it -out thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.” - -But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... He -saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was -shaking with rage. - -“Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him a push. He -sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the rest of -the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had rung -and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I think -fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's sleeve with his -hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite contempt in -his eyes. - -Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of -the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to -Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they -could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and -accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days -that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming -anyone in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being -against him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such -opportunities of retaliation as were given him. At the same time these -little confidential talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the -senior master at the Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not -have these little talks; it did not occur to him that the reason might -be that Dormer was too honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far -as Traill was concerned, Perrin really felt that it did not do to have -masters leaping through windows at any hour of the night. The accidental -fact that he disliked Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, -nothing whatever to do with it; he would have felt it just as strongly -his duty to speak about it had the offender been his dearest friend. - -The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and -broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's good. -The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in -chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire -with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for -a walk with him... and then another walk... and then another... and -then.... - -And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too -terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; -it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks -on the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy -places on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, -and its depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be -remarked once more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill -damage that he embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, -but only because it helped his sense of importance. He was already -wishing that he had told Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times -instead of fifteen, so cheered and inspired did he feel. - -The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect -for each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, -and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question -should be: “What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?” - -Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the -people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and -it is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew -from the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking -Traill. - -“Oh, I think, well enough,” he answered, looking out of the window. “The -boys like him.” - -“Oh, they like him; do they?” - -“Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that he sticks -to his work as he should do.” - -“Why! What does he do?” - -“I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at one -o'clock this morning.” - -“Oh, did you!” Moy-Thompson smiled. “Where had he been?” - -“I didn't ask.” - -Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole -business had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to -his own rooms. III. - -Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. -He found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of -the rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went -gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations -with the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His -mind was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was -only rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead -of correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out -of the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - -He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the -first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the -Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - -Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. -There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen -stiff wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the -staff waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most -irritating quarter of an hour of the day. - -Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the -table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's match. -As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: “Toggett at three-quarter is -perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's choice. Traill may be able -to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the game is absolutely nil.” -Comber has resented Traill's entrance into the school football from the -very first. He, although many years past his game, had hitherto led the -Rugby enthusiasts of the school—he had been supreme on the Committee and -had had the last word about the teams. Traill's football, however, was -so obviously superior to anything that the school had had for a great -many years that he was received with open arms. He had not perhaps been -as judiciously submissive to Comber as he might have been, but he -had always deferred his opinion and had never been goaded by Comber's -caustic contradictions into ill-temper. - -He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up -to the table, said, “Thanks, Comber.” - -Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: “What -the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think....” By -the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's -discipline. - -“I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I were -you,” Birkland was saying. “It's so delightful for me, being just under -you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to think that they -really are enjoying themselves.” - -Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. “I keep them perfectly -still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a -pin drop.” - -“You must have dropped a cartload of them,” said Birkland, frowning. -“Try and drop less next time.” - -Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. -That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - -“Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve,” he said. - -Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. “I thought things -were a little too pleasant to last,” he said. His mind flew back to -the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have said anything. -Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He shrugged -his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, that -schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a little -unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should go -wrong, through no fault of one's own. - -Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked -him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he -caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled -at him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of -the dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he -had been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - -Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no -definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, -as water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, -suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, -of the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such -brilliant things as the world contained, it should be allowed to -continue. His own position was lost in the perpetual vision of White -standing, as he had seen him, with bent head. - -“Ah, Traill,” said Moy-Thompson. “Sit down. I have been wanting to have -a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite convenient?” - -“Perfectly,” said Traill. - -“I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I have had -no opportunity. I must try and manage next week.” - -Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. “I hope that you have -had no trouble with discipline.” - -“None. The boys are excellent.” - -“Ah! that is splendid.” There was a pause; then the beard was suddenly -lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. “I hope that you take -your work seriously, Mr. Traill.” Traill flushed a little. “I think that -I do,” he said. - -“That is well.... Because we are—ah! um—a great institution, a very -great institution. We owe our traditions—um, eh—a very serious and -determined attention to detail. To work together, as one man, for the -good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, all in -friendly brotherhood—um, yes.” Traill said nothing. - -“I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at -work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause -we have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill.” - -“I hope,” Traill said, “that you have not found me wanting, that you -have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked—” - -“Worked? Ah, yes.” Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his fingers -together. “But what about play, eh? What about play?” Traill flushed. -“As to football—” - -“No, it is not football. It is merely a detail—quite a detail. But Mr. -Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this morning through -the window. I confess that I was surprised.” - -“That is quite true,” said Traill, in a low voice. “I went—” - -“Ah! no! please!” Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. “No details -are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I think, say any -more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will agree with me -that it should not occur again.” - -“I am sorry—” Traill said. - -“Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and -play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we -ask. To pass for a moment to another matter.” Moy-Thompson put his -hand on some papers. “Here are the scholarship questions that you have -set—geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we require. -If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me to-morrow. -Yes. Thank you.... Good morning.” Traill rose, took the papers in his -hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as though Birkland -himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of persecution. -The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he had Perrin -to thank for it. IV. - -The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him -throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great -joints of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the -incessant noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and -voices, the dreary monotony and repetition of it—Perrin's face seen at -the end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - -But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had -the opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no -time in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage -joy that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made -Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - -The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, -discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, -rushed down to the sea. - -A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff -that jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three -sides, by a furious, heaving flood. - -Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of -the sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them -fell with a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift -succession, first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents -about to strike, then falling with a curve and glistering, shining -backs, then sweeping, tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him -the wind screamed and tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent -and creaked along the road; the rain lashed his face. - -He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his -hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as -she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, -that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw -him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was -too great—the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into their -clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out his -hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind -almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept -about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer -to him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed -close against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without -a word, they moved slowly down the road.... V. - -It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the -opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and -Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had -disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to -him a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as -a crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting -people—he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if -anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - -Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - -Perrin said, “Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of you. -Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?” But he wasn't -smiling. - -“No,” said Traill, slowly. “There's nothing you can do for me. But I -want to speak to you.” - -“Ah, well, sit down; won't you?” - -“No, thanks. I 'll stand.” Traill cleared his throat. “Did you by any -chance say anything to the Head about my coming in last night?” - -Perrin smiled. “My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and is it -really, after all, any business of yours?” - -“Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says that -you told him—I want to know why you told him.” - -“It is my business,” Perrin said, “as housemaster here to find out -anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late hours, your -disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's progress,—um, yes.” - -The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not altogether -been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event of the -afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and indeed -it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and being -well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little ashamed -of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger -against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his -good-humor and equability. - -So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said -quietly, “I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been neglecting my -duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's outing during the term -can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to you about it because -I have been feeling during these last weeks that we have not been very -good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up together here -so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it makes -everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I am -very sorry.” - -The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, -had been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt -that he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish -comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels -always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, -hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he -liked young Traill very much. - -He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was -his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had -ever at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already -passed him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had -laughed at him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the -taunting jeers that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of -his fellow-beings had, in his time, played upon him. - -And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must -show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and -really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with -her white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his -knees, kissing her hand. - -“Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that—um, yes. One must, -you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are older you -will see that there is something in what I say—um. We know, you see; -schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, well, I'm sure -I'm very glad.” - -But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant -tempers were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. -The patronage of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his “When you are -older,” and the rest. - -“All right,” he said hotly; “keep that advice for others. I don't know -that I was so wrong, after all. What business of yours was it to -go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain things that a -gentleman doesn't do.” - -“Oh, really!”—the little man on the mantelpiece was smiling again. -Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his chair. “Your -apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive something to your -age, but that sort of impertinence—I don't think you remember to whom -you are speaking. You are the junior master here, you must be taught -that, and when those who are wiser than yourself choose to give you some -advice, you should take it gratefully.” - -Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - -“My God! you conceited, insufferable—” - -“Get out of my room!” - -“All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of you.” - -“Get out of my room!” Perrin's eyes were starting out of his head. - -Traill swung on his heel. “I won't forget this in a hurry,” he said. - -“Take care you don't come in here again,” Perrin shouted after him. The -door was banged. - -Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he -had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands -to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece -and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from -under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in -the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE I. - -BUT, during the week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly -reasserted itself once more. After all, it was really impossible to -be angry with anyone when the world was alight and trembling with -so wonderful an adventure. They had each of them written to those in -authority. Isabel had a complacent father who knew something of young -Traill's family and, answering at once, said that he would come down -to see them and made it his only stipulation that the engagement should -last for at least a year, until they were both a little older. Traill's -mother was delighted with anything that could give her son such -happiness. It had all been very sudden of course; but then, was not true -love always like that? Had not she, a great many years ago, fallen -in love with Archie's father “all in a minute,” and was not that the -beautiful incautious way that the new practical generation seemed so -often to forget? So, she sent him her blessing and also wrote a little -note to Isabel. - -But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day -to reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk -and chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel -knew, to any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone -at the school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they -would feel that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would -not be pleasant. - -So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They -met in the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel -floor, and they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in -the letter-box. - -But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel -about his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - -“When we ourselves are so happy,” she said, “we can't quarrel with -anyone—and, poor man, no wonder his temper is irritable. He's a -miserably disappointed man, and I don't think he's very well either. He -looks dreadfully white and strained sometimes. We can afford to put up -with some ill-temper from other people, Archie, just now. When we are so -happy and he is so unhappy, it is a little unfair, isn't it?” - -And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and -agreeable. But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other -a little at meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill -made were cut short at once without hesitation. - -Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week -heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow—he had headaches, bad -headaches; and his form suffered. II. - -And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm -broke—the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at -Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange myths -grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's a -strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts -for their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central -combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but -also others—the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world -of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that -umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded -green umbrella—now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all -umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign -token of all that was to come. - -Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This -Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate -contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, -stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic -piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from -it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's -grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with -nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp—so that there -is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and -insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the -present—this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - -It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of -the week. - -There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of -religious stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions -are flung at the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the -rest and repose of the preceding day. - -Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was -different from the other six days of the week, and although it might not -on its arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given -it, nevertheless it was something—a landmark if nothing else. - -And now on this dark and dreary Monday—with the first hour a tedious and -bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal and -embittered Latin exercise—that early rising to the cold summoning of the -hell was anything but pleasant. - -Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious -torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and -cried with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the -paths were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - -Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early -preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it -nearly always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he -hurried down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding -the bodies of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as -they rushed furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - -He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly -selected the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the -Upper School. - -That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was -in the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of -twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. -M. Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, -appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion -passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys -well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done -without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual -persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various -offenders. - -A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the -two hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the -digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill -rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He -hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - -The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior -common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of -yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. The -brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and draughts -that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the room. - -A small fire was burning in the grate—a mountain of black coal and stray -spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper hanging -from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in the -kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices and a -clatter of cups. - -It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who -was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and -Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - -Clinton seized the Morning Post and, with a grunt of dissatisfaction -at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never thought very -intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike Monday and -rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his share of -the breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the Morning Post -dull, and relapsed on to the Daily Mail. The rain and the quarreling in -the kitchen were very disturbing. - -Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very -great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, -and he found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative -person with one—it was not necessary to think about him. - -“My word,” said Clinton, his eyes glued to the Daily Mail, “the London -Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins yesterday—two goals -and a try to a try—all that man Binton—extraordinary three-quarter—no -flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder if they 'll catch -that chap Deakin?” - -“Deakin?” said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his breakfast. -How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well—in a year's time! - -“Yes, you know—the Hollins Road murder—the man who cut his wife and -mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't tell -which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front door.” - -“I think,” said Traill, shortly, “following up murder trials like that -is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized.” - -“All right!” said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining sausages. -“Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? He won't want any more.” - -“He sometimes does,” said Traill, feeling that at the moment he hated -Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole world. “He's -awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't find anything.” - -Clinton smiled. “He's rather amusing when he's sick,” he said. “He so -often is. By the way, has the Head passed those exam, questions of yours -yet?” - -“No,” said Traill, frowning. “He 's made me do them five times now, and -last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions that he himself had -suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, and he called me, -politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's no question that he's -got his knife into me now, and I've got friend Perrin to thank for it!” - -“Yes,” said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, “Perrin does n't love -you—there's no question of that. Young Garden Minimus has been helping -the feud.” - -“Garden? What's he got to do with it?” - -“Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet—well, -Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about -telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That -makes Pompous sick as anything.” - -“I like the kid especially,” Traill said. “He 's rather a favorite of -mine.” - -“Yes,” said Clinton. “Well, look out for trouble, that 's all. There 'll -be open war between you soon if you are not careful.” - -At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a -conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door -for a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - -“Well, a hundred times,” Perrin was saying, “and you don't go out till -you 've done it.” - -Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. -Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there was -a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - -“Really, it's too bad,” he said to no one in particular and certainly -not to Traill. “I don't know what's come over that boy—nothing but -continuous impertinence. He shall go up to the Head if he isn't careful. -Such a nice boy, too, before this term.” - -At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the Morning Post and -Clinton the Daily Mail. He looked as though he were going to say -something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood -in front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary -window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy -heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - -He had slept badly—had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, of -his own miserable condition, of his poor mother—and then, slumbering -at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake by that -thundering, clamoring bell. - -He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat -stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. -Then he had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been -“playing about” and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink -and had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, -Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible confusion -of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - -He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; -but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the -subject of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting -up clean in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up -to the matron to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some -people's school days have been vastly exaggerated! - -Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy -portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the -crime, had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the -rest of the hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and -had hinted that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment -might be relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered -under his breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word “Pompous.” - -All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they -amounted to a great deal—and all before half-past eight in the morning. -Also he had had very little to eat. - -He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon -with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at -all costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, -when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance -of the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - -“I really think, Clinton,” he said, “that a little less appetite on your -part in the early morning would be better for everyone concerned.” - -Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, -“All right, old chap—I always have an awful appetite in the morning. I -always had.” - -Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - -Clinton said, “I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your sleeve.” - -And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and -feebly tried to brush it off with his hand. - -Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely -the atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been -on such bad terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were -discomforts, difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the -term and the place and the people as he had never loathed any of them -before; he felt that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - -Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to -teach Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. -books up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. -The rain was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as -though it had some personal grievance against them. - -Robert, the general factotum—a long, pale man with a spotty face and a -wonderful capacity for dropping china—came in to collect the breakfast -things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still deep in -the Morning Post. - -Perrin came in with a clouded brow. “I can't find,” he said, “my -umbrella.” - -The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but -there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking for -papers. - -“Robert, have you seen my umbrella?” - -No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella -last week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room—an umbrella with -lace, pink—Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas in the -stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. Perrin -had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No—perhaps one of the -young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of Robert. - -“Clinton!” No answer. “Clinton!” - -At last Clinton turned round. - -“Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?” - -“No, old man—why should I? Isn't it outside?” - -It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite -determined that he would not under any circumstances use anyone else's -umbrella. - -He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very -angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his -humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that -there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in -impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he -began to mutter to himself—the little red and yellow china man was -creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were -trembling like leaves. - -He came into the common room again. “I can't think—” he said, with his -trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it yesterday—last night. -Clinton, you must have seen it.” - -“No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so profoundly -irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts are far away. -“No—I don't think I've seen it. What did I do with that Algebra? Oh! -there it is. My word! is n't it raining!” - -The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. -Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a -furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the -conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - -“What's the matter?” he said. - -“Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, “you must -have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want to go out.” - -“There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking a little -frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - -It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. -Then on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken -that morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - -Of course it must be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort of -umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be -likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward. - -He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the Morning Post. - -Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. “I -must have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert. “I want to go to -the Upper School.” - -He had left the door a little open. - -“I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his -fingers. - -Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - -“I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm afraid I must have taken -it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed—” - -“You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - -“Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. -I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you—” - -He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile drove -Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - -“You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without asking? I never heard -such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece—all of a piece!” - -“But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As though a man mightn't -take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too -absurd.” - -“Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's all of a -piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here -thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've all -got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. We must -give up everything to your Highness—our clothes, our possessions—you -conceited—insufferable puppy!” - -These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself -with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his -misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he -had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had -been against him at every turn. - -All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did -not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the -room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could -hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, -supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob -and ruin him. - -“Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a little, and -conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he did not want -to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly sorry that I took -your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any reason to speak to me -like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not here.” - -“Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. “Oh! of -course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is all of a piece with the -rest of your behavior. It you don't know how to behave like a gentleman, -it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen don't steal other people's -things. You can be put in prison for that sort of thing, you know.” - -“I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill, beginning in his -anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. “I don't want your -beastly things—keep them to yourself.” - -“I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you two. Don't make such a row -here—everyone can hear. Wait until later.” - -But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was -shaking his fist in Traill's face. - -“It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll give you something for saying -that—I 'll let you know.” And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my -umbrella! Give me my umbrella!” - -“I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill. “I left it -somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You can jolly well go and look -for it.” - -And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap -began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face -with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon the -breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he rose he -brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had left -upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of -streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything -came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed -together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - -Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland -and Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's -absolute silence. - -Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's lip -was cut and bleeding—coffee was on Perrin's collar; their faces were -very white. - -For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they -passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - -In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella -have its beginning. - -Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had -been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours -with a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what -simpler can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, -more nearly concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING I. - -ISABEL DESART heard about it early on the afternoon of the same day. -Traill himself told her as he stood with her for a moment outside the -school gates before he went down to football. - -She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been -that it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a -way, made a fool of himself—that to struggle in that fashion with a man -like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great -deal more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and -her feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to -be feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of -these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone -to be pitied—that was the reason of her kindness to him—and now that he -was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her pity for -him was increased. - -But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than -she could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been -through, she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he -would not be likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a -climax. - -They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough -to get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she -put it to herself, “spread out”; but halfterm was only just over and she -did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's feeling, she -saw, was mainly one of disgust—the same kind of sensation that he would -have had if he had not been able to have his bath in the morning. -About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make that kind of -disturbance about so small a thing.... - -Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that “it wasn't done” -and that Perrin was therefore an “outsider,” and that there the thing -ended. - -Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this -and knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. -But she was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and -simply to tell him that she was sorry. - -“One thing, you know,” she said, smiling at him and blushing a little. -“We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day.” - -“Oh! must we?” he said, shrinking back a little. - -“Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to be talk about -all this business. Of course, there is, heaps—and you must let me do my -share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you know.” - -He had not figured the talk that there would be—he saw it all now in an -instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking further -still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be involved; but -he was much too simple a person to think this further vision anything -but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent about -umbrellas.... - -He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their -engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the -Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. II. - -Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between -chapel and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning -struggle had been brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and -Birkland, much earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy -one—one hour followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there -were boys to see and games to play and all the accumulated details to -fill in any odd moments that there might be,—so that, with the exception -of short sentences and exclamations and a general air of pleasurable -surprise pervading everything, no real movement was possible until this -evening hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and naked than -ever—although it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was cold and -chill. - -Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; -Birkland and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, -West, were also there. Little West was so obvious and striking an -example of his type that it seemed as though he had been especially -created to stand to the end of time as an example of what a Board School -education and a pushing disposition can do for a man. He was short -and square, with a shaggy, unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy -complexion that two generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. -He was a little bald on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, -and spoke slowly and with great care. He had worked exceedingly hard -all his youth and was the only master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were -unimpaired and his optimism (concerning his own future) unchecked. His -most striking feature were his hard, burning, little eyes, and it was -with these that he kept order in class. - -He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. -Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his -clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do -Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, -he would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief -and principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own -subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's -sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - -Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. -The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill -a conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the -football out of his hands and supplanted him completely—whenever he -thought of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to -do anything, because Traill had never given himself away. He played -football a great deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had -ever played it. Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now -at last Comber glowed with the thought of the things that he would be -able to do. He intended it in no way maliciously—it was simply that the -younger generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to -Comber's rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. -Then Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest -of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, on -the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a pompous, -pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's duty to -uphold the senior staff. - -He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger -impressively in the air. “There they were, you know, rolling—positively -rolling—on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits and -the coffee streaming all over the floor—you never saw anything like it. -And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out of the -room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we weren't -there; didn't they, Birkland?” - -Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on -his face, as though he were saying, “This is their kind of life. Look -at Comber there, now—how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for -a month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are -being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as -bad as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of -having a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!” - -But he didn't say anything—he just sat there listening, with his -contemptuous smile, to Comber. - -“An awful noise, you know, they made,” Comber went on. “And anything -funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair all -tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek -bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!” - -“At all events,” said Birkland dryly, “we ought all to be glad that you -got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's something to be thankful -for, at any rate.” - -“Oh, it's all very well, Birkland,” Comber answered angrily; “you were -amused enough yourself, really—you know you were. In any case,” he went -on importantly, “the thing can't go on, you know. We can't have junior -masters flinging themselves at the throats of senior ones. That sort of -thing must be stopped.” - -So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone -trimmed their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and -was not afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with -Traill; and supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no -easy thing to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for -instance, thought so. - -“It is—dégoûtant,” he cried, waving his hands in the air, “that a -young man, that is here one month, two months, should catch the throat -of his senior. These things,” he added with the air of one who waves -gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are not done in my country.” - -“Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them better, -Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend silence.” - -M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly -at Comber. - -“Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to encourage that -sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I daresay you would -like all the boys to be springing at one another's throats in the -same way; if that's what you want, well—“; and he waved his hands -expressively. - -“It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin to have made such a -fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's umbrella without being -struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's childish. It's just the -sort of thing that Perrin would do.” - -“Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the way that Traill's -treated him, and you see what you'd say and do. All I know is that you -would n't stand it for a minute, you of all men, Birkland.” - -“What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly. - -“Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of tempers, old -man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay claim to good temper whatever -else you may have.” - -West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - -“Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West,” Birkland said. “You -naturally would be.” West was all the more annoyed because he didn't in -the least understand what Birkland meant. - -The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally -and did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. -White was sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without -saying anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was -there at all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was -to make him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and -therefore Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would -receive. But White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had -given him, and now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, “I think -Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper because -another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's been very hardly -used—at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be to live with.” - -Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he -could find no words at all. - -At last he broke out, “Well, all I can say is that you people don't know -what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like Traill to go -about stealing people's things—” - -“Look here, Comber,” Birkland broke in. “You've no right to say -stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole anything; -you'd better be more careful of your words.” - -“Well, I call it stealing anyhow,” said Comber hotly. “You can call it -what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words of your own for -these things. But when a man takes something that is n't his and keeps -it—” - -“He didn't keep it,” Birkland said angrily. “You 're grossly prejudiced, -just as you always are.” - -“What about yourself?” West broke in. “People in glass houses—” - -At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. -Comber was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before—not that -it very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - -He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to be -in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't like to -mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it long -enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if only -people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them—well, it -might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would -be a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of -course, if one's education had been neglected.... - -Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for -science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair must be -the same, there was no question about it. - -Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing -that he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big -debacle. - -Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for -everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was -excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - -“I say!” he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - -“What do you think?” he cried again, “Traill has just told me. He 's -engaged to Miss Desart.” - -At that there was dead silence—for an instant nobody spoke. Then Comber -got up from his chair. “Well, I'm damned!” he said. - -This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once -then the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss -Desart had stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate -friend. His wife was devoted to her and would, of course, at once -espouse her cause. But this piece of news made him, Comber, even -angrier than he had been before. His feeling about the engagement defied -analysis, but it rested in some curious, hidden way on some strange -streak of vanity in him. He had always cared very especially for Miss -Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, heavy way, little attentions -and regards that he gave to very few people. He had always thought that -she had very great admiration and reverence for himself, and now she -had engaged herself without a word to him about it to someone whom he -disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, he knew that -his wife would be delighted—more trouble at home. Here was White openly -insulting him in the common room; he was called names by Birkland; a -nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to that); his -wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two—with a muttered word -or two, he left the gathering. - -For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a -new color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for -Miss Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock -in the face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would -never have accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she -should be handed over to his hated rival. - -“Does Perrin know?” was West's eager question. - -“No,” said Clinton smiling, “I'm just going to tell him.” III. - -Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in -front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so much -depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened by -it—not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or indeed -of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past the -terror of tongues—but rather afraid of himself and the way that he might -be going to behave. - -He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that -there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. -He knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a -hero—a hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, -with a great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face -in the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief -in his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other -boys, that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some -preacher in a sermon—he went to sermons very often in those days—say -that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, -and that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people -did not know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking -out for it, and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own -fault—all this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on -the watch for this chance—this splendid moment. - -That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do -the right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather -a pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - -Then there was the other Mr. Perrin—the ill-tempered, pompous, -sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he -recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was -in command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as -he phrased it, to “do him down.” - -Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this -morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce -and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing -continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had -been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination -to make a good thing of it! This young Traill—and then Perrin No. 2 -showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in -the air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only -prove the kind of man that he could be! If he could only get out of -this, away from it—if someone would take him away from it: he did not -feel strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And -then, suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining -light, his beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him -and care for him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; -and then at the thought of it he began to smile, and a little color -crept into his pale cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, -he might be quite pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter -so little! - -He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into -a delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults -that he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the -opportunities that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought -about him. And then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to -great things: he would have a little house, there would be children, -he would be his own master, life would be free, splendid, above all, -tranquil. He could make her so fond of him—he was sure that he could; -there were sides of him that no one had ever seen—even his mother did -not know all that was in him. - -Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock -on the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - -“Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have returned it -before.” - -“Oh, thanks!” Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. “Won't you -sit down?” - -“No thanks, I'm taking prep.” Nevertheless, Clinton lingered a little, -talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the mantelpiece, -fingering things—a practice that always annoyed Perrin intensely,—then -he took up the little china man and looked at him. “Rum chap that,” -he said. “Well, chin-chin—” He moved off; he stood for a moment by the -door. “Oh, I say!” he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; -“have you heard the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just -told me.” He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging -the door behind him. - -Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head -fell between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there -for a long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster -and faster—he was like a wild animal in a cage. - -Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was -white, his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked -the thing up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, -smashed into atoms.... - - - - -CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES I. - -ISABEL told Mrs. Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that -good lady, owing to the interruption of the other good ladies and her -own Mr. Comber, was unable to say anything really about it until just -before going to bed. Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very -much about it in any case quite at first, because her breath was so -entirely taken away by surprise, and then afterwards by delight and -excitement. For herself this term had, so far, been rather a difficult -affair: money had been hard, and Freddie had been even harder—and hard, -as she complained, in such strange, tricky comers—never when you -would expect him to be and always when you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber -considered terribly unfair, because if one knew what he was going to -mind, one would look out for it and be especially careful; but when he -let irritating things pass without a word and then “flew out” when there -was nothing for anyone to be distressed about, life became a hideous -series of nightmares with the enemy behind every hedge. - -Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she -had arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the -condition of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her—she called -it submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the -limits of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the -world bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world -except Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely -unselfish kind, so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own -discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her -size and volubility and color. - -Isabel talked to her in her bedroom—it was of course also Freddie's, but -he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas she, by a series of -touches—the light green wall-paper and the hard black of the shining -looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not very many, -but all made the most of),—had made it her own unmistakably, so that -everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of welcome. It was indeed, in -spite of the light green paper, a noisy impression, and one had always -the feeling that things—the china, the silver, and the chairs—jumped -when one wasn't in, charged, as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. -Comber's temperament and the color of her dresses. - -But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the -least mind the stridency of it—in fact it all rather suited the sense of -battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to say that -they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked it. -Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all -his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one -felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being -there. - -Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown -on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - -“Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have -these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that skirt -of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame -me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!” Here she hugged and kissed and -patted her hand. “And he is such a nice young man, although Freddie -doesn't like him, you know, over the football or something, although I'm -sure I never know what men's reasons are for disliking one another, -and Freddie's especially; but I liked him ever since he dined here that -night, although I didn't really see much of him because, you know, he -played Bridge at the other table and I was much too worried!” She drew -a breath, and then added quite simply, like a child, and in that way of -hers that was so perfectly fascinating: “My dear, I love you, and I want -you to be happy, and I think you will—and I want you to love me.” - -Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her -very tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there -was more pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was -terribly hard for some people. - -“Of course, it is wonderful,” she said at last, looking with her clear, -beautiful eyes straight in front of her. “One never knew how wonderful -until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer has ever -said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has ever -thought it—and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose,” she added laughing; -“but it only means that I'm up to all the surprises and ready for them.” - -“You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it,” Mrs. Comber said slowly. -“I don't think the other party has really very much to do with it. You -never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a matter of fact he's the -very nicest and trustiest young man, and no one could ever be a brute -to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to anyone else—and I wish I'd -remembered about that skirt.” - -The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, -came about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that -everything was most splendidly right. - -“And now, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber, “tell me what this is that I hear -about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard the veriest -words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time about -not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's always -doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn.” - -Isabel looked grave. - -“It seems the silliest affair,” she said; “and yet it's a great pity, -because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But that's why we -announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll be, it appears, a case -of taking sides.” - -“It always is here,” said Mrs. Comber, “when there's the slightest -opportunity of it.” - -“Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of opportunity -this time,” Isabel said sighing. “It really is too silly. Apparently -Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation in Upper School this -morning without asking. They hadn't been getting on very well before, -and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella and Archie said that he'd -taken it, there was a regular fight. The worst of it is that there were -lots of people there; and now, of course, it is all over the school, and -it will never be left alone as it ought to be.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, “it will be the opportunity for -all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. How perfectly absurd -of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I always said so, and now it -only proves it, and I wish he'd never come here. Of course you know that -I'm with you, my dear; but I'm afraid that Freddie won't be, because he -doesn't like your Archie, and there's no getting over it—and on whose -side all the others will be there's no knowing whatever—and indeed I -don't like to think of it all.” - -She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her -worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, -instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors -and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the -crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised -soon to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - -“Oh!” she cried, “will they hate us?” - -“They 'll do their best, my dear,” said that lady solemnly, “to hate -somebody.” II. - -And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next -afternoon. - -Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's relief -that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' terror at its -horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of course, in the -first place those of any “at home” whatever—the stilted and sterile fact -of being there sacrificially for anyone to trample on in the presence -of a delighted audience and a glittering tea-table. But in Mrs. Comber's -case there was the additional trouble of “town” and “school” never in -the least suiting, although “town” was only a question of local houses -like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have combined, one -would have thought, easily enough. - -The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the -jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the -quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter -that is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the -conversation of the ladies of Moffatt's in this way—it was a thing of -far deeper and graver import. - -The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion made -what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply malicious -conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a perpetual -battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its weightiest -result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that things -said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - -Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the -safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that -whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it -was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays -as days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and -hoping that she would “get off,” so to speak, on that. But on occasions -like the present, when there was really something to talk about, she -shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong -enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought -her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then -she couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella -Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where -they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's engagement -as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that bright, -young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some odd, -obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - -She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her -silver, tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin -pieces of bread-and-butter, that the “town” would, on this occasion at -any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really -“getting at” things; but, of course, as it happened, the “town” for once -wasn't there at all, and the battle raged quite splendidly. - -The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically -enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that -they represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; -and poor Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and -wished that the little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly -the reason of their separate appearances and the danger that they were, -severally and individually. - -The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as -securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and -drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. -Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so -far as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented -her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy -whose accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads -spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - -The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of -herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her -chair, and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her -stouter sister to a wonderful extent. - -The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, “Well, so Miss -Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!” showed immediately which of the two -pieces of news was considered the most important. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, “and I'm sure it's delightful. Do have one of -those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they 're quite fresh; and I -want you especially to notice that little water-color over there by the -screen, because I bought it in Truro last week for simply nothing -at Pinner's, and I believe it's quite a good one—I'm sure we 're all -delighted.” - -Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. “They 're a little young,” she said in -so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly transferred, against -her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest attire, into the heart -of Siberia. “And what's this I hear from my husband about Mr. Perrin and -Mr. Traill tumbling about on the floor together this morning—something -about an umbrella?” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, “I heard -something this morning about it.” - -Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely -as she did on this afternoon—she seemed to chill the room with her -presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to -various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that -they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's -only way of easing the situation, “Do have another little pink cake, -Mrs. Thompson,” failed altogether on this occasion, and she could only -stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with -a start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the -morning's proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. “You were down -there, Miss Madder; tell us all about it.” - -Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and -having heard what she called “the first struggle,” and having yielded -eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine -curiosity—having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and Mr. -Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - -“Actually on the floor!” said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - -“Yes, actually on the floor—also all the breakfast things and coffee all -over the tablecloth.” - -Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the -cold eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from -her position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't -to—also the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever -sister afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as -her opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. -Traill was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was -the harder one to live with—and that it had been a clean tablecloth that -morning. - -“I call it disgraceful,” was the only light that the younger Miss Madder -would throw upon the question. - -For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, “And really -about an umbrella?” - -“I understand,” said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work and -beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, “that Mr. Traill borrowed -Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that there was a -dispute.” - -But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the -question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect that -that had upon the disturbance in question. - -“I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively; “and I -cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and I must say -that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. Traill's -temper was uncertain.” - -“Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss Madder -with a sniff. - -Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know -what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her -peace. - -The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an -opinion from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady -understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - -Semi-Chorus a—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a question -of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master attacks an -older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in the dust -and that before a large audience, the whole system of education is in -danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and other -masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and then -other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second boys -showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - -Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the -question of property. - -Semi-Chorus b—One had one's things—here she was sure Mrs. Comber would -agree—and if one didn't keep a tight hold of them in these days, one -simply did n 't know where one would be. Of course one umbrella was a -small thing; but, after all, it was aggravating on a wet morning not to -find it and then to have no excuse whatever offered to one—anyone would -be cross about it. And, after all, with some people if you gave them -an inch they took an ell, as the saying was, and if one didn't show -firmness over a small thing like this, it would only lead to people -taking other things without asking until one really did n't know where -one was. Of course, it was a pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his -self-control as completely as he appeared to have done, but nevertheless -one could quite understand how aggravating it was. - -Semi-Chorus a—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no light matter, -and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty years were -to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were to -be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by -anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, -then one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then -what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and -finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - -Semi-Chorus b—Enlarged the original issue. It was really rather -difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to congratulate -the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was of course -perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst still so -young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with -that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't -develop into. - -Semi-Chorus a—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without mentioning -names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of married -lives that had been ruined simply through this question of discipline, -and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in blows and -riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an exceedingly -poor time. - -Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It -was not her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the -present occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous -figure of Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against -her, and there in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her -lap, with the black silk of her dress shining in little white lines -where the light caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie -entirely. Whatever happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this -again and again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found -her anger rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in -Miss Madder's hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense -of the hat and why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't suit her, -and whether Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in a nice green -grave with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract -questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she -listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more -than anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly -attacked. - -Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated -Isabel—Isabel who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, -even and cold, went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the -corner, and her hands began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. -Suddenly in an instant Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten -save Isabel, and she burst out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: -“Really, Mrs. Dormer, you are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all -agree that it's a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else -down because someone else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I -should never want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who -was matron here two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel -with her and putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything -of it, and I remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for -it back again. I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a -fuss about nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows -it; but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear -Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful fellow, and -I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's very unkind -of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep breath. - -“Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, “I'm sure -we none of us wish them anything but happiness. Please don't have the -impression that we are not eager for their good.” - -“I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder, “that you have -rather misunderstood our position in the matter.” - -“Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have,” broke in Mrs. Comber -hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had spoken so quickly. - -“You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don't think we can any of us -have two feelings about the question of discipline. I'm sure you agree -with us there, Mrs. Comber.” - -“Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber. - -But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and -they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not -be able to come and stay again—they were of one mind. - -Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of -that silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell -Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - -Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, -Freddie had still to be faced. - -His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly -not in a line with her own. - -Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! III. - -And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a -crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, -because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie -Traill, and indeed with everyone in the present story. - -But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,” as she -used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which disaster she -was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled kind of way why -it was that they should all have wanted to be so disagreeable, why, as a -development of that, everyone always preferred to be disagreeable rather -than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu clock and the peacock -screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, with their color -and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim, misty, vague, and lost -almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn't really anyone's fault at -all—that it was the system, the place, the tightness and closeness and -helplessness that did for everybody; that nobody could escape from it, -and that the finest saint, the most noble character, would be crushed -and broken in that remorseless mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the -mills of a rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring -at the clock and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these -women, crushed, beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss -Madder, her own Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even -already young Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave... once. The -coals clicked in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down -the darkening paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all -up—she must leave Freddie and the children and go away... anywhere... -she could not endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, -peevish, scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his -hours, and that annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish -very little better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to -be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella -affair. - -“Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all coming to, I -should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a month or two, and -he goes and takes a senior master's things without asking leave, and -then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. -The fellow wants kicking out altogether.” - -Mrs. Comber said nothing. - -“Well, why don't you say something? You've got some opinion about it, -I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's gone and got himself -engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl thinking of? They 're both -much too young anyhow. It's absurd. I 'll tell her what I think of it.” - -“Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's so happy about it, and -I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she deserves -some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, if Mr. -Traill was a little hasty, he's very young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very -difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you've always said—” - -“Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously, “I 've never -advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and -if you think I have, you 're mightily mistaken.” - -After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart -was dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber -was glad that the girl was not with them. - -She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and her -food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary -dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's -scowling face. - -At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little -drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and -she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest -of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of -places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and -forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no -travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw -Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen -about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her -and she could make no mistakes. - -Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she -smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was -nearly out. - -“Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a nice, cheerful room for a -man to come into, isn't it, after he's tired and cold with work? I have -got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm a lucky man, I am.” - -Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten -it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the use of making a -noise and fuss with it now?” - -Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look -here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business.” - -“What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her cheeks. - -“Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I'm not going to -have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I object to -him—he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants putting in his -place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near here. I won't have him -in the house, and it's just as well he should know it. So don't you go -asking him here.” - -She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have told Isabel that -I am glad, and I am glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I don't think it was -his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, you know you are not -quite fair to him because of his football, or something silly, and I'm -sure you don't mind him, really—you don't like Mr. Perrin, you know.” - -This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could -possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie -Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to -swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - -“Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things alone that don't -belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I 've got for disliking young -Traill—it's enough if I say that he's not to come here—and Miss Isabel -shall hear that from my own lips.” - -In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as -he was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at -the mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew -herself up. - -“You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult Isabel here, when -she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so good. I love -her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.” - -“Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. “This is -defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I tell you that he -shall not come here.” - -“And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper. - -Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly -came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We 'll see about the -master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her brooch, and she -fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her hands spread out -against it, staring at him.... - -There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant -wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They -both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had -suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations -could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be -worse—they could never be the same. - -But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. -Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay -against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, -because her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was -appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years -was brought to life by that blow. - -“My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I did not mean anything—I am -not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... Please—” - -His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. -She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him -fixedly. - -“You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At least, you have -never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.” - -Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then -she went slowly out of the room. - -He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a -whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark -buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” And -then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the -shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!” - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY....” I. - -DURING the month that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a -week of that original incident there was no one in the establishment -who had not his or her especial grievance against someone else. In the -Senior common room, at the middle morning hour, the whole staff might -be seen, silent, grave, bending with sheer resolution over the daily -papers, eloquent backs turned to their enemies, every now and again -abstract sarcasm designed for some very concrete resting-place. - -That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the -original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something -that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's purpose -to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any small detail be the -provocation, the battle was the thing. - -Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to -watch and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; -what a delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents -and verbs in with their principal parts of savior and dire and their -conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and -exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting -your neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious -misconception—all this within so small an area of ground, so slight a -period of time, at so wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - -The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy -in the school, but here there was not so intense a division—there was -indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the -whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old -Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the -custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply -a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once -accepted as a fearful authority—between this and the novel and athletic -Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... why? -There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old Pompous's -umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his property? He would -n't hesitate to take someone else's things if he wanted them.... -Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion amongst all those who -came beneath his discipline—as to the way that he took this, there is -more to be said later. - -But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel -and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was -nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw -something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should -have taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the -circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took -the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse -combat. No—the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of it, -when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, they -were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance—they were almost -lost and forgotten—and the reason of this was that everyone in the -place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance -silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an -issue between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being -worked out in silence—even the spectators themselves made no comment, -but Mrs. Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that -“Everyone was so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that -no one said anything at all”—and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - -Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those -most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, -and her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's -experience of it, because the only difference between herself and -the rest was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more -discerning intuition. - -In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own -battles. It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the -place, with the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time -being at any rate, up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed -herself to be engaged to Mr. Traill—there were no two opinions about it. -It was not ladylike—she was allying herself, to disorder and tumult, she -was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking down of persons -in authority—above all, she was setting herself up, whatever that might -mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first day in Mrs. Comber's -drawing-room. - -These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She -loved a battle—she had never realized before how dearly she loved it, -she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head up -and her eyes flashing fire—she was quiet unless she was attacked; but so -soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled on -and the trumpet sounded. In a way—and it seemed to her curious when -she looked back upon it—this month of hers was stirring and even rather -delightful. - -But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that -something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness -and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. -But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside -help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had -dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing—she only begged her -not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to attempt to -bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - -But Mrs. Comber was now a different person—her animated volubility had -disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a -pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken -to. But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel -had never liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have -disappeared. He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any -rate he was quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he -was on the watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that -his eyes would leave his work and stray about the room as though he were -searching for something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, -and sometimes when she spoke to him he would start and look at her -curiously, almost suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she -knew. He was not kind and attentive to her, as he had been before—she -felt sure that he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her -miserable, and she loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her -back from speaking to Mrs. Comber about it all—but something prevented -her. - -The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, -more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any -attitude towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided -camps—it all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very -childishness it could not have a serious conclusion; but as the days -went on and she saw into it all more deeply, the pathos of it caught -her heart and she could have cried to think of what men they might have -been, of the things that they might have done. Some of them seemed to -seek her out now with a courtliness and deference that they had -never shown her before. Birkland, of whom she had always been rather -frightened, spoke to her now whenever there was an opportunity, and his -sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she saw the sadness in their gray -depths, and she felt in the pressure of his hands that he wanted now to -be friends with her. White, too, was different now. He said very little -to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak at all was a wonderful -thing, but there were a few words about his affection for Archie. - -With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to -do something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly -able to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her -engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty—it was a case -of waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than -that—something was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and that -atmosphere to be afraid. But it was not until later than this that she -began to be afraid definitely of Mr. Perrin. - -But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something -grew when she perceived the inertia of the others—inertia was perhaps -scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing -impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait -for the result. - -And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, -having for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation—she -could not put it more optimistically than that—before the end of the -term came. - -It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her—indeed, her -flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger Miss -Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles whatever—but -rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to explain. She wished -to prevent things happening, was the way that she herself would have put -it; but that did not hinder her from feeling a natural anxiety that Miss -Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have some of their own shots -back before the end of the term was reached. II. - -But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. -Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly -drawn days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the -brittle leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get -him to see the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first -on the question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at -once against a bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her -ignorance of public school and university laws had formerly hidden from -her. - -Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as he -summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world -for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a fellow -felt—there were things a man couldn't do. She found that the laws of -the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison with the stone -tables of public school custom: “The man was a bounder”—“There were -things a fellow couldn't do.” - -She had not expected him to go and beg for peace—she had not probably -altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all left her -with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so immensely -young, and therefore to be—most delightful of duties—looked after. -Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of his -nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between them -be a great many tussles and battles. - -But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very -gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then -kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. -Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and -hid it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out -and saw that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly -discovered that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people -were taking sides about him—all this was horrible. - -He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. “I never meant to knock -the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella—all this -fuss!”—which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, because the thing -was done and there was no more to be said about it. He thought a great -deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand up for -her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him any -satisfaction—that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder against -the “low, bounding” world, and he declared, as he looked at her, that he -loved her more and more every day. - -But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes -with regard to that gentleman could only look one way—he would not make -advances. - -The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, -she felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite -watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but -when she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and -she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a -great many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was—cross, -irritable, violent, even wicked—he was, at any rate, lonely, and that -was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - -She could not, of course, make Archie see that. “The fellow's always -wanted to be lonely—thinks himself much too good for other people's -society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a beast, he must -expect to be left alone.” - -That did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from the -fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled -with anyone before—people never did quarrel with him; and now suddenly -here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, stiff and -sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him whenever he -got the opportunity. - -Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under these -circumstances—but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. Isabel herself -was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as possible. He -wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light and sunshine at -the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, comfortable, -a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class found that -nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and he snapped -at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always gentle, but -his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far away from tears. - -But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud -with Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, -always amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed -and was at last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, -afraid of what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag -Archie out of it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and -all this discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was -ninety at least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult -education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several -stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were -very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries -of people getting along together. Her present feeling was something -akin to Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being -flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being -hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and -hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. III. - -But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of -Mr. Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before -the end of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That -something in the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations -was busy about the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in -the most singular way would break out; there was continual quarreling in -the common room, strange rumors were carried of things that people had -said—it was all a question of strain. - -There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of -snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and -when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black -and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in -Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was no -other light in the room. - -Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her -hand, silently staring at the fire. - -Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the -consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the -trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good night -to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves -stretched to breaking-point—all this overwhelmed her. She had never felt -so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep anything at -all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... to-morrow; it -might be too late. - -She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that -he had called him a “rotten little counter-jumper,” and that West had -made an allusion to “stealing things.” Where were they all? What were -they all doing to be fighting like this? - -They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the -fire, and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling -coal, were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - -“Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go mad. What -is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? Oh! -I do want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. For the -last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been no -peace at all.” - -“I know,” Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from the fire; -“I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there are only three weeks -more of the term, because I 'm sure that somebody would be cutting -somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, and I wouldn't mind very much -if somebody would cut mine.” She gave a little choke in her throat, and -then suddenly her head fell forward into her hands, and she burst into -passionate sobbing. - -Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair -and took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long -time, and the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the -snow had begun to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against -the window. - -At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - -“Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I should have -done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my eyes are a -perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't help it. -Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've stood it as -long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall go away -and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you 're let alone.” - -“Dear Mrs. Comber;” said Isabel, still holding her hand, “do tell me -about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of course, I 've seen -that something 's happened between you and Mr. Comber. I can see that -he is most dreadfully sorry about something, and I know that he wants to -make it up. But this silence is worse than anything, and if you 'd only -have it out, both of you, I'm sure it would get all right.” - -“No, dear.” Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. “It's not -that so much. Freddie and I will get all right again, I expect, and even -be better together than we were be-for; but all this business has shown -me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've known it really all the time, and -I used to pretend that if one was nice enough to people one could n't -be altogether a failure, because they wanted one to like them—and that's -the truth. Nobody wants me to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in -the world. I'm not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless -and silly and untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so -badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was -all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you 're going -to be married there's an end of you, the only person I had.” - -“Archie and I,” said Isabel softly, “will care for you to the end of -your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't you? And you know -that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him looking at you during these -last weeks as though he could die for you, and then he's been afraid -to say anything. It's only this horrid place that has got in the way so -dreadfully.” - -Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. “Do you really think so, my -dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's been -different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and is n't -worried about his form; but things are always worse at examination time, -and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through as quickly as -possible; and something dreadful did happen the other day, and I know -he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps things will be all -right.” - -Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, -after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: “You know, -Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten you, but -Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of me, but I don't -quite like it—” - -“Like what?” said Isabel. “Well, Mr. Perrin; he's been looking so queer -ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay you haven't noticed -anything, and I daresay it may be all my own imaginations, and I'm sure -in a place like this one might imagine anything—” - -“How does he look queer,” said Isabel quietly. - -“Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say about him. -You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he didn't care -about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't another reason for -his disliking Archie—” - -“Care about me?” said Isabel laughing; “why, no, of course not. He's -only spoken to me once or twice.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Comber, “I've seen him looking at you in the strangest -way in chapel. And his face has got so white and thin and drawn, I'm -really quite sorry for the poor man. And his eyes are so odd, as though -he was trying to see something that wasn't there. And the boys say that -he's so strange in class sometimes and stops suddenly in the middle of -a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. Clinton was telling me that he -never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when Archie's there he gets very -white and shakes all over and leaves the room. I only want you to warn -Archie to be careful, because when a man's lonely like that and begins -to think about things, he might do anything.” - -“Why, what could he do?” Isabel said, with a little catch in her breath. - -“Well, I don't know, dear,” Mrs. Comber said rather uncertainly. “Only -when examinations come on they do seem to get into the men's heads so, -and it's only that I thought that Archie might be careful and ready if -Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all...” - -Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the -room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and -the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, -Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside -gather ominously about her. - -She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other -a moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each -other. - -“At any rate,” said Isabel, “whatever else this place may do, it can't -alter our being together. You 've always got me, you know.” - -But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were -strained, perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; -but she longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and -she could not sleep at nights. - -And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke -to her. - -She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was -just turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; -there was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and -purple shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though -cut out of paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against -the sky. He came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted -to speak to her, so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up -to her—with his gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black -mortar-board, with his thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his -straggly, unkept mustache—she had a moment of ungovernable fear. She -could give no reason for it, but she knew that her impulse was to turn -and run away, anywhere so that she might escape from him. - -Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and -held out her hand. - -She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that -didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - -“How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a long time. -Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like this.” - -Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped -her hand and held it. - -“I 've been wanting to say...” he said in an odd voice, and there he -stopped and stood staring at her. - -“Yes,” she said gently. - -His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face -with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - -“I've wanted to say—um, ah—to congratulate you...” - -He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - -“Oh! thank you!” she said impulsively, coming up to him and putting her -hand on his arm. “Thank you so very much!” and then she could say no -more. - -He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant -horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech -that he had learnt, “I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. I -hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm afraid I 'm a -little late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm a little late. Yes. Good -morning!” - -Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the -path. - -As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that -her vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE I. - -MEANWHILE, many things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On -that night after Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement -to Traill, he did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black -grate without moving until the morning. He did not know until this had -happened to him how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in -middle life there comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that -he has missed ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were -other ambitions that would have been more profitable of pursuit; and -then, if the rest of his days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he -must make reckoning with other things that have perhaps no glitter nor -promise, but will give him enough—life has no compensation for cynics. - -In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that -his last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest -boyhood, was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, -it seemed to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at -the altar. A great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his -head in his hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The -things that he could have done had she been faithful to him!—that was -the way he put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He -had pleaded his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on -his breast, and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and -stroked her hair. - -And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came -in at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared -about him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man -like him—that sort of creature? - -What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; -it pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other -men might sport with it—other beardless boys like Traill.... - -He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show -God that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that—he would -mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid—ah! but -he was afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid since those -days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat listening -to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such lurid and -wonderful accuracy. - -God was like that—He took away from you all the things that made life -worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards because -you resented His behavior. - -Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that -the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very -large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head -ached, it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he -had now so long attempted to control came creeping out—that other Mr. -Perrin who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin -whom he did not want his friends to see. - -On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin -seemed to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, -Mr. Perrin fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was -watching. He was wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, -but it was an evil face—all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had -gone wrong. Mr. Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last -he had broken out, and perhaps he would never go away again. - -Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - -Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was -something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some -connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as -he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, -there was nothing to be angry about—of course not—no; but he knew that -there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he ought to -do to young Traill. What was it? - -Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. -Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from -the room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very -desolate and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and -so end it all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot -themselves, or they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be -afraid to do any of those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in -an inconsequent way, of the sight that he would look afterwards. - -There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his -great chance—the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. -Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to -give him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing -he showed them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, -supposing he won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of -course, it was absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not “do” -magnificently anywhere. - -No, he was no good—he was done for. He thought, as he heard the clock -strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at the -yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then -four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were -ugly flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted -Miss Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his -thin, sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - -His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and -enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - -Young Traill had done this—young Traill was his enemy... young Traill! -He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - -And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper -flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. II. - -But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all -resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When -he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in -his mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat -with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great -black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the -eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, -wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and -the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - -It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that -was trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He -found at once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, -and as the days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling -inside him that he must not let out was always stronger and more violent -when Traill was there. Of course they did not speak to one another, -but it was something more active than mere silent avoidance. They -had struggled on the floor together, struggled before Comber and -Birkland—Perrin would not forget that. He remembered it as an act of -faith and said to himself a great many times. He always found that when -he was in the room with Traill something seemed to drag him across the -floor towards him, and he had to hold himself back. - -This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind -on his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his -form, because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst -them. They must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and -he thought that when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked -amongst themselves. They had always done that of course, but now there -was an added reason. - -There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always -hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the -master who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door -of the hall and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see -whether they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had -seemed to him most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands -raised to his eyes, one after the other—hands that were ill-kept, -bitten, and ragged, and torn—this had been, in some bidden way, -irritating. Now it was much more irritating, so that when it was his -week on duty and this horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, -as it seemed to him, with insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to -beat them all down, to run amok amongst them, to trample until all the -hands were broken and bleeding. - -Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He -used to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him -up, and he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very -inky. Then Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly -eye, had sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to -escape, but with a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands -were always beautifully clean—he did not look at Perrin. This was, of -course, a very small affair. - -But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently -behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end “per -Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum” and a great clatter of forms being -dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices—then he wanted -to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew that he -must not. - -One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone -in the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to -him. - -Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned -his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: “I say, Perrin, isn't -this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be speaking to -a fellow—I'm sorry if I did things, but you know—” - -And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had -moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and -Traill had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - -But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. No! -that man must not get out—he must at all costs be kept in his box. And -so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - -Traill did not try to speak to him again. - -With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked -afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, -and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way -and said, “Go back, and do it again—do it again,” as though he were not -thinking of what he said. - -Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather -thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white -faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with -ink, and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces -hanging down, stupid things like toads. - -He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no -effort now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, -other numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if -it was right—that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could -help it. He did not analyze his silence—it was merely a fact that he did -not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his own... -it reminded him of things that hurt. - -But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference -except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do -things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than had -hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the difference -more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that there was to -say about his form. - -It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out -that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was -that he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very -provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, -because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One -morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt -that Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill -to do this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the -Upper School—moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it -opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. -Perrin could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door -at all but at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was -standing, and at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he -turned round sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - -The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of -conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly -to Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill -with all his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. -It was not hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite -him at dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though -someone at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging -the cloth with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do -things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept -in a box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was -that people were talking about him. This might almost be called the -Irritation of the Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw -a closed door—and they were very many—he knew that there were people -behind it who were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very -softly, a door and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one -in the room, he was sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind -chairs. Once when he opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss -Madden was alone in the room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped -her work and screamed, which was foolish of her. - -But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like to -have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said—he was sure -that she would be kind—and he stared at her very hard in chapel, because -he saw her so very little at other times, and because he would like to -know what she was thinking about. He would like to know whether it was -about the same things as his things—and so he stared at her in a curious -way. - -And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which -he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the -first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had -written saying how much she had missed it—so he must not forget it -again. - -He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly -broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think -of his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture -of her sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from -him. He sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and -paper and began, as he had begun for a great many years: - -“Dear old lady... - -Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he -did now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held -the lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with -his head between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his -mother; and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that -had been about him during these days fell from him, and he regained his -clear vision—he began to write as he always did:— - -“...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I really -didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these days with -the examinations coming on and everything. - -“I'm very well, except that I have these headaches—nothing at all, and -I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope you 're all -right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. Keeping warm's -the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that shawl that Miss Bennett -gave you is the very thing—mind you wear it, and don't sit in draughts. -I'm all right...” - -And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between -his hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be -afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... -His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have -lifted away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him -to the ground. He did not hate Traill—Traill could not help it; but he -wanted her—oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - -He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled -so that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his -last hold on life, to pray. - -“Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to that -state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like -that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so -hard—there are so many little things—there is no time!... They will not -let me alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me -someone to love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do -not let me go back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I -may do...” - -But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with -his head on his arm. - -And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself -there—and it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly -frightened, because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the -other Mr. Perrin—and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and -he cursed God and stumbled to his bed. III. - -And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was -quite sure now that God hated him. - -Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping -that box closed—he was damned anyhow. - -Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of -anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing -on his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, -because it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was -sure that it would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore -Traill must go. - -He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to -consider it.... - -These days before the examinations began were very difficult for -everybody, and Perrin began that hideous “getting behind-hand” that made -things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever catching up. -There were all the term's marks to be added up before the examinations -began, there were trial papers and test questions to be set, and -therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he was not -able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his chair -with his hands folded in front of him and think of—Traill—and then he -would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were others -to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room—sometimes -a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there -scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with -all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his -room. - -But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin -welcomed it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune -with his own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very -difficult one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been -before. - -The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was -multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now -filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, -whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one -or two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others -naturally had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that -had broken out over the umbrella incident had developed until there -was very little to prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this -occasion, West was the person who was let off easily by the examination -list, and he was not the kind of man to allow his advantage to pass -without comment. - -Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common -room. He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the -window and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat -there: for instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they -were not watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs—it -would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, -and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must -run, screaming, from the room—or to twist Birk-land's ears round -and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be -pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - -At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly -all gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - -Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his -corner. - -“It will be very pleasant,” West said, smiling a little, “to have -that third hour off all through this week. I can't think, Comber, why -Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to do—I—” - -“For God's sake,” Comber broke out furiously, “stop it! Aren't we all -sick to death with hearing of your beastly good luck? Don't we all know -that the whole thing's about as unfair as it is possible for anything to -be? Just keep quiet about it if you can.” - -“Oh, of course, Comber,” said West. “You grudge a man any bit of -luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew anything more -selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you 'd have let us know -about it all right.” - -“Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West,” said Dormer. “Leave it -alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired out as we can be? We've -had enough fighting this term to last us a century.” - -With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a -common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - -They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, -and they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their -eyes. - -With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their -heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in -a cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only -Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - -Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest -with his back against the wall, spoke. - -“You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to fill a great -many years. We 're a wretched enough crew.” - -He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - -“I wonder sometimes,” he went on, “how long we are going to stand it. -Most of us have been here a great many years—most of us have had our -hopes broken a great many years ago—most of us have lost our pluck—” -Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, because he paused; but no one -spoke, and no one moved. “This term has been worse than any other since -I have been here. We have all been very near doing things as well as -thinking them. I wonder if you others have ever thought, as I have -thought sometimes, that we have no right to be here?” - -“How do you mean,” said Comber slowly, “no right?” - -“Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting -and cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or -friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who -used us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him -notice and go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do -things—we all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot -of us, now—” He paused again, but there was still silence. “They say to -us—the people outside—that it is our own fault, that other men have -made a fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is -splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. -I know that—we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid -lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man -that we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have -tried to do decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a -minute is our own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come -and try and see what they will make of it.” - -A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one -spoke. Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands -waving in the air. - -“But it is not too late—it is not too late, I tell you. Let us break -from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that unless -they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, unless -they give us more freedom, we will leave—in a body. There is a chance if -we can act together, and better, far better, that we break stones in the -road, that we die free men than this... that this should go on.” - -His voice was almost a shout. “My God!” he cried, “think of it! Think of -our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act together and -break free!—free!” - -He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved -together. Cries broke from them. - -“You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't stand it. It's our -last chance.” - -“Now! Let us go now!” - -“Let us go and face him!” - -Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. “Now or never!” he cried. - -Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the -voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved—the voice of a thousand -years of authority: “The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as soon -as possible.” - -It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see -what he would do. - -For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held -by Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to -hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak—then, with a helpless -gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the room, -and passed out through the door. - -There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin -laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP I. - -WITH examinations there comes a new element into the life of the term—it -is an element of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching end of -an impossible situation; it is, an element of despair in so far as it -provides an overpowering number of answers, differing in the minutest -particulars, to the same questions; and is even an element of romance, -because it heralds the appearance of a final order in which boys will -beat other boys, generally in a surprising and unforeseen manner. But -whatever it means it also tightens to a higher pitch any situation that -there may have been before, so that anything that seemed impossible now -appears incredible; the days are like years, and the hours, filled with -the empty scratching of pens and the rubbing of blotting-paper, stretch -infinitely into the distance and hide release. - -Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force -extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the -situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon -it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was -hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid -attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, -invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was -concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan -whereby every master set and corrected the papers of some other -master's form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most -admirable opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report -always led, next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, -with the hapless master who had incurred it in the rôle of victim. -Therefore, if, as was usually the case, your especial enemy was -correcting the papers of your form and would write a report on them, -unless something were done to appease him, you were, during the whole of -the next term, delivered over mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You -might perchance appease your enemy, or you might yourself be examining -his form, in which case you had every opportunity of a pleasant retort. -At any rate, this plan invariably inflamed any hostilities that might -already be in existence and resulted in the provision of at least half a -dozen victims for Mr. Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - -For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and -misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, -because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term -the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays—also he -considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic -conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that -prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a -rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - -He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from -earlier papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him -and waited. There was only one subject now in the whole world, and -all these curious boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these -appalling noises, and then these equally appalling silences, only -diverted his attention and prevented his thinking. - -There were always three of them now—himself, the other Mr. Perrin, -and Traill—they always went about together. When he was taking an -examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the -other Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the -room, and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but -away from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at -him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - -Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was accompanied -by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with their own -affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of—one couldn't possibly have -anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. Sometimes it was -curiously confused, because there were two Traills—a Traill who moved -about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and the Traill who -stood always by the door and never moved at all except to slip away. - -Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very -much indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. -There had been something once about an umbrella, and there was something -else about Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden -Minimus; but none of these things were fixed very resolutely in his -mind, and his thoughts slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - -It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go -on like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long -hours whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and -what he could do. - -There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two -figures at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He -saw suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it -was like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at -it, frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, -and the world would once more grow dark. - -At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to -realize then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous -it was. - -Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy -figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden -Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's -round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth -quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - -At last he said, “Oh!—Ah!—Garden—I haven't seen much of you lately. How -do the exams go?” - -Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to -be kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - -But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and -his eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for -help. - -“Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir—I—I could n't do the geography this -morning, sir.” - -There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the -road. - -“When do you go for—um, ah,—your holidays, Garden?” - -Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he -was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, “awfully sick -about something—not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing.” - -He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was “jolly odd” during -these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of every -other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help—after all, Old Pompous had -been beastly decent to him—and then there came an overwhelming sensation -of shyness, as though his feminine relations had suddenly appeared and -claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He looked down, rubbed -one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a murmured word -about “having to meet some fellows—beastly late,” was off. - -Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school -buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the -other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat -prowls.... - -About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had -never been inside it—he knew only that plain brown door with marks near -the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - -But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by -the windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square -black lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy -to turn, and then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be -inside—he would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and -the chairs... it might be useful to know. - -He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down -the passage; there was no one there—it was all very silent. The sun of -the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the -shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - -He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands -behind his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened -again—he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very loudly -indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near the -window—the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver hair-brushes and -the china basin and jug. - -It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one -photograph. - -He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss -Desart—Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - -He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. -Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him. III. - -And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, -and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in -the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - -Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected -no papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks—none of them -were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the -papers; other masters left all the results until the end. It was not -considered strange that Perrin had posted no results. - -But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have -done something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of -course, he ought to correct them—he ought to say what was good and what -was bad. - -He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his -fingers because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on -French Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - -“I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of donner, -recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir...” - -Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one—he had always found that that was -difficult. He turned over the page: - -J'eu, tu eus, il eut—that looked wrong.. . - -Again, here was Simpson Minor—“Je fus, tu fus, il fut”—surely that was -confused in some way. - -The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and -all of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, -flying into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under -the table and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered -wildly on the floor. - -The silly papers stared at him: - -“Je dors tous...” - -“Il faut que...” - -“I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt...” - -“Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns...” - -And then, Simpson Minor: “Je fus, tu fus...” - -He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the -floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was -maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to -trample on them—he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and -wildly stamping... . - -And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped -still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could -not collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - -Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the -important thing—the important thing was between himself and Traill; that -was what he must think about. - -This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, -he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill -would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - -The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - -It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision -that something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with -a pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack -on his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered -on the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, -Friday... Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark -that he had already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched -out. Wednesday morning came. - -Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday -morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - -He gave out the Old Testament questions: - -“1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram; -its cause and effects. - -“2. Write briefly a life of Aaron...” - -He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was -Wednesday—before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came to -him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - -“6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found -favor in thy sight.' “'Let us make a captain and let us return into -Egypt.' - -“'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'.rdquo; - -He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him -afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was -a complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been -there for people to laugh at and mock him. - -If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use—he might have -married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and now -the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He hated -Traill—of course he hated Traill; but it was not really because of that -that he was going to kill Traill—it was only because he wanted to show -all these people that he could do something: he was not useless, after -all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, after all, the -laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not be able to -kiss Miss Desart very much longer—another day, and he would never be -able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - -Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and -easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - -He had given God His opportunity—he had prayed to God and besought Him; -he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and to -be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the distance, -but everything had been very hard, and that was God's fault for making -it so hard. - -He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not -be expecting that. - -Still more would he surprise the place—Moffatt's—that place that had -treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a grand, big thing -to kill his enemy! - -On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked -slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long -dining-hall. The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside -every round, shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a -long, glittering line right down the table, and the sun caught their -gleaming steel and flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them -fascinated Mr. Perrin—it was with a knife that he would kill Traill—he -would cut Traill's throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and -felt their edges—they were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great -many of them—you could cut a great many throats with all those knives, -but he did not want to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's—Traill -was his enemy. - -At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys -on either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - -“Ah! Cromer—um—yes, very pleasant. Our little friend will amuse himself -hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on Christmas Day. Um, -yes—and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! Whitby—long way. Yes, able -to read your holiday task in the train.” - -He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was -brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering -the gravy over the cloth. - -After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail -across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light -of the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a -transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors -behind it. - -Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious -shapes—perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of the -sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that could -see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, and -fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular creatures -with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were splendid -galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and -mountain ranges—they were all very strange and beautiful, and perhaps -this was the last time that he would see them. - -Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the -direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they -were Miss Desart and Traill—there was no doubt at all that that was -Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was -Traill. - -The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be -amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know -how he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from -behind and strangle him with his hands. - -And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the -path. - -It was a day of ghosts—even the brown color of the earth of the hill -that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one -felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring -place, but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked -hedges, and, at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the -cottages of the village. - -The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like -the rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, -with his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, -and he could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were -discussing, probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him -to think that he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the -other Mr. Perrin also. - -They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path -to the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path -the mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of -the sea by gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges -piercing the sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the -other figures had preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden -by boulders. He hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, -and then he hung back a little lest he should be too close to them. They -were still talking very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led -to a sheltered cove. At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, -and Perrin hid behind a rock and watched them. - -The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that -made the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the -water made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded -away into the mist again. - -Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down -behind his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on -the sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it -and sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw -that, he knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss -Desart was there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and -his eyes filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there -had been someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there -had ever been anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his -eyes. He had not come there to cry—he had come there for vengeance, and -then, at that thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor -a creature that he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he -were to miss even this chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, -he tried to gather together all his reasons for hating Traill; but he -couldn't think properly, and the pebbles on which he was sitting were -pressing into his trousers, and his neck was hurting because he craned -it so. - -At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do -nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he -got up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly -up the path again. IV. - -And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the -last time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear -determination of settling things up. - -His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had -corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - -He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out imaginary -examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was for the -last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in which -they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - -Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This -took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to -overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - -Dear Old Lady: - -This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret -it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a -failure. There is £100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will -get things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you -very much, old lady, but I am no good.—Your loving son, - -Vincent Perrin. - -He fastened up the letter and addressed it to— - -Mrs. Perrin, - -Holly Cottage, - -Bubblewick, - -Bucks. - -Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited until -the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the -passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down -the lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - -Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the -tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and -he tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and -put it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When -he got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly -at the knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of -course. - -But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got -the knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with -it. But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he -was, and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - -The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a -chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There -was nothing fine about him—there was nothing fine about anyone at -Moffatt's—they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there would be -speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - -But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It -was quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night—he might -just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was -shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his -lamp. - -He hated the dark—he had always hated it—and so he hurried into his -bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking so that -it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed the -matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - -He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his -shirt and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the -black marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At -last he blew out the candle and got into bed. - -He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was -asleep—but after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was -conscious of someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the -other Mr. Perrin was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the -room was quite dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that -he could see that he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were -exactly the same as his own. He was forced against his will to get out -of bed and to follow the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the -long, white road, down to the sea. Here they were in that little cove -where Traill and Miss Desart had been that afternoon. They sat with -their backs against the rocks, and in all the air there was a strange, -uncertain light, and the sea came over the shore in sullen, dreamy -movements, as a tired woman's fingers move when she is sewing. - -Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession -of gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces -were white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung -at their sides. - -He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice—that this must not -be allowed—and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was all -wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens—but he could -not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces that he -knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and then—his -own. - -He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back -up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into -his room. - -He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his -surprise he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although -there had been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he -could distinguish every object perfectly—and then he realized slowly -that things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not -his, his bed was not there—that photograph.... - -Someone was in the bed. - -For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between -the window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been -walking in his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - -He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the -counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was -smiling. - -Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity—here was -his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed—he bent over -the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... it would be -very easy. - -Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept -from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES I. - -THE next day, its brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its -train great things. - -The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the -last day of the summer term, because it was a more private family -affair. - -One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, one -fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, but it was -in the midst of the family that it was done. - -Parents—mothers and fathers and cousins—were indeed there, but they, -too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual -Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great -worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - -Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender -history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be -over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred -years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone -mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last -into a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom -of the Brown Hill—a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other -things the founder of Moffatt's. - -It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had -been perhaps but vaguely recognized—perchance, perchance, the surest -foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our -tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - -But this Marmadukery—a hideous word, but it serves—spread far beyond -that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the -esprit de corps signified by the School song (it began “Procul in -Cornubia,” and was violently shouted at stated intervals during the -year), the splendid appeal “to our fathers who have played in these -fields before us”—this was the cry that these banners and orations -signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true—but shout enough -about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have tears in his -eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke becomes medieval, -mystic, “the great, good man” of history, and Moffatt's is “one of our -good old schools. There's nothing like our public school system, you -know—has its faults, of course; but tradition—that 's the Thing.” - -The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone -feels it—everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir -Marmaduke is the Thing. - -He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that -he kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she -treated anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers -arrived in great numbers on these occasions, and these three great days -of the three terms were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused -events in the year. They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the -immediate return of her own children, and they marked an amazing number -of things that ought to be done at once, with the confusing feeling -about Sir Marmaduke also in the air. - -But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. -She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and -nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe—or almost -safe—and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out of the -place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had last -night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and kissed -her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be all -right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of -the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened during -the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - -Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one -very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all -sat very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - -She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and -happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of -talking to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at -a pool, flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured -no attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - -But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at -the advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: “My -dear!—no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early—one o'clock, -and cold—you don't mind, do you, dear; but there's to be such a dinner -to-night, and I've just had four mothers, and wise is n't the word for -what I've been, although I confused all their children as I always do, -bless their hearts. But, oh! the term's over, and I could go on my knees -and thank Heaven that it is, because I 've never hated anything so much, -and if it had lasted another week I should have struck off Mrs. Dormer's -head for the way she's treating you, for dead sure certain—” - -“Archie's not coming back, you know,” Isabel interrupted. - -“Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of -course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as young -and we'd be off from here tomorrow.” She stopped and sighed a little and -looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, the stiff, bare -trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. “But it's no use wishing,” -she went on cheerfully enough, “and we won't any of us think of next -term at all but only of the blessed month of freedom that's in front -of us.” Her voice softened; she put her hand on Isabel's arm. “All the -same, my dear, I'm glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It -was touching him, you know.” - -“Yes, I saw it,” the girl answered. “And I don't want him to -schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's help he 'll -be able to get a Government office of some sort.” She hesitated, then -said, smiling a little, “Are you and Mr. Comber—” She stopped. - -“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber bruskily, “we are—and there 's no doubt -that things are better than they have been. I suppose marriage is always -like that: there 's the thrilling time at first, and then you find it -is n't there any longer and you've got to make up your mind to getting -along. Things rub you up, you know, and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome -as anything, and then there's a good big row and the air's cleared—and -shall I wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?” - -“The black one fits the day better,” said Isabel absent-mindedly. She -was wondering whether the time would ever come when she and Archie would -feel ordinary about each other. - -“But isn't it funny,” she went on, “that here we are at the end of the -term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all our quarrels and -fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming impossible? It -was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone.” - -“It all comes,” said Mrs. Comber, “of our living too close. Now that -we're going to spread out over the holidays, we 're as friendly as -anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. Dormer as much as -ever”—which was difficult to believe when that lady arrived at a -quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel and to go with them -to the prize-giving. - -Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black -neck to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of -this she spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one -another as they walked down the path to the school hall. - -“And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?” - -“I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the housemaid. -I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I had to speak -to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and she gave -notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and unless I -can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able to get away.” - -“Really, what servants are coming to!” Mrs. Dormer was struggling -with her collar like a dog. “Poor Mrs. Comber, I am so sorry—of course -management's the thing, but we haven't all the gift and can't expect to -have it.” - -“And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over -Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be so nice -if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I have -n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. Rose -yesterday—quite a nice girl she sounded—who's been under-parlormaid at -Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, and never a fault to find -with her except a tendency to catching cold, which made her sniff at -times.” - -“Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to -spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have -loved—” - -For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface -responsible. II. - -Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible -for clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this -morning, that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had -hitherto been. The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as -he was not returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was -concerned. He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term -had shown him that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought -himself. His pride, his temper, his irritation—all these things were -lions with which he had never fought before: now they must always, for -the future, be consciously kept in check. - -He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going -away—now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, -together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the -buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He -could not sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad -dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened -suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. -Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep -properly to-night. - -At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on -this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they -all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble -that he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - -Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to -him. - -He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The -floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the -air was full of dust. - -“Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's all this?” - -“Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you 've come. I was coming -round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm off for good.” - -“Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment. - -“Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have -finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I -die—nothing can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.” - -“What are you going to do?” asked Traill. - -“I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've saved a tiny hit of -money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a shot at anything. -Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!” - -He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with -dust on his cheeks and his hair on end. - -“Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all, I'm on the same game. -I don't know what I'm going to do either. We 're both in the same box.” - -“Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you. -I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years -of this; but I'm going to have a shot—so wish me luck!” - -“Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We 'll do it -together—we 'll see heaps of each other.” - -“Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm too dry and dusty -a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm better alone. -But I 'll come and see you one day.” - -“You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what you said about -the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see -you. You were quite right.” - -“Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, “you had a -hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. It drove -you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning, -I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, you met Miss -Desart here.” - -“Yes,” said Traill, “that makes it worth it fifty times over.” - -“And now,” went on Birkland grimly, “this afternoon you shall see the -closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our tradition. -You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with the -term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that pervades -the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, maker of -strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which we all, -from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share.” He spread his -arms. “Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!—to get out of it! And -now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If it hadn't been for you, -Traill, I believe I'd be here still. Well, perhaps it's to breaking -stones on a road that I'm going... at any rate, it won't be this.” - -And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his -influence. III. - -But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly -feeling, with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had -little to do. This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling -or a triumph at approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' -troubled and confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening -consciousness that he had again, now for the second time, missed his -chance. - -This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; -not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - -To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, -they would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same -insignificant creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and -then it would be worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, -and in the distant ages it would be told how once there had been a young -man, straight from the University, who had flung him to the ground -and trampled on him, and beaten him, in all probability, with his own -umbrella.... - -Ah, no! it was not to be borne—the thing must be done; there must be no -missing of an opportunity this third time. - -He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. -Somerset-Walpole knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he -suffered no punishment. Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus -had looked at him as though he would like to speak to him, but he could -not think of Garden Minimus now—there were other more important things -to think about. - -Of course it must be done that night—there was only one night left. -Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown -himself. He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - -His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would -say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some -way that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able -to laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something -terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. -Miss Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did -not wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the -best, because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only -be unhappy if she married him. - -What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his -throat cut!—no, they would not laugh at him again! - -He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went -back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in -front of him, with the door closed. - -And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to -the school for the speeches. - -He smiled and said, “Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up—now -that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that we -should not part friends—it's all been my stupid fault, and I am so very -sorry.” - -But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path -with his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you -couldn't shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in -the evening. He heard Traill's exasperated “Oh! very well,” and then he -passed into Big School. - -He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were -always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they -came in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were -unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about -his popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore -surprise him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that -greeted Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - -The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and -the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner -by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept -them there until the end of the ceremonies—no one noticed him—no one -spoke to him—not for him were their songs and festivals. - -The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, -and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the -Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to -come. - -These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with -stout bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that -they considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive -and as nonexistent as possible—they all wore a considerable amount of -watch-chain. - -In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged -the prizes—a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been -biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside -them in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, -in patent leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was -intermittent, but regular. - -This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the -prizes, because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the -other side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality -and authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; -he stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were -seated: Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, -endeavoring to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually -as though by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many -parents. - -The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He -alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, “our -founder, hero, and example”; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur -Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the -pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the -successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of -Police in Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in -an examination that had something to do with Tropical Diseases -(more cheers); M. Watson had received the College Essay Prize at St. -Catherine's College, Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second -class in the first part of the Previous Examination at the same -university (frantic cheering, because Duffield had been last year's -captain of the Rugby football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was -exceedingly encouraging, and they could not help reflecting that Sir -Marmaduke Boniface, were he conscious of these successes, would be -extremely pleased (cheers). Passing on to the present term, he was -delighted to be able to say that never, in all his long period as -headmaster, could he remember a more equable and energetic term -(cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events of -special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those -concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a -will. It was a familiar saying that “a nation was blessed that had no -history”—well, that applied to such a term as the one just concluded -(cheers). If he might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he -was quite sure that Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man -to rejoice in this spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude -for a moment to his staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded -with so pleasant a body of men—men who understood exactly the kind of -esprit de corps necessary if a school's work were to be properly carried -on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great purpose of -making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed, the one aim -and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they might be sure that -was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept before him. He -had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, who would give -away the prizes. - -Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic -cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness -of Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the -room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's head -intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved -their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed -their immovability. - -Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he -believed in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he -should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like -to say one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning -prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who failed -to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.” It wasn't -always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. No—um—ah—he -never used to win prizes at school himself. It wasn't always the -boys—here he pulled himself up and remembered that he had said it -before. There was something else that he'd wanted to say, but he'd quite -forgotten what it was. Here he was conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and -thought that he'd never seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem -to be able to escape them. What a dangerous-looking man! - -So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them from -our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of paper on -which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched -his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the third row, -suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. He would -advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and -now he would give away the prizes. IV. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's -speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to -speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least, that his -eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson acute -discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching him -with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was not -aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because he looked -so queer, as though he had a headache.” - -He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second -Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of -Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not -matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at -issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated -impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager -realization. - -He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. -And suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken -himself, forcibly, out of one room into another—out of a room in which -there was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise -dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place -that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that -Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, -but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - -What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his -place. He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, -stupid faces. That Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her bony -neck; that silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming garments; -that Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she were of any -importance to anyone—all of them listening to these things that -Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing these... Lies! - -Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the -wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's -face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with -that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his -head. He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that -they could stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step -forward and tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat -governors, to the little man with the shining boots on the platform? -They knew that these thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had -it not been slow torture for them all, had not that man with the white -beard full knowledge of these lies that he was telling? What was his -private quarrel with Traill as compared with this monstrous injustice? -He was pale now, with a long red mark against the white of his cheek. He -had stepped right away from the wall and the small boys of the First and -Second Forms were watching him. - -It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, -that it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than -the others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this -place! Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he -remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before -in the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt -by Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! -what rot! He could have shouted it to the roof—“Lies! Lies! Lies!” - -There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his -speech—ladies' dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along the -floor—and then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his hands -against one another—they were hot and dry and something rather like a -bobbin on a latch went up and down in his throat—his eyes were burning. -He moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to the -central gangway between the blocks of boys. - -And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies -of “Tennyson's Poems,” Sir Robert Ball's “Wonders of the Heavens,” “The -Works of Spencer,” and other volumes of our admirable classics. They -began with the bottom of the school, and a small fat boy with a crimson -face, boots that creaked like a badly-oiled door and were shaped like -Chinese boats, staggered up to the platform. A lady, prominent for -her size and large picture hat moved eagerly in her chair, clapped -vehemently with her white gloves and so proclaimed herself a mother. - -Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to -each prizewinner—“something that they could remember afterwards, you -know”—and began to say something to the small and red-faced boy, but was -startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory breathing close to his ear. -Turning round, he discovered that three more small boys were waiting -anxiously for their turn and that others were coming up the room. He -therefore hurried along with “Here you are, my boy. Remember that prizes -aren't everything in life—hope you 'll read it—delightful book.” - -Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He -must wait—now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech -to thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To -his excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were -looking at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must -have felt as indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been -telling them. But those governors should know the truth for once at any -rate and in a way that they should not forget... strangely, in the back -of his mind he wished that his mother could be present.... - -The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered -according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, -had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest -of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very -pleased with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a -flushed face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the -leading rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with -a book and a few pleasant words—fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came quicker -as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - -Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. -It had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so -distinguished a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that -afternoon. It must have been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time -amongst so many engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. -(Cheers—Sir Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at -his shirt cuffs as though his engagements were written down there.) They -on their part were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the -room, however young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as -long as he lived, those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it -was not only for the winners of prizes that life was intended (here -Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and -the governors moved restlessly in their chairs), but (and here -Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a new note) it might not be, perhaps, -presumptuous of him to hope that it was not only for them that afternoon -might have pleasant memories. For Sir Arthur Spalding also, he might -hope, there would be times in the future when he would look back and -remember that he had seen, for an instant at least, one of our British -public schools in one of its happiest and most prosperous phases. He -might flatter himself— - -“It 's all lies!” - -The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. -To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the -over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, -there may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange -master of theirs—“that old ass Pompous”—seen his edging from the wall -into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands clenching -and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that sudden -lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his feet, -could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to the -governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively desiring -his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the staff, -the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a wind, -“What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered little cries, -they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice—they were held, -paralyzed. - -And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange -figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window -upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his -gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - -“It's lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one upon another. “I -don't care—I must speak. Ladies and gentlemen,”—he caught his throat for -a moment with his hand—“I know that this is no occasion for saying those -things, but no one else has the courage—the courage. It is not true what -he has been saying”—he pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white -patriarch. “We are unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by -that man—we are not paid enough—we are not considered at all—never -considered—everything is wrong—we all hate each other—we hate him—he -hates us—we are unhappy—it is all hell.” - -He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from -head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell here... -hell!” - -And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly -to his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by -the wide doors behind him. - -There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - -“It 's Perrin.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM I. - -HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across -the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, -nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that -his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest -in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact -was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the -rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might -hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they -might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, -ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. -Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as -though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, -the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly -something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the -table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, -worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly -and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was -surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That -morning it had meant so much, now—— - -It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, -greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a -tyrant. - -He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind -his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What -would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must -be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions -that had been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the -other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill -being always in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most -certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly -there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their -solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only -that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That -quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one -was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious -quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill -aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in -the world. - -What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would -the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and -thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with -his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they -would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they -would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had -hitherto despised. - -He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that -hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - -The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, -but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the -world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the -darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would be -time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room -before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. -Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - -He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course -they would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. -He felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they -had to say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden -silence, and then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their -plans; perhaps they had already prepared a written protest supporting -his own outburst. - -He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes -and a beating heart to the Upper School. - -He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered -the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire—all of them, -he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they -seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - -“Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for years.” - -And the other voices came together: - -“Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a disgrace, a -thing like that happening.” - -“Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all the holidays in -the world!” - -“No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have got -started before anyone saw him.” - -“Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of -him.” - -But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these -speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a -smile and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - -They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the -fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no -movement. They watched him. - -He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were -watching him, he thought, curiously. - -His confidence began to leave him. - -“It's nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum! ha!” - -There was no answer. - -“Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't I? Yes, -indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He stopped -again. - -Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were -looking at the papers. - -Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him -any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of -course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; -had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he -had seized his—well! - -“Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I flatter myself that -something will come of it. It will be difficult for them, I think, to -disregard that altogether—hum—yes.” - -There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - -“Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?” - -“Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.” - -Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - -“Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I should -go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you 're wanting. -Take my advice. Bed's the place—shouldn't go to chapel if I were -you—hem.” - -“No, shouldn't go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly. - -Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried. “Why -shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a holiday?” - -“You 're tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That's what it is. We're all -tired—overdone. We've all been feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing -term's come to an end. I knew something would happen. You 're tired, -Perrin.” - -“Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. “Tired! -It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't like to see me taking the -lead—you hate my coming to the front. You've always hated me, the lot -of you. You 're jealous, that's what it is. You 're cruel”—his voice -suddenly broke—“I was helping you all. That's why I spoke—and now—” - -And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. II. - -Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that's what they -are—beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!” - -He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a -note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - -'.ir: - -Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible -to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel.... - -So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of -the window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes—the boys from -the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy -chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night—the dark-swelling trees -rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells stopped -and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that his head -was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the evening -scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his feverish -brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common room -to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He might -have known that that would be the way that they would take it—he was a -fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future. He -would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace -himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be -the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined -he was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or -tittle of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his -feet. To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would -sound a very different note. - -He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were -cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it -was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, -and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - -His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought -of Traill—-Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one -thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection -somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public -outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he -confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had -been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it -was that he was going to do. - -He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although -it was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn—“Lord, -dismiss us with Thy Blessing”—and singing it too with vigor that, -exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching freedom. -He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the window. -Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - -Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. He -could be humble or he could he arrogant—he could plead for mercy or -he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two -possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as -possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There -would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must -make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions -were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - -On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped -the sides of his chair—well, he would find that he had made a mistake. -The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body trembled—in -half an hour there would be this battle! - -In half an hour!—in less than half an hour! Already the opening of the -chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the evening -breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and singing. -On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed into -preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was -the last night of the term—there was to be a concert—and by this time -to-morrow— - -They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more -there was silence—the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were closed. - -Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the -very heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his -enemy had been Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the -ingenuity of the devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin -had thought that it was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, -with extraordinary clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. -That spider with that dark study for his web was spinning, always -spinning—more effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with -its dim light, surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other -room into which he was going frightened him against his will. He was -determined that he would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the -back of his mind was an undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, -Moy-Thompson would get the better of him. - -He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not -beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's -study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table -by the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical -busts on the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white -beard at the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with -flashes of golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - -Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not -raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen -down slowly, looked up and smiled. - -“Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you coming -at this time? Sit down, won't you?” - -Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed -haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to -collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - -“But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this easy-chair -by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his hands, sat -down. - -“I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this letter—hum, -yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked -solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he 'll wait—of course, he 'll -wait—of course, he 'll wait.” - -At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. -His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his -clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - -“Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really, only a few -moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a long day. But come, -Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've got to discuss this -matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I -have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter.” - -Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr. Perrin, I -beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am most anxious to prove to you -that I am nothing but friendly in this matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and -tapped his nails, with sharp little rattling noises, one against -the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm sure you must agree with me that a -disturbance like that of this afternoon is exceedingly unusual and I may -say with very considerable truth that no one who was present was more -completely and remarkably surprised than myself. I do not pretend,” he -went on with a smile and lifting a deprecating hand towards the fire, -“that I am so pleasantly self-assured as to believe that there is no -unsound plank in this good ship of ours; there are many things, I am -sure, that would be the better for a newer and a younger hand, but I had -supposed—and naturally supposed, I think—that any complaints that there -were would be brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to -time complaints have been brought to me and I may say that I have always -dealt with them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson -paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you know that -you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have come to me -with any complaint of any kind?” - -Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long -speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular -and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was -bent towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he -would reply and half started from his chair. - -Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - -“No—please, a moment—may I not explain myself? although it needs surely -no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that has always, I -believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had yesterday been -questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely trust and honor -I should have named yourself.” He paused and then slowly added, “I -need scarcely remind you that it is only a fortnight since there passed -between us, in this very room, an interview of the most friendly and -confidential description.” - -There was no word from the chair. - -“You must remember that, during the many years that have passed since -you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You have -had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I -have always been frank with you—you 've seized none of them. All the -more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what occurred -to-day.” - -At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled -with silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his -brain. What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the -things that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, -it was true; it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and -Moy-Thompson, all these years, great friends. Other members of the -staff may have rebelled and quarreled and disputed, but he had always -supported authority. He remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the -pleasure that he had taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews -in that very room. This momentous and horrible fact rose now before -him and froze any reply that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's -devoted henchman for twenty years—was he the right man to head a -rebellion now? - -In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - -“Well,” said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against another, “I see -that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in some of my remarks. -These things are facts—that you have been twenty years without a -complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here more rubbing -of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard task that -demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this outbreak; -an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an outbreak for -which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its nature, I -should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and habits—” -Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, “Well, what is the -only explanation? What can be the only explanation?” - -Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - -“Well,” continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, “overwork, of course. -Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last weeks, -things were being a little too much for you—hum—yes—natural enough, -natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a long time since you -were out of harness—yes, indeed.” - -“I 'm not tired.” - -“Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the -game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient -excuse for to-day's little episode—the only excuse indeed (this a little -more sharply)—but an excuse that we all of us—I speak for others as -well as myself—are only too ready to seize. A holiday, my friend, a -holiday—there we have our doctor's medicine.” - -Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised -his head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the -worst. He faced it with despair—he knew as he heard the other man's -words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he -make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting -and abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that -he was merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of -the terror that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle -contempt and the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - -Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him -that this was not quite so simple as it appeared—that this old man in -his dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in -the dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his -head was buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. -To have Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, -was to have Perrin silenced, humbled—finally quieted. But how was he to -battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the -accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those -many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn -consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid to -that white beard, these things rose and defeated him—defeated him on the -last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - -Yet he tried to say something. - -He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - -“I had reason,” he said slowly, “for what I did. I meant what I said and -I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of us and I -want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did this -afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us all -to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me—if anyone else had -done it—” - -His head dropped—his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, “I want -to hand in my resignation.” - -The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently -and a little sadly: - -“I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel that I -have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think me -unfriendly—my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly—if I say that -this opinion of yours—a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps—owes something -to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I beg of you -is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait until you are -stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that the governors -will only too readily allow you a holiday during next term—when the -summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in body and mind.” - -Tick—tick—tick went the clock—“Here's a good offer—Here's a good offer.” - -“I wish to hand in my resignation,” said Mr. Perrin. - -“Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all be -genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making -your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps—” - -“I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is -scandalous—scandalous—” - -“I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you feel about it -as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few weeks. Write to -me. Write to the governors—write to anyone you please. But wait—let me -urge you to wait.” - -Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again there was -silence. Then at last: - -“Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the strength to -break with anything. I'm no use—no good.” He got to his feet and then -suddenly broke out: - -“But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, but I'm right. -What I've said is true, it's all true. You 're a devil. You've had us -all at your mercy for years and years. You've worked us against one -another until you've rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and -you 're pleased—you 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a -God's parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts and you've -eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for us, but there's hell for you -somewhere. I see it and I know it.” - -He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - -It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some -judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world -about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. III. - -But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was -thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his -defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - -He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no -more for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the -heart of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an -utterly useless man. - -He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation -in his face. He was no good. - -He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the -door he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, -looking very shy. - -Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at -all. - -“Good evening.” - -“Good evening.” - -“Won't you sit down?” - -“No, thank you. I only came in for a moment.” - -“Oh, all right. What is it?” - -“Oh! Only I wanted to tell you—that—well—oh, that I thought you were -awfully plucky this afternoon.” - -“Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really—it was a very foolish thing to -do.” - -“No—really—the other fellows did n't understand—” - -“Oh, yes! They understood very well.” - -Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to -go through with it. - -“Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know—not coming back—and I -thought that it would be a pity if we parted—well, sick with each other. -What do you say? We've had one or two turn-ups, but we 're friends, are -n't we?” - -“Of course.” - -“Shake hands, will you?” - -They shook hands. - -“Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't you? Always -awfully pleased. Well, I must be going.” - -And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - -But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's utter -despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his life. -“He had made it up with the chap,” but Perrin, in the dark, was looking, -with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray figure that had -haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him face to face. - -And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - - - - -CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW I. - -WITH the coming dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, -sitting in his chair without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, -the gray cold pane of his window and the last faint glow of the sinking -coals that lingered in the grate. He did not know what he could have -said to Moy-Thompson, what he ought to have said. He thought that he -might have faced it out better had the interview been in some other -place. There were so many things that hung about that room and made it -impossible for him to speak. He had not known that it would be so hard. - -But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all -these many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had -been coming upon him but he had never confessed it—now it stared him in -the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. -He knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and -face the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the -courage to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had -not even had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would -do. - -And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant -enough man if only someone had tried to like him—and then these -headaches—and then those days when his brain was so strangely -confused—no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if Isabel -Desart.—-Well, why think about it? They all mocked him—even Moy-Thompson -did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was very sick -and tired of life. II. - -The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very -silent as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. -Some clock downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black -cold grate and saw that soon it would be sunrise. - -The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything -was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making -everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the -pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the -middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - -At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with -a little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it -was hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the -solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the -dark hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the -half-light. - -He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into -the mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; -its beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of -him, almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause -before he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the -daytime, but now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle -of the hours when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when -the brown earth and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in -the pageant. The breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness -of the first moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the -movement and stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter -day bare branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen -sun—now everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - -He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In -front of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the -threads and fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of -the land hid it great fountains of color were held behind the cloud -and the suggestion of their richness was passing already into the -thickly-curtained gray. - -Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off -across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was -growing with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out -sharp and black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud -was slowly filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through -the heart of it a little avenue of trees ran—now they were gaunt and -stiff in two lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end -of the little avenue there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running -sharply to the white road beneath, and then below the road again there -is the sea. It is a wonderful view from here, for the sea curves like a -silver bowl into infinite distance. Through the country-side it is known -as “The Golden View,” not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving -and heaving beneath its gray veil with the faintest threads of color -beginning to interlace the fabric of it. - -Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and -looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in -front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun -rose above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. “To -fling oneself down on to that cold white road” was a very easy death to -die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the courage. -He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - -He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw -coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. III. - -He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought -that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of -his life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She -was dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - -And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. -“Oh!” he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his voice was full -of pain. - -“Good morning, Mr. Perrin,” she said very easily; “I could not sleep and -I had thought that I would come down here to see the sun rise—and then -I saw you pass through the school gates and I was impertinent enough to -follow you. I want to talk to you.” - -“To talk to me?” - -He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - -“Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there just as -the sun rises.” - -He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full -of what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. -He glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she -was! He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - -“I hope you didn't very much want to be alone,” she said smiling at him; -“but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I have been wanting—very -badly—ever since yesterday afternoon—to speak to you.” - -“Since yesterday afternoon,” he repeated bitterly. “You must feel as -they all do, about that.” - -“I don't know how the others feel,” she answered almost fiercely. “That -is no business of mine. But I understood, I sympathized, a great deal -more than you would believe—and I wanted to tell you so.” - -“You couldn't understand—you couldn't sympathize. It doesn't touch you -anywhere. You 're going to-day and you won't come back. Well, don't -think of any of us again. Don't try and help us—it only makes it worse -for us.” - -“No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would -understand—and even if I am going away it would be something for both of -us if we knew that we had parted friends, that—” - -But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working -most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered -what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking -dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some -strange greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his -back and in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - -“Oh, please—don't,” and then she stayed in infinite distress waiting for -him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so thin and ragged, in the cold -morning air, and her heart was full of the deepest aching pity. - -At last he turned round to her. “Let us go on,” he said roughly; “I -am all in pieces—don't mind me—you shouldn't have spoken to me like -that—it's more than I can stand.” Then after a pause he went on, “You -mustn't talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend -of yours.” - -“That is for me to say,” she answered gently. “I have been so wrong all -this term. I have only made things worse instead of better and I did so -want to help. It's been awful this term and yesterday afternoon was the -worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had agreed with the things you -said!” - -“It is n't any use,” he answered. “It's too late.” - -“It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't let me help you, -why then perhaps you 'll help me.” - -“Help you?” - -“Yes—if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we part like -this—I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a little of what -you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It isn't kind to me to leave -it like this.” - -There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she -was; her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt -bitterly that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every -word that she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if -she went away without speaking she would regret it all her life. - -At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute -control of himself and his voice was quite steady. - -“No—I hadn't meant to be rude like that—only you took me by surprise. -I've made a wretched muddle of things and, since yesterday afternoon, -I 've seen that I'm a complete failure in every possible sense of the -word. You are so splendid in all ways—and you are going to have such a -splendid life—that we are at the opposite ends of the world, you and I.” - -She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all -its little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the -strange creature whom she had known before. - -“No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so -miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have -made things better between you and Archie—Mr. Traill—all that wretched -quarreling—and yet I felt so helpless.” - -“No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man feeling -that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and the -younger man resenting the older man's interference—and neither Traill -nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were pressed up -against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. No, you -had n't very much to do with it.” - -But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, -half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering -whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of -all self-consciousness, held him back— - -He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. “And -then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I -was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him -if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair that -he should have everything—youth, health, prospects, -popularity—everything—and I nothing. I had never been a likable man, -perhaps, but there seemed to be no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to -do things—” - -He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot -with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling -back like gates before the sun. - -“—And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making his -speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place—the system—that I -had been up against all this time, and not any one person—and suddenly -I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know—and I thought I'd done rather a -big thing. I thought the other men would be glad that I had led the way. -I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious and frightened, but the other -men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed—and suddenly everything cleared -and I saw what this place had made of me. They say that it takes a man -all a lifetime to know himself—well, I 've got that knowledge early. I -know what I am.” - -She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. “You 're -going to have a fine life,” he said; “there are so many people that you -will do good to—but you have been everything to one useless creature.” - -“I shall always be proud to be your friend.” Curiously, in the growing -light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she felt more -strongly moved than she had ever been before—yes, even Archie Traill's -wooing had not touched her as this did. - -“I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you,” at last she said -brokenly, “but I shall never, all my life through, forget you. I shall -want, please, always to hear—” - -“To hear?” His lips twisted into a strange smile. “Ah, you must n 't -want that.” - -“Why not? What are you going to do—now?” - -“To do?” He was still strangely smiling. “What is there for me to do? -I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no means and I am -fit for nothing but schoolmastering—” - -“Cannot you come back here—in spite of it all?” - -“Come back?” - -“Yes.” - -“Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so unimportant -that—it does n't matter.” - -“You will—promise that you will!” - -“Ah, it is all so useless,” he said, shaking his head. “Before, when I -had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but now, -when that is all gone—” - -“Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand”—her eyes were flaming—“you -must—you must. Don't you see that you 're being given such a chance! -Think of the pluck of it—after all that has happened—to come back, -knowing what they think of you, knowing what you think of yourself. Oh! -I envy you. I believe the only thing we 're in the world for is to have -courage—that answers everything—and some of us have such fat, easy lives -that we've no chance at all. But you to come back with your teeth set, -to build it all up again, to will it all back! Oh! it's splendid! -And Archie and I will have our happy, ordinary existences—just going -along—and you 'll be here doing the finest thing in the world. I'd -change places with you to-morrow,” she magnificently ended up. - -“You see it like that?” he said slowly almost to himself. - -“Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all this -term's been for—to bring to a head—to show you your great chance. That -'s life—everything leading up to the one big thing—and now this is -yours.” - -“My God!” he whispered, “If I could!” - -“You must,” she answered, “I believe in you—come back—fight it—win.” - -But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - -“No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I 've had my -spirit broken—this place has broken it.” - -“No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance—take it.” - -“All these years,” he answered grimly, “twenty years—it's a long time -for a man. I can't begin all over again.” - -“Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight as you see -things now—It 's never been the same before.” - -He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - -“Do you believe I could do it?” he said. - -“Of course I do.” - -“Win back respect—make them forget yesterday—go on with the old -torture—” he shuddered and buried his face in his hands. - -“I believe in you,” she answered steadfastly. - -He drew a deep breath. “At last!” - -“I believe in you.” - -“You are not saying that only to comfort met” - -“No; you know that I am not.” - -“To come back—to go on—to face it all.” - -“It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall know—I shall always -remember.” - -As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would -not have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that -brief moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell that -Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some way a -new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he do -anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - -There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the sea -swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly -blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded -the brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through -the brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a -white gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out -to sea. - -Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come back,” he -said. - -The new day shone about their heads. IV. - -Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. Comber -was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only for -a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and pleasant than he had -been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys were returning that -afternoon. - -“Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's a bill from that -dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't leave one -alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and I told her only -a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk until Easter—well, -some marmalade, then, if you won't have another—what train did you say -you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm so glad it's a sunny day—you were -up quite early weren't you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. -Dormer had to say about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and -now I shan't have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's -shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash, so -that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?” - -“Of what all?” asked Isabel. - -“Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been queer all -this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what he 'll do now?” - -“I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel. - -“Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if he -can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors -that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm sure -we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been most queer all -this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie and everything. -Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under his thumb.” - -Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - -Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a -fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the -things that she ought to do. - -“Dear?” said Isabel. - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - -“I want you to do something for me.” - -“Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's hill for -that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—” - -“No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen altogether to -me.” - -“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - -“Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin is coming back. I saw him this morning—” - -“You saw him this morning! Isabel!” - -“Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View. He talked -to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or people. There -must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside and so dull -outside.” - -“I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered slowly, “but I -cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I can't really.” - -“Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when I think -of Archie and myself and our lives—and all the other people with lives -like them—and then when I think of all the awkward, bad-mannered, stiff, -jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm ashamed!” - -Mrs. Comber was astonished. “Well, my dear,” she said, “it does seem to -have affected you—really. Of course I want to be kind to everybody—even -Mrs. Dormer—and of course I 'll believe what you say, and I'm sure I'm -very sorry for him, and it won't be pleasant for him coming back.” - -“No,” said Isabel. “It won't—no one ought ever to come back here -again—but if only you 'll be a friend to him— - -“You see,” she went on again, “he's the kind of man whom those things -matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever taken any interest in him or -any trouble—and now if you and I—” - -“Anything,” said Mrs. Comber, “that you want me to do.” - -“I sometimes think,” said Isabel, “that the world's topsy-turvy. People -seem to put so much value on all the outside things, and if someone's -ugly and awkward—” - -Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at the -door of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown portmanteau—a -very old brown portmanteau—and he put it on the cab. It was a very old -cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - -Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old -shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - -The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - -Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that -he would. - -Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious -beauty of that day she seemed to get her answer. - -Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - -“It shall be all right, next term,” said Mr. Perrin. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh -Walpole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Gods and Mr. Perrin - A Tragi-Comedy - -Author: Hugh Walpole - -Release Date: June 1, 2016 [EBook #52211] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -A Tragi-Comedy - -By Hugh Walpole - -Author Of "Fortitude," - -"The Prelude To Adventure," Etc. - -New York George H. Doran Company - -Copyright, 1911 - -"The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: Nor -Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House -Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort."--Pilgrim's Progress - - -TO - -PUNCH - -My Dear Punch, - -There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to -you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them -all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day -last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, -and we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the -top--an inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large -black cat. - -It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. -Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than -anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good -things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good -things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this -book. - -Yours affectionately, - -HUGH WALPOLE. - -Chelsea, January 1911. - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - - - - -CHAPTER I--MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE - - -I. - -|VINCENT PERRIN said to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: -"It shall be all right this term"--and then, "It _shall_ be"--and then, -"_This_ term." A cold wintry sun watched him from above the brown shaggy -wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery blue, and on its -surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A little wind -sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had nearly -reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. He -stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood -straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a -sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the -red light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front -of it the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - -"It _shall_ be all right this term," said Mr. Perrin, and he pulled -his rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little wind was -playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He was -long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not -been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript -pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore -was too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of -someone who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and -watery, and his eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His -age was about forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over -twenty years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were -folded behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that -trailed along the ground. - -His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top -of the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the -distant Brown Wood. - -The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The -sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of -a hammer, and the tiny whisper--as of someone who tells eagerly, but -mysteriously, a secret--was the beating of the waves far at the bottom -of the hill against the rocks. - -Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the chimneys -of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of some hidden -bonfire. - -The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up -the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude -of bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very -small indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched -their hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, -glanced at them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the -brown buildings again. - -"Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers." he said to himself quickly; -"Barker Minor, French.. . ;" then his mind swung back to its earlier -theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the road with his stick, "It -shall _be_ all right _this_ term." - -The school clock--he knew the sound so well that he often thought he -heard it at home in Buckinghamshire--struck half-past three. He hastened -his steps. His holidays had been good--better than usual; he had played -golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots and fools -as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently about -Education--shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, and What -a Mother can do for her Boy--all favorite subjects of his. - -Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad--perhaps the new man would -be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be _worse_ than Searle of -the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just down -from the University--he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - -No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; -but there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then--he -stopped once more and drew a deep breath--there was Miss Desart. He -tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer -than others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss -Desart.... He coughed. - -He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at -his heels. - -The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; -the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. - -II. - -The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room -that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, -moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and -the long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore a -perpetual odor of food in the air. On a "mutton day"--there were three -"mutton" days a week--this odor hung in heavy, clammy folds about the -ceiling, and on those days there were always more boys kept in than on -the other days--on so small a thing may punishment hang. - -To-day--this being the first day of the term---the room was exceedingly -tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows of -pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, -a name-- - -"Mr. Perrin," - -"Mr. Dormer," - -"Mr. Clinton," - -"Mr. Traill." - -Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and -his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting -_their_ papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall -was an enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines -running across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over -which were two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and -St. Peter's, Rome. - -Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the -windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen--a -gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round -empty flower-bed, a stone wall. - -On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of -bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, -cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, -a short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were -drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at -it--a practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - -However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. -Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. "Ah! here we are again!" he said, -with easy jocularity. - -Dormer gave him a hand, and said, "Glad to see you, Perrin; had good -holidays?" - -Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, "You -old nut!" - -Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that -all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was -most inclined to be easy and pleasant. - -"Ha! no cake!" he said, with a surprised air. - -"Oh! I say, I'm so sorry," said Clinton, with his mouth full, "I took -the last. Ring the bell." - -Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It -was cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The -Lower School was divided into two houses--Dormer was house-master -of one, and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under -house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to -Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival -camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and -play. - -"I say, Perrin, "have you made out your bath-lists? Then there are -locker-names--I want." Perrin snapped at his bread and butter. "Ah, -Dormer, please--my tea first." - -"All right; only, it's getting on to four." - -For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the -door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, "Come in!" - -The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a -misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a -shuffling of feet. - -Perrin walked slowly to the door. - -"Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of us -eager to come back, of course--um--yes. Well, you know you oughtn't to -come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your names then--another -five minutes. It's up on the board. Well, Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? -_Don't_ you know that ten minutes past four is ten minutes past four and -_not_ four o'clock?" - -"Yes, sir, please, sir--but, sir--" - -Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - -"Ha, ha," he said, smiling reflectively; "had him there!" - -Dormer was muttering to himself, "Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, Cummin; -10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock--" - -The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - -The door opened again, and someone came in--Traill, the new man. Perrin -looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first impression -of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very young -and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very -dress--the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, -turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His -hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his -eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back -very broad, his legs rather short--he looked, beyond everything else, -tremendously clean. - -He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. -Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been -old enough to have an opinion of his own--several opinions of his own; -he had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the -end of the term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a -pig-headed ass.... - -But Traill evidently wanted to "know"--was quite humble about it, -and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists and -dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. "I must say -as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It 's _in_ a man -if he 's going to do it--I've always managed them all right--never -any trouble--hum, ha! Yes, you 'll find them the first few days just -a little restive--seeing what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, -drop on them." - -Traill asked about the holiday task. - -"Oh, yes, Dormer set that. _Ivanhoe_--Scott, you know. Just got to read -out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let them go when you hear -the chapel bell." - -Traill was profuse in his thanks. - -"Not at all--anything you want to know." - -Perrin smiled at him. - -There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, -and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had -the bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and -their common rooms. - -"Well, Sexton?" Perrin cleared his throat. - -"Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I could -find, sir--Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, sir." Sexton -backed out of the room. - -Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying -anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at -him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin -took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about -discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their -mothers, and finally said a word about serving their country. - -Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. "It will be safer for -you to hand it over to me," he said slowly and impressively. "Then you -shall have it when you want it." - -A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, -one by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy--he -had apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby--had only two -halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, "Well, -Rackets?" - -Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - -"I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets." Perrin dropped -the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after the other. "I -don't think you will ever see these half-crowns again." He smiled. - -Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the -money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly -in his eye. He struggled to keep it back--he dug his fist into it, -turned round, and fled from the room. - -Perrin was amused. "Caught friend Rackets on the hip," he said. - -Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four -men put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. -Traill hung back a little. "You take the big room with me, Traill," said -Dormer. "I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper." - -They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There -was a sudden cessation of confused whispers--complete silence, and -then Perrin's voice: "Question one. Who were Richard I., Gurth, Wamba, -Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n--hyphen..." - -The door closed. - -III. - -A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and -a silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - -The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about -the path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell -of onions.... - - - - -CHAPTER II--INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - - -I. - -|IT would be fitting at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's -impressions, at the end of the first week, of the place and the people. -But here one is met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that -Traill himself was not given to gathering impressions at all--he felt -things, but he never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language -and an abbreviated vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; -motives, the way that things hung and were interdependent one upon the -other, the sense of contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on -tragedy and of irony upon both, never hit him anywhere. - -Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end -of the first week. - -There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, -and there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was -engaged, quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing -medley of "things to be done and things not to be done" that that first -week must necessarily entail. - -His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be -said here now, once and for all, the entire _motif_ of this episode--it -is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real -reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being -the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the -people in the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and -unnecessary; but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way -and their own time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they -must have their place. - -Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all -things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to -think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. -He had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a "Blue" for -Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of -these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to -thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - -His "Blue" would undoubtedly have secured him something better than a -post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left it, lazily, -until the last and had been forced to accept what he could get; in a -term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - -All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an -interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of "learning the -ropes," and he could not therefore he expected to regard masters, boys, -or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, indeed, one of -the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he remained, for so -long a period, blind to all that was going on. - -In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He -found the world an entirely delightful place--there was Rugby football -in the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid walks; -there was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there -was his mother--a widow, and he was her only son--whom he entirely -worshiped; there were one or two excellent friends of his from Clifton -and Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there were -one or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom he -had liked very much indeed. - -He read a little--liked it when he had time; had a passion for Napoleon, -whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was even -stirred--again when he had time--by certain sorts of poetry. - -And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most -difficult of decision--as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had any -feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - -He certainly--if he had it at this time--could not put it into -words; but I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of -consciousness about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had -been lying there waiting. - -He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that -he went to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's -influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of -Pendragon and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for _Richard -Feverel_ quite so passionately had he not had something--some poetry and -feeling--already in him. - -The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter -to his mother. He says of Moffatt's: "You never saw anything so hideous. -The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell so new, -the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's -like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they were -inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should -go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the -sun setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand--it 's the -fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand..." - -That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the -way that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal -more about it than he ever said to anyone. - -Cambridge may have done something for him--few people can spend three -years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind -of development, although probably--because we are English--it is -unconscious. - -II. - -He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete -idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' -meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in -conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took -the lowest--a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just -above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - -The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master--a venerable-looking clergyman, -with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers--sat at the end of the table -in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an excuse to fly -into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or two; Perrin, -Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large stout -man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a -clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much -too big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that -at any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony -little man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed -to goad Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose -hand continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly -deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as they -roved about. - -During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up -and the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and -disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention -to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On -several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and -Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - -As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and -individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he -had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book -concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was -very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things -stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent -his time in hating England and preparing to leave it--an escape that he -never achieved. - -The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the -most "interesting" of them. He was fierce and caustic in his manner to -everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - -White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his -mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - -None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his -work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all -of them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that -they liked him; but he did not think about it. - -His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. -Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his -football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years -before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin asked -him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to him -at infinite length. - -Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. - -III. - -The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; -and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite -indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He -could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, -from that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather -than any keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - -It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a -good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had -so much to do with everything that occurred--quite unconsciously, poor -lady, as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was -over--that she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - -The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however -casual, were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those -qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and -her air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be -even larger. - -Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at -foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish -descent--and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign enough. -There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her continual -smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a great deal -of her red cheeks. - -In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the -youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, -with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, -to unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and -enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some -knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, -athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her -lamp was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she -would be happy for ever. That--the keeping of it alight--seemed, as she -looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. -She did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse -and even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate -tracing, removes it altogether--merely, as it may seem to some cynical -observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the -moment of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to -hold on to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a -plucky determination to make the "second best" do, to the final blind -acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance -to that earlier glorious radiance. - -Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young lover -into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the Middle -Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, -would need an exhaustive treatise on "Public School Education as applied -to our Masters" for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this faithful -account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some solution to -that and other more complex riddles. - -It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined -stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married life, -at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the -complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber were -hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from _her_. - -She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended -her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far -as Freddie was concerned--she was continually hoping and expecting that -it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three -boys--fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious--cared, they showed her quite -plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, -to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that -pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent -her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in -hiding her love under a troubled indifference and being entirely -disregarded.... They were unpleasant boys. - -Another place for digging was the ground of "things," of property. -Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost -nothing--they were very poor, and she "managed" badly--now, she had -always had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to an -amazing degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous -kind of way, to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her -valuables. They were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and -school-bills for the boys, consumed any money that there might happen -to be, and consumed it in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she -was never able to prevent or correct. But things had come to her--been -given, left, or eagerly seized in a wild moment's extravagance,--and -these she cherished with all her eyes and hands. The peacock-blue -Liberty screen, the ormolu clock, some few pieces of dainty Dresden -china, some brass Indian pots, a small but musically charming piano, -some sketches and two good prints, and edition de luxe of Walter Pater -(a wedding-present, and she had never opened one of these beautiful -volumes), some silver, a teapot, a tray, some cups that Freddie had won -in an earlier, more glorious period, some small pieces of jewelry--over -these things she passed every morning with a delicate, lingering touch. - -Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her -valuables she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about -them.... They seemed--dumb things as they were--to give her something of -the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so -continually searching. - -She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and -acquaintances as she was in her movements and her finances. She was -famous for her want of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and -bluntness of speech; famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to -make people like her--an attempt that, from its transparency, always -with wiser and more cynical persons failed. - -She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about -them all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with -the town and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although -she wondered in a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover -a satisfactory reason. She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into -people's lives and being hurriedly bundled out again--which "bundling," -at every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - -But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of -course, to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber -no simple succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her -free, spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; -but to none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that -she was to Mrs. Comber. - -Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and -for so long a period, down to Moffatt's--a proceeding that her London -friends could never even vaguely understand. That she--having, as she -might, such a glorious "time" in London behind her--should care to go -and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a school, with -those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities (this term -to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a total -mystery. - -Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed -a poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only -partial. - -In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was -at Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - -Of the place--the surroundings, the look of it all, the "sense" of -it--there is more to be said in a moment--being seen, more completely -perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is enough here -that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to Isabel -deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be afraid -that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black -rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages -that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere -else in the world--these were all things that she dreamed of afterwards, -when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to her, of -danger and confusion. - -She herself "fitted in" as only a few people out of the many that go -there could ever do. - -With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her -straight eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the -swing of her arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength -and honesty might forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a -delightful boy--splendidly healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes -startling in her hatred of things and people, sometimes arrogant in her -assured enthusiasms; Mrs. Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had -told her so much, knew of the other side of her, of her tenderness, her -understanding. - -The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of -peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and -she generally did. - -It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that -she did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons--Miss Bonhurst, the two -Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - -Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago -been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. -She very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what -she had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She -allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - -Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she -means, had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, -fifteen years before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually -finding new reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on -people who had had nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and -puritanical, and hated Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these -things. - -Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each -other, but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike -of the other ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they -should assert their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber -and Mrs. Dormer looked down on them. - -The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss -Madder--stout and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for -the undeniable fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name -for a pleasanter one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a -warmth and good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - -And so there they all were--most of them--a background, and simply, -as individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by reason of -their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - -They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at -all--Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. -Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. - -IV. - -A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - -It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the -Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, -and Truro inland to the left--both at an equal distance--as the farthest -boundaries. - -Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill--undulating, -gently, vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue -or gray of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - -The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, -with the little village--Chattock--at its feet, curling with its -steep, cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is -a wood--the Brown Wood--and it hangs with all its feathery trees in -friendly, eager fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded -cove (so tiny and so perfect in its shape and color that it almost -audibly cries out not to be touched). There is a little part of the wood -where the trees part and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, -right over the gray carpet of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its -creaking and bending and rustling, is saying to the water and what the -water, with its slipping and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. -Of the two towns Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the -Vandals, modern and monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its -outskirts--that was the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there -is a row of modern villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his -visits there, was concerned with the chief house there--The Flutes, -owned by a certain Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, -although senior, a friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in -its position and in the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what -moments he could to visit it and to snatch a respite there. - -Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the -"lobster red" and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so that he took its -wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an added sense of -richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace stood to him -for an "escape," he would have realized also his growing protest -against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on occasions to -Truro--because he liked the walk over the hill, because he liked certain -quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon Street, in the -higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the dark quiet -and solemnity of the Cathedral. - -The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life -that he was leading at Moffatt's--the sides of it that are soon to be -given you in detail--that led him to notice these places. Contrast drove -him to a sudden opening of his eyes--contrast and Isabel Desart. He was -growing so very quickly. - -In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one -could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the -funny old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling -at The Flutes, and "Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully -kind," and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about the -people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all -about Isabel Desart. - -It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the -preliminaries could be said to be over. - - - - -CHAPTER III--CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT - - -I. - -|WHEN Mrs. Comber asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was -delighted, although he assumed as great an indifference as possible. -This was at the end of the first week of term, and he had not spoken -to Miss Desart--he had merely bowed to her across the grass and gone -indoors to teach the Lower Third algebra with a beating heart. - -He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was -giving the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have -been very different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured -woman (he did not always like her) had noticed his attachment--as he -thought most carefully concealed--to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - -He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had -stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had played -tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it -was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and -Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty -years he was in love. - -The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept -away in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since -the last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the -way that he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with -enthusiasm). He talked to the men of his Club about "the absurdity of -considering forty-five any age," and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. -He gave his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight -at night, looking at it often in the glass. - -He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a -white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being -somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him -as soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about "getting a house," -even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the -old lady. - -She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young -person be? Perhaps she would not like her--in any case, it meant taking -a second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew sides -of him that no one else knew--she saw him as a little, thin, serious hoy -in knickerbockers. - -But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long -thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he -was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he -covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if -she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - -But most of all he was afraid of something--he could never give it a -name--that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term advanced. -He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad details, of -a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the masters and the -rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers--the end-of-termy -feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the last week or -two when examinations came, seeing red. - -No--this term it _shall_ be all right. He felt, as he said good-by to -his mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and prove -that it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was -Miss Desart. Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers -together. Oh! what things he could do! - -And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. - -II. - -Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So -many wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were -given during the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the -conversation that it would give rise to, of all the people that would in -all probability be angry with all the other people because they had -been asked or because they had not. There was, generally, a reason for -a dinner. Some important person had to be asked, some unimportant people -had to be worked off, someone was conscious that there had not been a -dinner-party for a very long time. But on this occasion there was no -reason except that Mrs. Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had -at once thought of Isabel, and had conceived a plan. - -Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent -Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the -Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, -because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so -much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - -All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited -were concerned. One chance word at dinner--some errant, tiny omission or -commission--and anything might happen: the time might be made miserable -for everybody. - -But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the -first place "ways and means." How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no -words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a -boat between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of -not-being-smart-enough. - -Were things not right--if there were no meringues, no mushroom savories -(there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel--well, -the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, -there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie -scowling over his _Greek Athletes_ to such an extent that it wouldn't do -to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved -in reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every -dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie -back. - -Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor -woman, only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive -Freddie only more completely "in." Something was sure to happen, -before the evening was over, to annoy him--she would have "such a time -afterwards." But it always, of course, might be the other way. He might -suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly fond, -she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him--he used to like a -game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply been -disastrous. - -She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards--she was very, -very bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in -her heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. -She plunged desperately to win it all back again--she was known -throughout the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - -It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of -all. There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. -Her heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - -But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all -kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were -cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She -thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants--only -two of them, and both ill-tempered. - -Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill--she did not even -think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a word -about Mr. Perrin. - -III. - -Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief -object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically -as well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the -hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they -met their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, -every day of their lives. - -The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and -were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters -about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered -wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn -buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to -the sea. - -The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue -screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in -black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and -on the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, -where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a -great deal lower than it need have been). - -They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to -explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's -always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent "heart" hand she had, -only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous results. "They -like them best with jam in them--you shall see to-night if they aren't -good; and there was really no reason at all why they shouldn't have come -off, but we had such bad luck, and I oughtn't to have played my King -when I did; I'm always telling him that he ought to go and dress a -little earlier--but he stays working." - -Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with -a sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the -back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in -the common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour -too long, with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had -quarreled furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing -about it. Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort -from her, and Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - -Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent -Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling -in one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. -She was standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; -when she moved it was as though that was the only movement possible--her -limbs did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, -before they could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her -brown eyes were smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, -and his heart was beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten -before. - -He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found -that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of -two of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was -so broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He -found a kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its -brazen size and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt -near the collar. His suit--it had done duty for a great many years--was -painfully shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there -was a small tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His -hair, in spite of water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder -than ever; his coat fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in -the most distressing manner. - -All these things were new discomforts and distresses--he had never cared -about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt that -they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that he -was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' conversation he -was proud of his appearance. - -Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be -recorded as the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite -absurd--over-dressed in fact. - -His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face -in brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful -white waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with -pale blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the -sleeves. - -But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it -was quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. -Could it be that Perrin was shabby... _not_ that Traill was smart? - -Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that -there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed -them back again. - -They all went in to dinner. - -IV. - -Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously -recognized him--even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality to -a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - -He had never seen her before--that is, he had never detached her from -the vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees -and the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had -been in love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those -fugitive episodes--the way that it had been, in an instant, like a -candle blown out--had led him to fancy that love was always like that; -he had even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way -a complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that -yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have a -sense of beauty and strange wonder--something that had suddenly, like -streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's -dining-room. - -He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the -silk of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her -hair, and the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, -touched the white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been -a schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not -answer her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - -"And you like it!" - -"I _love_ it." - -"So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions." She still looked at -him very gravely. "The boys like you so far." - -"Ah! they told you!" He was pleased at that. - -"Oh! one soon knows--they are cruelly frank." - -Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. -Mrs. Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly -long time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses -that are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was -moodily staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, -who was trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her -chair and gazing at Landseer's "Dignity and Imprudence" that hung on the -opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - -It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room -got up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her -dining-room. It was a room, she felt, "with nothing at all in it." It -had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new -one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something -that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, -although she could give no reason--perhaps she did not care about dogs. -The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs to -the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and -tattered books that never got cleared away. - -All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, -with a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was -missing. The set had been one of their wedding-presents--the nicest -present that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a -brave smile to anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her -husband's gloomy face. - -But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. -Perrin, feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for -him, that she wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad -when her duty would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to -Traill again. - -Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, -for him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... -His thoughts hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. -Traill--Traill... with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He -splashed his soup on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came -to him--Miss Madder's fat, cheerful voice: "Oh! I think we shall fill -the West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms--all new -boys, poor dears."... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table -to Dormer: "It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has one hour -less than the rest of us--that middle hour ten to eleven..." - -The same old subjects, the same old dinners--but with her he was going -to escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow -wings. - -He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He -was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - -But Traill had taken her in.... - -And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand -as though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the -stud--the large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, -and used his official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to -create an impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - -Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his -sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he -tried, of the things that _he_ could do, if-- - -"If?" said Isabel. - -"Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... -one never knew--" He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a glass of -Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - -Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and -Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues -had arrived--there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues -although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both--and -conversation was quite lively. - -"I do hope," said Mrs. Dormer, "that there will be several extra halves -this term." - -And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on -the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - -"Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for -every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our -duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?" - -It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies -should have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence -involved. - -Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular -body that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. -Comber; she had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - -She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in the -amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of -Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample -confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make -a scandal at Moffatt's--and the propriety of the schoolmaster, -the anxious, eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other -profession. - -Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by -sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - -"I _do_ hope the football will be good this season," she said at last, -quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - -Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know why -she had said a thing like that--she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't like -such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked about -gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. "It always -rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking about it; and how she -can bear that colored green when it's the last color she _ought_ to -wear, I _can't_ think; if it weren't for these flies--what do you -call them!--the roses would have done quite well." But her eyes stared -desperately down the table at Freddie, and she saw that he would not -look at her, and she knew that the dinner had been only one more nail in -her coffin. - -There was still, of course, Bridge. - -V. - -Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, -they were all tremendously--as of course you must be at such small -tables--conscious of each other. - -They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her -husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with -Mrs. Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - -It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole -situation that Perrin was forced to gaze--over a very small intervening -space--at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest of the evening. He -was always a bad Bridge player--he thought that he disguised his bad -play by a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night the confusion -of his thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad claret that -he had drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her cards, -caused his play to be something insane. - -Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every -prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least -five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that -she had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first -deal, her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to -follow any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her -chair and a sharp, "Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done -better than that." - -For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing -an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been -at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six -days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone -did, failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards -hurriedly together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused -way. He knew that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her -so terribly badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure -that Traill was laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which -he played. If only he, Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what -things he might have done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a -little every time he moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a -little stir of disapproval. - -At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing -of lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. -Comber had most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, -she was lost. If she played badly, her husband, although playing against -her, was infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, -As it was, she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of -the good cards that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. -She held her cards so badly--she never could make them into a fan, and -every now and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - -Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into -sentences that had to be instantly checked--as, for instance: "Oh, I saw -Mrs.-------- I'm so sorry, it 's my lead." - -"I believe _this_ term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... _What_ are -trumps?" - -Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and -the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a -gilt frame, and they gave her comfort. - -The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; -they had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She -wouldn't look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against -the other, pulling his mustache. - -"No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your rubber, Mrs. -Comber? Yes, we _ought_ to have won.... No, I can't think how it was." - -"Considering the way my wife's been playing," said Freddie Comber -brutally, "I think it is just as well to stop." - -Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer -to get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every -now and again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair -(always on the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate -action. - -"Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet to-morrow, -of course, although I can't think why they aren't going to play -golf--there's going to be _such_ a storm in an hour or two, isn't -there?--probably because it's football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, -good-by." Everyone departed. Mr. Perrin stood desperately with something -going up and down in his throat. He had a sentence in his head: "Please, -Miss Desart, _do_ let me see you back to the lodge." (Mrs. Comber had -had to plant her out there to sleep because there was no room in their -own tiny house.) He meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched -his mortar-board frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard -Traill's voice: - -"Oh! please, Miss Desart--of course, I'll see you back. Good night, Mrs. -Comber. Thank you _so_ much--I've _loved_ it. Good night, Comber. Night, -Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's dark." - -Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, "Good -night, Mr. Perrin." - -He was left alone on the step. - -VI. - -I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very -slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. -Her bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her -hostess. - -"Poor Mrs. Comber," she said, and then checked herself as though there -were some disloyalty in talking about her. "I hate Mrs. Dormer," she -added quietly. - -"I don't like her," Traill said. "And Dormer's such a jolly little man. -I don't envy; him." - -"Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's anyone's fault -here about anything they do. It's all a case of nerves." - -There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory -whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down -the path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white -light on the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled -against it in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants -bending to the soil. - -The scent of trees--vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear -and pungent--was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, -rolling in long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. -The wind's whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies of -it swept about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly -against them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - -They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and -assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. -But there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that -he might never perhaps get to know her better. - -When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment -silently. - -Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of -the road, "There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all through -me. It _was_ depressing to-night, was n't it?" - -"Just a little," he said. - -"Anyhow, I'm glad you like it--being here. Mind you always do. I don't -want to be pessimistic when you are just beginning; but--well, you don't -mean to stay here for ever, do you?" - -"I should think not," he answered eagerly. "Only a term or two at the -most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school." - -"That's right--because--really it isn't a very good place to be--this." - -"Why not?" he asked. - -"It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making things -out worse than they really are." She paused a moment, and then she went -on: "Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just before you get into -the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes it. You will see at -the right time of the year lots of green apples on the trees, but they -never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the spring! I 've -seen men working there sometimes. I don't know what it is, but nothing -'s any good there. They call it in the village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... -Well, I've stayed here a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison." - -"That's cheerful," he said, laughing. "It would, I suppose, be awful -if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer and the rest of -them; but this time next year will see me somewhere better, I hope." - -"Mind you stick to that," she said eagerly. "I have a horrible kind -of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here they are -still--soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear thinking of." - -"One must have ambition," he answered her confidently. - -She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - -He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke -furiously. - - - -CHAPTER IV--BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - - -I. - -|AT the end of his first month young Traill looked back, as it were from -the top of a hill, and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How -much of this pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her -during that period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his -agreeable acceptance of things as they were without any very definite -challenge to them to be different, it is impossible to say. - -The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that -there was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone -passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were -from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's voice -as he went round the dormitories turning lights out--never a moment's -pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in no way a -reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their untidy, -scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the Upper -Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because of -his football. - -The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he -might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of -unrest and discomfort in their common room. - -With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to -supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness -of the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's parents -(aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the melancholy -inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer relations with -him. - -He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room -things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly -equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself -on several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and -insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the -bath and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their -irritation from their original connection with Perrin, and this might -have led him, had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not -like Perrin and that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon -things--he was always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and -where there was an empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on -Isabel. - -The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, -inconsiderable. - -Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, on the -other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In this -bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he -might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both -baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked -body gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. -Traill was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he -could have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as -the days passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's -complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself -annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. -There were words. - -"I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?" - -"Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your place...." - -Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the -midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If Traill -had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like him. - -The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had -breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They -clubbed together and provided three newspapers--the _Morning Post_, the -_Daily Mail_, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person who -came in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in -last, because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected -that the _Morning Post_ should be left for him. But Traill, as he paid -the same subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. Clinton -always took the _Daily Mail_, and therefore Perrin had to be contented -with the _Cornish News_. There was at last an argument. Traill refused -to give way. The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute silence. Perrin -came no more to Traill's room for an evening chat--a very small matter. - -But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in -any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game -of football; he was in a glow because he was in love--moreover, he had -never quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had -made any progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She -came down sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the -evening, he had walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above -the dark, cloudy trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet--and -at every meeting he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the -afternoon he liked to walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once -or twice he bicycled over to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir -Henry Trojan was a man who had appealed to him immensely. In spite of -his size and strength and simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of -doors and read little, he had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. -He showed Traill a great many things that were new to him. He began to -feel a sense of color; he saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed -village, the sweeping, striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped -sometimes in his walks and drew a deep breath at the way that the lights -and colors were hung about him. Of course the contrast of his school -life drove these other things against him--and also his love for Isabel. - -These little things would have no importance were it not that they all -helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think -about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very -definite way. - -He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - -And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most -amazing way.... - -II. - -Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had -definite personality--aggressive in its influence--and contempt of the -rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their -own terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his -back. - -He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. -He was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he -appreciated his humor. - -And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. -His room was untidy--littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks -of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there -were signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared -for, sets of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving -of Whistler's portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and -from the night outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the -scent of decaying leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - -Birkland was thin--sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; -heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little -gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled -in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open -window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - -"And so you like it?" - -"Yes--immensely!" - -"Why?" - -"Well--why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. There's -plenty of exercise--the hours are healthy--the fellows are quite nice -fellows. I like teaching." - -Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his -principal reason. - -"Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?" - -"Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton." - -"Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you like the -other men?" - -"Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's splendid." - -"Yes--and Perrin?" - -"Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As a matter -of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice." - -"Yes--everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some time or other. As -a matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't the other way -round--one day." - -There was a pause, and then Birkland said, "And so you like it." - -"Yes, of course; don't you?" - -Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather -uncertainly, "Don't you?" - -He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man--as a matter of fact -he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he -scarcely ever read novels. - -Then Birkland spoke: "You had better not ask me that, young man, if you -want an encouraging answer." - -Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: "I'm going -to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your -soul, and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's soul -for--well!--I should be afraid to say how long. I'm afraid--I don't -really care very much about the safety of yours--but I care enough to -speak to you; and the one thing I say to you is--get out--get away. Fly -for your life." His voice sank to a whisper. "If you don't, you will die -very soon--in a year perhaps. We are all dead here, and we died a great -many years ago." - -Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering -candles at Birkland. - -"Oh! I say," he said, "that's a bit of exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose -one is tired sometimes, of course; but, after all, there are a good many -men in the country who make a pretty good thing out of mastering and are -n't so very miserable." - -It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on -Birkland's part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - -But the other man went on: "I shouldn't have said this at all if I -hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of experience behind -me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm bothering you, I'm sure; -but now I've begun I'm going on, and you've got to listen. You can't -say you haven't been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the -common room and seen what kind of men they are?" - -"Of course," said Traill; "but," he added modestly, "I'm not observant, -you know. I'm not at all a clever kind of chap." - -"Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in their faces -right enough. Mind you--what I'm saying to you doesn't apply to the -first-class public school. That's a different kind of thing altogether. -I'm talking about places like Moffatt's--places that are trying to be -what they are not--to do what they can't do--to get higher than they can -reach. There are thousands of them all over the country--places where -the men are underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them -hating each other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut -each other's throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they -teach?" - -He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but -showing in its tensity his emotion. - -"It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there is more -room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid better; there -is a chance of getting a house; there is the _esprit de corps_ of the -school... but here, my God!" - -Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - -"Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. Don't I -know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever when I -came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you try -for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are too -old--too old at thirty-three--earning two hundred a year... too old! and -liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the Head doesn't like -you--turned out with nothing to go to; and he knows that you are afraid -of him and he has games with you." - -Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland to -talk like this! - -"You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers about -you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be -allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like -you. Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something -will come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with -the Head, because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You -must not be friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and -will immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring -against him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we -shall all hate you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. -You think that you are going to teach with freshness and interest--you -are full of eager plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will be -immediately killed. You must not have them--they are not good for -examinations--you are trying to show that you are superior." - -Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - -"Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. It is -murder--self-murder. You are going to kill--you have got to kill--every -fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will be laughed at for -your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be allowed any fine -vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are neglecting your -work. You have no time. Here we are--fifteen men--all hating each other, -loathing everything that the other man does--the way he eats, the way -he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to each other, we eat -together, we meet all day until late at night--hating each other." - -"After all," said Traill, still smiling, "it is only a month or two, and -there are holidays." - -"If term lasted another week or two," went on Birkland quietly, "murder -would be committed. The holidays come, and you go out into the world to -find that you are different from all other men--to find that they know -that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, egotistic. You -realize it slowly; you see them shunning you--and then back you go -again. God knows, they should not hate us--these others! they should -pity us. If you marry, see what it is--look at Mrs. Dormer, Mrs. -Comber, Mrs. Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their life. There -is marriage--no money, no prospects, perhaps in the end starvation! And -gradually there creeps over you a dreadful and horrible inertia: you do -not care--you do not think--you are a ghost. If one of us dies, we do -not mind--we do not think about it. Only, towards the end of the term, -when the examinations come, there creeps about the place a new devil. -All our nerve is gone; our hatred of each other begins to be active. -It is the end-of-termy devil.... Another week or two, and there is no -knowing what we might do. We are all tired, horribly tired. Be careful -then what you do and what you say." - -"My word!" said Traill, filling his pipe, "what a horrible picture of -things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's hysteria!" - -Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - -"Oh! of course you don't see it!" he said. "After all, why should you? -But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm resigned enough now. Besides, -it's the beginning of the term. I'm inclined to think it's untrue, -myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch White after he's had an interview -with the Head--see Perrin and Comber together later on--study Mrs. -Comber. But don't you bother. You won't listen to me--why should you? -Only, in ten years' time you 'll remember." - -After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in -his sharp, caustic way. - -"I say," said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, "that was -all rot; was n't it?" - -"What was?" asked Birkland. - -"Why, about the place--this place." - -"All rot!" said Birkland gravely. - -III. - -But of course one dismisses these things very soon--especially, and -immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - -Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men -that Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory -exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse -into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in -the dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - -Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed -shadow; life is sharp, pungent--formed with faint blue skies, dim and -shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered -balloon between saucer-clouds. - -Archie Traill, on a free afternoon--an early frost had made the ground -too hard for football--in the week after that Birkland evening, stood -in the village street as the church clock struck half-past three, and he -thanked God for a half-holiday. - -The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea -had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, -and the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue -horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone -and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The -brown church tower seemed to sway--so motionless was the rest of the -world--with the clatter of its chiming clocks. - -Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. "Good afternoon, Mr. Traill," -and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the rest of her -movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little ironically -and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a strange -place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help finding it -funny. - -Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on -vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - -"And she only sixteen--what a size!" - -"Only sixteen!--to think of it!" - -"With her great legs and all!" - -"Only sixteen...!" - -The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full -of things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his -presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, -drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a -presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her -that he loved her--and it was n't time yet. - -But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. "We must talk, -one of us--it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming." - -She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road -and looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - -"We are both so frightfully young," she said. - -"Why, yes," he said, laughing at her; "but why not?" - -"Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, and I for -my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you were -going to be old enough, but I don't think you are." - -"I know that I can't--" he began. - -"Oh! it isn't for anything that you _can't_ do!" she broke in. "It's -just because you don't see it--why should you? You 're too much in the -middle--I suppose it's only outsiders who can really understand. But I -get so depressed sometimes with it all that I think that I will leave it -and go back to London and never come here again. One doesn't seem to be -any use--no use at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. -Poor Mr. Traill! I always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm -not gloomy really in the least." - -"But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You mustn't -think of it." - -He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. "Why?" she -said gravely. "Do you like my being here?" And then, before he could say -anything, she added, reflectively, "Well, that's one, at any rate. - -"I have to go in here," she said, stopping before a gate with a drive -behind it. "Tea, you understand." Then she gave him her hand. "Although -you don't in the least know what I mean, you 're a help," she said; "and -I shall look across the chapel floor in the evening and know that I have -a friend. Sometimes when I'm down here--out of it--and everything's -so fresh and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true--the -things that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them." She went -through the gate and looked back at him. "But I don't want to have to be -sorry for you as well--please," she added, and was lost in the trees. - -But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved a -step--or even a good many steps further--was ready that she should be -sorry or have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her -claiming Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating -and so swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which -he might eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my -intention to give you all his symptoms--his passion is in no way -the chief point; it was simply one of the things that helped in the -culminating issue. - -Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little -conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting -tea-party--three old ladies who regarded her as something very dangerous -and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to turn -into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their -dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone -whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language -was not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of -the tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the -expression of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and -thought of Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and -courteous speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, "Don't go to -London, please," and he had meant it--it was almost as though he had -appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in -front of him. _She_ knew, of course--she had seen it happen so very -often before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, -eager challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that -things would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, -grim, baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of -Moffatt's were alive, moving--crushing, as in some story that she had -once read, relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he -had suddenly seen or understood something of that--there had come to him -some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came -quickly. She liked him--she had liked him from the first--she liked him -very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all that she -could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them behind her -with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be three -old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their fires -and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little people -realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! How -they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - -It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and -ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, and -the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. There -was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the gates -behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, "Good evening, Miss -Desart," and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin always made -her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively shrank back, -but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately ashamed of -her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his voice -trembled---he seemed troubled about something; and then that feeling of -pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her voice was -softer and more tender. - -"It was--um--a great piece of good fortune for me that I should be -passing just when you were coming out--a great piece of good fortune." - -He seemed very nervous. - -"And for me too," she said; "this hill grows extraordinarily dark, and I -stayed on longer than I ought to have done. Have you been paying calls, -too?" - -"Oh, no! I--um--never pay calls--merely a stroll down to the village -to buy some tobacco--merely that--nothing more... yes, merely that... -simply some tobacco." - -She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might -be reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he -lingered. She hastened her steps. - -"I'm not sure that it is n't raining--I felt a drop just now, I -thought--and it was such a lovely afternoon." - -"Oh, no, I assure you--" and then he suddenly stopped. - -She was frightened--quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the warmth -and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible and escape -from this strange, awkward man. - -She broke the silence. "How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower -School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but -then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor." - -Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. -"Ah, well, yes, Traill--young, of course, young, and one can only learn -by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure--dangerous -thing to be too certain--a fault of youth, of course." - -"Oh, I've found him," said Isabel, "very modest and pleasant. Of course, -I haven't seen very much of him, but I must say that what I 've seen of -him I've liked." - -They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the -horizon. - -In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. -Perrin's face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was -clenching and unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie -had risen at the back above his collar... his eyes were looking into -hers and beseeching her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - -They had come to the gates. - -"Miss Desart..." - -They both came to a halt in the road. - -"Yes?" she said, smiling at him. - -"I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if..." - -He stopped again desperately. - -"What can I do?" she said, still smiling at him. He looked so odd, -standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His eyes -had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - -"I would be so glad if--one day--so flattered if--you -would--will--um--come for a walk, one day." He stopped with a jerk. - -She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the -path to the house. - -"Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night." - -He stood looking after her. - - - - -CHAPTER V--A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART -IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS - - -I. - -|LATER there is Mr. Perrin heavily--with the midday mutton close about -his head--surveying, in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small -boys who gaze at him with staring eyes and jumping throats. - -It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the -ears--Browning's "Patriot," one verse a week, to be said every Tuesday -morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, completely forgotten, -every Tuesday morning second hour.= - -```I go in the rain and, more than needs - -```The rope--the rope--the rope--= - -Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in -man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, -to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where _Advanced Algebra and -Mensuration_ hold perpetual war and rivalry. - -It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a -football match--a great football match against a mighty Truro team,--and -already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive -murmur at the dusty panes. - -But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested -no remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red -tablecloth--a tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his -case was hopeless:= - -````A rope--a rope that--= - -Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, -the whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. -Outside, in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, -perfectly; but it was too late. - -At last one prisoner only remained--Garden Minimus, a cheerful, untidy -person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his hair. - -Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole -school--had liked him best for the last two years. When things were -really black, when headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed -to hang about him in a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden -Minimus. He flattered himself that the boy was not aware of this -partiality; but the boy, he was sure, liked him. He treated him always -with an elaborate irony that the boy seemed to understand in some -curious way. Garden would stand, with his head on one side like a rather -intelligent small dog, and although he rarely said anything more than -"Yes, sir," or "No, sir," Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - -On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word -of "The Patriot," and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - -Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. "I'm afraid, friend Garden," -he said, "that it will devolve upon your lordship--hum--ha--that you -should write this poem of the noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than -fifty times. I grieve--I sympathize--I am your humble servant; but the -law commands." - -Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, with -a most engaging smile, "There's a most ripping footer match this -afternoon, sir." - -"Fool though I am," said Mr. Perrin, "I have nevertheless observed that -there is, as you say, a footer match. Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The -Patriot' calls you, friend Garden." - -"It would be an awful pity," said Garden reflectively, without paying -the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, "to miss a decent game like -that." - -Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, "All right, -Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you aren't -careful!" - -Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead -lowering. Outside the door he muttered, "Silly, pompous ass!" - -Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting -to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. -He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part -immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a -fool to try, and they resented his airs. - -He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his -head between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns -above his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the -football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening -fear that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to -him. He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every -time that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - -She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that -she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for -a walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his -mother that the thing was practically arranged. - -As for that puppy, Traill--well, he 'd kept him in his place, thank -Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more and -more--conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he met -anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring -things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the -patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him -furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only -brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He -looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some -English essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a -silly china figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a -cocked hat. This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated -him. The old gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had -always meant to get rid of it, but for some reason or other he never -could destroy it. - -Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - -As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - -The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a -dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, "Scho-o-l!" rose and -fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a -superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited -him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected -to despise it. - -In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of -his own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and -sticky green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided -their attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - -"Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?" - -"Can't help it--Grey's barging--Oh! I say, run it, Morton. That's it! -Pick it up--dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!" - -"I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine--Thanks! Where's -Garden, you chaps?" - -"Swotting up for Old Pompous." - -"Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was rather sweet -on Garden." - -"So he is--but Garden can't stand him." - -"No wonder--blithering ass, with his long words!" - -"Oh! I say--they 've got it! There's Morton off again--Oh! he's going! -Well run, my word! He's in! No, he isn't! The back's got him! No, he -hasn't! Hurray! Try! Good old Morton!" - -Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a -less crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself -spoken of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, -trembled before him. He always told himself that all the members of the -staff were in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt--it hurt badly. - -Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks of -boys--each boy with his friend--the familiar mantle of loneliness, that -he had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He saw Comber in -the distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted Mrs. Comber -and Miss Desart. - -He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his -very worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle -was glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of -his coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - -Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, -because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that dislike -with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and watched -the game. - -"We appear to be winning," said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at -three small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. "We -appear--um--to be winning. Morton has secured a try." - -"Yes, I'm so glad," gasped Mrs. Comber--she was out of breath. "Morton's -a nice boy--we had him once in our house, and I do hope the school will -win, because it's so nice for everybody's tempers, and the boys like -it--and there's that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most -beautifully." - -Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked -at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. -Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his -direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a -breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the -touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the -field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart -gave a long-drawn "Oh!" Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. Perrin moodily -stroked his mustache. - -The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground--a very -pretty try. - -"Good old Traillers!" - -"That's something like!" - -"Isn't he spiffing?"--and then Miss Desart's, "Oh! that was splendid!" -beat about Mr. Perrin's poor head, that was aching horribly. - -"That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's -half-time." - -Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared -once more to be volubly pleasant. - -But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the -top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three -trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they -stood and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt -suddenly as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets -of white light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown -fields. - -Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin -went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed -about him. He sat down to his pile of English essays on "Town and -Country--Which is the best to live in?" with a confused sense of -running men, lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the -mantelpiece, and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - -At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented "The -Patriot" neatly written fifty times. - -II. - -It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a -dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it was -to be over by twelve. "Do let us," Lady Trojan wrote, "put you up. You -will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming down for the night from -London. He will want to see you so badly." Traill wrote back, accepting -the dance, but explaining that he must return on the same evening, -quoting as his imperative necessity early morning preparation. - -It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very -obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order -to free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and -receive definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to -a single dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed -that the rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently -any intention of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning -school to Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was -conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous -man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. He -moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called -to him, "Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment." - -Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that -Moy-Thompson's garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in -the sun; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like -a prison; he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the -half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at -his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely -apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a -little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long gray -beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now -and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that -Moy-Thompson was smiling. - -Moy-Thompson said, "But I think I told you that Maurice was on no -account to have an exeat." - -White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: "Yes, I know. But -his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not seen his -son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances--" - -"That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he should -not have an exeat." - -"No--but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of the case, -you would not object." - -"What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? What -are you paid to do?" - -White made no answer. - -"Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things here, -you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your -place." - -"No,"--White's voice was very low--"I have no complaint. I am sorry -if--" - -"You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any paid -position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when -you please. Doubtless you are better informed." - -Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had -rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance -at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; -but again Moy-Thompson said, "Just a moment, Traill." - -He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost -stepped across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long -haggard figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing -with them there in the room. - -The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, -shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped -him naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the -other to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - -The room seemed full of pain--it seemed to cross and recross in waves. -White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered eyes out -through the door. - -Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed -him. Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his -hand and caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a -frightened, startled look, he stepped away. - -III. - -When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad -to get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it -would be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult -to get up in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal--he now -emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in -his life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, -lean, untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in -the sense of his arrogance. - -They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were -extremely disagreeable. - -He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He -was always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his -form. He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he -had met there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping -in--and at night he dreamt--he was almost sure that she loved him.... -Whenever they met now they were very silent. - -He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, -wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, -fine day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the -hard, white road. - -As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind -in his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea -came to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those -brown buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old -self; he sang to himself. - -A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood -black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, -stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little -sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the -night. The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster -against the dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - -He sang aloud. - -It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much -before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as -imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he -was a schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was -delightful to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden -and strolled about the paths together; he was much improved since -the Cambridge days, Traill thought--less self-assured and with wider -interests. And then Sir Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader -feeling of life--sanity and health and strength--and lie had an -admirable sense of humor. - -And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. -He thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him -in the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little -round white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The -hedges, like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - -He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. -He took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he -tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click -it broke in half. - -He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair--supposing he -had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - -He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he -saw that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might -climb. He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another -hand on the window-sill drew him level. - -He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it -up, and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, -jumped. He was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the -crockery in the world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of -it seemed to go rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that -he had cut his hand and had bruised his knee. - -For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: -the tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped -down straight amongst the cups and plates. - -He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the -blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. -Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was -Perrin. - -"Who's there? What's that?" Perrin held a poker in his other hand. - -Traill got up slowly from the floor. "It is I--Traill," he stammered. He -was still feeling stunned. - -Perrin held the candle a little closer. "Oh, is it you, Traill?" - -"Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am sorry." - -"You made a great noise." Perrin was speaking very slowly. "You woke me -up." - -"Yes; I am most awfully sorry." - -Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his -candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined -to move. - -"You made a great noise. It is one o'clock." He said it as though he -were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - -"Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key." - -Still Perrin did not move. "What are you doing out so late?" he said at -last, slowly. - -What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - -"I did n't know that this was a girls' school," Traill said at last, -sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he was tired, and in -a very bad temper. - -Perrin moved from the door. "It's struck one--coming in like this!" - -The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall--a huge, -gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - -Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill -enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - -"I can't help it," he said, shaking; "you look so funny, so frightfully -odd!" - -Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been -disturbed in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he -said nothing at all. He moved slowly down the passage. - -Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--SVA INDIGNATIO - - -I. - -|TO Perrin, in his sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring -wind and crashing sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china -that lived on the mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him -and bent over the bed and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his -transit and was large in the leg and trailed behind him a long black -gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin by buzzing like a wasp. - -He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the -words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning -and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, -restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the -discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to -confirm the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing--he had -climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - -Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. - -II. - -Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky -and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was -perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening -gambit of "saying things under your breath that looked bad, but couldn't -possibly be heard," to the triumphant checkmate of a studied, sarcastic -politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - -Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old -hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over -him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with -ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew -against the panes. - -His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the -first book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their -brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of -the figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - -He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and -heaviest boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, -called Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. -Somerset-Walpole--his fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his -hair dust--stood with his mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague -wonder as to why, when he ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind -would invariably wander to the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's -neck and the silly leaves dancing about outside. - -Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the -form laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the -youngster back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour -in drawing hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then -smudging them out with his fingers. - -Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, frowning -face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt wildly -from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty purring at -his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, only when -the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, suddenly, that -he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his hands and twist them -back further and further until they cracked. He would like to take his -little fat arms and close his fingers about them and pinch them until -they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white knuckles and beat -them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Perrin -began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a little. - -"Take the triangle A B C," he began, and stopped. Perrin began to pinch -the back of his neck. - -"You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I am -sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve -to think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your -preparation last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, -you know--you will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it -out thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea." - -But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... He -saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was -shaking with rage. - -"Go back to your seat," he said in a whisper, and he gave him a push. He -sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the rest of -the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had rung -and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. "I think -fifteen times will be enough," and he touched the boy's sleeve with his -hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite contempt in -his eyes. - -Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of -the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to -Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they -could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and -accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days -that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming -anyone in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being -against him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such -opportunities of retaliation as were given him. At the same time these -little confidential talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the -senior master at the Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not -have these little talks; it did not occur to him that the reason might -be that Dormer was too honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far -as Traill was concerned, Perrin really felt that it did not do to have -masters leaping through windows at any hour of the night. The accidental -fact that he disliked Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, -nothing whatever to do with it; he would have felt it just as strongly -his duty to speak about it had the offender been his dearest friend. - -The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and -broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's good. -The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in -chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire -with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for -a walk with him... and then another walk... and then another... and -then.... - -And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too -terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; -it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks -on the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy -places on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, -and its depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be -remarked once more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill -damage that he embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, -but only because it helped his sense of importance. He was already -wishing that he had told Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times -instead of fifteen, so cheered and inspired did he feel. - -The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect -for each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, -and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question -should be: "What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?" - -Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the -people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and -it is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew -from the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking -Traill. - -"Oh, I think, well enough," he answered, looking out of the window. -"The boys like him." - -"Oh, they like him; do they?" - -"Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that he sticks -to his work as he should do." - -"Why! What does he do?" - -"I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at one -o'clock this morning." - -"Oh, did you!" Moy-Thompson smiled. "Where had he been?" - -"I didn't ask." - -Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole -business had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to -his own rooms. - -III. - -Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. -He found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of -the rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went -gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations -with the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His -mind was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was -only rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead -of correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out -of the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - -He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the -first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the -Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - -Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. -There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen -stiff wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the -staff waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most -irritating quarter of an hour of the day. - -Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the -table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's match. -As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: "Toggett at three-quarter is -perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's choice. Traill may be able -to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the game is absolutely nil." -Comber has resented Traill's entrance into the school football from the -very first. He, although many years past his game, had hitherto led the -Rugby enthusiasts of the school--he had been supreme on the Committee -and had had the last word about the teams. Traill's football, however, -was so obviously superior to anything that the school had had for a -great many years that he was received with open arms. He had not perhaps -been as judiciously submissive to Comber as he might have been, but he -had always deferred his opinion and had never been goaded by Comber's -caustic contradictions into ill-temper. - -He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up -to the table, said, "Thanks, Comber." - -Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: "What -the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think...." By -the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's -discipline. - -"I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I were -you," Birkland was saying. "It's so delightful for me, being just under -you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to think that they -really _are_ enjoying themselves." - -Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. "I keep them perfectly -still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a -pin drop." - -"You must have dropped a cartload of them," said Birkland, frowning. -"Try and drop less next time." - -Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. -That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - -"Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve," he said. - -Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. "I thought things -were a little too pleasant to last," he said. His mind flew back to -the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have said anything. -Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He shrugged -his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, that -schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a little -unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should go -wrong, through no fault of one's own. - -Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked -him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he -caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled -at him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of -the dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he -had been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - -Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no -definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, -as water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, -suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, -of the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such -brilliant things as the world contained, it should be allowed to -continue. His own position was lost in the perpetual vision of White -standing, as he had seen him, with bent head. - -"Ah, Traill," said Moy-Thompson. "Sit down. I have been wanting to have -a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite convenient?" - -"Perfectly," said Traill. - -"I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I have had -no opportunity. I must try and manage next week." - -Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. "I hope that you have -had no trouble with discipline." - -"None. The boys are excellent." - -"Ah! that is splendid." There was a pause; then the beard was suddenly -lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. "I hope that you take -your work seriously, Mr. Traill." Traill flushed a little. "I think that -I do," he said. - -"That is well.... Because we are--ah! um--a great institution, a very -great institution. We owe our traditions--um, eh--a very serious and -determined attention to detail. To work together, as one man, for the -good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, all in -friendly brotherhood--um, yes." Traill said nothing. - -"I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at -work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause -we have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill." - -"I hope," Traill said, "that you have not found me wanting, that you -have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked--" - -"Worked? Ah, yes." Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his fingers -together. "But what about play, eh? What about play?" Traill flushed. -"As to football--" - -"No, it is not football. It is merely a detail--quite a detail. But Mr. -Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this morning through -the window. I confess that I was surprised." - -"That is quite true," said Traill, in a low voice. "I went--" - -"Ah! no! please!" Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. "No details -are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I think, say any -more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will agree with me -that it should not occur again." - -"I am sorry--" Traill said. - -"Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and -play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we -ask. To pass for a moment to another matter." Moy-Thompson put his -hand on some papers. "Here are the scholarship questions that you have -set--geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we require. -If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me to-morrow. -Yes. Thank you.... Good morning." Traill rose, took the papers in his -hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as though Birkland -himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of persecution. -The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he had Perrin -to thank for it. - -IV. - -The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him -throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great -joints of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the -incessant noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and -voices, the dreary monotony and repetition of it--Perrin's face seen at -the end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - -But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had -the opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no -time in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage -joy that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made -Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - -The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, -discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, -rushed down to the sea. - -A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff -that jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three -sides, by a furious, heaving flood. - -Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of -the sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them -fell with a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift -succession, first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents -about to strike, then falling with a curve and glistering, shining -backs, then sweeping, tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him -the wind screamed and tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent -and creaked along the road; the rain lashed his face. - -He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his -hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as -she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, -that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw -him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was -too great--the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into their -clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out his -hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind -almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept -about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer -to him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed -close against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without -a word, they moved slowly down the road.... - -V. - -It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the -opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and -Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had -disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to -him a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as -a crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting -people--he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if -anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - -Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - -Perrin said, "Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of you. -Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?" But he wasn't -smiling. - -"No," said Traill, slowly. "There's nothing you can do for me. But I -want to speak to you." - -"Ah, well, sit down; won't you?" - -"No, thanks. I 'll stand." Traill cleared his throat. "Did you by any -chance say anything to the Head about my coming in last night?" - -Perrin smiled. "My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and is it -really, after all, any business of yours?" - -"Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says that -you told him--I want to know why you told him." - -"It is my business," Perrin said, "as housemaster here to find out -anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late hours, your -disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's progress,--um, yes." - -The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not altogether -been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event of the -afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and indeed -it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and being -well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little ashamed -of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger -against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his -good-humor and equability. - -So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said -quietly, "I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been neglecting my -duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's outing during the term -can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to you about it because -I have been feeling during these last weeks that we have not been very -good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up together here -so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it makes -everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I am -very sorry." - -The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, -had been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt -that he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish -comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels -always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, -hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he -liked young Traill very much. - -He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was -his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had -ever at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already -passed him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had -laughed at him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the -taunting jeers that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of -his fellow-beings had, in his time, played upon him. - -And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must -show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and -really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with -her white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his -knees, kissing her hand. - -"Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that--um, yes. One -must, you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are older -you will see that there is something in what I say--um. We know, you -see; schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, well, I'm -sure I'm very glad." - -But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant -tempers were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. -The patronage of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his "When you are -older," and the rest. - -"All right," he said hotly; "keep that advice for others. I don't know -that I was so wrong, after all. What business of yours was it to -go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain things that a -gentleman doesn't do." - -"Oh, really!"--the little man on the mantelpiece was smiling again. -Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his chair. "Your -apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive something to your -age, but that sort of impertinence--I don't think you remember to whom -you are speaking. You are the junior master here, you must be taught -that, and when those who are wiser than yourself choose to give you some -advice, you should take it gratefully." - -Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - -"My God! you conceited, insufferable--" - -"Get out of my room!" - -"All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of you." - -"Get out of my room!" Perrin's eyes were starting out of his head. - -Traill swung on his heel. "I won't forget this in a hurry," he said. - -"Take care you don't come in here again," Perrin shouted after him. The -door was banged. - -Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he -had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands -to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece -and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from -under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in -the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - - -I. - -|BUT, during the week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly -reasserted itself once more. After all, it was really impossible to -be angry with anyone when the world was alight and trembling with -so wonderful an adventure. They had each of them written to those in -authority. Isabel had a complacent father who knew something of young -Traill's family and, answering at once, said that he would come down -to see them and made it his only stipulation that the engagement should -last for at least a year, until they were both a little older. Traill's -mother was delighted with anything that could give her son such -happiness. It had all been very sudden of course; but then, was not true -love always like that? Had not she, a great many years ago, fallen -in love with Archie's father "all in a minute," and was not that the -beautiful incautious way that the new practical generation seemed so -often to forget? So, she sent him her blessing and also wrote a little -note to Isabel. - -But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day -to reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk -and chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel -knew, to any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone -at the school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they -would feel that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would -not be pleasant. - -So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They -met in the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel -floor, and they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in -the letter-box. - -But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel -about his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - -"When we ourselves are so happy," she said, "we can't quarrel with -anyone--and, poor man, no wonder his temper is irritable. He's a -miserably disappointed man, and I don't think he's very well either. He -looks dreadfully white and strained sometimes. We can afford to put up -with some ill-temper from other people, Archie, just now. When we are so -happy and he is so unhappy, it is a little unfair, isn't it?" - -And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and -agreeable. But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other -a little at meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill -made were cut short at once without hesitation. - -Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week -heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow--he had headaches, bad -headaches; and his form suffered. - -II. - -And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm -broke--the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at -Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange myths -grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's a -strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts -for their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central -combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but -also others--the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world -of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that -umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded -green umbrella--now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all -umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign -token of all that was to come. - -Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This -Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate -contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, -stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic -piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from -it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's -grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with -nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp--so that there -is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and -insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the -present--this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - -It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of -the week. - -There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of -religious stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions -are flung at the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the -rest and repose of the preceding day. - -Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was -different from the other six days of the week, and although it might not -on its arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given -it, nevertheless it was something--a landmark if nothing else. - -And now on this dark and dreary Monday--with the first hour a tedious -and bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal -and embittered Latin exercise--that early rising to the cold summoning -of the hell was anything but pleasant. - -Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious -torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and -cried with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the -paths were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - -Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early -preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it -nearly always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he -hurried down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding -the bodies of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as -they rushed furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - -He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly -selected the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the -Upper School. - -That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was -in the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of -twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. -M. Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, -appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion -passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys -well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done -without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual -persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various -offenders. - -A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the -two hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the -digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill -rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He -hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - -The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior -common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of -yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. The -brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and draughts -that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the room. - -A small fire was burning in the grate--a mountain of black coal and -stray spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper -hanging from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in -the kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices -and a clatter of cups. - -It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who -was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and -Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - -Clinton seized the _Morning Post_ and, with a grunt of dissatisfaction -at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never thought very -intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike Monday and -rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his share of the -breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the _Morning Post_ -dull, and relapsed on to the _Daily Mail_. The rain and the quarreling -in the kitchen were very disturbing. - -Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very -great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, -and he found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative -person with one--it was not necessary to think about him. - -"My word," said Clinton, his eyes glued to the _Daily Mail_, "the London -Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins yesterday--two goals -and a try to a try--all that man Binton--extraordinary three-quarter--no -flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder if they 'll catch -that chap Deakin?" - -"Deakin?" said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his breakfast. -How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well--in a year's time! - -"Yes, you know--the Hollins Road murder--the man who cut his wife and -mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't tell -which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front door." - -"I think," said Traill, shortly, "following up murder trials like that -is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized." - -"All right!" said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining sausages. -"Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? He won't want any more." - -"He sometimes does," said Traill, feeling that at the moment he hated -Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole world. "He's -awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't find anything." - -Clinton smiled. "He's rather amusing when he's sick," he said. "He so -often is. By the way, has the Head passed those exam, questions of yours -yet?" - -"No," said Traill, frowning. "He 's made me do them five times now, and -last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions that he himself had -suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, and he called me, -politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's no question that he's -got his knife into me now, and I've got friend Perrin to thank for it!" - -"Yes," said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, "Perrin does n't love -you--there's no question of that. Young Garden Minimus has been helping -the feud." - -"Garden? What's he got to do with it?" - -"Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet--well, -Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about -telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That -makes Pompous sick as anything." - -"I like the kid especially," Traill said. "He 's rather a favorite of -mine." - -"Yes," said Clinton. "Well, look out for trouble, that 's all. There 'll -be open war between you soon if you are not careful." - -At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a -conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door -for a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - -"Well, a hundred times," Perrin was saying, "and you don't go out till -you 've done it." - -Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. -Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there was -a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - -"Really, it's too bad," he said to no one in particular and certainly -not to Traill. "I don't know what's come over that boy--nothing but -continuous impertinence. He shall go up to the Head if he isn't careful. -Such a nice boy, too, before this term." - -At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the _Morning Post_ and -Clinton the _Daily Mail_. He looked as though he were going to say -something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood -in front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary -window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy -heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - -He had slept badly--had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, of -his own miserable condition, of his poor mother--and then, slumbering -at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake by that -thundering, clamoring bell. - -He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat -stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. -Then he had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been -"playing about" and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink -and had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, -Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible confusion -of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - -He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; -but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the -subject of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting -up clean in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up -to the matron to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some -people's school days have been vastly exaggerated! - -Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy -portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the -crime, had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the -rest of the hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and -had hinted that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment -might be relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered -under his breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word "Pompous." - -All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they -amounted to a great deal--and all before half-past eight in the morning. -Also he had had very little to eat. - -He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon -with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at -all costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, -when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance -of the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - -"I really think, Clinton," he said, "that a little less appetite on your -part in the early morning would be better for everyone concerned." - -Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, -"All right, old chap--I always have an awful appetite in the morning. I -always had." - -Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - -Clinton said, "I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your sleeve." - -And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and -feebly tried to brush it off with his hand. - -Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely -the atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been -on such bad terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were -discomforts, difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the -term and the place and the people as he had never loathed any of them -before; he felt that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - -Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to -teach Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. -books up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. -The rain was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as -though it had some personal grievance against them. - -Robert, the general factotum--a long, pale man with a spotty face and a -wonderful capacity for dropping china--came in to collect the breakfast -things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still deep in -the _Morning Post._ - -Perrin came in with a clouded brow. "I can't find," he said, "my -umbrella." - -The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but -there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking for -papers. - -"Robert, have you seen my umbrella?" - -No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella -last week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room--an umbrella with -lace, pink--Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas in the -stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. Perrin -had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No--perhaps one -of the young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of -Robert. - -"Clinton!" No answer. "Clinton!" - -At last Clinton turned round. - -"Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?" - -"No, old man--why should I? Isn't it outside?" - -It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite -determined that he would _not_ under any circumstances use anyone else's -umbrella. - -He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very -angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his -humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that -there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in -impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he -began to mutter to himself--the little red and yellow china man was -creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were -trembling like leaves. - -He came into the common room again. "I can't think--" he said, with his -trembling hand to his forehead. "I know I had it yesterday--last night. -Clinton, you _must_ have seen it." - -"No," said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so profoundly -irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts are far away. -"No--I don't think I've seen it. What did I do with that Algebra? Oh! -there it is. My word! is n't it raining!" - -The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. -Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a -furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the -conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - -"What's the matter?" he said. - -"Really, Robert," said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, "you -_must_ have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want to go out." - -"There are the other gentlemen's," said Robert, looking a little -frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - -It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. -Then on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken -that morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - -Of course it _must_ be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort of -umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be -likely to have. However, it was really very awkward--most awkward. - -He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the _Morning -Post_. - -Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. "I -_must_ have my umbrella," he said, storming at Robert. "I want to go to -the Upper School." - -He had left the door a little open. - -"I am very sorry," Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his -fingers. - -Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - -"I'm very sorry," said Traill again, "but I'm afraid I must have taken -it--my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed--" - -"You!" said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - -"Yes," said Traill, "I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. -I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you--" - -He was smiling a little--really it was all too absurd. His smile drove -Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - -"You dared to take my umbrella?" he said, "without asking? I never heard -such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece--all of a piece!" - -"But it's really too absurd," Traill broke in. "As though a man mightn't -take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too -absurd." - -"Oh! is it?" said Perrin, his voice shaking. "That's all of a -piece--that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here -thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've -all got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. -We must give up everything to your Highness--our clothes, our -possessions--you conceited--insufferable puppy!" - -These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself -with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his -misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he -had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had -been against him at every turn. - -All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did -not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the -room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could -hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, -supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob -and ruin him. - -"Really, this is too absurd," said Traill, stepping back a little, and -conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert--he did not -want to have a scene before a servant. "I am exceedingly sorry that I -took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any reason to speak -to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards--not here." - -"Oh, yes!" screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. "Oh! of -course to you it is nothing--nothing at all--it is all of a piece -with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how to behave like -a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen don't steal other -people's things. You can be put in prison for that sort of thing, you -know." - -"I didn't steal your beastly umbrella," said Traill, beginning in his -anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. "I don't want your -beastly things--keep them to yourself." - -"I say"--this from Clinton--"chuck it, you two. Don't make such a row -here--everyone can hear. Wait until later." - -But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was -shaking his fist in Traill's face. - -"It's beastly, is it?" he shouted. "I 'll give you something for saying -that--I 'll let you know." And then, in a perfect scream, "Give me my -umbrella! Give me my umbrella!" - -"I haven't got your rotten umbrella," shouted Traill. "I left it -somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You can jolly well go and look -for it." - -And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, "the scrap -began." Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face -with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon the -breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he rose he -brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had left -upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of -streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything -came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed -together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - -Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland -and Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's -absolute silence. - -Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's lip -was cut and bleeding--coffee was on Perrin's collar; their faces were -very white. - -For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they -passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - -In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella -have its beginning. - -Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had -been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours -with a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what -simpler can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, -more nearly concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED--ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING - - -I. - -|ISABEL DESART heard about it early on the afternoon of the same day. -Traill himself told her as he stood with her for a moment outside the -school gates before he went down to football. - -She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been -that it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a -way, made a fool of himself--that to struggle in that fashion with a -man like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great -deal more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and -her feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to -be feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of -these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone -to be pitied--that was the reason of her kindness to him--and now that -he was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her pity -for him was increased. - -But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than -she could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been -through, she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he -would not be likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a -climax. - -They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough -to get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she -put it to herself, "spread out"; but halfterm was only just over and she -did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's feeling, she -saw, was mainly one of disgust--the same kind of sensation that he would -have had if he had not been able to have his bath in the morning. -About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make that kind of -disturbance about so small a thing.... - -Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that "it wasn't done" -and that Perrin was therefore an "outsider," and that there the thing -ended. - -Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this -and knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. -But she was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and -simply to tell him that she was sorry. - -"One thing, you know," she said, smiling at him and blushing a little. -"We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day." - -"Oh! must we?" he said, shrinking back a little. - -"Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to be talk about -all this business. Of course, there is, heaps--and you must let me do my -share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you know." - -He had not figured the talk that there would be--he saw it all now in an -instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking further -still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be involved; but -he was much too simple a person to think this further vision anything -but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent about -umbrellas.... - -He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their -engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the -Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. - -II. - -Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between -chapel and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning -struggle had been brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and -Birkland, much earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy -one--one hour followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there -were boys to see and games to play and all the accumulated details -to fill in any odd moments that there might be,--so that, with the -exception of short sentences and exclamations and a general air of -pleasurable surprise pervading everything, no real movement was possible -until this evening hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and -naked than ever--although it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was -cold and chill. - -Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; -Birkland and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, -West, were also there. Little West was so obvious and striking an -example of his type that it seemed as though he had been especially -created to stand to the end of time as an example of what a Board School -education and a pushing disposition can do for a man. He was short -and square, with a shaggy, unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy -complexion that two generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. -He was a little bald on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, -and spoke slowly and with great care. He had worked exceedingly hard -all his youth and was the only master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were -unimpaired and his optimism (concerning his own future) unchecked. His -most striking feature were his hard, burning, little eyes, and it was -with these that he kept order in class. - -He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. -Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his -clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do -Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, -he would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief -and principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own -subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's -sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - -Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. -The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill -a conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the -football out of his hands and supplanted him completely--whenever he -thought of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to -do anything, because Traill had never given himself away. He played -football a great deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had -ever played it. Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now -at last Comber glowed with the thought of the things that he would be -able to do. He intended it in no way maliciously--it was simply that the -younger generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to -Comber's rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. -Then Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest -of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, on -the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a pompous, -pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's duty to -uphold the senior staff. - -He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger -impressively in the air. "There they were, you know, rolling--positively -rolling--on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits and -the coffee streaming all over the floor--you never saw anything like it. -And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out of the -room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we weren't -there; didn't they, Birkland?" - -Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on -his face, as though he were saying, "This is their kind of life. Look -at Comber there, now--how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for -a month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are -being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as -bad as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of -having a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!" - -But he didn't say anything--he just sat there listening, with his -contemptuous smile, to Comber. - -"An awful noise, you know, they made," Comber went on. "And anything -funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair all -tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek -bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!" - -"At all events," said Birkland dryly, "we ought all to be glad that you -got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's something to be thankful -for, at any rate." - -"Oh, it's all very well, Birkland," Comber answered angrily; "you were -amused enough yourself, really--you know you were. In any case," he went -on importantly, "the thing can't go on, you know. We can't have junior -masters flinging themselves at the throats of senior ones. That sort of -thing must be stopped." - -So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone -trimmed their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and -was not afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with -Traill; and supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no -easy thing to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for -instance, thought so. - -"It is--_dgotant_," he cried, waving his hands in the air, "that a young -man, that is here one month, two months, should catch the throat of his -senior. These things," he added with the air of one who waves gloriously -the flag of the Republic, "are not done in my country." - -"Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them better, -Pons," said Birkland. "Until then, I should recommend silence." - -M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly -at Comber. - -"Of course, Birkland," said Comber, "if you are going to encourage that -sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I daresay you would -like all the boys to be springing at one another's throats in the -same way; if that's what you want, well--"; and he waved his hands -expressively. - -"It's absurd," said Birkland quietly, "of Perrin to have made such a -fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's umbrella without being -struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's childish. It's just the -sort of thing that Perrin _would_ do." - -"Very well," said Comber; "let Perrin treat you in the way that Traill's -treated him, and you see what you'd say and do. All I know is that you -would n't stand it for a minute, you of all men, Birkland." - -"What do you mean by that?" Birkland said hotly. - -"Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of tempers, old -man," Comber said laughing. "You can't lay claim to good temper whatever -else you may have." - -West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - -"Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West," Birkland said. "You -naturally would be." West was all the more annoyed because he didn't in -the least understand what Birkland meant. - -The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally -and did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. -White was sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without -saying anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was -there at all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was -to make him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and -therefore Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would -receive. But White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had -given him, and now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, "I think -Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper because -another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's been very hardly -used--at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be to live with." - -Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he -could find no words at all. - -At last he broke out, "Well, all I can say is that you people don't know -what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like Traill to go -about stealing people's things--" - -"Look here, Comber," Birkland broke in. "You've no right to say -stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole anything; -you'd better be more careful of your words." - -"Well, I call it stealing anyhow," said Comber hotly. "You can call it -what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words of your own for -these things. But when a man takes something that is n't his and keeps -it--" - -"He didn't keep it," Birkland said angrily. "You 're grossly prejudiced, -just as you always are." - -"What about yourself?" West broke in. "People in glass houses--" - -At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. -Comber was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before--not -that it very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - -He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to be -in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't like to -mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it long -enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if only -people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them--well, it -might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would -be a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of -course, if one's education had been neglected.... - -Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for -science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair must be -the same, there was no question about it. - -Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing -that he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big -_debacle_. - -Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for -everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was -excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - -"I say!" he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - -"What do you think?" he cried again, "Traill has just told me. He 's -engaged to Miss Desart." - -At that there was dead silence--for an instant nobody spoke. Then Comber -got up from his chair. "Well, I'm damned!" he said. - -This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once -then the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss -Desart had stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate -friend. His wife was devoted to her and would, of course, at once -espouse her cause. But this piece of news made him, Comber, even -angrier than he had been before. His feeling about the engagement defied -analysis, but it rested in some curious, hidden way on some strange -streak of vanity in him. He had always cared very especially for Miss -Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, heavy way, little attentions -and regards that he gave to very few people. He had always thought that -she had very great admiration and reverence for himself, and now she -had engaged herself without a word to him about it to someone whom he -disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, he knew that -his wife would be delighted--more trouble at home. Here was White openly -insulting him in the common room; he was called names by Birkland; a -nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to that); his -wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two--with a muttered -word or two, he left the gathering. - -For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a -new color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for -Miss Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock -in the face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would -never have accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she -should be handed over to his hated rival. - -"Does Perrin know?" was West's eager question. - -"No," said Clinton smiling, "I'm just going to tell him." - -III. - -Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in -front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so -much depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened by -it--not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or indeed -of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past -the terror of tongues--but rather afraid of himself and the way that he -might be going to behave. - -He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that -there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. -He knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a -hero--a hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, -with a great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face -in the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief -in his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other -boys, that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some -preacher in a sermon--he went to sermons very often in those days--say -that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, -and that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people -did not know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking -out for it, and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own -fault--all this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on -the watch for this chance--this splendid moment. - -That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do -the right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather -a pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - -Then there was the other Mr. Perrin--the ill-tempered, pompous, -sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he -recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was -in command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as -he phrased it, to "do him down." - -Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this -morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce -and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing -continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had -been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination -to make a good thing of it! This young Traill--and then Perrin No. 2 -showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in -the air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only -prove the kind of man that he _could_ be! If he could only get out of -this, away from it--if someone would take him away from it: he did not -feel strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And -then, suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining -light, his beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him -and care for him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; -and then at the thought of it he began to smile, and a little color -crept into his pale cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, -he might be quite pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter -so little! - -He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into -a delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults -that he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the -opportunities that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought -about him. And then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to -great things: he would have a little house, there would be children, -he would be his own master, life would be free, splendid, above all, -tranquil. He could make her so fond of him--he was sure that he could; -there were sides of him that no one had ever seen--even his mother did -not know all that was in him. - -Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock -on the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - -"Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have returned it -before." - -"Oh, thanks!" Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. "Won't you -sit down?" - -"No thanks, I'm taking prep." Nevertheless, Clinton lingered a little, -talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the mantelpiece, -fingering things--a practice that always annoyed Perrin intensely,--then -he took up the little china man and looked at him. "Rum chap that," he -said. "Well, chin-chin--" He moved off; he stood for a moment by the -door. "Oh, I say!" he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; -"have you heard the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just -told me." He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging -the door behind him. - -Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head -fell between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there -for a long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster -and faster--he was like a wild animal in a cage. - -Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was -white, his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked -the thing up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, -smashed into atoms.... - - - - -CHAPTER IX--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - - -I. - -|ISABEL told Mrs. Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that -good lady, owing to the interruption of the other good ladies and her -own Mr. Comber, was unable to say anything really about it until just -before going to bed. Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very -much about it in any case quite at first, because her breath was so -entirely taken away by surprise, and then afterwards by delight and -excitement. For herself this term had, so far, been rather a difficult -affair: money had been hard, and Freddie had been even harder--and hard, -as she complained, in such strange, tricky comers--never when you -would expect him to be and always when you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber -considered terribly unfair, because if one knew what he was going to -mind, one would look out for it and be especially careful; but when he -let irritating things pass without a word and then "flew out" when there -was nothing for anyone to be distressed about, life became a hideous -series of nightmares with the enemy behind every hedge. - -Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she -had arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the -condition of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her--she called -it submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the -limits of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the -world bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world -except Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely -unselfish kind, so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own -discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her -size and volubility and color. - -Isabel talked to her in her bedroom--it was of course also Freddie's, -but he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas _she_, by a series -of touches--the light green wall-paper and the hard black of the shining -looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not very many, -but all made the most of),--had made it her own unmistakably, so that -everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of welcome. It was indeed, in -spite of the light green paper, a noisy impression, and one had always -the feeling that things--the china, the silver, and the chairs--jumped -when one wasn't in, charged, as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. -Comber's temperament and the color of her dresses. - -But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the -least mind the stridency of it--in fact it all rather suited the sense -of battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to say -that they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked -it. Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all -his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one -felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being -there. - -Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown -on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - -"Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have -these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that skirt -of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame -me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!" Here she hugged and kissed and -patted her hand. "And he is _such_ a nice young man, although Freddie -doesn't like him, you know, over the football or something, although I'm -sure I never know what men's reasons are for disliking one another, -and Freddie's especially; but I liked him ever since he dined here that -night, although I didn't really see much of him because, you know, he -played Bridge at the other table and I was _much_ too worried!" She drew -a breath, and then added quite simply, like a child, and in that way of -hers that was so perfectly fascinating: "My dear, I love you, and I want -you to be happy, and I think you will--and I want _you_ to love me." - -Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her -very tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there -was more pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was -terribly hard for some people. - -"Of course, it is wonderful," she said at last, looking with her clear, -beautiful eyes straight in front of her. "One never knew how wonderful -until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer has ever -said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has -ever thought it--and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose," she added -laughing; "but it only means that I'm up to all the surprises and ready -for them." - -"You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it," Mrs. Comber said slowly. -"I don't think the other party has really very much to do with it. You -never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a matter of fact he's the -very nicest and trustiest young man, and no one could ever be a brute -to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to anyone else--and I wish I'd -remembered about that skirt." - -The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, -came about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that -everything was most splendidly right. - -"And now, my dear," said Mrs. Comber, "tell me what this is that I hear -about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard the veriest -words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time about -not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's always -doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn." - -Isabel looked grave. - -"It seems the silliest affair," she said; "and yet it's a great pity, -because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But that's why we -announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll be, it appears, a case -of taking sides." - -"It always is here," said Mrs. Comber, "when there's the slightest -opportunity of it." - -"Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of opportunity -this time," Isabel said sighing. "It really is _too_ silly. Apparently -Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation in Upper School this -morning without asking. They hadn't been getting on very well before, -and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella and Archie said that he'd -taken it, there was a regular fight. The worst of it is that there were -lots of people there; and now, of course, it is all over the school, and -it will never be left alone as it ought to be." - -"My dear," said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, "it will be the opportunity for -all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. How perfectly absurd -of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I always said so, and now it -only proves it, and I wish he'd never come here. Of course you know that -I'm with you, my dear; but I'm afraid that Freddie won't be, because he -doesn't like your Archie, and there's no getting over it--and on whose -side all the others will be there's no knowing whatever--and indeed I -don't like to think of it all." - -She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her -worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, -instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors -and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the -crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised -soon to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - -"Oh!" she cried, "will they hate us?" - -"They 'll do their best, my dear," said that lady solemnly, "to hate -somebody." - -II. - -And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next -afternoon. - -Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's relief -that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' terror at its -horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of course, in the -first place those of any "at home" whatever--the stilted and sterile -fact of being there sacrificially for anyone to trample on in the -presence of a delighted audience and a glittering tea-table. But in Mrs. -Comber's case there was the additional trouble of "town" and "school" -never in the least suiting, although "town" was only a question of -local houses like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have -combined, one would have thought, easily enough. - -The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the -jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the -quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter -that is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the -conversation of the ladies of Moffatt's in this way--it was a thing of -far deeper and graver import. - -The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion made -what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply malicious -conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a perpetual -battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its weightiest -result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that things -said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - -Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the -safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that -whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it -was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays -as days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and -hoping that she would "get off," so to speak, on that. But on occasions -like the present, when there was really something to talk about, she -shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong -enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought -her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then -she couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella -Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where -they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's engagement -as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that bright, -young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some odd, -obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - -She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her -silver, tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin -pieces of bread-and-butter, that the "town" would, on this occasion at -any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really -"getting at" things; but, of course, as it happened, the "town" for once -wasn't there at all, and the battle raged quite splendidly. - -The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically -enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that -they represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; -and poor Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and -wished that the little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly -the reason of their separate appearances and the danger that they were, -severally and individually. - -The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as -securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and -drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. -Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so -far as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented -her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy -whose accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads -spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - -The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of -herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her -chair, and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her -stouter sister to a wonderful extent. - -The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, "Well, so Miss -Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!" showed immediately which of the two -pieces of news was considered the most important. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Comber, "and I'm sure it's delightful. Do have one of -those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they 're quite fresh; and I -want you especially to notice that little water-color over there by the -screen, because I bought it in Truro last week for simply nothing at -Pinner's, and I believe it's quite a good one--I'm sure we 're all -delighted." - -Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. "They 're a little young," she said in -so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly transferred, against -her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest attire, into the heart -of Siberia. "And what's this I hear from my husband about Mr. Perrin and -Mr. Traill tumbling about on the floor together this morning--something -about an umbrella?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, "I heard -something this morning about it." - -Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely -as she did on this afternoon--she seemed to chill the room with her -presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to -various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that -they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's -only way of easing the situation, "Do have another little pink cake, -Mrs. Thompson," failed altogether on this occasion, and she could only -stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with -a start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the -morning's proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. "You were down -there, Miss Madder; tell us all about it." - -Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and -having heard what she called "the first struggle," and having yielded -eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine -curiosity--having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and -Mr. Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - -"Actually on the floor!" said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - -"Yes, actually on the floor--also all the breakfast things and coffee -all over the tablecloth." - -Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the -cold eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from -her position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't -to--also the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever -sister afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as -her opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. -Traill was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was -the harder one to live with--and that it had been a clean tablecloth -that morning. - -"I call it disgraceful," was the only light that the younger Miss Madder -would throw upon the question. - -For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, "And really -about an umbrella?" - -"I understand," said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work and -beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, "that Mr. Traill borrowed -Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that there was a -dispute." - -But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the -question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect that -that had upon the disturbance in question. - -"I never quite liked Mr. Traill," said Mrs. Dormer decisively; "and I -cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart--and I must say -that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. Traill's -temper was uncertain." - -"Very uncertain indeed, I should think," said the younger Miss Madder -with a sniff. - -Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know -what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her -peace. - -The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an -opinion from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady -understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--The question of the umbrella was, of course, a question -of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master attacks an -older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in the dust -and that before a large audience, the whole system of education is in -danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and other -masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and then -other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second boys -showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - -Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the -question of property. - -_Semi-Chorus b_--One had one's things--here she was sure Mrs. Comber -would agree--and if one didn't keep a tight hold of them in these days, -one simply did n 't know where one would be. Of course one umbrella was -a small thing; but, after all, it _was_ aggravating on a wet morning not -to find it and then to have no excuse whatever offered to one--anyone -would be cross about it. And, after all, with some people if you gave -them an inch they took an ell, as the saying was, and if one didn't -show firmness over a small thing like this, it would only lead to people -taking other things without asking until one really did n't know where -one was. Of course, it was a pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his -self-control as completely as he appeared to have done, but nevertheless -one could quite understand how aggravating it was. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no light -matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty years -were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were to -be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by -anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, -then one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then -what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and -finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - -_Semi-Chorus b_--Enlarged the original issue. It was really rather -difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to congratulate -the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was of course -perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst still so -young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with -that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't -develop into. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without -mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture -of married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of -discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed -in blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an -exceedingly poor time. - -Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It -was not her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the -present occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous -figure of Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against -her, and there in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her -lap, with the black silk of her dress shining in little white lines -where the light caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie -entirely. Whatever happened, she must keep silence--she told herself -this again and again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she -found her anger rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers -in Miss Madder's hat and tried to discuss with herself the general -expense of the hat and why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't -suit her, and whether Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in -a nice green grave with daisies and church bells in the distance, but -these abstract questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. -She knew as she listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to -whom she owed more than anyone in the whole world, was being -attacked--cruelly, wickedly attacked. - -Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated -Isabel--Isabel who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their -voices, even and cold, went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in -the corner, and her hands began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. -Suddenly in an instant Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten -save Isabel, and she burst out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: -"Really, Mrs. Dormer, you are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all -agree that it's a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else -down because someone else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I -should never want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who -was matron here two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel -with her and putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything -of it, and I remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for -it back again. I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a -fuss about nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows -it; but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear -Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful fellow, and -I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's very unkind -of you to wish them not to be!" Mrs. Comber took a deep breath. - -"Really, my dear Mrs. Comber," said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, "I'm sure -we none of us wish them anything but happiness. Please don't have the -impression that we are not eager for their good." - -"I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber," said Miss Madder, "that you have -rather misunderstood our position in the matter." - -"Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have," broke in Mrs. Comber -hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had spoken so quickly. - -"You see," went on Miss Madder, "that I don't think we can any of us -have two feelings about the question of discipline. I'm sure you agree -with us there, Mrs. Comber." - -"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Comber. - -But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and -they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not -be able to come and stay again--they were of one mind. - -Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of -that silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell -Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - -Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, -Freddie had still to be faced. - -His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly -not in a line with her own. - -Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! - -III. - -And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a -crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, -because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie -Traill, and indeed with everyone in the present story. - -But whilst waiting for him downstairs, "dressed and shining," as she -used to like to say--with the dinner getting cold (for which disaster -she was certain to be scolded)--she wondered in her muddled kind of way -why it was that they should all have wanted to be so disagreeable, why, -as a development of that, everyone always preferred to be disagreeable -rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu clock and the -peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, with their -color and decoration help her, had a revelation--dim, misty, vague, and -lost almost as soon as it was seen--that it wasn't really anyone's fault -at all--that it was the system, the place, the tightness and closeness -and helplessness that did for everybody; that nobody could escape -from it, and that the finest saint, the most noble character, would -be crushed and broken in that remorseless mill--"the mills of the -gods"?--no, the mills of a rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... -She saw, staring at the clock and the screen and clinging to them, these -men and these women, crushed, beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. -Dormer, Miss Madder, her own Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. -White--even already young Traill--all of them decent, hopeful, brave... -once. The coals clicked in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind -passed down the darkening paths. She felt suddenly as though she must -give it all up--she must leave Freddie and the children and go away... -anywhere... she could not endure it any longer. And then Freddie came -in, irritable, peevish, scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed -one of his hours, and that annoyed him; the soup of course was stone -cold, the fish very little better. He scowled across the table at her, -and she tried to be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched -into the umbrella affair. - -"Young Traill wants kicking," he said. "What are we all coming to, I -should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a month or two, and -he goes and takes a senior master's things without asking leave, and -then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. -The fellow wants kicking out altogether." - -Mrs. Comber said nothing. - -"Well, why don't you say something? You've got some opinion about it, -I suppose; and there's more in it than that--he's gone and got himself -engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl thinking of? They 're both -much too young anyhow. It's absurd. I 'll tell her what I think of it." - -"Oh, no, Freddie--don't say anything to her. She's so happy about it, -and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she -deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, -if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very young, and Mr. Perrin 's a -very difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you've always said--" - -"Well, whatever I 've said," he broke in furiously, "I 've never -advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and -if you think I have, you 're mightily mistaken." - -After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart -was dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber -was glad that the girl was not with them. - -She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one--and -her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the -dreary dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her -husband's scowling face. - -At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little -drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and -she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest -of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams--of -places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and -forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no -travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw -Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen -about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her -and she could make no mistakes. - -Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she -smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was -nearly out. - -"Yes," he said, following her glance, "it's a nice, cheerful room for a -man to come into, isn't it, after he's tired and cold with work? I have -got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm a lucky man, I am." - -Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten -it, he said, "Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the use of making a -noise and fuss with it now?" - -Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, "Look -here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business." - -"What business?" she said faintly, all the color leaving her cheeks. - -"Why, young Traill," he went on, standing over her. "I'm not going to -have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I object to -him--he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants putting in his -place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near here. I won't have him -in the house, and it's just as well he should know it. So don't you go -asking him here." - -She was now white to the lips. "But," she said, "I have told Isabel that -I am glad, and I _am_ glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I don't think it -was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, you know you are not -quite fair to him because of his football, or something silly, and I'm -sure you don't mind him, really--you don't like Mr. Perrin, you know." - -This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could -possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie -Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to -swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - -"Look here, my lady," he said, "you just leave things alone that don't -belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I 've got for disliking young -Traill--it's enough if I say that he's not to come here--and Miss Isabel -shall hear that from my own lips." - -In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as -he was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at -the mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew -herself up. - -"You must not do that," she said. "You cannot insult Isabel here, when -she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good--so good. I love -her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend." - -"Oh!" he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. "This is -defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I tell you that he -shall not come here." - -"And I say that he shall," she answered in a whisper. - -Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly -came to her and, muttering between his teeth, "We 'll see about the -master here," struck her so that he cut his hand on her brooch, and she -fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her hands spread out -against it, staring at him.... - -There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant -wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They -both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had -suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations -could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be -worse--they could never be the same. - -But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. -Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay -against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, -because her knees were bending under her--drove this home to him. He was -appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years -was brought to life by that blow. - -"My dear--my dear--don't look at me like that--I did not mean -anything--I am not angry--I am terribly ashamed.... Please--" - -His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. -She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him -fixedly. - -"You never struck me before, Freddie," she said. "At least, you have -never done that. I am so sorry, my dear." - -Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then -she went slowly out of the room. - -He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a -whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark -buildings. "Curse the place! It is that--it has done for me...." And -then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the -shadowy room, "I am no good--I am no good at all!" - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; "WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY...." - - -I. - -|DURING the month that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within -a week of that original incident there was no one in the establishment -who had not his or her especial grievance against someone else. In the -Senior common room, at the middle morning hour, the whole staff might -be seen, silent, grave, bending with sheer resolution over the daily -papers, eloquent backs turned to their enemies, every now and again -abstract sarcasm designed for some very concrete resting-place. - -That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the -original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner--something -that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's purpose -to support. One hated one's neighbor--well, let any small detail be the -provocation, the battle was the thing. - -Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to -watch and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; -what a delightful and admirable system!--with their Greek accents and -verbs in with their principal parts of _savior_ and _dire_ and their -conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and -exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting -your neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious -misconception--all this within so small an area of ground, so slight a -period of time, at so wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - -The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy -in the school, but here there was not so intense a division--there -was indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the -whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old -Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the -custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply -a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once -accepted as a fearful authority--between this and the novel and athletic -Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... why? -There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old Pompous's -umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his property? He would -n't hesitate to take someone else's things if he wanted them.... -Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion amongst all those who -came beneath his discipline--as to the way that he took this, there is -more to be said later. - -But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel -and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was -nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw -something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should -have taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the -circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took -the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse -combat. No--the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of -it, when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, -they were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance--they were -almost lost and forgotten--and the reason of this was that everyone -in the place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance -silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an -issue between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being -worked out in silence--even the spectators themselves made no comment, -but Mrs. Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that -"Everyone was so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that -no one said anything at all"--and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - -Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those -most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, -and her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's -experience of it, because the only difference between herself and -the rest was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more -discerning intuition. - -In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own -battles. It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the -place, with the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time -being at any rate, up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed -herself to be engaged to Mr. Traill--there were no two opinions about -it. It was not ladylike--she was allying herself, to disorder and -tumult, she was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking -down of persons in authority--above all, she was setting herself up, -whatever that might mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first -day in Mrs. Comber's drawing-room. - -These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She -loved a battle--she had never realized before how dearly she loved it, -she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head up -and her eyes flashing fire--she was quiet unless she was attacked; but -so soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled on -and the trumpet sounded. In a way--and it seemed to her curious when -she looked back upon it--this month of hers was stirring and even rather -delightful. - -But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that -something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness -and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. -But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside -help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had -dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing--she only begged her -not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to attempt to -bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - -But Mrs. Comber was now a different person--her animated volubility had -disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a -pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken -to. But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel -had never liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have -disappeared. He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any -rate he was quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he -was on the watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that -his eyes would leave his work and stray about the room as though he were -searching for something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, -and sometimes when she spoke to him he would start and look at her -curiously, almost suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she -knew. He was not kind and attentive to her, as he had been before--she -felt sure that he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her -miserable, and she loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her -back from speaking to Mrs. Comber about it all--but something prevented -her. - -The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, -more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any -attitude towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided -camps--it all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very -childishness it could not have a serious conclusion; but as the days -went on and she saw into it all more deeply, the pathos of it caught -her heart and she could have cried to think of what men they might have -been, of the things that they might have done. Some of them seemed to -seek her out now with a courtliness and deference that they had -never shown her before. Birkland, of whom she had always been rather -frightened, spoke to her now whenever there was an opportunity, and his -sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she saw the sadness in their gray -depths, and she felt in the pressure of his hands that he wanted now to -be friends with her. White, too, was different now. He said very little -to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak at all was a wonderful -thing, but there were a few words about his affection for Archie. - -With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to -do something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly -able to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her -engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty--it was a case -of waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than -that--something was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and -that atmosphere to be afraid. But it was not until later than this that -she began to be afraid definitely of Mr. Perrin. - -But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something -grew when she perceived the inertia of the others--inertia was perhaps -scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing -impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait -for the result. - -And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, -having for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation--she -could not put it more optimistically than that--before the end of the -term came. - -It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her--indeed, her -flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger -Miss Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles -whatever--but rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to -explain. She wished to prevent things happening, was the way that she -herself would have put it; but that did not hinder her from feeling a -natural anxiety that Miss Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have -some of their own shots back before the end of the term was reached. - -II. - -But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. -Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly -drawn days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the -brittle leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get -him to see the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first -on the question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at -once against a bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her -ignorance of public school and university laws had formerly hidden from -her. - -Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as he -summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world -for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a fellow -felt--there were things a man couldn't do. She found that the laws of -the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison with the stone -tables of public school custom: "The man was a bounder"--"There were -things a fellow couldn't do." - -She had not expected him to go and beg for peace--she had not probably -altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all left her -with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so immensely -young, and therefore to be--most delightful of duties--looked after. -Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of his -nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between them -be a great many tussles and battles. - -But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very -gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then -kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. -Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and -hid it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out -and saw that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly -discovered that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people -were taking sides about him--all this was horrible. - -He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. "I never meant to knock -the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella--all this -fuss!"--which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, because the thing -was done and there was no more to be said about it. He thought a great -deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand up for -her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him any -satisfaction--that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder against -the "low, bounding" world, and he declared, as he looked at her, that he -loved her more and more every day. - -But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes -with regard to that gentleman could only look one way--he would not make -advances. - -The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, -she felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite -watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but -when she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and -she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a great -many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was--cross, -irritable, violent, even wicked--he was, at any rate, lonely, and that -was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - -She could not, of course, make Archie see that. "The fellow's always -wanted to be lonely--thinks himself much too good for other people's -society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a beast, he must -expect to be left alone." - -_That_ did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from the -fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled -with anyone before--people _never_ did quarrel with him; and now -suddenly here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, -stiff and sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him -whenever he got the opportunity. - -Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under these -circumstances--but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. Isabel -herself was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as -possible. He wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light and -sunshine at the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, -comfortable, a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class -found that nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and -he snapped at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always -gentle, but his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far away -from tears. - -But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud -with Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, -always amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed -and was at last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, -afraid of what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag -Archie out of it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and -all this discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was -ninety at least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult -education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several -stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were -very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries -of people getting along together. Her present feeling was something -akin to Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being -flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being -hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and -hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. - -III. - -But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of -Mr. Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before -the end of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That -something in the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations -was busy about the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in -the most singular way would break out; there was continual quarreling in -the common room, strange rumors were carried of things that people had -said--it was all a question of strain. - -There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of -snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and -when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black -and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in -Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was no -other light in the room. - -Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her -hand, silently staring at the fire. - -Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the -consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the -trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good night -to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves -stretched to breaking-point--all this overwhelmed her. She had never -felt so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep -anything at all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... -to-morrow; it might be too late. - -She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that -he had called him a "rotten little counter-jumper," and that West had -made an allusion to "stealing things." Where were they all? What were -they all doing to be fighting like this? - -They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the -fire, and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling -coal, were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - -"Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go mad. What -is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? Oh! I -_do_ want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. For the -last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been no -peace at all." - -"I know," Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from the fire; -"I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there are only three weeks -more of the term, because I 'm sure that somebody would be cutting -somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, and I wouldn't mind very much -if somebody would cut mine." She gave a little choke in her throat, and -then suddenly her head fell forward into her hands, and she burst into -passionate sobbing. - -Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair -and took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long -time, and the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the -snow had begun to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against -the window. - -At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - -"Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I should have -done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my eyes are a -perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't help it. -Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've stood it as -long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall go away -and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you 're let alone." - -"Dear Mrs. Comber;" said Isabel, still holding her hand, "do tell me -about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of course, I 've seen -that something 's happened between you and Mr. Comber. I can see that -he is most dreadfully sorry about something, and I know that he wants to -make it up. But this silence is worse than anything, and if you 'd only -have it out, both of you, I'm sure it would get all right." - -"No, dear." Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. "It's not -that so much. Freddie and I will get all right again, I expect, and even -be better together than we were be-for; but all this business has shown -me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've known it really all the time, and -I used to pretend that if one was nice enough to people one could n't be -altogether a failure, because they wanted one to like them--and that's -the truth. Nobody wants me to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in -the world. I'm not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless -and silly and untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so -badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was -all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you 're going -to be married there's an end of you, the only person I had." - -"Archie and I," said Isabel softly, "will care for you to the end of -your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't you? And you know -that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him looking at you during these -last weeks as though he could die for you, and then he's been afraid -to say anything. It's only this horrid place that has got in the way so -dreadfully." - -Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. "Do you really think so, my -dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's been -different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and is n't -worried about his form; but things are always worse at examination time, -and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through as quickly as -possible; and something _dreadful did_ happen the other day, and I know -he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps things will be all -right." - -Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, -after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: "You know, -Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten you, but -Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of me, but I don't -quite like it--" - -"Like what?" said Isabel. "Well, Mr. Perrin; he's been looking so queer -ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay you haven't noticed -anything, and I daresay it may be all my own imaginations, and I'm sure -in a place like this one might imagine anything--" - -"How does he look queer," said Isabel quietly. - -"Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say about him. -You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he didn't care -about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't another reason for -his disliking Archie--" - -"Care about me?" said Isabel laughing; "why, no, of course not. He's -only spoken to me once or twice." - -"Well," said Mrs. Comber, "I've seen him looking at you in the strangest -way in chapel. And his face has got so white and thin and drawn, I'm -really quite sorry for the poor man. And his eyes are so odd, as though -he was trying to see something that wasn't there. And the boys say that -he's so strange in class sometimes and stops suddenly in the middle of -a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. Clinton was telling me that he -never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when Archie's there he gets very -white and shakes all over and leaves the room. I only want you to warn -Archie to be careful, because when a man's lonely like that and begins -to think about things, he might do anything." - -"Why, what could he do?" Isabel said, with a little catch in her breath. - -"Well, I don't know, dear," Mrs. Comber said rather uncertainly. "Only -when examinations come on they do seem to get into the men's heads so, -and it's only that I thought that Archie might be careful and ready if -Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all..." - -Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the -room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and -the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, -Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside -gather ominously about her. - -She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other -a moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each -other. - -"At any rate," said Isabel, "whatever else this place may do, it can't -alter our being together. You 've always got me, you know." - -But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were -strained, perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; -but she longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and -she could not sleep at nights. - -And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke -to her. - -She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was -just turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; -there was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and -purple shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though -cut out of paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against -the sky. He came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted -to speak to her, so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up -to her--with his gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black -mortar-board, with his thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his -straggly, unkept mustache--she had a moment of ungovernable fear. She -could give no reason for it, but she knew that her impulse was to turn -and run away, anywhere so that she might escape from him. - -Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and -held out her hand. - -She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that -didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - -"How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a long time. -Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like this." - -Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped -her hand and held it. - -"I 've been wanting to say..." he said in an odd voice, and there he -stopped and stood staring at her. - -"Yes," she said gently. - -His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face -with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - -"I've wanted to say--um, ah--to congratulate you..." - -He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - -"Oh! thank you!" she said impulsively, coming up to him and putting her -hand on his arm. "Thank you so very much!" and then she could say no -more. - -He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant -horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech -that he had learnt, "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. I -hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm afraid I 'm a little -late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm a little late. Yes. Good morning!" - -Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the -path. - -As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that -her vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - - -I. - -|MEANWHILE, many things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On -that night after Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement -to Traill, he did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black -grate without moving until the morning. He did not know until this had -happened to him how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in -middle life there comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that -he has missed ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were -other ambitions that would have been more profitable of pursuit; and -then, if the rest of his days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he -must make reckoning with other things that have perhaps no glitter nor -promise, but will give him enough--life has no compensation for cynics. - -In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that -his last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest -boyhood, was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, -it seemed to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at -the altar. A great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his -head in his hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The -things that he could have done had she been faithful to him!--that was -the way he put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He -had pleaded his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on -his breast, and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and -stroked her hair. - -And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came -in at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared -about him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man -like him--that sort of creature? - -What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; -it pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other -men might sport with it--other beardless boys like Traill.... - -He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show God -that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that--he would -mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid--ah! -but he _was_ afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid -since those days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat -listening to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such -lurid and wonderful accuracy. - -God was like that--He took away from you all the things that made life -worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards because -you resented His behavior. - -Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that -the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very -large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head -ached, it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he -had now so long attempted to control came creeping out--that other Mr. -Perrin who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin -whom he did not want his friends to see. - -On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin -seemed to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, -Mr. Perrin fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was -watching. He was wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, -but it was an evil face--all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had -gone wrong. Mr. Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last -he had broken out, and perhaps he would never go away again. - -Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - -Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was -something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some -connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as -he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, -there was nothing to be angry about--of course not--no; but he knew that -there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he ought to -do to young Traill. What was it? - -Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. -Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from -the room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very -desolate and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and -so end it all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot -themselves, or they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be -afraid to do any of those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in -an inconsequent way, of the sight that he would look afterwards. - -There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his -great chance--the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. -Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to -give him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing -he showed them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, -supposing he won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of -course, it was absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not "do" -magnificently anywhere. - -No, he was no good--he was done for. He thought, as he heard the clock -strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at the -yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then -four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were -ugly flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted -Miss Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his -thin, sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - -His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and -enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - -Young Traill had done this--young Traill was his enemy... young Traill! -He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - -And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper -flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. - -II. - -But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all -resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When -he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in -his mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat -with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great -black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the -eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, -wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and -the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - -It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that -was trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He -found at once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, -and as the days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling -inside him that he must not let out was always stronger and more violent -when Traill was there. Of course they did not speak to one another, -but it was something more active than mere silent avoidance. They -had struggled on the floor together, struggled before Comber and -Birkland--Perrin would not forget that. He remembered it as an act of -faith and said to himself a great many times. He always found that when -he was in the room with Traill something seemed to drag him across the -floor towards him, and he had to hold himself back. - -This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind -on his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his -form, because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst -them. They must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and -he thought that when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked -amongst themselves. They had always done that of course, but now there -was an added reason. - -There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always -hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the -master who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door -of the hall and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see -whether they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had -seemed to him most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands -raised to his eyes, one after the other--hands that were ill-kept, -bitten, and ragged, and torn--this had been, in some bidden way, -irritating. Now it was much more irritating, so that when it was his -week on duty and this horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, -as it seemed to him, with insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to -beat them all down, to run amok amongst them, to trample until all the -hands were broken and bleeding. - -Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He -used to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him -up, and he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very -inky. Then Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly -eye, had sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to -escape, but with a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands -were always beautifully clean--he did not look at Perrin. This was, of -course, a very small affair. - -But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently -behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end "per -Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum" and a great clatter of forms being -dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices--then he -wanted to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew -that he must not. - -One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone in -the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to him. - -Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned -his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: "I say, Perrin, isn't -this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be speaking to -a fellow--I'm sorry if I did things, but you know--" - -And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had -moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and -Traill had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - -But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. No! -that man must not get out--he must at all costs be kept in his box. And -so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - -Traill did not try to speak to him again. - -With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked -afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, -and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way and -said, "Go back, and do it again--do it again," as though he were not -thinking of what he said. - -Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather -thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white -faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with -ink, and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces -hanging down, stupid things like toads. - -He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no -effort now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, -other numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if -it was right--that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could -help it. He did not analyze his silence--it was merely a fact that he -did not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his -own... it reminded him of things that hurt. - -But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference -except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do -things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than had -hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the difference -more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that there was to -say about his form. - -It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out -that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was -that he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very -provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, -because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One -morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt -that Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill -to do this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the -Upper School--moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it -opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. -Perrin could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door -at all but at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was -standing, and at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he -turned round sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - -The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of -conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly -to Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill -with all his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. -It was not hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite -him at dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though -someone at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging -the cloth with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do -things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept -in a box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was -that people were talking about him. This might almost be called the -Irritation of the Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw -a closed door--and they were very many--he knew that there were people -behind it who were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very -softly, a door and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one -in the room, he was sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind -chairs. Once when he opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss -Madden was alone in the room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped -her work and screamed, which was foolish of her. - -But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like -to have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said--he was -sure that she would be kind--and he stared at her very hard in chapel, -because he saw her so very little at other times, and because he would -like to know what she was thinking about. He would like to know whether -it was about the same things as his things--and so he stared at her in a -curious way. - -And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which -he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the -first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had -written saying how much she had missed it--so he must not forget it -again. - -He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly -broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think -of his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture -of her sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from -him. He sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and -paper and began, as he had begun for a great many years: - -"Dear old lady... - -Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he -did now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held -the lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with -his head between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his -mother; and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that -had been about him during these days fell from him, and he regained his -clear vision--he began to write as he always did:-- - -"...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I really -didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these days with -the examinations coming on and everything. - -"I'm very well, except that I have these headaches--nothing at all, and -I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope you 're all -right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. Keeping warm's -the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that shawl that Miss Bennett -gave you is the very thing--mind you wear it, and don't sit in draughts. -I'm all right..." - -And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between -his hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be -afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... -His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have -lifted away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him -to the ground. He did not hate Traill--Traill could not help it; but he -wanted her--oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - -He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled -so that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his -last hold on life, to pray. - -"Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to that -state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like -that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so -hard--there are so many little things--there is no time!... They will -not let me alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me -someone to love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do -not let me go back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I -may do..." - -But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with -his head on his arm. - -And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself -there--and it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly -frightened, because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the -other Mr. Perrin--and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and -he cursed God and stumbled to his bed. - -III. - -And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was -quite sure now that God hated him. - -Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping -that box closed--he was damned anyhow. - -Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of -anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing -on his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, -because it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was -sure that it would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore -Traill must go. - -He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to -consider it.... - -These days before the examinations began were very difficult for -everybody, and Perrin began that hideous "getting behind-hand" that made -things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever catching up. -There were all the term's marks to be added up before the examinations -began, there were trial papers and test questions to be set, and -therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he was not -able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his chair -with his hands folded in front of him and think of--Traill--and then he -would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were others -to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room--sometimes -a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there -scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with -all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his -room. - -But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin -welcomed it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune -with his own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very -difficult one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been -before. - -The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was -multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now -filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, -whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one -or two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others -naturally had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that -had broken out over the umbrella incident had developed until there -was very little to prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this -occasion, West was the person who was let off easily by the examination -list, and he was not the kind of man to allow his advantage to pass -without comment. - -Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common -room. He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the -window and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat -there: for instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they -were not watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs--it -would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, -and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must -run, screaming, from the room--or to twist Birk-land's ears round -and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be -pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - -At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly -all gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - -Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his -corner. - -"It will be very pleasant," West said, smiling a little, "to have -that third hour off all through this week. I can't think, Comber, why -Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to do--I--" - -"For God's sake," Comber broke out furiously, "stop it! Aren't we all -sick to death with hearing of your beastly good luck? Don't we all know -that the whole thing's about as unfair as it is possible for anything to -be? Just keep quiet about it if you can." - -"Oh, of course, Comber," said West. "You grudge a man any bit of -luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew anything more -selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you 'd have let us know -about it all right." - -"Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West," said Dormer. "Leave it -alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired out as we can be? We've -had enough fighting this term to last us a century." - -With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a -common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - -They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, -and they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their -eyes. - -With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their -heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in -a cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only -Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - -Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest -with his back against the wall, spoke. - -"You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to fill a great -many years. We 're a wretched enough crew." - -He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - -"I wonder sometimes," he went on, "how long we are going to stand it. -Most of us have been here a great many years--most of us have had our -hopes broken a great many years ago--most of us have lost our pluck--" -Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, because he paused; but no one -spoke, and no one moved. "This term has been worse than any other since -I have been here. We have all been very near doing things as well as -thinking them. I wonder if you others have ever thought, as I have -thought sometimes, that we have no right to be here?" - -"How do you mean," said Comber slowly, "no right?" - -"Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting -and cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or -friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who -used us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him -notice and go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do -things--we all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot -of us, now--" He paused again, but there was still silence. "They say -to us--the people outside--that it is our own fault, that other men have -made a fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is -splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. -I know that--we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid -lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man -that we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have -tried to do decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a -minute is our own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come -and try and see what they will make of it." - -A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one -spoke. Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands -waving in the air. - -"But it is not too late--it is not too late, I tell you. Let us break -from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that unless -they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, unless -they give us more freedom, we will leave--in a body. There is a chance -if we can act together, and better, far better, that we break stones in -the road, that we die free men than this... that this should go on." - -His voice was almost a shout. "My God!" he cried, "think of it! Think of -our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act together and -break free!--free!" - -He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved -together. Cries broke from them. - -"You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't stand it. It's our -last chance." - -"Now! Let us go now!" - -"Let us go and face him!" - -Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. "Now or never!" he cried. - -Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the -voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved--the voice of a thousand -years of authority: "The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as soon -as possible." - -It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see -what he would do. - -For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held -by Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to -hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak--then, with a helpless -gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the room, -and passed out through the door. - -There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin -laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - - -I. - -|WITH examinations there comes a new element into the life of the -term--it is an element of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching -end of an impossible situation; it is, an element of despair in so -far as it provides an overpowering number of answers, differing in the -minutest particulars, to the same questions; and is even an element of -romance, because it heralds the appearance of a final order in which -boys will beat other boys, generally in a surprising and unforeseen -manner. But whatever it means it also tightens to a higher pitch any -situation that there may have been before, so that anything that seemed -impossible now appears incredible; the days are like years, and the -hours, filled with the empty scratching of pens and the rubbing of -blotting-paper, stretch infinitely into the distance and hide release. - -Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force -extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the -situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon -it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was -hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid -attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, -invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was -concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan -whereby every master set and corrected the papers of some other -master's form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most -admirable opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report -always led, next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, -with the hapless master who had incurred it in the rle of victim. -Therefore, if, as was usually the case, your especial enemy was -correcting the papers of your form and would write a report on them, -unless something were done to appease him, you were, during the whole of -the next term, delivered over mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You -might perchance appease your enemy, or you might yourself be examining -_his_ form, in which case you had every opportunity of a pleasant -retort. At any rate, this plan invariably inflamed any hostilities that -might already be in existence and resulted in the provision of at least -half a dozen victims for Mr. Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - -For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and -misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, -because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term -the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays--also he -considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic -conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that -prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a -rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - -He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from -earlier papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him -and waited. There was only one subject now in the whole world, and -all these curious boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these -appalling noises, and then these equally appalling silences, only -diverted his attention and prevented his thinking. - -There were always three of them now--himself, the other Mr. Perrin, -and Traill--they always went about together. When he was taking an -examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the -other Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the -room, and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but -away from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at -him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - -Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was accompanied -by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with their own -affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of--one couldn't possibly have -anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. Sometimes it was -curiously confused, because there were two Traills--a Traill who moved -about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and the Traill who -stood always by the door and never moved at all except to slip away. - -Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very -much indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. -There had been something once about an umbrella, and there was something -else about Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden -Minimus; but none of these things were fixed very resolutely in his -mind, and his thoughts slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - -It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go -on like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long -hours whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and -what he could do. - -There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two -figures at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He -saw suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it -was like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at -it, frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, -and the world would once more grow dark. - -At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to -realize then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous -it was. - -Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy -figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden -Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's -round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth -quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - -At last he said, "Oh!--Ah!--Garden--I haven't seen much of you lately. -How do the exams go?" - -Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to -be kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - -But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and -his eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for -help. - -"Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir--I--I could n't do the geography -this morning, sir." - -There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the -road. - -"When do you go for--um, ah,--your holidays, Garden?" - -Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he -was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, "awfully sick -about something--not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing." - -He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was "jolly odd" during -these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of every -other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help--after all, Old Pompous -had been beastly decent to him--and then there came an overwhelming -sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had suddenly -appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He looked -down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a -murmured word about "having to meet some fellows--beastly late," was -off. - -Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school -buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the -other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat -prowls.... - -About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had -never been inside it--he knew only that plain brown door with marks near -the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - -But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by -the windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square -black lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy -to turn, and then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be -inside--he would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and -the chairs... it might be useful to know. - -He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down -the passage; there was no one there--it was all very silent. The sun of -the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the -shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - -He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands -behind his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened -again--he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very loudly -indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near the -window--the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver hair-brushes -and the china basin and jug. - -It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one -photograph. - -He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss -Desart--Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - -He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. -Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him. - -III. - -And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, -and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in -the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - -Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected -no papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks--none of them -were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the -papers; other masters left all the results until the end. It was not -considered strange that Perrin had posted no results. - -But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have -done something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of -course, he ought to correct them--he ought to say what was good and what -was bad. - -He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his -fingers because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on -French Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - -"I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of _donner, -recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir_..." - -Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one--he had always found that that was -difficult. He turned over the page: - -J'eu, tu eus, il eut--that looked wrong.. . - -Again, here was Simpson Minor--"Je fus, tu fus, il fut"--surely that was -confused in some way. - -The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and -all of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, -flying into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under -the table and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered -wildly on the floor. - -The silly papers stared at him: - -"Je dors tous..." - -"Il faut que..." - -"I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt..." - -"Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns..." - -And then, Simpson Minor: "Je fus, tu fus..." - -He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the -floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was -maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to -trample on them--he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and -wildly stamping... . - -And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped -still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could -not collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - -Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the -important thing--the important thing was between himself and Traill; -that was what he must think about. - -This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, -he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill -would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - -The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - -It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision -that something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with -a pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack -on his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered -on the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... -Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that -he had already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out. -Wednesday morning came. - -Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday -morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - -He gave out the Old Testament questions: - -"1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram; -its cause and effects. - -"2. Write briefly a life of Aaron..." - -He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was -Wednesday--before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came to -him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - -"6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found -favor in thy sight.' "'Let us make a captain and let us return into -Egypt.' - -"'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'" - -He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him -afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was -a complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been -there for people to laugh at and mock him. - -If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use--he might have -married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and now -the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He hated -Traill--of course he hated Traill; but it was not really because of that -that he was going to kill Traill--it was only because he wanted to show -all these people that he could do something: he was not useless, after -all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, after all, the -laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not be able to -kiss Miss Desart very much longer--another day, and he would never be -able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - -Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and -easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - -He had given God His opportunity--he had prayed to God and besought Him; -he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and to -be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the distance, -but everything had been very hard, and that was God's fault for making -it so hard. - -He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not -be expecting that. - -Still more would he surprise the place--Moffatt's--that place that had -treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a grand, big thing -to kill his enemy! - -On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked -slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long -dining-hall. The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside -every round, shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a -long, glittering line right down the table, and the sun caught their -gleaming steel and flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them -fascinated Mr. Perrin--it was with a knife that he would kill Traill--he -would cut Traill's throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and -felt their edges--they were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great -many of them--you could cut a great many throats with all those knives, -but he did not want to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's--Traill -was his enemy. - -At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys -on either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - -"Ah! Cromer--um--yes, very pleasant. Our little friend will amuse -himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on Christmas Day. -Um, yes--and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! Whitby--long way. Yes, -able to read your holiday task in the train." - -He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was -brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering -the gravy over the cloth. - -After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail -across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light -of the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a -transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors -behind it. - -Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious -shapes--perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of the -sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that could -see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, and -fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular creatures -with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were splendid -galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and -mountain ranges--they were all very strange and beautiful, and perhaps -this was the last time that he would see them. - -Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the -direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they -were Miss Desart and Traill--there was no doubt at all that that was -Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was -Traill. - -The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be -amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know -how he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from -behind and strangle him with his hands. - -And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the -path. - -It was a day of ghosts--even the brown color of the earth of the hill -that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one -felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring -place, but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked -hedges, and, at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the -cottages of the village. - -The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like -the rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, -with his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, -and he could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were -discussing, probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him -to think that he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the -other Mr. Perrin also. - -They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path -to the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path -the mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of -the sea by gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges -piercing the sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the -other figures had preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden -by boulders. He hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, -and then he hung back a little lest he should be too close to them. They -were still talking very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led -to a sheltered cove. At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, -and Perrin hid behind a rock and watched them. - -The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that -made the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the -water made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded -away into the mist again. - -Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down -behind his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on -the sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it -and sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw -that, he knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss -Desart was there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and -his eyes filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there -had been someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there -had ever been anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his -eyes. He had not come there to cry--he had come there for vengeance, and -then, at that thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor -a creature that he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he -were to miss even this chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, -he tried to gather together all his reasons for hating Traill; but he -couldn't think properly, and the pebbles on which he was sitting were -pressing into his trousers, and his neck was hurting because he craned -it so. - -At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do -nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he -got up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly -up the path again. - -IV. - -And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the -last time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear -determination of settling things up. - -His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had -corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - -He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out imaginary -examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was for the -last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in which -they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - -Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This -took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to -overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - -_Dear Old Lady:_ - -_This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret -it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a -failure. There is 100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get -things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you -very much, old lady, but I am no good.--Your loving son,_ - -_Vincent Perrin._ - -He fastened up the letter and addressed it to-- - -Mrs. Perrin, - -Holly Cottage, - -Bubblewick, - -Bucks. - -Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited until -the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the -passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down -the lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - -Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the -tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and -he tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and -put it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When -he got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly -at the knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of -course. - -But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got -the knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with -it. But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he -was, and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - -The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a -chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There -was nothing fine about him--there was nothing fine about anyone at -Moffatt's--they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there would be -speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - -But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It -was quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night--he might -just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was -shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his -lamp. - -He hated the dark--he had always hated it--and so he hurried into his -bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking so that -it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed the -matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - -He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his -shirt and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the -black marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At -last he blew out the candle and got into bed. - -He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was -asleep--but after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was -conscious of someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the -other Mr. Perrin was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the -room was quite dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that -he could see that he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were -exactly the same as his own. He was forced against his will to get out -of bed and to follow the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the -long, white road, down to the sea. Here they were in that little cove -where Traill and Miss Desart had been that afternoon. They sat with -their backs against the rocks, and in all the air there was a strange, -uncertain light, and the sea came over the shore in sullen, dreamy -movements, as a tired woman's fingers move when she is sewing. - -Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession -of gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces -were white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung -at their sides. - -He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice--that this must not -be allowed--and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was all -wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens--but he could -not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces that he -knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and then--his -own. - -He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back -up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into -his room. - -He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his -surprise he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although -there had been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he -could distinguish every object perfectly--and then he realized slowly -that things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not -his, his bed was not there--that photograph.... - -Someone was in the bed. - -For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between -the window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been -walking in his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - -He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the -counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was -smiling. - -Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity--here was -his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed--he bent over -the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... it would be -very easy. - -Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept -from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - - -I. - -|THE next day, its brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its -train great things. - -The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the -last day of the summer term, because it was a more private family -affair. - -One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, one -fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, but it was -in the midst of the family that it was done. - -Parents--mothers and fathers and cousins--were indeed there, but they, -too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual -Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great -worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - -Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender -history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be -over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred -years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone -mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last -into a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of -the Brown Hill--a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other -things the founder of Moffatt's. - -It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had -been perhaps but vaguely recognized--perchance, perchance, the surest -foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our -tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - -But this Marmadukery--a hideous word, but it serves--spread far beyond -that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the -_esprit de corps_ signified by the School song (it began "Procul in -Cornubia," and was violently shouted at stated intervals during the -year), the splendid appeal "to our fathers who have played in these -fields before us"--this was the cry that these banners and orations -signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true--but shout enough -about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have tears in his -eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke becomes medieval, -mystic, "the great, good man" of history, and Moffatt's is "one of our -good old schools. There's nothing like our public school system, you -know--has its faults, of course; but tradition--that 's the Thing." - -The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone -feels it--everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir -Marmaduke is the Thing. - -He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that -he kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she -treated anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers -arrived in great numbers on these occasions, and these three great days -of the three terms were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused -events in the year. They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the -immediate return of her own children, and they marked an amazing number -of things that ought to be done at once, with the confusing feeling -about Sir Marmaduke also in the air. - -But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. -She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and -nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe--or almost -safe--and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out of the -place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had last -night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and kissed -her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be all -right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of -the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened during -the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - -Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one -very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all -sat very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - -She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and -happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of -talking to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at -a pool, flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured -no attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - -But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at -the advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: -"My dear!--no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early--one -o'clock, and cold--you don't mind, do you, dear; but there's to be -_such_ a dinner to-night, and I've just had four mothers, and wise is -n't the word for what I've been, although I confused all their children -as I always do, bless their hearts. But, oh! the term's over, and I -could go on my knees and thank Heaven that it is, because I 've never -hated anything so much, and if it had lasted another week I should have -struck off Mrs. Dormer's head for the way she's treating you, for dead -sure certain--" - -"Archie's not coming back, you know," Isabel interrupted. - -"Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of -course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as young -and we'd be off from here tomorrow." She stopped and sighed a little and -looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, the stiff, bare -trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. "But it's no use wishing," -she went on cheerfully enough, "and we won't any of us think of next -term at all but only of the blessed month of freedom that's in front -of us." Her voice softened; she put her hand on Isabel's arm. "All the -same, my dear, I'm glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It -was touching him, you know." - -"Yes, I saw it," the girl answered. "And I don't want him to -schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's help he 'll -be able to get a Government office of some sort." She hesitated, then -said, smiling a little, "Are you and Mr. Comber--" She stopped. - -"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Comber bruskily, "we are--and there 's no doubt -that things are better than they have been. I suppose marriage is always -like that: there 's the thrilling time at first, and then you find it -is n't there any longer and you've got to make up your mind to getting -along. Things rub you up, you know, and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome -as anything, and then there's a good big row and the air's cleared--and -shall I wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?" - -"The black one fits the day better," said Isabel absent-mindedly. She -was wondering whether the time would ever come when she and Archie would -feel ordinary about each other. - -"But isn't it funny," she went on, "that here we are at the end of the -term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all our quarrels and -fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming impossible? It -was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone." - -"It all comes," said Mrs. Comber, "of our living too close. Now that -we're going to spread out over the holidays, we 're as friendly as -anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. Dormer as much as -ever"--which was difficult to believe when that lady arrived at a -quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel and to go with them -to the prize-giving. - -Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black -neck to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of -this she spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one -another as they walked down the path to the school hall. - -"And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?" - -"I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the housemaid. -I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I had to speak -to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and she gave -notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and unless I -can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able to get away." - -"Really, what servants are coming to!" Mrs. Dormer was struggling with -her collar like a dog. "Poor Mrs. Comber, I am _so_ sorry--of course -management's the thing, but we haven't all the gift and can't expect to -have it." - -"And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over -Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be _so_ nice -if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I have -n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. Rose -yesterday--quite a nice girl she sounded--who's been under-parlormaid at -Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, and never a fault to find -with her except a tendency to catching cold, which made her sniff at -times." - -"Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to -spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have -loved--" - -For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface -responsible. - -II. - -Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible -for clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this -morning, that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had -hitherto been. The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as -he was not returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was -concerned. He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term -had shown him that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought -himself. His pride, his temper, his irritation--all these things were -lions with which he had never fought before: now they must always, for -the future, be consciously kept in check. - -He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going -away--now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, -together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the -buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He -could not sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad -dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened -suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. -Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep -properly to-night. - -At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on -this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton--they -all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble -that he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - -Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to -him. - -He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The -floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the -air was full of dust. - -"Hullo!" said Traill, coughing in the doorway, "what's all this?" - -"Hullo!" said Birkland, looking up. "I'm glad you 've come. I was coming -round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm off for good." - -"Off for good!" Traill stared in astonishment. - -"Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have -finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I -die--nothing can be worse than this--I gave notice last week." - -"What are you going to do?" asked Traill. - -"I don't know--it's mad enough, I expect. But I've saved a tiny hit of -money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a shot at anything. -Nothing can he as bad as this--nothing!" - -He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with -dust on his cheeks and his hair on end. - -"Well, I'm damned!" said Traill. "Well, after all, I'm on the same game. -I don't know what I'm going to do either. We 're both in the same box." - -"Oh!" said Birkland, "you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you. -I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years -of this; but I'm going to have a shot--so wish me luck!" - -"Why, of course I do," said Traill, coming up to him. "We 'll do it -together--we 'll see heaps of each other." - -"Ah! heaps!" said Birkland, shaking his head. "No, I'm too dry and dusty -a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm better alone. -But I 'll come and see you one day." - -"You were quite right," said Traill suddenly, "in what you said about -the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see -you. You were quite right." - -"Poor boy," said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, "you had a -hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. It drove -you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning, -I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, you met Miss -Desart here." - -"Yes," said Traill, "that makes it worth it fifty times over." - -"And now," went on Birkland grimly, "this afternoon you shall see the -closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our tradition. -You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with the -term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that pervades -the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, maker of -strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which we all, -from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share." He spread his -arms. "Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!--to get out of it! And -now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If it hadn't been for you, -Traill, I believe I'd be here still. Well, perhaps it's to breaking -stones on a road that I'm going... at any rate, it won't be this." - -And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his -influence. - -III. - -But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly -feeling, with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had -little to do. This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling -or a triumph at approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' -troubled and confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening -consciousness that he had again, now for the second time, missed his -chance. - -This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; -not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - -To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, -they would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same -insignificant creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and -then it would be worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, -and in the distant ages it would be told how once there had been a young -man, straight from the University, who had flung him to the ground -and trampled on him, and beaten him, in all probability, with his own -umbrella.... - -Ah, no! it was not to be borne--the thing must be done; there must be no -missing of an opportunity this third time. - -He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. -Somerset-Walpole knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he -suffered no punishment. Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus -had looked at him as though he would like to speak to him, but he could -not think of Garden Minimus now--there were other more important things -to think about. - -Of course it must be done that night--there was only one night left. -Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown -himself. He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - -His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would -say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some -way that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able -to laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something -terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. -Miss Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did -not wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the -best, because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only -be unhappy if she married him. - -What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his -throat cut!--no, they would not laugh at him again! - -He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went -back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in -front of him, with the door closed. - -And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to -the school for the speeches. - -He smiled and said, "Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up--now -that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that we -should not part friends--it's all been my stupid fault, and I am so very -sorry." - -But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path -with his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you -couldn't shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in -the evening. He heard Traill's exasperated "Oh! very well," and then he -passed into Big School. - -He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were -always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they -came in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were -unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about -his popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore -surprise him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that -greeted Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - -The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and -the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner -by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept -them there until the end of the ceremonies--no one noticed him--no one -spoke to him--not for him were their songs and festivals. - -The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, -and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the -Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to -come. - -These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with -stout bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that -they considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive -and as nonexistent as possible--they all wore a considerable amount of -watch-chain. - -In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged -the prizes--a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been -biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside -them in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, -in patent leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was -intermittent, but regular. - -This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the -prizes, because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the -other side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality -and authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; -he stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were -seated: Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, -endeavoring to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually -as though by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many -parents. - -The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He -alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, "our -founder, hero, and example"; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur -Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the -pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the -successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of -Police in Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in -an examination that had something to do with Tropical Diseases -(more cheers); M. Watson had received the College Essay Prize at St. -Catherine's College, Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second -class in the first part of the Previous Examination at the same -university (frantic cheering, because Duffield had been last year's -captain of the Rugby football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was -exceedingly encouraging, and they could not help reflecting that Sir -Marmaduke Boniface, were he conscious of these successes, would be -extremely pleased (cheers). Passing on to the present term, he was -delighted to be able to say that never, in all his long period as -headmaster, could he remember a more equable and energetic term -(cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events of -special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those -concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a -will. It was a familiar saying that "a nation was blessed that had no -history"--well, that applied to such a term as the one just concluded -(cheers). If he might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he -was quite sure that Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man -to rejoice in this spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude -for a moment to his staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded -with so pleasant a body of men--men who understood exactly the kind -of _esprit de corps_ necessary if a school's work were to be properly -carried on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great -purpose of making Moffatt's a great school--that was, he truly believed, -the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's--they might be -sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept before -him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, who -would give away the prizes. - -Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic -cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness -of Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the -room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's head -intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved -their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed -their immovability. - -Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he -believed in our public schools--that was the thing that made men of -us--he should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should -like to say one thing to the boys--that they were not to think that -winning prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who -failed to obtain them remember that "slow and steady wins the race." -It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. -No--um--ah--he never used to win prizes at school himself. It wasn't -always the boys--here he pulled himself up and remembered that he had -said it before. There was something else that he'd wanted to say, but -he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was conscious of Mr. Perrin's -eyes and thought that he'd never seen anything so discouraging. He did -not seem to be able to escape them. What a dangerous-looking man! - -So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them from -our great poet Tennyson--! He looked for the little piece of paper on -which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched his -pockets--no--where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the third row, -suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. He -would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine -poet--yes--and now he would give away the prizes. - -IV. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's -speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to -speak, "to be put in." He was not aware, in the very least, that his -eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson acute -discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching him -with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was not -aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity "because he looked -so queer, as though he had a headache." - -He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second -Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of -Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not -matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at -issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated -impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager -realization. - -He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. -And suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken -himself, forcibly, out of one room into another--out of a room in which -there was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise -dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place -that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that -Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, -but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - -What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his -place. He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, -stupid faces. _That_ Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her -bony neck; _that_ silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming -garments; _that_ Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she were -of any importance to anyone--all of them listening to these things that -Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing these... Lies! - -Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the -wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's -face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with -that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his -head. He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that -they could stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step -forward and tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat -governors, to the little man with the shining boots on the platform? -They knew that these thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had -it not been slow torture for them all, had not that man with the white -beard full knowledge of these lies that he was telling? What was his -private quarrel with Traill as compared with this monstrous injustice? -He was pale now, with a long red mark against the white of his cheek. He -had stepped right away from the wall and the small boys of the First and -Second Forms were watching him. - -It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, -that it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than -the others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this -place! Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he -remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before -in the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt -by Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! -what rot! He could have shouted it to the roof--"Lies! Lies! Lies!" - -There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his -speech--ladies' dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along -the floor--and then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his -hands against one another--they were hot and dry and something rather -like a bobbin on a latch went up and down in his throat--his eyes were -burning. He moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to -the central gangway between the blocks of boys. - -And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies -of "Tennyson's Poems," Sir Robert Ball's "Wonders of the Heavens," -"The Works of Spencer," and other volumes of our admirable classics. -They began with the bottom of the school, and a small fat boy with a -crimson face, boots that creaked like a badly-oiled door and were shaped -like Chinese boats, staggered up to the platform. A lady, prominent -for her size and large picture hat moved eagerly in her chair, clapped -vehemently with her white gloves and so proclaimed herself a mother. - -Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to -each prizewinner--"something that they could remember afterwards, you -know"--and began to say something to the small and red-faced boy, but -was startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory breathing close to -his ear. Turning round, he discovered that three more small boys were -waiting anxiously for their turn and that others were coming up the -room. He therefore hurried along with "Here you are, my boy. Remember -that prizes aren't everything in life--hope you 'll read it--delightful -book." - -Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He -must wait--now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech -to thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To -his excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were -looking at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must -have felt as indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been -telling them. But those governors should know the truth for once at any -rate and in a way that they should not forget... strangely, in the back -of his mind he wished that his mother could be present.... - -The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered -according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, -had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest -of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very -pleased with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a -flushed face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the -leading rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with -a book and a few pleasant words--fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came quicker -as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - -Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few -words. It had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have -so distinguished a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that -afternoon. It must have been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time -amongst so many engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. -(Cheers--Sir Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at -his shirt cuffs as though his engagements were written down there.) They -on their part were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the -room, however young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as -long as he lived, those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it -was not only for the winners of prizes that life was intended (here -Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and -the governors moved restlessly in their chairs), but (and here -Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a new note) it might not be, perhaps, -presumptuous of him to hope that it was not only for them that afternoon -might have pleasant memories. For Sir Arthur Spalding also, he might -hope, there would be times in the future when he would look back and -remember that he had seen, for an instant at least, one of our British -public schools in one of its happiest and most prosperous phases. He -might flatter himself-- - -"It 's all lies!" - -The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. -To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the -over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, -there may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange -master of theirs--"that old ass Pompous"--seen his edging from the wall -into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands clenching -and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that sudden -lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his feet, -could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to the -governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively desiring -his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the staff, -the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a wind, -"What? Who?..." They rose in their places, they uttered little cries, -they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice--they were held, -paralyzed. - -And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange -figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window -upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his -gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - -"It's lies, all lies!" The words came tumbling out one upon another. "I -don't care--I must speak. Ladies and gentlemen,"--he caught his throat -for a moment with his hand--"I know that this is no occasion for saying -those things, but no one else has the courage--the courage. It is not -true what he has been saying"--he pointed a vehement, trembling -finger at the white patriarch. "We are unhappy here, all of us. We are -downtrodden by that man--we are not paid enough--we are not considered -at all--never considered--everything is wrong--we all hate each -other--we hate _him_--he hates _us_--we are unhappy--it is all hell." - -He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from -head to foot. He cried once more querulously, "It is all hell here... -hell!" - -And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly -to his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by -the wide doors behind him. - -There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - -"It 's Perrin." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - - -I. - -|HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across -the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, -nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that -his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest -in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact -was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the -rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might -hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they -might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, -ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. -Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as -though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, -the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly -something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the -table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, -worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly -and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was -surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That -morning it had meant so much, now---- - -It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, -greater, more sweeping--a system, and at the head of the system, a -tyrant. - -He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind -his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What -would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must -be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions -that had been with him during these last weeks--the illusions about -the other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill -being always in the room--had vanished suddenly. Things were as they -most certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most -solidly there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled -at their solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that -had seemed only that morning of such paramount importance were now -insignificant. That quarrel over the umbrella, for instance--really, how -absurd! When one was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why -then this ignominious quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the -question of Traill aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were -bigger things now in the world. - -What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would -the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and -thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with -his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they -would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they -would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had -hitherto despised. - -He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that -hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - -The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, -but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the -world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the -darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would be -time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room -before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. -Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - -He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course -they would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. -He felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they -had to say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden -silence, and then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their -plans; perhaps they had already prepared a written protest supporting -his own outburst. - -He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes -and a beating heart to the Upper School. - -He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered -the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire--all of them, -he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they -seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - -"Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for years." - -And the other voices came together: - -"Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a disgrace, a -thing like that happening." - -"Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all the holidays in -the world!" - -"No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have got -started before anyone saw him." - -"Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of -him." - -But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these -speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a -smile and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - -They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the -fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no -movement. They watched him. - -He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were -watching him, he thought, curiously. - -His confidence began to leave him. - -"It's nearly chapel time," he said uneasily. "Hum! ha!" - -There was no answer. - -"Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't I? Yes, -indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity." He stopped -again. - -Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were -looking at the papers. - -Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him -any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of -course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; -had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he -had seized his--well! - -"Yes," he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; "I flatter myself that -something will come of it. It will be difficult for them, I think, to -disregard that altogether--hum--yes." - -There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - -"Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?" - -"Chapel?" sharply. "Yes, of course." - -Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - -"Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I should -go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you 're wanting. -Take my advice. Bed's the place--shouldn't go to chapel if I were -you--hem." - -"No, shouldn't go to chapel," repeated Dormer slowly. - -Perrin began to breathe qnickly. "What do you mean?" he cried. "Why -shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a holiday?" - -"You 're tired," Birkland said qnickly. "That's what it is. We're all -tired--overdone. We've all been feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing -term's come to an end. I knew something would happen. You 're tired, -Perrin." - -"Tired!" He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. "Tired! -It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't like to see me taking the -lead--you hate my coming to the front. You've always hated me, the lot -of you. You 're jealous, that's what it is. You 're cruel"--his voice -suddenly broke--"I was helping you all. That's why I spoke--and now--" - -And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. - -II. - -Back to his room again, muttering, "Jealous, that's what they -are--beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!" - -He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a -note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - -_'Sir:_ - -_Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible -to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel...._ - -So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of -the window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes--the boys from -the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy -chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night--the dark-swelling -trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells -stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that -his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the -evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of -his feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior -common room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them -rot! He might have known that that would be the way that they would take -it--he was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to -the future. He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. -He must brace himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because -this was to be the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown -him how determined he was, when he had made it evident that he would -withdraw no jot or tittle of his accusation, then indeed he would -have the place at his feet. To-morrow, when they had all heard of this -interview, they would sound a very different note. - -He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were -cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it -was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, -and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - -His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought -of Traill---Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one -thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection -somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public -outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he -confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had -been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it -was that he was going to do. - -He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it -was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn--"Lord, -dismiss us with Thy Blessing"--and singing it too with vigor that, -exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching freedom. -He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the window. -Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - -Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. He -could be humble or he could he arrogant--he could plead for mercy or -he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two -possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as -possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There -would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must -make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions -were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - -On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped -the sides of his chair--well, he would find that he had made a mistake. -The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body trembled--in -half an hour there would be this battle! - -In half an hour!--in less than half an hour! Already the opening of the -chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the evening -breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and singing. -On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed into -preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was -the last night of the term--there was to be a concert--and by this time -to-morrow-- - -They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once -more there was silence--the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were -closed. - -Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the -very heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his -enemy had been Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the -ingenuity of the devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin -had thought that it was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, -with extraordinary clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. -That spider with that dark study for his web was spinning, always -spinning--more effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with -its dim light, surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other -room into which he was going frightened him against his will. He was -determined that he would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the -back of his mind was an undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, -Moy-Thompson would get the better of him. - -He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not -beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's -study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table -by the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical -busts on the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white -beard at the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with -flashes of golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - -Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not -raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen -down slowly, looked up and smiled. - -"Ah, Mr. Perrin--do come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you -coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?" - -Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed -haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to -collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - -"But you must be tired--you must indeed. Really, I insist--this -easy-chair by the fire." Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his -hands, sat down. - -"I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this letter--hum, -yes--only a minute." A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked -solemnly in the distance: "Of course, he 'll wait--of course, he 'll -wait--of course, he 'll wait." - -At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. -His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his -clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - -"Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long--really, only a few -moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a long day. But come, -Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've got to discuss this -matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I -have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter." - -Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. "No, please, Mr. Perrin, I -beg of you--please be seated--hum--I really am most anxious to prove to -you that I am nothing but friendly in this matter." Moy-Thompson paused -and tapped his nails, with sharp little rattling noises, one against -the other. "Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm sure you must agree with me that a -disturbance like that of this afternoon is exceedingly unusual and I may -say with very considerable truth that no one who was present was more -completely and remarkably surprised than myself. I do not pretend," he -went on with a smile and lifting a deprecating hand towards the fire, -"that I am so pleasantly self-assured as to believe that there is no -unsound plank in this good ship of ours; there are many things, I am -sure, that would be the better for a newer and a younger hand, but I -had supposed--and naturally supposed, I think--that any complaints that -there were would be brought to the committee or myself privately. From -time to time complaints _have_ been brought to me and I may say that -I have always dealt with them to the best of my ability, but--" here -Moy-Thompson paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently--"do -you know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to -have come to me with any complaint of any kind?" - -Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long -speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular -and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was -bent towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he -would reply and half started from his chair. - -Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - -"No--please, a moment--may I not explain myself? although it needs -surely no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that has -always, I believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had -yesterday been questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely -trust and honor I should have named yourself." He paused and then slowly -added, "I need scarcely remind you that it is only a fortnight since -there passed between us, in this very room, an interview of the most -friendly and confidential description." - -There was no word from the chair. - -"You must remember that, during the many years that have passed since -you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You have -had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I -have always been frank with you--you 've seized none of them. All the -more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what occurred -to-day." - -At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled -with silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his -brain. What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the -things that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, -it was true; it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and -Moy-Thompson, all these years, great friends. Other members of the -staff may have rebelled and quarreled and disputed, but he had always -supported authority. He remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the -pleasure that he had taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews -in that very room. This momentous and horrible fact rose now before -him and froze any reply that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's -devoted henchman for twenty years--was he the right man to head a -rebellion now? - -In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - -"Well," said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against another, "I see -that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in some of my remarks. -These things are facts--that you have been twenty years without a -complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here more rubbing -of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard task that -demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this outbreak; -an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an outbreak for -which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its nature, I -should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and habits--" -Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, "Well, what is the -only explanation? What can be the only explanation?" - -Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - -"Well," continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, "overwork, of course. -Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last weeks, -things were being a little too much for you--hum--yes--natural enough, -natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a long time since you -were out of harness--yes, indeed." - -"I 'm not tired." - -"Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the -game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient -excuse for to-day's little episode--the only excuse indeed (this a -little more sharply)--but an excuse that we all of us--I speak for -others as well as myself--are only too ready to seize. A holiday, my -friend, a holiday--there we have our doctor's medicine." - -Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised -his head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the -worst. He faced it with despair--he knew as he heard the other man's -words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he -make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting -and abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that -he was merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of -the terror that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle -contempt and the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - -Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him -that this was not quite so simple as it appeared--that this old man in -his dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in -the dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his -head was buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. -To have Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, -was to have Perrin silenced, humbled--finally quieted. But how was he to -battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the -accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those -many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn -consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid -to that white beard, these things rose and defeated him--defeated him on -the last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - -Yet he tried to say something. - -He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - -"I had reason," he said slowly, "for what I did. I meant what I said -and I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of us and I -want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did this -afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us all -to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me--if anyone else -had done it--" - -His head dropped--his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, "I want -to hand in my resignation." - -The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently -and a little sadly: - -"I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel that I -have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think me -unfriendly--my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly--if I say -that this opinion of yours--a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps--owes -something to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I -beg of you is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait -until you are stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that -the governors will only too readily allow you a holiday during next -term--when the summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in -body and mind." - -Tick--tick--tick went the clock--"Here's a good offer--Here's a good -offer." - -"I wish to hand in my resignation," said Mr. Perrin. - -"Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all be -genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making -your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps--" - -"I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is -scandalous--scandalous--" - -"I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you feel about it -as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few weeks. Write to -me. Write to the governors--write to anyone you please. But wait--let me -urge you to wait." - -Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again there was -silence. Then at last: - -"Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the strength to -break with anything. I'm no use--no good." He got to his feet and then -suddenly broke out: - -"But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, but I'm right. -What I've said is true, it's all true. You 're a devil. You've had us -all at your mercy for years and years. You've worked us against one -another until you've rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and -you 're pleased--you 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it--you, a -God's parson--and you've made money and you've broken hearts and you've -eaten and drunk--and you 're too clever for us, but there's hell for you -somewhere. I see it and I know it." - -He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - -It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some -judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world -about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. - -III. - -But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was -thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his -defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - -He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no -more for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the -heart of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good--no good at all--an -utterly useless man. - -He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation -in his face. He was no good. - -He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the -door he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, -looking very shy. - -Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at -all. - -"Good evening." - -"Good evening." - -"Won't you sit down?" - -"No, thank you. I only came in for a moment." - -"Oh, all right. What is it?" - -"Oh! Only I wanted to tell you--that--well--oh, that I thought you were -awfully plucky this afternoon." - -"Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really--it was a very foolish thing to -do." - -"No--really--the other fellows did n't understand--" - -"Oh, yes! They understood very well." - -Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to -go through with it. - -"Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know--not coming back--and -I thought that it would be a pity if we parted--well, sick with each -other. What do you say? We've had one or two turn-ups, but we 're -friends, are n't we?" - -"Of course." - -"Shake hands, will you?" - -They shook hands. - -"Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't you? Always -awfully pleased. Well, I must be going." - -And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - -But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's utter -despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his life. -"He had made it up with the chap," but Perrin, in the dark, was looking, -with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray figure that had -haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him face to face. - -And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--THE GOLDEN VIEW - - -I. - -|WITH the coming dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, -sitting in his chair without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, -the gray cold pane of his window and the last faint glow of the sinking -coals that lingered in the grate. He did not know what he could have -said to Moy-Thompson, what he ought to have said. He thought that he -might have faced it out better had the interview been in some other -place. There were so many things that hung about that room and made it -impossible for him to speak. He had not known that it would be so hard. - -But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all -these many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had -been coming upon him but he had never confessed it--now it stared him in -the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. -He knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and -face the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the -courage to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had -not even had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would -do. - -And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant -enough man if only someone had tried to like him--and then these -headaches--and then those days when his brain was so strangely -confused--no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if -Isabel Desart.---Well, why think about it? They all mocked him--even -Moy-Thompson did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was -very sick and tired of life. - -II. - -The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very -silent as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. -Some clock downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black -cold grate and saw that soon it would be sunrise. - -The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything -was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making -everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the -pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the -middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - -At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with -a little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it -was hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the -solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the dark -hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the half-light. - -He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into -the mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; -its beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of -him, almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause -before he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the -daytime, but now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle -of the hours when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when -the brown earth and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in -the pageant. The breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness -of the first moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the -movement and stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter -day bare branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen -sun--now everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - -He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In -front of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the -threads and fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of -the land hid it great fountains of color were held behind the cloud -and the suggestion of their richness was passing already into the -thickly-curtained gray. - -Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off -across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was -growing with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out -sharp and black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud -was slowly filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through -the heart of it a little avenue of trees ran--now they were gaunt and -stiff in two lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end -of the little avenue there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running -sharply to the white road beneath, and then below the road again there -is the sea. It is a wonderful view from here, for the sea curves like a -silver bowl into infinite distance. Through the country-side it is known -as "The Golden View," not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving -and heaving beneath its gray veil with the faintest threads of color -beginning to interlace the fabric of it. - -Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and -looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in -front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun -rose above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. "To -fling oneself down on to that cold white road" was a very easy death to -die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the courage. -He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - -He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw -coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. - -III. - -He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought -that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of -his life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She -was dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - -And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. -"Oh!" he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his voice was full -of pain. - -"Good morning, Mr. Perrin," she said very easily; "I could not sleep and -I had thought that I would come down here to see the sun rise--and then -I saw you pass through the school gates and I was impertinent enough to -follow you. I want to talk to you." - -"To talk to me?" - -He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - -"Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there just as -the sun rises." - -He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full -of what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. -He glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she -was! He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - -"I hope you didn't very much want to be alone," she said smiling at him; -"but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I have been wanting--very -badly--ever since yesterday afternoon--to speak to you." - -"Since yesterday afternoon," he repeated bitterly. "You must feel as -they all do, about that." - -"I don't know how the others feel," she answered almost fiercely. "That -is no business of mine. But I understood, I sympathized, a great deal -more than you would believe--and I wanted to tell you so." - -"You couldn't understand--you couldn't sympathize. It doesn't touch -you anywhere. You 're going to-day and you won't come back. Well, don't -think of any of us again. Don't try and help us--it only makes it worse -for us." - -"No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would -understand--and even if I am going away it would be something for both -of us if we knew that we had parted friends, that--" - -But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working -most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered -what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking -dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some -strange greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his -back and in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - -"Oh, please--don't," and then she stayed in infinite distress waiting -for him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so thin and ragged, in the -cold morning air, and her heart was full of the deepest aching pity. - -At last he turned round to her. "Let us go on," he said roughly; "I -am all in pieces--don't mind me--you shouldn't have spoken to me like -that--it's more than I can stand." Then after a pause he went on, "You -mustn't talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend -of yours." - -"That is for me to say," she answered gently. "I have been so wrong all -this term. I have only made things worse instead of better and I did so -want to help. It's been awful this term and yesterday afternoon was the -worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had agreed with the things you -said!" - -"It is n't any use," he answered. "It's too late." - -"It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't let me help you, -why then perhaps you 'll help me." - -"Help you?" - -"Yes--if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we part like -this--I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a little of what -you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It isn't kind to me to leave -it like this." - -There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she -was; her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt -bitterly that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every -word that she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if -she went away without speaking she would regret it all her life. - -At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute -control of himself and his voice was quite steady. - -"No--I hadn't meant to be rude like that--only you took me by surprise. -I've made a wretched muddle of things and, since yesterday afternoon, -I 've seen that I'm a complete failure in every possible sense of the -word. You are so splendid in all ways--and you are going to have such -a splendid life--that we are at the opposite ends of the world, you and -I." - -She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all -its little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the -strange creature whom she had known before. - -"No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so -miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have -made things better between you and Archie--Mr. Traill--all that wretched -quarreling--and yet I felt so helpless." - -"No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man feeling -that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and the -younger man resenting the older man's interference--and neither Traill -nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were pressed up -against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. No, you -had n't very much to do with it." - -But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, -half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering -whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of -all self-consciousness, held him back-- - -He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. "And -then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I -was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him -if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair -that he should have everything--youth, health, prospects, -popularity--everything--and I nothing. I had never been a likable man, -perhaps, but there seemed to be no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to -do things--" - -He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot -with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling -back like gates before the sun. - -"--And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making his -speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place--the system--that -I had been up against all this time, and not any one person--and -suddenly I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know--and I thought I'd done -rather a big thing. I thought the other men would be glad that I had led -the way. I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious and frightened, but the -other men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed--and suddenly everything -cleared and I saw what this place had made of me. They say that it takes -a man all a lifetime to know himself--well, I 've got that knowledge -early. I know what I am." - -She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. "You 're -going to have a fine life," he said; "there are so many people that you -will do good to--but you have been everything to one useless creature." - -"I shall always be proud to be your friend." Curiously, in the growing -light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she felt more -strongly moved than she had ever been before--yes, even Archie Traill's -wooing had not touched her as this did. - -"I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you," at last she said -brokenly, "but I shall never, all my life through, forget you. I shall -want, please, always to hear--" - -"To hear?" His lips twisted into a strange smile. "Ah, you must n 't -want that." - -"Why not? What are you going to do--now?" - -"To do?" He was still strangely smiling. "What is there for me to do? -I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no means and I am -fit for nothing but schoolmastering--" - -"Cannot you come back here--in spite of it all?" - -"Come back?" - -"Yes." - -"Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so unimportant -that--it does n't matter." - -"You will--promise that you will!" - -"Ah, it is all so useless," he said, shaking his head. "Before, when I -had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but now, -when that is all gone--" - -"Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand"--her eyes were flaming--"you -_must_--you _must_. Don't you see that you 're being given such a -chance! Think of the pluck of it--after all that has happened--to -come back, knowing what they think of you, knowing what you think of -yourself. Oh! I envy you. I believe the only thing we 're in the world -for is to have courage--that answers everything--and some of us have -such fat, easy lives that we've no chance at all. But you to come back -with your teeth set, to build it all up again, to will it all back! -Oh! it's splendid! And Archie and I will have our happy, ordinary -existences--just going along--and you 'll be here doing the finest thing -in the world. I'd change places with you to-morrow," she magnificently -ended up. - -"You see it like that?" he said slowly almost to himself. - -"Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all this -term's been for--to bring to a head--to show you your great chance. That -'s life--everything leading up to the one big thing--and now this is -yours." - -"My God!" he whispered, "If I could!" - -"You must," she answered, "I believe in you--come back--fight it--win." - -But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - -"No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I 've had my -spirit broken--this place has broken it." - -"No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance--take it." - -"All these years," he answered grimly, "twenty years--it's a long time -for a man. I can't begin all over again." - -"Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight as you see -things now--It 's never been the same before." - -He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - -"Do you believe I could do it?" he said. - -"Of course I do." - -"Win back respect--make them forget yesterday--go on with the old -torture--" he shuddered and buried his face in his hands. - -"I believe in you," she answered steadfastly. - -He drew a deep breath. "At last!" - -"I believe in you." - -"You are not saying that only to comfort met" - -"No; you know that I am not." - -"To come back--to go on--to face it all." - -"It's the hardest thing and the finest thing--I shall know--I shall -always remember." - -As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would -not have drawn back--but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief -moment--all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery--the hell that -Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some way a -new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he do -anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - -There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the sea -swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly -blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded -the brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through -the brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a -white gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out -to sea. - -Perrin drew a deep breath. "If you will help me, I 'll come back," he -said. - -The new day shone about their heads. - -IV. - -Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. Comber -was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only for -a few weeks, but her "Freddie" was more genial and pleasant than he had -been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys were returning that -afternoon. - -"Freddie--another sausage--Oh! My dear Isabel, here's a bill from that -dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't leave one -alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you--and I told her only -a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk until Easter--well, -some marmalade, then, if you won't have another--what train did you say -you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm so glad it's a sunny day--you were -up quite early weren't you, dear?--and I meant to go in and see -what Mrs. Dormer had to say about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. -Perrin--and now I shan't have a minute because Jane's been so silly -about Freddie's shirts and his pyjamas--she missed them when they came -from the wash, so that really it--but what did you think of it all, -Isabel dear?" - -"Of what all?" asked Isabel. - -"Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been queer all -this time--anyone could see, but really--I wonder what he 'll do now?" - -"I expect that he 'll come back," said Isabel. - -"Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if he -can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors -that it was simply nerves--which it was mostly, I should think. I'm sure -we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been most queer all -this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie and everything. -Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can--under his thumb." - -Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - -Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a -fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the -things that she ought to do. - -"Dear?" said Isabel. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - -"I want you to do something for me." - -"Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's hill for -that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit--" - -"No, dear, please--just for a minute I want you to listen altogether to -me." - -"Yes, dear." Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - -"Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin _is_ coming back. I saw him this morning--" - -"You saw him this morning! Isabel!" - -"Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise--to the Golden View. He -talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before--things or people. -There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside and so -dull outside." - -"I don't want to be unkind, dear," Mrs. Comber answered slowly, "but I -cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside--I can't really." - -"Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when I think -of Archie and myself and our lives--and all the other people with lives -like them--and then when I think of all the awkward, bad-mannered, -stiff, jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm ashamed!" - -Mrs. Comber was astonished. "Well, my dear," she said, "it does seem -to have affected you--really. Of course I want to be kind to -everybody--even Mrs. Dormer--and of course I 'll believe what you say, -and I'm sure I'm very sorry for him, and it won't be pleasant for him -coming back." - -"No," said Isabel. "It won't--no one ought ever to come back here -again--but if only you 'll be a friend to him-- - -"You see," she went on again, "he's the kind of man whom those things -matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever taken any interest in him or -any trouble--and now if you and I--" - -"Anything," said Mrs. Comber, "that you want me to do." - -"I sometimes think," said Isabel, "that the world's topsy-turvy. People -seem to put so much value on all the outside things, and if someone's -ugly and awkward--" - -Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at -the door of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown -portmanteau--a very old brown portmanteau--and he put it on the cab. It -was a very old cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - -Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old -shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - -The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - -Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that -he would. - -Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious -beauty of that day she seemed to get her answer. - -Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - -"It _shall_ be all right, next term," said Mr. Perrin. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Gods and Mr. Perrin - A Tragi-Comedy - -Author: Hugh Walpole - -Release Date: June 1, 2016 [EBook #52211] -Last Updated: March 16, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - </h1> - <h3> - A Tragi-Comedy - </h3> - <h2> - By Hugh Walpole - </h2> - <h4> - Author Of “Fortitude,” “The Prelude To Adventure,” - Etc. - </h4> - <h4> - New York George H. Doran Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1911 - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <blockquote> - <p> - “The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: - Nor Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House - Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort.”—Pilgrim's - Progress - </p> - </blockquote> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - PUNCH - </h3> - <p> - My Dear Punch, - </p> - <p> - There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to - you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them - all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day - last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, and - we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the top—an - inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large black cat. - </p> - <p> - It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. - Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than - anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good - things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good - things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this book. - </p> - <p> - Yours affectionately, - </p> - <h3> - HUGH WALPOLE. - </h3> - <p> - Chelsea, January 1911. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA - AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND ADVICE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY - OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL - THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN - PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; - THEY OPEN FIRE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; - CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO SOME SKIRMISHING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH - THE LADIES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; - “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO DESTROY....” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY - ALL MAKE SPEECHES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF - HIS KINGDOM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL - SOUND ADVICE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>INCENT PERRIN said - to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: “It shall be all - right this term”—and then, “It <i>shall</i> be”—and - then, “<i>This</i> term.” A cold wintry sun watched him from - above the brown shaggy wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery - blue, and on its surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A - little wind sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had - nearly reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. - He stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood - straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a - sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the red - light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front of it - the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - </p> - <p> - “It <i>shall</i> be all right this term,” said Mr. Perrin, and - he pulled his rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little - wind was playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He - was long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not - been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript - pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore was - too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of someone - who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and watery, and his - eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His age was about - forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over twenty - years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were folded - behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that trailed - along the ground. - </p> - <p> - His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top of - the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the - distant Brown Wood. - </p> - <p> - The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The - sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of a - hammer, and the tiny whisper—as of someone who tells eagerly, but - mysteriously, a secret—was the beating of the waves far at the - bottom of the hill against the rocks. - </p> - <p> - Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the chimneys - of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of some - hidden bonfire. - </p> - <p> - The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up - the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude of - bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very small - indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched their - hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, glanced at - them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the brown buildings - again. - </p> - <p> - “Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers.” he said to - himself quickly; “Barker Minor, French.. . ;” then his mind - swung back to its earlier theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the - road with his stick, “It shall <i>be</i> all right <i>this</i> term.” - </p> - <p> - The school clock—he knew the sound so well that he often thought he - heard it at home in Buckinghamshire—struck half-past three. He - hastened his steps. His holidays had been good—better than usual; he - had played golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots - and fools as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently - about Education—shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, - and What a Mother can do for her Boy—all favorite subjects of his. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad—perhaps the new man - would be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be <i>worse</i> than - Searle of the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just - down from the University—he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - </p> - <p> - No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; but - there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then—he - stopped once more and drew a deep breath—there was Miss Desart. He - tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer than - others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss Desart.... - He coughed. - </p> - <p> - He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at - his heels. - </p> - <p> - The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; - the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room - that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, - moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and the - long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore a - perpetual odor of food in the air. On a “mutton day”—there - were three “mutton” days a week—this odor hung in heavy, - clammy folds about the ceiling, and on those days there were always more - boys kept in than on the other days—on so small a thing may - punishment hang. - </p> - <p> - To-day—this being the first day of the term—-the room was - exceedingly tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows - of pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, - a name— - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Perrin,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Dormer,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Clinton,” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Traill.” - </p> - <p> - Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and - his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting <i>their</i> - papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall was an - enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines running - across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over which were - two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and St. Peter's, - Rome. - </p> - <p> - Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the - windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen—a - gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round empty - flower-bed, a stone wall. - </p> - <p> - On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of - bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, - cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, a - short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were - drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at it—a - practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - </p> - <p> - However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. - Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. “Ah! here we are again!” - he said, with easy jocularity. - </p> - <p> - Dormer gave him a hand, and said, “Glad to see you, Perrin; had good - holidays?” - </p> - <p> - Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, “You - old nut!” - </p> - <p> - Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that - all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was most - inclined to be easy and pleasant. - </p> - <p> - “Ha! no cake!” he said, with a surprised air. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say, I'm so sorry,” said Clinton, with his mouth - full, “I took the last. Ring the bell.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It was - cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The Lower - School was divided into two houses—Dormer was house-master of one, - and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under - house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to - Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival - camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and - play. - </p> - <p> - “I say, Perrin, “have you made out your bath-lists? Then there - are locker-names—I want.” Perrin snapped at his bread and - butter. “Ah, Dormer, please—my tea first.” - </p> - <p> - “All right; only, it's getting on to four.” - </p> - <p> - For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the - door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, “Come in!” - </p> - <p> - The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a - misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a - shuffling of feet. - </p> - <p> - Perrin walked slowly to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of - us eager to come back, of course—um—yes. Well, you know you - oughtn't to come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your - names then—another five minutes. It's up on the board. Well, - Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? <i>Don't</i> you know that ten - minutes past four is ten minutes past four and <i>not</i> four o'clock?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, please, sir—but, sir—” - </p> - <p> - Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, ha,” he said, smiling reflectively; “had him there!” - </p> - <p> - Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, - Cummin; 10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—” - </p> - <p> - The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - </p> - <p> - The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man. - Perrin looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first - impression of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very - young and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very - dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, - turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His - hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his - eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back - very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else, - tremendously clean. - </p> - <p> - He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. - Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been old - enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he - had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end of the - term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a pig-headed - ass.... - </p> - <p> - But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble - about it, and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists - and dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I - must say as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It - 's <i>in</i> a man if he 's going to do it—I've - always managed them all right—never any trouble—hum, ha! Yes, - you 'll find them the first few days just a little restive—seeing - what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on them.” - </p> - <p> - Traill asked about the holiday task. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, Dormer set that. <i>Ivanhoe</i>—Scott, you know. - Just got to read out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let - them go when you hear the chapel bell.” - </p> - <p> - Traill was profuse in his thanks. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all—anything you want to know.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin smiled at him. - </p> - <p> - There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, - and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had the - bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and their - common rooms. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Sexton?” Perrin cleared his throat. - </p> - <p> - “Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I - could find, sir—Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, - sir.” Sexton backed out of the room. - </p> - <p> - Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying - anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at - him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin - took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about - discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their mothers, - and finally said a word about serving their country. - </p> - <p> - Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. “It will be safer - for you to hand it over to me,” he said slowly and impressively. - “Then you shall have it when you want it.” - </p> - <p> - A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, one - by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy—he had - apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby—had only two - halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, “Well, - Rackets?” - </p> - <p> - Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets.” - Perrin dropped the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after - the other. “I don't think you will ever see these half-crowns - again.” He smiled. - </p> - <p> - Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the - money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly in - his eye. He struggled to keep it back—he dug his fist into it, - turned round, and fled from the room. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was amused. “Caught friend Rackets on the hip,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four men - put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. Traill - hung back a little. “You take the big room with me, Traill,” - said Dormer. “I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper.” - </p> - <p> - They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There - was a sudden cessation of confused whispers—complete silence, and - then Perrin's voice: “Question one. Who were Richard I., - Gurth, Wamba, Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n—hyphen...” - </p> - <p> - The door closed. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and a - silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - </p> - <p> - The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about the - path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell of - onions.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL - EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T would be fitting - at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's impressions, at - the end of the first week, of the place and the people. But here one is - met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that Traill himself was - not given to gathering impressions at all—he felt things, but he - never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language and an abbreviated - vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; motives, the way that - things hung and were interdependent one upon the other, the sense of - contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on tragedy and of irony - upon both, never hit him anywhere. - </p> - <p> - Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end - of the first week. - </p> - <p> - There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, and - there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was engaged, - quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing medley of - “things to be done and things not to be done” that that first - week must necessarily entail. - </p> - <p> - His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be - said here now, once and for all, the entire <i>motif</i> of this episode—it - is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real - reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being - the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the people in - the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and unnecessary; - but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way and their own - time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they must have their - place. - </p> - <p> - Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all - things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to - think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. He - had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a “Blue” - for Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of - these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to - thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - </p> - <p> - His “Blue” would undoubtedly have secured him something better - than a post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left - it, lazily, until the last and had been forced to accept what he could - get; in a term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - </p> - <p> - All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an - interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of “learning - the ropes,” and he could not therefore he expected to regard - masters, boys, or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, - indeed, one of the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he - remained, for so long a period, blind to all that was going on. - </p> - <p> - In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He - found the world an entirely delightful place—there was Rugby - football in the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid - walks; there was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there - was his mother—a widow, and he was her only son—whom he - entirely worshiped; there were one or two excellent friends of his from - Clifton and Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there - were one or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom - he had liked very much indeed. - </p> - <p> - He read a little—liked it when he had time; had a passion for - Napoleon, whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was - even stirred—again when he had time—by certain sorts of - poetry. - </p> - <p> - And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most - difficult of decision—as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had - any feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - </p> - <p> - He certainly—if he had it at this time—could not put it into - words; but I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of - consciousness about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had - been lying there waiting. - </p> - <p> - He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that he went - to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's - influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of Pendragon - and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for <i>Richard Feverel</i> - quite so passionately had he not had something—some poetry and - feeling—already in him. - </p> - <p> - The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter to - his mother. He says of Moffatt's: “You never saw anything so - hideous. The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell - so new, the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's - like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they - were inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should - go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the sun - setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand—it 's the - fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand...” - </p> - <p> - That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the way - that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal more - about it than he ever said to anyone. - </p> - <p> - Cambridge may have done something for him—few people can spend three - years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind of - development, although probably—because we are English—it is - unconscious. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete - idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' - meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in - conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took the - lowest—a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just - above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - </p> - <p> - The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master—a venerable-looking - clergyman, with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers—sat at the - end of the table in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an - excuse to fly into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or - two; Perrin, Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large - stout man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a - clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much too - big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that at - any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony little - man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed to goad - Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose hand - continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly - deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as - they roved about. - </p> - <p> - During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up and - the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and - disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention - to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On - several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and - Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - </p> - <p> - As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and - individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he - had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book - concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was - very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things - stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent his - time in hating England and preparing to leave it—an escape that he - never achieved. - </p> - <p> - The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the - most “interesting” of them. He was fierce and caustic in his - manner to everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - </p> - <p> - White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his - mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - </p> - <p> - None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his - work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all of - them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that they - liked him; but he did not think about it. - </p> - <p> - His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. - Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his - football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years - before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin - asked him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to - him at infinite length. - </p> - <p> - Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; - and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite - indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He - could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, from - that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather than any - keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - </p> - <p> - It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a - good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had so - much to do with everything that occurred—quite unconsciously, poor - lady, as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was over—that - she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - </p> - <p> - The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however casual, - were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those - qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and her - air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be even - larger. - </p> - <p> - Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at - foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish - descent—and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign - enough. There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her - continual smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a - great deal of her red cheeks. - </p> - <p> - In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the - youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, - with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, to - unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and - enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some - knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, - athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her lamp - was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she would be - happy for ever. That—the keeping of it alight—seemed, as she - looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. She - did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse and - even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate tracing, - removes it altogether—merely, as it may seem to some cynical - observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the moment - of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to hold on - to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a plucky - determination to make the “second best” do, to the final blind - acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance - to that earlier glorious radiance. - </p> - <p> - Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young - lover into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the - Middle Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, - would need an exhaustive treatise on “Public School Education as - applied to our Masters” for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this - faithful account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some - solution to that and other more complex riddles. - </p> - <p> - It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined - stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married - life, at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the - complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber - were hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from <i>her</i>. - </p> - <p> - She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended - her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far as - Freddie was concerned—she was continually hoping and expecting that - it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three - boys—fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious—cared, they showed her - quite plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, - to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that - pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent - her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in hiding her - love under a troubled indifference and being entirely disregarded.... They - were unpleasant boys. - </p> - <p> - Another place for digging was the ground of “things,” of - property. Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost - nothing—they were very poor, and she “managed” badly—now, - she had always had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to - an amazing degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous kind - of way, to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her - valuables. They were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and - school-bills for the boys, consumed any money that there might happen to - be, and consumed it in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she was never - able to prevent or correct. But things had come to her—been given, - left, or eagerly seized in a wild moment's extravagance,—and - these she cherished with all her eyes and hands. The peacock-blue Liberty - screen, the ormolu clock, some few pieces of dainty Dresden china, some - brass Indian pots, a small but musically charming piano, some sketches and - two good prints, and edition de luxe of Walter Pater (a wedding-present, - and she had never opened one of these beautiful volumes), some silver, a - teapot, a tray, some cups that Freddie had won in an earlier, more - glorious period, some small pieces of jewelry—over these things she - passed every morning with a delicate, lingering touch. - </p> - <p> - Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her valuables - she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about them.... - They seemed—dumb things as they were—to give her something of - the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so - continually searching. - </p> - <p> - She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and acquaintances - as she was in her movements and her finances. She was famous for her want - of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and bluntness of speech; - famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to make people like her—an - attempt that, from its transparency, always with wiser and more cynical - persons failed. - </p> - <p> - She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about them - all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with the town - and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although she wondered in - a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover a satisfactory reason. - She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into people's lives and - being hurriedly bundled out again—which “bundling,” at - every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - </p> - <p> - But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of course, - to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber no simple - succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her free, - spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; but to - none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that she was to - Mrs. Comber. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and - for so long a period, down to Moffatt's—a proceeding that her - London friends could never even vaguely understand. That she—having, - as she might, such a glorious “time” in London behind her—should - care to go and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a - school, with those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities - (this term to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a - total mystery. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed a - poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only - partial. - </p> - <p> - In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was at - Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - </p> - <p> - Of the place—the surroundings, the look of it all, the “sense” - of it—there is more to be said in a moment—being seen, more - completely perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is - enough here that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to - Isabel deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be - afraid that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black - rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages - that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere - else in the world—these were all things that she dreamed of - afterwards, when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to - her, of danger and confusion. - </p> - <p> - She herself “fitted in” as only a few people out of the many - that go there could ever do. - </p> - <p> - With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her straight - eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the swing of her - arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength and honesty might - forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a delightful boy—splendidly - healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes startling in her hatred of - things and people, sometimes arrogant in her assured enthusiasms; Mrs. - Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had told her so much, knew of the - other side of her, of her tenderness, her understanding. - </p> - <p> - The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of - peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and - she generally did. - </p> - <p> - It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that she - did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons—Miss Bonhurst, the - two Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago - been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. She - very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what she - had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She - allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she means, - had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, fifteen years - before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually finding new - reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on people who had had - nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and puritanical, and hated - Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these things. - </p> - <p> - Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each other, - but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike of the other - ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they should assert - their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber and Mrs. Dormer - looked down on them. - </p> - <p> - The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss Madder—stout - and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for the undeniable - fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name for a pleasanter - one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a warmth and - good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - </p> - <p> - And so there they all were—most of them—a background, and - simply, as individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by - reason of their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - </p> - <p> - They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at - all—Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. - Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - </p> - <p> - It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the - Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, and - Truro inland to the left—both at an equal distance—as the - farthest boundaries. - </p> - <p> - Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill—undulating, - gently, vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue - or gray of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - </p> - <p> - The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, with - the little village—Chattock—at its feet, curling with its - steep, cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is a - wood—the Brown Wood—and it hangs with all its feathery trees - in friendly, eager fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded - cove (so tiny and so perfect in its shape and color that it almost audibly - cries out not to be touched). There is a little part of the wood where the - trees part and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, right over the - gray carpet of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its creaking and - bending and rustling, is saying to the water and what the water, with its - slipping and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. Of the two towns - Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the Vandals, modern and - monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its outskirts—that - was the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there is a row of modern - villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his visits there, was - concerned with the chief house there—The Flutes, owned by a certain - Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, although senior, a - friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in its position and in - the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what moments he could to - visit it and to snatch a respite there. - </p> - <p> - Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the - “lobster red” and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so - that he took its wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an - added sense of richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace - stood to him for an “escape,” he would have realized also his - growing protest against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on - occasions to Truro—because he liked the walk over the hill, because - he liked certain quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon - Street, in the higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the - dark quiet and solemnity of the Cathedral. - </p> - <p> - The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life - that he was leading at Moffatt's—the sides of it that are soon - to be given you in detail—that led him to notice these places. - Contrast drove him to a sudden opening of his eyes—contrast and - Isabel Desart. He was growing so very quickly. - </p> - <p> - In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one - could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the funny - old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling at The - Flutes, and “Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully - kind,” and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about - the people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all - about Isabel Desart. - </p> - <p> - It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the preliminaries - could be said to be over. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN - BETWEEN SOUP AND DESSERT - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Mrs. Comber - asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was delighted, although he - assumed as great an indifference as possible. This was at the end of the - first week of term, and he had not spoken to Miss Desart—he had - merely bowed to her across the grass and gone indoors to teach the Lower - Third algebra with a beating heart. - </p> - <p> - He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was giving - the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have been very - different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured woman (he - did not always like her) had noticed his attachment—as he thought - most carefully concealed—to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - </p> - <p> - He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had - stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had - played tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it - was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and - Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty years - he was in love. - </p> - <p> - The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept away - in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since the - last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the way that - he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with enthusiasm). He - talked to the men of his Club about “the absurdity of considering - forty-five any age,” and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. He gave - his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight at night, - looking at it often in the glass. - </p> - <p> - He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a - white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being - somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him as - soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about “getting a house,” - even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the old - lady. - </p> - <p> - She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young - person be? Perhaps she would not like her—in any case, it meant - taking a second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew - sides of him that no one else knew—she saw him as a little, thin, - serious hoy in knickerbockers. - </p> - <p> - But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long - thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he - was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he - covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if - she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - </p> - <p> - But most of all he was afraid of something—he could never give it a - name—that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term - advanced. He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad - details, of a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the - masters and the rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers—the - end-of-termy feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the - last week or two when examinations came, seeing red. - </p> - <p> - No—this term it <i>shall</i> be all right. He felt, as he said - good-by to his mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and - prove that it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was - Miss Desart. Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers - together. Oh! what things he could do! - </p> - <p> - And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So many - wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were given during - the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the conversation that - it would give rise to, of all the people that would in all probability be - angry with all the other people because they had been asked or because - they had not. There was, generally, a reason for a dinner. Some important - person had to be asked, some unimportant people had to be worked off, - someone was conscious that there had not been a dinner-party for a very - long time. But on this occasion there was no reason except that Mrs. - Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had at once thought of Isabel, - and had conceived a plan. - </p> - <p> - Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent - Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the - Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, - because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so - much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - </p> - <p> - All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited were - concerned. One chance word at dinner—some errant, tiny omission or - commission—and anything might happen: the time might be made - miserable for everybody. - </p> - <p> - But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the first - place “ways and means.” How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no - words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a boat - between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of - not-being-smart-enough. - </p> - <p> - Were things not right—if there were no meringues, no mushroom - savories (there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel—well, - the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, - there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie - scowling over his <i>Greek Athletes</i> to such an extent that it wouldn't - do to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved in - reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every - dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie back. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor woman, - only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive Freddie only - more completely “in.” Something was sure to happen, before the - evening was over, to annoy him—she would have “such a time - afterwards.” But it always, of course, might be the other way. He - might suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly - fond, she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him—he used to - like a game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply - been disastrous. - </p> - <p> - She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards—she was very, - very bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in her - heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. - She plunged desperately to win it all back again—she was known - throughout the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - </p> - <p> - It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of all. - There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. Her - heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - </p> - <p> - But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all - kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were - cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She - thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants—only - two of them, and both ill-tempered. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill—she did not - even think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a - word about Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief - object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically as - well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the - hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they met - their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, every - day of their lives. - </p> - <p> - The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and - were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters - about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered - wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn - buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to the - sea. - </p> - <p> - The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue - screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in - black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and on - the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, - where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a great - deal lower than it need have been). - </p> - <p> - They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to - explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's - always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent “heart” - hand she had, only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous - results. “They like them best with jam in them—you shall see - to-night if they aren't good; and there was really no reason at all - why they shouldn't have come off, but we had such bad luck, and I - oughtn't to have played my King when I did; I'm always telling - him that he ought to go and dress a little earlier—but he stays - working.” - </p> - <p> - Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with a - sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the - back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in the - common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour too long, - with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had quarreled - furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing about it. - Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort from her, and - Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - </p> - <p> - Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent - Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling in - one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. She was - standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; when she - moved it was as though that was the only movement possible—her limbs - did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, before they - could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her brown eyes were - smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, and his heart was - beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten before. - </p> - <p> - He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found - that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of two - of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was so - broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He found a - kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its brazen size - and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt near the collar. - His suit—it had done duty for a great many years—was painfully - shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there was a small - tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His hair, in spite of - water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder than ever; his coat - fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in the most distressing - manner. - </p> - <p> - All these things were new discomforts and distresses—he had never - cared about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt - that they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that - he was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' - conversation he was proud of his appearance. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be recorded as - the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite absurd—over-dressed - in fact. - </p> - <p> - His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face in - brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful white - waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with pale - blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the - sleeves. - </p> - <p> - But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it was - quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. Could - it be that Perrin was shabby... <i>not</i> that Traill was smart? - </p> - <p> - Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that - there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed - them back again. - </p> - <p> - They all went in to dinner. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously - recognized him—even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality - to a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - </p> - <p> - He had never seen her before—that is, he had never detached her from - the vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees - and the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had been - in love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those fugitive - episodes—the way that it had been, in an instant, like a candle - blown out—had led him to fancy that love was always like that; he - had even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way a - complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that - yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have a - sense of beauty and strange wonder—something that had suddenly, like - streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's - dining-room. - </p> - <p> - He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the silk - of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her hair, and - the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, touched the - white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been a - schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not answer - her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - </p> - <p> - “And you like it!” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>love</i> it.” - </p> - <p> - “So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions.” She still - looked at him very gravely. “The boys like you so far.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! they told you!” He was pleased at that. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! one soon knows—they are cruelly frank.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. Mrs. - Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly long - time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses that - are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was moodily - staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, who was - trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her chair and - gazing at Landseer's “Dignity and Imprudence” that hung - on the opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - </p> - <p> - It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room got - up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her - dining-room. It was a room, she felt, “with nothing at all in it.” - It had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new - one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something - that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, - although she could give no reason—perhaps she did not care about - dogs. The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs - to the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and - tattered books that never got cleared away. - </p> - <p> - All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, with - a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was missing. - The set had been one of their wedding-presents—the nicest present - that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a brave smile to - anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her husband's - gloomy face. - </p> - <p> - But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. Perrin, - feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for him, that she - wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad when her duty - would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to Traill again. - </p> - <p> - Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, for - him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... His thoughts - hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. Traill—Traill... - with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He splashed his soup - on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came to him—Miss - Madder's fat, cheerful voice: “Oh! I think we shall fill the - West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms—all new boys, - poor dears.”... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table to - Dormer: “It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has - one hour less than the rest of us—that middle hour ten to eleven...” - </p> - <p> - The same old subjects, the same old dinners—but with her he was - going to escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow - wings. - </p> - <p> - He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He - was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - </p> - <p> - But Traill had taken her in.... - </p> - <p> - And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand as - though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the stud—the - large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, and used his - official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to create an - impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - </p> - <p> - Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his - sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he - tried, of the things that <i>he</i> could do, if— - </p> - <p> - “If?” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... - one never knew—” He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a - glass of Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - </p> - <p> - Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and - Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues - had arrived—there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues - although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both—and - conversation was quite lively. - </p> - <p> - “I do hope,” said Mrs. Dormer, “that there will be - several extra halves this term.” - </p> - <p> - And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on - the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for - every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our - duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?” - </p> - <p> - It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies should - have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence involved. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular body - that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. Comber; she - had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - </p> - <p> - She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in - the amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of - Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample - confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make a - scandal at Moffatt's—and the propriety of the schoolmaster, - the anxious, eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other - profession. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by - sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>do</i> hope the football will be good this season,” she - said at last, quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know why - she had said a thing like that—she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't - like such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked - about gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. - “It always rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking - about it; and how she can bear that colored green when it's the last - color she <i>ought</i> to wear, I <i>can't</i> think; if it weren't - for these flies—what do you call them!—the roses would have - done quite well.” But her eyes stared desperately down the table at - Freddie, and she saw that he would not look at her, and she knew that the - dinner had been only one more nail in her coffin. - </p> - <p> - There was still, of course, Bridge. - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p> - Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, they - were all tremendously—as of course you must be at such small tables—conscious - of each other. - </p> - <p> - They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her - husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with Mrs. - Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - </p> - <p> - It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole - situation that Perrin was forced to gaze—over a very small - intervening space—at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest - of the evening. He was always a bad Bridge player—he thought that he - disguised his bad play by a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night - the confusion of his thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad - claret that he had drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her - cards, caused his play to be something insane. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every - prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least - five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that she - had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first deal, - her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to follow - any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her chair and a - sharp, “Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done better than - that.” - </p> - <p> - For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing - an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been - at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six - days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone did, - failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards hurriedly - together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused way. He knew - that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her so terribly - badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure that Traill was - laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which he played. If only he, - Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what things he might have - done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a little every time he - moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a little stir of - disapproval. - </p> - <p> - At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing of - lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. Comber had - most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, she was lost. - If she played badly, her husband, although playing against her, was - infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, As it was, - she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of the good cards - that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. She held her - cards so badly—she never could make them into a fan, and every now - and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - </p> - <p> - Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into sentences - that had to be instantly checked—as, for instance: “Oh, I saw - Mrs.———— I'm so sorry, it 's my lead.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe <i>this</i> term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... <i>What</i> - are trumps?” - </p> - <p> - Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and - the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a gilt - frame, and they gave her comfort. - </p> - <p> - The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; they - had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She wouldn't - look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against the other, - pulling his mustache. - </p> - <p> - “No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your - rubber, Mrs. Comber? Yes, we <i>ought</i> to have won.... No, I can't - think how it was.” - </p> - <p> - “Considering the way my wife's been playing,” said - Freddie Comber brutally, “I think it is just as well to stop.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer to - get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every now and - again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair (always on - the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate action. - </p> - <p> - “Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet - to-morrow, of course, although I can't think why they aren't - going to play golf—there's going to be <i>such</i> a storm in - an hour or two, isn't there?—probably because it's - football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, good-by.” Everyone departed. Mr. - Perrin stood desperately with something going up and down in his throat. - He had a sentence in his head: “Please, Miss Desart, <i>do</i> let - me see you back to the lodge.” (Mrs. Comber had had to plant her out - there to sleep because there was no room in their own tiny house.) He - meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched his mortar-board - frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard Traill's voice: - </p> - <p> - “Oh! please, Miss Desart—of course, I'll see you back. - Good night, Mrs. Comber. Thank you <i>so</i> much—I've <i>loved</i> - it. Good night, Comber. Night, Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's - dark.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, - “Good night, Mr. Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - He was left alone on the step. - </p> - <h3> - VI. - </h3> - <p> - I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very - slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. Her - bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her - hostess. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Mrs. Comber,” she said, and then checked herself as - though there were some disloyalty in talking about her. “I hate Mrs. - Dormer,” she added quietly. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like her,” Traill said. “And Dormer's - such a jolly little man. I don't envy; him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's - anyone's fault here about anything they do. It's all a case of - nerves.” - </p> - <p> - There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory - whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down the - path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white light on - the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled against it - in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants bending to the - soil. - </p> - <p> - The scent of trees—vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear - and pungent—was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, - rolling in long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. - The wind's whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies - of it swept about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly - against them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - </p> - <p> - They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and - assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. But - there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that he - might never perhaps get to know her better. - </p> - <p> - When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment - silently. - </p> - <p> - Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of - the road, “There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all - through me. It <i>was</i> depressing to-night, was n't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Just a little,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow, I'm glad you like it—being here. Mind you - always do. I don't want to be pessimistic when you are just - beginning; but—well, you don't mean to stay here for ever, do - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think not,” he answered eagerly. “Only a term - or two at the most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right—because—really it isn't a very - good place to be—this.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making - things out worse than they really are.” She paused a moment, and - then she went on: “Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just - before you get into the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes - it. You will see at the right time of the year lots of green apples on the - trees, but they never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the - spring! I 've seen men working there sometimes. I don't know - what it is, but nothing 's any good there. They call it in the - village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... Well, I've stayed here - a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison.” - </p> - <p> - “That's cheerful,” he said, laughing. “It would, I - suppose, be awful if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer - and the rest of them; but this time next year will see me somewhere - better, I hope.” - </p> - <p> - “Mind you stick to that,” she said eagerly. “I have a - horrible kind of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here - they are still—soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear - thinking of.” - </p> - <p> - “One must have ambition,” he answered her confidently. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - </p> - <p> - He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke - furiously. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T the end of his - first month young Traill looked back, as it were from the top of a hill, - and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How much of this - pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her during that - period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his agreeable - acceptance of things as they were without any very definite challenge to - them to be different, it is impossible to say. - </p> - <p> - The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that there - was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone - passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were - from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's - voice as he went round the dormitories turning lights out—never a - moment's pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in - no way a reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their - untidy, scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the - Upper Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because - of his football. - </p> - <p> - The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he - might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of - unrest and discomfort in their common room. - </p> - <p> - With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to - supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness of - the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's - parents (aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the - melancholy inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer - relations with him. - </p> - <p> - He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room - things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly - equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself on - several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and - insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the bath - and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their irritation - from their original connection with Perrin, and this might have led him, - had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not like Perrin and - that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon things—he was - always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and where there was an - empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on Isabel. - </p> - <p> - The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, inconsiderable. - </p> - <p> - Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, - on the other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In - this bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he - might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both - baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked body - gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. Traill - was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he could - have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as the days - passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's - complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself - annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. - There were words. - </p> - <p> - “I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?” - </p> - <p> - “Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your - place....” - </p> - <p> - Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the - midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If - Traill had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like - him. - </p> - <p> - The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had - breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They - clubbed together and provided three newspapers—the <i>Morning Post</i>, - the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person - who came in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in - last, because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected - that the <i>Morning Post</i> should be left for him. But Traill, as he - paid the same subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. - Clinton always took the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and therefore Perrin had to be - contented with the <i>Cornish News</i>. There was at last an argument. - Traill refused to give way. The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute - silence. Perrin came no more to Traill's room for an evening chat—a - very small matter. - </p> - <p> - But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in - any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game of - football; he was in a glow because he was in love—moreover, he had - never quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had made - any progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She came down - sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the evening, he had - walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above the dark, cloudy - trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet—and at every meeting - he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the afternoon he liked to - walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once or twice he bicycled over - to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir Henry Trojan was a man who - had appealed to him immensely. In spite of his size and strength and - simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of doors and read little, he - had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. He showed Traill a great - many things that were new to him. He began to feel a sense of color; he - saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed village, the sweeping, - striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped sometimes in his walks and drew - a deep breath at the way that the lights and colors were hung about him. - Of course the contrast of his school life drove these other things against - him—and also his love for Isabel. - </p> - <p> - These little things would have no importance were it not that they all - helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think - about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very - definite way. - </p> - <p> - He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - </p> - <p> - And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most - amazing way.... - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had definite - personality—aggressive in its influence—and contempt of the - rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their own - terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his back. - </p> - <p> - He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. He - was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he - appreciated his humor. - </p> - <p> - And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. His - room was untidy—littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks - of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there were - signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared for, sets - of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving of Whistler's - portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and from the night - outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the scent of decaying - leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - </p> - <p> - Birkland was thin—sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; - heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little - gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled - in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open - window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - </p> - <p> - “And so you like it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—immensely!” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. - There's plenty of exercise—the hours are healthy—the - fellows are quite nice fellows. I like teaching.” - </p> - <p> - Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his - principal reason. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you - like the other men?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's - splendid.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—and Perrin?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As - a matter of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some - time or other. As a matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't - the other way round—one day.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause, and then Birkland said, “And so you like it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, of course; don't you?” - </p> - <p> - Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather - uncertainly, “Don't you?” - </p> - <p> - He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man—as a matter of - fact he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he - scarcely ever read novels. - </p> - <p> - Then Birkland spoke: “You had better not ask me that, young man, if - you want an encouraging answer.” - </p> - <p> - Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: “I'm - going to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your - soul, and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's - soul for—well!—I should be afraid to say how long. I'm - afraid—I don't really care very much about the safety of yours—but - I care enough to speak to you; and the one thing I say to you is—get - out—get away. Fly for your life.” His voice sank to a whisper. - “If you don't, you will die very soon—in a year perhaps. - We are all dead here, and we died a great many years ago.” - </p> - <p> - Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering - candles at Birkland. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say,” he said, “that's a bit of - exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose one is tired sometimes, of course; - but, after all, there are a good many men in the country who make a pretty - good thing out of mastering and are n't so very miserable.” - </p> - <p> - It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on Birkland's - part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - </p> - <p> - But the other man went on: “I shouldn't have said this at all - if I hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of - experience behind me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm - bothering you, I'm sure; but now I've begun I'm going - on, and you've got to listen. You can't say you haven't - been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the common room and - seen what kind of men they are?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Traill; “but,” he added - modestly, “I'm not observant, you know. I'm not at all a - clever kind of chap.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in - their faces right enough. Mind you—what I'm saying to you - doesn't apply to the first-class public school. That's a - different kind of thing altogether. I'm talking about places like - Moffatt's—places that are trying to be what they are not—to - do what they can't do—to get higher than they can reach. There - are thousands of them all over the country—places where the men are - underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them hating each - other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut each other's - throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they teach?” - </p> - <p> - He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but - showing in its tensity his emotion. - </p> - <p> - “It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there - is more room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid - better; there is a chance of getting a house; there is the <i>esprit de - corps</i> of the school... but here, my God!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - </p> - <p> - “Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. - Don't I know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever - when I came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you - try for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are - too old—too old at thirty-three—earning two hundred a year... - too old! and liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the - Head doesn't like you—turned out with nothing to go to; and he - knows that you are afraid of him and he has games with you.” - </p> - <p> - Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland - to talk like this! - </p> - <p> - “You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers - about you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be - allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like you. - Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something will - come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with the Head, - because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You must not be - friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and will - immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring against - him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we shall all hate - you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. You think that you - are going to teach with freshness and interest—you are full of eager - plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will be immediately killed. You - must not have them—they are not good for examinations—you are - trying to show that you are superior.” - </p> - <p> - Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. - It is murder—self-murder. You are going to kill—you have got - to kill—every fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will - be laughed at for your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be - allowed any fine vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are - neglecting your work. You have no time. Here we are—fifteen men—all - hating each other, loathing everything that the other man does—the - way he eats, the way he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to - each other, we eat together, we meet all day until late at night—hating - each other.” - </p> - <p> - “After all,” said Traill, still smiling, “it is only a - month or two, and there are holidays.” - </p> - <p> - “If term lasted another week or two,” went on Birkland - quietly, “murder would be committed. The holidays come, and you go - out into the world to find that you are different from all other men—to - find that they know that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, - egotistic. You realize it slowly; you see them shunning you—and then - back you go again. God knows, they should not hate us—these others! - they should pity us. If you marry, see what it is—look at Mrs. - Dormer, Mrs. Comber, Mrs. Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their - life. There is marriage—no money, no prospects, perhaps in the end - starvation! And gradually there creeps over you a dreadful and horrible - inertia: you do not care—you do not think—you are a ghost. If - one of us dies, we do not mind—we do not think about it. Only, - towards the end of the term, when the examinations come, there creeps - about the place a new devil. All our nerve is gone; our hatred of each - other begins to be active. It is the end-of-termy devil.... Another week - or two, and there is no knowing what we might do. We are all tired, - horribly tired. Be careful then what you do and what you say.” - </p> - <p> - “My word!” said Traill, filling his pipe, “what a - horrible picture of things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's - hysteria!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! of course you don't see it!” he said. “After - all, why should you? But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm - resigned enough now. Besides, it's the beginning of the term. I'm - inclined to think it's untrue, myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch - White after he's had an interview with the Head—see Perrin and - Comber together later on—study Mrs. Comber. But don't you - bother. You won't listen to me—why should you? Only, in ten - years' time you 'll remember.” - </p> - <p> - After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in his - sharp, caustic way. - </p> - <p> - “I say,” said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, - “that was all rot; was n't it?” - </p> - <p> - “What was?” asked Birkland. - </p> - <p> - “Why, about the place—this place.” - </p> - <p> - “All rot!” said Birkland gravely. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But of course one dismisses these things very soon—especially, and - immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - </p> - <p> - Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men that - Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory - exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse - into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in the - dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed - shadow; life is sharp, pungent—formed with faint blue skies, dim and - shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered - balloon between saucer-clouds. - </p> - <p> - Archie Traill, on a free afternoon—an early frost had made the - ground too hard for football—in the week after that Birkland - evening, stood in the village street as the church clock struck half-past - three, and he thanked God for a half-holiday. - </p> - <p> - The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea - had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, and - the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue - horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone - and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The brown - church tower seemed to sway—so motionless was the rest of the world—with - the clatter of its chiming clocks. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr. - Traill,” and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the - rest of her movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little - ironically and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a - strange place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help - finding it funny. - </p> - <p> - Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on - vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - </p> - <p> - “And she only sixteen—what a size!” - </p> - <p> - “Only sixteen!—to think of it!” - </p> - <p> - “With her great legs and all!” - </p> - <p> - “Only sixteen...!” - </p> - <p> - The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full of - things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his - presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, - drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a - presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her - that he loved her—and it was n't time yet. - </p> - <p> - But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. “We must - talk, one of us—it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming.” - </p> - <p> - She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road and - looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - </p> - <p> - “We are both so frightfully young,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes,” he said, laughing at her; “but why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, - and I for my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you - were going to be old enough, but I don't think you are.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that I can't—” he began. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! it isn't for anything that you <i>can't</i> do!” - she broke in. “It's just because you don't see it—why - should you? You 're too much in the middle—I suppose it's - only outsiders who can really understand. But I get so depressed sometimes - with it all that I think that I will leave it and go back to London and - never come here again. One doesn't seem to be any use—no use - at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. Poor Mr. Traill! I - always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm not gloomy - really in the least.” - </p> - <p> - “But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You - mustn't think of it.” - </p> - <p> - He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. “Why?” - she said gravely. “Do you like my being here?” And then, - before he could say anything, she added, reflectively, “Well, that's - one, at any rate. - </p> - <p> - “I have to go in here,” she said, stopping before a gate with - a drive behind it. “Tea, you understand.” Then she gave him - her hand. “Although you don't in the least know what I mean, - you 're a help,” she said; “and I shall look across the - chapel floor in the evening and know that I have a friend. Sometimes when - I'm down here—out of it—and everything's so fresh - and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true—the - things that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them.” - She went through the gate and looked back at him. “But I don't - want to have to be sorry for you as well—please,” she added, - and was lost in the trees. - </p> - <p> - But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved a step—or - even a good many steps further—was ready that she should be sorry or - have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her claiming - Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating and so - swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which he might - eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my intention to - give you all his symptoms—his passion is in no way the chief point; - it was simply one of the things that helped in the culminating issue. - </p> - <p> - Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little - conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting - tea-party—three old ladies who regarded her as something very - dangerous and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to - turn into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their - dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone - whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language was - not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of the - tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the expression - of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and thought of - Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and courteous - speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, “Don't go to - London, please,” and he had meant it—it was almost as though - he had appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in - front of him. <i>She</i> knew, of course—she had seen it happen so - very often before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, - eager challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that things - would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, grim, - baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of Moffatt's - were alive, moving—crushing, as in some story that she had once - read, relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he had - suddenly seen or understood something of that—there had come to him - some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came - quickly. She liked him—she had liked him from the first—she - liked him very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all - that she could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them - behind her with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be - three old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their - fires and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little - people realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! - How they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - </p> - <p> - It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and - ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, - and the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. - There was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the - gates behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, “Good evening, - Miss Desart,” and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin - always made her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively - shrank back, but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately - ashamed of her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his - voice trembled—-he seemed troubled about something; and then that - feeling of pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her - voice was softer and more tender. - </p> - <p> - “It was—um—a great piece of good fortune for me that I - should be passing just when you were coming out—a great piece of - good fortune.” - </p> - <p> - He seemed very nervous. - </p> - <p> - “And for me too,” she said; “this hill grows - extraordinarily dark, and I stayed on longer than I ought to have done. - Have you been paying calls, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no! I—um—never pay calls—merely a stroll down - to the village to buy some tobacco—merely that—nothing more... - yes, merely that... simply some tobacco.” - </p> - <p> - She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might be - reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he - lingered. She hastened her steps. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not sure that it is n't raining—I felt a drop - just now, I thought—and it was such a lovely afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped. - </p> - <p> - She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the - warmth and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible - and escape from this strange, awkward man. - </p> - <p> - She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower - School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but - then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. - “Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can - only learn by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous - thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest - and pleasant. Of course, I haven't seen very much of him, but I must - say that what I 've seen of him I've liked.” - </p> - <p> - They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the - horizon. - </p> - <p> - In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. Perrin's - face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was clenching and - unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie had risen at the - back above his collar... his eyes were looking into hers and beseeching - her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - </p> - <p> - They had come to the gates. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Desart...” - </p> - <p> - They both came to a halt in the road. - </p> - <p> - “Yes?” she said, smiling at him. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if...” - </p> - <p> - He stopped again desperately. - </p> - <p> - “What can I do?” she said, still smiling at him. He looked so - odd, standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His - eyes had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - </p> - <p> - “I would be so glad if—one day—so flattered if—you - would—will—um—come for a walk, one day.” He - stopped with a jerk. - </p> - <p> - She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the - path to the house. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night.” - </p> - <p> - He stood looking after her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR - PART IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ATER there is Mr. - Perrin heavily—with the midday mutton close about his head—surveying, - in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small boys who gaze at him - with staring eyes and jumping throats. - </p> - <p> - It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the - ears—Browning's “Patriot,” one verse a week, to be - said every Tuesday morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, - completely forgotten, every Tuesday morning second hour. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I go in the rain and, more than needs - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The rope—the rope—the rope— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in - man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, - to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where <i>Advanced Algebra - and Mensuration</i> hold perpetual war and rivalry. - </p> - <p> - It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a - football match—a great football match against a mighty Truro team,—and - already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive murmur - at the dusty panes. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested no - remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red tablecloth—a - tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his case was hopeless: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A rope—a rope that— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, the - whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. Outside, - in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, perfectly; - but it was too late. - </p> - <p> - At last one prisoner only remained—Garden Minimus, a cheerful, - untidy person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his - hair. - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole school—had - liked him best for the last two years. When things were really black, when - headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed to hang about him in - a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden Minimus. He flattered - himself that the boy was not aware of this partiality; but the boy, he was - sure, liked him. He treated him always with an elaborate irony that the - boy seemed to understand in some curious way. Garden would stand, with his - head on one side like a rather intelligent small dog, and although he - rarely said anything more than “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” - Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - </p> - <p> - On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word of - “The Patriot,” and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. “I'm afraid, - friend Garden,” he said, “that it will devolve upon your - lordship—hum—ha—that you should write this poem of the - noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than fifty times. I grieve—I - sympathize—I am your humble servant; but the law commands.” - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, - with a most engaging smile, “There's a most ripping footer - match this afternoon, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Fool though I am,” said Mr. Perrin, “I have - nevertheless observed that there is, as you say, a footer match. - Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The Patriot' calls you, friend - Garden.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be an awful pity,” said Garden reflectively, without - paying the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, “to miss a decent game - like that.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, “All - right, Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you - aren't careful!” - </p> - <p> - Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead - lowering. Outside the door he muttered, “Silly, pompous ass!” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting - to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. - He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part - immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a - fool to try, and they resented his airs. - </p> - <p> - He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his head - between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns above - his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the - football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening fear - that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to him. - He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every time - that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - </p> - <p> - She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that - she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for a - walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his mother - that the thing was practically arranged. - </p> - <p> - As for that puppy, Traill—well, he 'd kept him in his place, - thank Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more - and more—conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he - met anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring - things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the - patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him - furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only - brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He - looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some English - essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a silly china - figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a cocked hat. - This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated him. The old - gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had always meant to get - rid of it, but for some reason or other he never could destroy it. - </p> - <p> - Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - </p> - <p> - As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - </p> - <p> - The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a - dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, “Scho-o-l!” rose - and fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a - superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited - him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected to - despise it. - </p> - <p> - In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of his - own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and sticky - green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided their - attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?” - </p> - <p> - “Can't help it—Grey's barging—Oh! I say, run - it, Morton. That's it! Pick it up—dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!” - </p> - <p> - “I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine—Thanks! - Where's Garden, you chaps?” - </p> - <p> - “Swotting up for Old Pompous.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was - rather sweet on Garden.” - </p> - <p> - “So he is—but Garden can't stand him.” - </p> - <p> - “No wonder—blithering ass, with his long words!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I say—they 've got it! There's Morton off - again—Oh! he's going! Well run, my word! He's in! No, he - isn't! The back's got him! No, he hasn't! Hurray! Try! - Good old Morton!” - </p> - <p> - Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a less - crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself spoken - of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, trembled - before him. He always told himself that all the members of the staff were - in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt—it hurt badly. - </p> - <p> - Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks - of boys—each boy with his friend—the familiar mantle of - loneliness, that he had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He - saw Comber in the distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted - Mrs. Comber and Miss Desart. - </p> - <p> - He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his very - worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle was - glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of his - coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, - because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that - dislike with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and - watched the game. - </p> - <p> - “We appear to be winning,” said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at - three small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. “We - appear—um—to be winning. Morton has secured a try.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'm so glad,” gasped Mrs. Comber—she was out - of breath. “Morton's a nice boy—we had him once in our - house, and I do hope the school will win, because it's so nice for - everybody's tempers, and the boys like it—and there's - that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most beautifully.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked - at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. - Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his - direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a - breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the - touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the - field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart - gave a long-drawn “Oh!” Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. - Perrin moodily stroked his mustache. - </p> - <p> - The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground—a very - pretty try. - </p> - <p> - “Good old Traillers!” - </p> - <p> - “That's something like!” - </p> - <p> - “Isn't he spiffing?”—and then Miss Desart's, - “Oh! that was splendid!” beat about Mr. Perrin's poor - head, that was aching horribly. - </p> - <p> - “That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's - half-time.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared - once more to be volubly pleasant. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the - top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three - trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they stood - and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt suddenly - as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets of white - light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown fields. - </p> - <p> - Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin - went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed about him. - He sat down to his pile of English essays on “Town and Country—Which - is the best to live in?” with a confused sense of running men, - lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the mantelpiece, - and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - </p> - <p> - At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented - “The Patriot” neatly written fifty times. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a - dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it - was to be over by twelve. “Do let us,” Lady Trojan wrote, - “put you up. You will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming - down for the night from London. He will want to see you so badly.” - Traill wrote back, accepting the dance, but explaining that he must return - on the same evening, quoting as his imperative necessity early morning - preparation. - </p> - <p> - It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very - obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order to - free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and receive - definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to a single - dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed that the - rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently any intention - of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning school to - Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was - conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous - man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. - He moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called - to him, “Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that Moy-Thompson's - garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in the sun; he - noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like a prison; - he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the - half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at - his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely - apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a - little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long - gray beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now - and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that - Moy-Thompson was smiling. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson said, “But I think I told you that Maurice was on no - account to have an exeat.” - </p> - <p> - White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: “Yes, I - know. But his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not - seen his son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances—” - </p> - <p> - “That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he - should not have an exeat.” - </p> - <p> - “No—but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of - the case, you would not object.” - </p> - <p> - “What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? - What are you paid to do?” - </p> - <p> - White made no answer. - </p> - <p> - “Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things - here, you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your - place.” - </p> - <p> - “No,”—White's voice was very low—“I - have no complaint. I am sorry if—” - </p> - <p> - “You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any - paid position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when - you please. Doubtless you are better informed.” - </p> - <p> - Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had - rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance - at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; but - again Moy-Thompson said, “Just a moment, Traill.” - </p> - <p> - He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost stepped - across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long haggard - figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing with them - there in the room. - </p> - <p> - The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, - shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped him - naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the other - to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - </p> - <p> - The room seemed full of pain—it seemed to cross and recross in - waves. White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered - eyes out through the door. - </p> - <p> - Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed him. - Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his hand and - caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a - frightened, startled look, he stepped away. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad to - get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it would - be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult to get up - in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal—he now - emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in his - life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, lean, - untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in the - sense of his arrogance. - </p> - <p> - They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were extremely - disagreeable. - </p> - <p> - He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He was - always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his form. - He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he had met - there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping in—and - at night he dreamt—he was almost sure that she loved him.... - Whenever they met now they were very silent. - </p> - <p> - He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, - wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, fine - day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the hard, white - road. - </p> - <p> - As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind in - his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea came - to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those brown - buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old self; he - sang to himself. - </p> - <p> - A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood - black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, - stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little - sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the night. - The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster against the - dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - </p> - <p> - He sang aloud. - </p> - <p> - It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much - before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as - imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he was a - schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was delightful - to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden and strolled about - the paths together; he was much improved since the Cambridge days, Traill - thought—less self-assured and with wider interests. And then Sir - Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader feeling of life—sanity and - health and strength—and lie had an admirable sense of humor. - </p> - <p> - And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. He - thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him in - the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little round - white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The hedges, - like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. He - took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he - tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click it - broke in half. - </p> - <p> - He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair—supposing - he had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - </p> - <p> - He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he saw - that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might climb. - He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another hand on the - window-sill drew him level. - </p> - <p> - He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it up, - and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, jumped. He - was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the crockery in the - world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of it seemed to go - rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that he had cut his - hand and had bruised his knee. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: the - tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped - down straight amongst the cups and plates. - </p> - <p> - He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the - blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. - Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was - Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Who's there? What's that?” Perrin held a poker in - his other hand. - </p> - <p> - Traill got up slowly from the floor. “It is I—Traill,” - he stammered. He was still feeling stunned. - </p> - <p> - Perrin held the candle a little closer. “Oh, is it you, Traill?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am - sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “You made a great noise.” Perrin was speaking very slowly. - “You woke me up.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I am most awfully sorry.” - </p> - <p> - Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his - candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined - to move. - </p> - <p> - “You made a great noise. It is one o'clock.” He said it - as though he were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key.” - </p> - <p> - Still Perrin did not move. “What are you doing out so late?” - he said at last, slowly. - </p> - <p> - What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - </p> - <p> - “I did n't know that this was a girls' school,” - Traill said at last, sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he - was tired, and in a very bad temper. - </p> - <p> - Perrin moved from the door. “It's struck one—coming in - like this!” - </p> - <p> - The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall—a huge, - gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - </p> - <p> - Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill - enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - </p> - <p> - “I can't help it,” he said, shaking; “you look so - funny, so frightfully odd!” - </p> - <p> - Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been disturbed - in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he said nothing at - all. He moved slowly down the passage. - </p> - <p> - Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—SÆVA INDIGNATIO - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>O Perrin, in his - sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring wind and crashing - sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china that lived on the - mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him and bent over the bed - and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his transit and was large in the - leg and trailed behind him a long black gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin - by buzzing like a wasp. - </p> - <p> - He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the - words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning - and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, - restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the - discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to confirm - the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing—he - had climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - </p> - <p> - Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky - and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was - perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening - gambit of “saying things under your breath that looked bad, but - couldn't possibly be heard,” to the triumphant checkmate of a - studied, sarcastic politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - </p> - <p> - Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old - hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over - him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with - ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew - against the panes. - </p> - <p> - His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the first - book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their - brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of the - figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - </p> - <p> - He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and heaviest - boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, called - Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. Somerset-Walpole—his - fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his hair dust—stood with - his mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague wonder as to why, when - he ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind would invariably wander to - the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's neck and the silly - leaves dancing about outside. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the form - laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the youngster - back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour in drawing - hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then smudging them - out with his fingers. - </p> - <p> - Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, - frowning face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt - wildly from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty - purring at his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, - only when the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, - suddenly, that he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his - hands and twist them back further and further until they cracked. He would - like to take his little fat arms and close his fingers about them and - pinch them until they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white - knuckles and beat them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright - blue eyes. Perrin began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a - little. - </p> - <p> - “Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began - to pinch the back of his neck. - </p> - <p> - “You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I - am sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve to - think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your preparation - last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, you know—you - will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it out - thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.” - </p> - <p> - But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... - He saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was - shaking with rage. - </p> - <p> - “Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him - a push. He sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the - rest of the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had - rung and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I - think fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's - sleeve with his hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite - contempt in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of - the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to - Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they - could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and - accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days - that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming anyone - in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being against - him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such opportunities of - retaliation as were given him. At the same time these little confidential - talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the senior master at the - Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not have these little talks; - it did not occur to him that the reason might be that Dormer was too - honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far as Traill was concerned, - Perrin really felt that it did not do to have masters leaping through - windows at any hour of the night. The accidental fact that he disliked - Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, nothing whatever to do with - it; he would have felt it just as strongly his duty to speak about it had - the offender been his dearest friend. - </p> - <p> - The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and - broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's - good. The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in - chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire - with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for a walk - with him... and then another walk... and then another... and then.... - </p> - <p> - And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too - terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; - it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks on - the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy places - on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, and its - depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be remarked once - more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill damage that he - embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, but only because - it helped his sense of importance. He was already wishing that he had told - Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times instead of fifteen, so - cheered and inspired did he feel. - </p> - <p> - The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect for - each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, - and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question - should be: “What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?” - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the - people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and it - is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew from - the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking Traill. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think, well enough,” he answered, looking out of the - window. “The boys like him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they like him; do they?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that - he sticks to his work as he should do.” - </p> - <p> - “Why! What does he do?” - </p> - <p> - “I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at - one o'clock this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, did you!” Moy-Thompson smiled. “Where had he been?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't ask.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole business - had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to his own - rooms. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. He - found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of the - rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went - gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations with - the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His mind - was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was only - rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead of - correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out of - the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - </p> - <p> - He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the - first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the - Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - </p> - <p> - Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. - There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen stiff - wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the staff - waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most irritating - quarter of an hour of the day. - </p> - <p> - Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the - table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's - match. As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: “Toggett at - three-quarter is perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's - choice. Traill may be able to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the - game is absolutely nil.” Comber has resented Traill's entrance - into the school football from the very first. He, although many years past - his game, had hitherto led the Rugby enthusiasts of the school—he - had been supreme on the Committee and had had the last word about the - teams. Traill's football, however, was so obviously superior to - anything that the school had had for a great many years that he was - received with open arms. He had not perhaps been as judiciously submissive - to Comber as he might have been, but he had always deferred his opinion - and had never been goaded by Comber's caustic contradictions into - ill-temper. - </p> - <p> - He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up - to the table, said, “Thanks, Comber.” - </p> - <p> - Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: “What - the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think....” - By the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's - discipline. - </p> - <p> - “I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I - were you,” Birkland was saying. “It's so delightful for - me, being just under you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to - think that they really <i>are</i> enjoying themselves.” - </p> - <p> - Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. “I keep them perfectly - still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a - pin drop.” - </p> - <p> - “You must have dropped a cartload of them,” said Birkland, - frowning. “Try and drop less next time.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. - That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. “I thought - things were a little too pleasant to last,” he said. His mind flew - back to the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have - said anything. Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He - shrugged his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, - that schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a - little unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should - go wrong, through no fault of one's own. - </p> - <p> - Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked - him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he - caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled at - him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of the - dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he had - been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - </p> - <p> - Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no - definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, as - water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, - suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, of - the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such brilliant - things as the world contained, it should be allowed to continue. His own - position was lost in the perpetual vision of White standing, as he had - seen him, with bent head. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Traill,” said Moy-Thompson. “Sit down. I have been - wanting to have a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite - convenient?” - </p> - <p> - “Perfectly,” said Traill. - </p> - <p> - “I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I - have had no opportunity. I must try and manage next week.” - </p> - <p> - Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. “I hope that you - have had no trouble with discipline.” - </p> - <p> - “None. The boys are excellent.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is splendid.” There was a pause; then the beard was - suddenly lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. “I hope - that you take your work seriously, Mr. Traill.” Traill flushed a - little. “I think that I do,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “That is well.... Because we are—ah! um—a great - institution, a very great institution. We owe our traditions—um, eh—a - very serious and determined attention to detail. To work together, as one - man, for the good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, - all in friendly brotherhood—um, yes.” Traill said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at - work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause we - have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope,” Traill said, “that you have not found me - wanting, that you have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked—” - </p> - <p> - “Worked? Ah, yes.” Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his - fingers together. “But what about play, eh? What about play?” - Traill flushed. “As to football—” - </p> - <p> - “No, it is not football. It is merely a detail—quite a detail. - But Mr. Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this - morning through the window. I confess that I was surprised.” - </p> - <p> - “That is quite true,” said Traill, in a low voice. “I - went—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! no! please!” Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. - “No details are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I - think, say any more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will - agree with me that it should not occur again.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry—” Traill said. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and - play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we - ask. To pass for a moment to another matter.” Moy-Thompson put his - hand on some papers. “Here are the scholarship questions that you - have set—geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we - require. If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me - to-morrow. Yes. Thank you.... Good morning.” Traill rose, took the - papers in his hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as - though Birkland himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of - persecution. The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he - had Perrin to thank for it. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him - throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great joints - of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the incessant - noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and voices, the - dreary monotony and repetition of it—Perrin's face seen at the - end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - </p> - <p> - But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had the - opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no time - in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage joy - that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made - Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - </p> - <p> - The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, - discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, - rushed down to the sea. - </p> - <p> - A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff that - jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three sides, by - a furious, heaving flood. - </p> - <p> - Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of the - sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them fell with - a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift succession, - first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents about to strike, - then falling with a curve and glistering, shining backs, then sweeping, - tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him the wind screamed and - tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent and creaked along the - road; the rain lashed his face. - </p> - <p> - He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his - hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as - she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, - that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw - him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was - too great—the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into - their clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out - his hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind - almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept - about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer to - him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed close - against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without a word, - they moved slowly down the road.... - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p> - It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the - opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and - Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had - disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to him - a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as a - crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting - people—he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if - anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - </p> - <p> - Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - </p> - <p> - Perrin said, “Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of - you. Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?” - But he wasn't smiling. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Traill, slowly. “There's nothing you - can do for me. But I want to speak to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, sit down; won't you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thanks. I 'll stand.” Traill cleared his throat. - “Did you by any chance say anything to the Head about my coming in - last night?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin smiled. “My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and - is it really, after all, any business of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says - that you told him—I want to know why you told him.” - </p> - <p> - “It is my business,” Perrin said, “as housemaster here - to find out anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late - hours, your disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's - progress,—um, yes.” - </p> - <p> - The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not - altogether been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event - of the afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and - indeed it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and - being well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little - ashamed of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger - against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his good-humor - and equability. - </p> - <p> - So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said - quietly, “I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been - neglecting my duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's - outing during the term can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to - you about it because I have been feeling during these last weeks that we - have not been very good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up - together here so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it - makes everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I - am very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, had - been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt that - he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish - comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels - always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, - hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he - liked young Traill very much. - </p> - <p> - He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was - his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had ever - at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already passed - him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had laughed at - him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the taunting jeers - that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of his fellow-beings - had, in his time, played upon him. - </p> - <p> - And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must - show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and - really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with her - white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his knees, - kissing her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that—um, - yes. One must, you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are - older you will see that there is something in what I say—um. We - know, you see; schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, - well, I'm sure I'm very glad.” - </p> - <p> - But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant tempers - were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. The patronage - of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his “When you are older,” - and the rest. - </p> - <p> - “All right,” he said hotly; “keep that advice for - others. I don't know that I was so wrong, after all. What business - of yours was it to go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain - things that a gentleman doesn't do.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, really!”—the little man on the mantelpiece was - smiling again. Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his - chair. “Your apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive - something to your age, but that sort of impertinence—I don't - think you remember to whom you are speaking. You are the junior master - here, you must be taught that, and when those who are wiser than yourself - choose to give you some advice, you should take it gratefully.” - </p> - <p> - Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - </p> - <p> - “My God! you conceited, insufferable—” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of my room!” - </p> - <p> - “All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of my room!” Perrin's eyes were starting out of - his head. - </p> - <p> - Traill swung on his heel. “I won't forget this in a hurry,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - “Take care you don't come in here again,” Perrin shouted - after him. The door was banged. - </p> - <p> - Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he - had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands - to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece - and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from - under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in - the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT, during the - week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly reasserted itself - once more. After all, it was really impossible to be angry with anyone - when the world was alight and trembling with so wonderful an adventure. - They had each of them written to those in authority. Isabel had a - complacent father who knew something of young Traill's family and, - answering at once, said that he would come down to see them and made it - his only stipulation that the engagement should last for at least a year, - until they were both a little older. Traill's mother was delighted - with anything that could give her son such happiness. It had all been very - sudden of course; but then, was not true love always like that? Had not - she, a great many years ago, fallen in love with Archie's father - “all in a minute,” and was not that the beautiful incautious - way that the new practical generation seemed so often to forget? So, she - sent him her blessing and also wrote a little note to Isabel. - </p> - <p> - But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day to - reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk and - chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel knew, to - any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone at the - school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they would feel - that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would not be - pleasant. - </p> - <p> - So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They met in - the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel floor, and - they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in the - letter-box. - </p> - <p> - But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel about - his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - </p> - <p> - “When we ourselves are so happy,” she said, “we can't - quarrel with anyone—and, poor man, no wonder his temper is - irritable. He's a miserably disappointed man, and I don't - think he's very well either. He looks dreadfully white and strained - sometimes. We can afford to put up with some ill-temper from other people, - Archie, just now. When we are so happy and he is so unhappy, it is a - little unfair, isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and agreeable. - But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other a little at - meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill made were - cut short at once without hesitation. - </p> - <p> - Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week - heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow—he had headaches, bad - headaches; and his form suffered. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm - broke—the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at - Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange - myths grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's - a strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts for - their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central - combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but - also others—the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world - of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that - umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded green - umbrella—now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all - umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign token - of all that was to come. - </p> - <p> - Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This - Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate - contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, - stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic - piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from - it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's - grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with - nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp—so that - there is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and - insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the - present—this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - </p> - <p> - It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of - the week. - </p> - <p> - There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of religious - stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions are flung at - the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the rest and repose of - the preceding day. - </p> - <p> - Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was different - from the other six days of the week, and although it might not on its - arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given it, - nevertheless it was something—a landmark if nothing else. - </p> - <p> - And now on this dark and dreary Monday—with the first hour a tedious - and bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal and - embittered Latin exercise—that early rising to the cold summoning of - the hell was anything but pleasant. - </p> - <p> - Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious - torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and cried - with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the paths - were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - </p> - <p> - Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early - preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it nearly - always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he hurried - down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding the bodies - of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as they rushed - furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - </p> - <p> - He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly selected - the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the Upper - School. - </p> - <p> - That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was in - the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of - twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. M. - Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, - appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion - passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys - well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done - without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual - persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various - offenders. - </p> - <p> - A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the two - hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the - digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill - rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He - hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - </p> - <p> - The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior - common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of - yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. - The brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and - draughts that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the - room. - </p> - <p> - A small fire was burning in the grate—a mountain of black coal and - stray spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper - hanging from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in the - kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices and a - clatter of cups. - </p> - <p> - It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who - was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and - Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - </p> - <p> - Clinton seized the <i>Morning Post</i> and, with a grunt of - dissatisfaction at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never - thought very intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike - Monday and rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his - share of the breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the <i>Morning - Post</i> dull, and relapsed on to the <i>Daily Mail</i>. The rain and the - quarreling in the kitchen were very disturbing. - </p> - <p> - Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very - great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, and he - found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative person - with one—it was not necessary to think about him. - </p> - <p> - “My word,” said Clinton, his eyes glued to the <i>Daily Mail</i>, - “the London Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins - yesterday—two goals and a try to a try—all that man Binton—extraordinary - three-quarter—no flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder - if they 'll catch that chap Deakin?” - </p> - <p> - “Deakin?” said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his - breakfast. How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well—in a year's - time! - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you know—the Hollins Road murder—the man who cut - his wife and mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't - tell which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front - door.” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” said Traill, shortly, “following up murder - trials like that is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized.” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining - sausages. “Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? - He won't want any more.” - </p> - <p> - “He sometimes does,” said Traill, feeling that at the moment - he hated Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole - world. “He's awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't - find anything.” - </p> - <p> - Clinton smiled. “He's rather amusing when he's sick,” - he said. “He so often is. By the way, has the Head passed those - exam, questions of yours yet?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Traill, frowning. “He 's made me do - them five times now, and last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions - that he himself had suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, - and he called me, politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's - no question that he's got his knife into me now, and I've got - friend Perrin to thank for it!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, “Perrin - does n't love you—there's no question of that. Young - Garden Minimus has been helping the feud.” - </p> - <p> - “Garden? What's he got to do with it?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet—well, - Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about - telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That - makes Pompous sick as anything.” - </p> - <p> - “I like the kid especially,” Traill said. “He 's - rather a favorite of mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Clinton. “Well, look out for trouble, that - 's all. There 'll be open war between you soon if you are not - careful.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a - conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door for - a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - </p> - <p> - “Well, a hundred times,” Perrin was saying, “and you don't - go out till you 've done it.” - </p> - <p> - Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. - Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there - was a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - </p> - <p> - “Really, it's too bad,” he said to no one in particular - and certainly not to Traill. “I don't know what's come - over that boy—nothing but continuous impertinence. He shall go up to - the Head if he isn't careful. Such a nice boy, too, before this - term.” - </p> - <p> - At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the <i>Morning Post</i> and - Clinton the <i>Daily Mail</i>. He looked as though he were going to say - something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood in - front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary - window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy - heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - </p> - <p> - He had slept badly—had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, - of his own miserable condition, of his poor mother—and then, - slumbering at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake - by that thundering, clamoring bell. - </p> - <p> - He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat - stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. Then he - had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been “playing - about” and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink and - had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, - Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible - confusion of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - </p> - <p> - He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; - but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the subject - of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting up clean - in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up to the matron - to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some people's - school days have been vastly exaggerated! - </p> - <p> - Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy - portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the crime, - had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the rest of the - hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and had hinted - that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment might be - relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered under his - breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word “Pompous.” - </p> - <p> - All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they - amounted to a great deal—and all before half-past eight in the - morning. Also he had had very little to eat. - </p> - <p> - He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon - with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at all - costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, - when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance of - the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - </p> - <p> - “I really think, Clinton,” he said, “that a little less - appetite on your part in the early morning would be better for everyone - concerned.” - </p> - <p> - Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, - “All right, old chap—I always have an awful appetite in the - morning. I always had.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - </p> - <p> - Clinton said, “I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your - sleeve.” - </p> - <p> - And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and feebly - tried to brush it off with his hand. - </p> - <p> - Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely the - atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been on such bad - terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were discomforts, - difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the term and the - place and the people as he had never loathed any of them before; he felt - that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to teach - Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. books - up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. The rain - was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as though it - had some personal grievance against them. - </p> - <p> - Robert, the general factotum—a long, pale man with a spotty face and - a wonderful capacity for dropping china—came in to collect the - breakfast things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still - deep in the <i>Morning Post.</i> - </p> - <p> - Perrin came in with a clouded brow. “I can't find,” he - said, “my umbrella.” - </p> - <p> - The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but - there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking - for papers. - </p> - <p> - “Robert, have you seen my umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella last - week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room—an umbrella - with lace, pink—Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas - in the stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. - Perrin had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No—perhaps - one of the young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of - Robert. - </p> - <p> - “Clinton!” No answer. “Clinton!” - </p> - <p> - At last Clinton turned round. - </p> - <p> - “Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “No, old man—why should I? Isn't it outside?” - </p> - <p> - It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite - determined that he would <i>not</i> under any circumstances use anyone - else's umbrella. - </p> - <p> - He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very - angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his - humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that - there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in - impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he began - to mutter to himself—the little red and yellow china man was - creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were - trembling like leaves. - </p> - <p> - He came into the common room again. “I can't think—” - he said, with his trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it - yesterday—last night. Clinton, you <i>must</i> have seen it.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so - profoundly irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts - are far away. “No—I don't think I've seen it. What - did I do with that Algebra? Oh! there it is. My word! is n't it - raining!” - </p> - <p> - The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. - Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a - furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the - conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, - “you <i>must</i> have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want - to go out.” - </p> - <p> - “There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking - a little frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - </p> - <p> - It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. Then - on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken that - morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - </p> - <p> - Of course it <i>must</i> be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort - of umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be - likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward. - </p> - <p> - He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the <i>Morning Post</i>. - </p> - <p> - Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. - “I <i>must</i> have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert. - “I want to go to the Upper School.” - </p> - <p> - He had left the door a little open. - </p> - <p> - “I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath - his fingers. - </p> - <p> - Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - </p> - <p> - “I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm - afraid I must have taken it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken - it if I had dreamed—” - </p> - <p> - “You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first - one I saw this morning. I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours - is missing. I assure you—” - </p> - <p> - He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile - drove Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - </p> - <p> - “You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without - asking? I never heard such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of - a piece—all of a piece!” - </p> - <p> - “But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As - though a man mightn't take another man's umbrella without all - this disturbance. It's too absurd.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's - all of a piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior - here. You come here thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. - Oh, yes! we've all got to bow down to everything that your Highness - chooses to say. We must give up everything to your Highness—our - clothes, our possessions—you conceited—insufferable puppy!” - </p> - <p> - These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself with - rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his - misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he - had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had - been against him at every turn. - </p> - <p> - All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did - not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the - room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could - hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, - supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob - and ruin him. - </p> - <p> - “Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a - little, and conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he - did not want to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly - sorry that I took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any - reason to speak to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not - here.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. - “Oh! of course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is - all of a piece with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how - to behave like a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen - don't steal other people's things. You can be put in prison - for that sort of thing, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill, - beginning in his anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. - “I don't want your beastly things—keep them to yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you - two. Don't make such a row here—everyone can hear. Wait until - later.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was shaking - his fist in Traill's face. - </p> - <p> - “It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll - give you something for saying that—I 'll let you know.” - And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my umbrella! Give me my - umbrella!” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill. - “I left it somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You - can jolly well go and look for it.” - </p> - <p> - And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap - began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face - with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon - the breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he - rose he brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had - left upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of - streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything - came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed - together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - </p> - <p> - Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland and - Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's - absolute silence. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's - lip was cut and bleeding—coffee was on Perrin's collar; their - faces were very white. - </p> - <p> - For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they - passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - </p> - <p> - In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella have - its beginning. - </p> - <p> - Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had - been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours with - a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what simpler - can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, more nearly - concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED—ALSO - SOME SKIRMISHING - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL DESART heard - about it early on the afternoon of the same day. Traill himself told her - as he stood with her for a moment outside the school gates before he went - down to football. - </p> - <p> - She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been that - it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a way, - made a fool of himself—that to struggle in that fashion with a man - like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great deal - more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and her - feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to be - feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of - these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone to - be pitied—that was the reason of her kindness to him—and now - that he was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her - pity for him was increased. - </p> - <p> - But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than she - could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been through, - she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he would not be - likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a climax. - </p> - <p> - They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough to - get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she put - it to herself, “spread out”; but halfterm was only just over - and she did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's - feeling, she saw, was mainly one of disgust—the same kind of - sensation that he would have had if he had not been able to have his bath - in the morning. About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make - that kind of disturbance about so small a thing.... - </p> - <p> - Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that “it - wasn't done” and that Perrin was therefore an “outsider,” - and that there the thing ended. - </p> - <p> - Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this and - knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. But she - was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and simply to - tell him that she was sorry. - </p> - <p> - “One thing, you know,” she said, smiling at him and blushing a - little. “We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! must we?” he said, shrinking back a little. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to - be talk about all this business. Of course, there is, heaps—and you - must let me do my share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - He had not figured the talk that there would be—he saw it all now in - an instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking - further still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be - involved; but he was much too simple a person to think this further vision - anything but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent - about umbrellas.... - </p> - <p> - He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their - engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the - Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between chapel - and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning struggle had been - brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and Birkland, much - earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy one—one hour - followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there were boys to see - and games to play and all the accumulated details to fill in any odd - moments that there might be,—so that, with the exception of short - sentences and exclamations and a general air of pleasurable surprise - pervading everything, no real movement was possible until this evening - hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and naked than ever—although - it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was cold and chill. - </p> - <p> - Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; Birkland - and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, West, were also - there. Little West was so obvious and striking an example of his type that - it seemed as though he had been especially created to stand to the end of - time as an example of what a Board School education and a pushing - disposition can do for a man. He was short and square, with a shaggy, - unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy complexion that two - generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. He was a little bald - on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, and spoke slowly and with - great care. He had worked exceedingly hard all his youth and was the only - master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were unimpaired and his optimism - (concerning his own future) unchecked. His most striking feature were his - hard, burning, little eyes, and it was with these that he kept order in - class. - </p> - <p> - He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. - Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his - clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do - Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, he - would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief and - principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own - subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's - sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - </p> - <p> - Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. - The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill a - conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the football - out of his hands and supplanted him completely—whenever he thought - of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to do anything, - because Traill had never given himself away. He played football a great - deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had ever played it. - Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now at last Comber - glowed with the thought of the things that he would be able to do. He - intended it in no way maliciously—it was simply that the younger - generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to Comber's - rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. Then - Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest - of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, - on the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a - pompous, pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's - duty to uphold the senior staff. - </p> - <p> - He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger - impressively in the air. “There they were, you know, rolling—positively - rolling—on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits - and the coffee streaming all over the floor—you never saw anything - like it. And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out - of the room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we - weren't there; didn't they, Birkland?” - </p> - <p> - Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on his - face, as though he were saying, “This is their kind of life. Look at - Comber there, now—how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for a - month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are - being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as bad - as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of having - a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!” - </p> - <p> - But he didn't say anything—he just sat there listening, with - his contemptuous smile, to Comber. - </p> - <p> - “An awful noise, you know, they made,” Comber went on. “And - anything funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair - all tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek - bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!” - </p> - <p> - “At all events,” said Birkland dryly, “we ought all to - be glad that you got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's - something to be thankful for, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's all very well, Birkland,” Comber answered - angrily; “you were amused enough yourself, really—you know you - were. In any case,” he went on importantly, “the thing can't - go on, you know. We can't have junior masters flinging themselves at - the throats of senior ones. That sort of thing must be stopped.” - </p> - <p> - So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone trimmed - their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and was not - afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with Traill; and - supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no easy thing - to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for instance, - thought so. - </p> - <p> - “It is—<i>dégoûtant</i>,” he cried, waving his hands in - the air, “that a young man, that is here one month, two months, - should catch the throat of his senior. These things,” he added with - the air of one who waves gloriously the flag of the Republic, “are - not done in my country.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them - better, Pons,” said Birkland. “Until then, I should recommend - silence.” - </p> - <p> - M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly at - Comber. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, Birkland,” said Comber, “if you are going to - encourage that sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I - daresay you would like all the boys to be springing at one another's - throats in the same way; if that's what you want, well—“; - and he waved his hands expressively. - </p> - <p> - “It's absurd,” said Birkland quietly, “of Perrin - to have made such a fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's - umbrella without being struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's - childish. It's just the sort of thing that Perrin <i>would</i> do.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Comber; “let Perrin treat you in the - way that Traill's treated him, and you see what you'd say and - do. All I know is that you would n't stand it for a minute, you of - all men, Birkland.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean by that?” Birkland said hotly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of - tempers, old man,” Comber said laughing. “You can't lay - claim to good temper whatever else you may have.” - </p> - <p> - West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West,” - Birkland said. “You naturally would be.” West was all the more - annoyed because he didn't in the least understand what Birkland - meant. - </p> - <p> - The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally and - did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. White was - sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without saying - anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was there at - all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was to make - him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and therefore - Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would receive. But - White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had given him, and - now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, “I think - Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper - because another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's - been very hardly used—at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be - to live with.” - </p> - <p> - Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he - could find no words at all. - </p> - <p> - At last he broke out, “Well, all I can say is that you people don't - know what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like - Traill to go about stealing people's things—” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Comber,” Birkland broke in. “You've no - right to say stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole - anything; you'd better be more careful of your words.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I call it stealing anyhow,” said Comber hotly. “You - can call it what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words - of your own for these things. But when a man takes something that is n't - his and keeps it—” - </p> - <p> - “He didn't keep it,” Birkland said angrily. “You - 're grossly prejudiced, just as you always are.” - </p> - <p> - “What about yourself?” West broke in. “People in glass - houses—” - </p> - <p> - At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. Comber - was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before—not that it - very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - </p> - <p> - He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to - be in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't - like to mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it - long enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if - only people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them—well, - it might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would be - a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of course, - if one's education had been neglected.... - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for - science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair - must be the same, there was no question about it. - </p> - <p> - Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing that - he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big <i>debacle</i>. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for - everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was - excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - </p> - <p> - “I say!” he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think?” he cried again, “Traill has just - told me. He 's engaged to Miss Desart.” - </p> - <p> - At that there was dead silence—for an instant nobody spoke. Then - Comber got up from his chair. “Well, I'm damned!” he - said. - </p> - <p> - This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once then - the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss Desart had - stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate friend. His wife - was devoted to her and would, of course, at once espouse her cause. But - this piece of news made him, Comber, even angrier than he had been before. - His feeling about the engagement defied analysis, but it rested in some - curious, hidden way on some strange streak of vanity in him. He had always - cared very especially for Miss Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, - heavy way, little attentions and regards that he gave to very few people. - He had always thought that she had very great admiration and reverence for - himself, and now she had engaged herself without a word to him about it to - someone whom he disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, - he knew that his wife would be delighted—more trouble at home. Here - was White openly insulting him in the common room; he was called names by - Birkland; a nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to - that); his wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two—with - a muttered word or two, he left the gathering. - </p> - <p> - For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a new - color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for Miss - Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock in the - face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would never have - accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she should be - handed over to his hated rival. - </p> - <p> - “Does Perrin know?” was West's eager question. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Clinton smiling, “I'm just going to - tell him.” - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in - front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so - much depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened - by it—not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or - indeed of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past - the terror of tongues—but rather afraid of himself and the way that - he might be going to behave. - </p> - <p> - He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that - there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. He - knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a hero—a - hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, with a - great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face in - the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief in - his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other boys, - that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some preacher - in a sermon—he went to sermons very often in those days—say - that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, and - that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people did not - know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking out for it, - and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own fault—all - this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on the watch for - this chance—this splendid moment. - </p> - <p> - That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do the - right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather a - pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - </p> - <p> - Then there was the other Mr. Perrin—the ill-tempered, pompous, - sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he - recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was in - command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as he - phrased it, to “do him down.” - </p> - <p> - Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this - morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce - and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing - continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had - been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination - to make a good thing of it! This young Traill—and then Perrin No. 2 - showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in the - air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only prove the - kind of man that he <i>could</i> be! If he could only get out of this, - away from it—if someone would take him away from it: he did not feel - strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And then, - suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining light, his - beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him and care for - him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; and then at the - thought of it he began to smile, and a little color crept into his pale - cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, he might be quite - pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter so little! - </p> - <p> - He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into a - delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults that - he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the opportunities - that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought about him. And - then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to great things: he - would have a little house, there would be children, he would be his own - master, life would be free, splendid, above all, tranquil. He could make - her so fond of him—he was sure that he could; there were sides of - him that no one had ever seen—even his mother did not know all that - was in him. - </p> - <p> - Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock on - the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have - returned it before.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thanks!” Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. - “Won't you sit down?” - </p> - <p> - “No thanks, I'm taking prep.” Nevertheless, Clinton - lingered a little, talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the - mantelpiece, fingering things—a practice that always annoyed Perrin - intensely,—then he took up the little china man and looked at him. - “Rum chap that,” he said. “Well, chin-chin—” - He moved off; he stood for a moment by the door. “Oh, I say!” - he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; “have you heard - the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just told me.” - He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging the door - behind him. - </p> - <p> - Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head fell - between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there for a - long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster and - faster—he was like a wild animal in a cage. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was white, - his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked the thing - up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, smashed into - atoms.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>SABEL told Mrs. - Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that good lady, owing to - the interruption of the other good ladies and her own Mr. Comber, was - unable to say anything really about it until just before going to bed. - Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very much about it in any case - quite at first, because her breath was so entirely taken away by surprise, - and then afterwards by delight and excitement. For herself this term had, - so far, been rather a difficult affair: money had been hard, and Freddie - had been even harder—and hard, as she complained, in such strange, - tricky comers—never when you would expect him to be and always when - you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber considered terribly unfair, because - if one knew what he was going to mind, one would look out for it and be - especially careful; but when he let irritating things pass without a word - and then “flew out” when there was nothing for anyone to be - distressed about, life became a hideous series of nightmares with the - enemy behind every hedge. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she had - arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the condition - of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her—she called it - submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the limits - of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the world - bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world except - Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely unselfish kind, - so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own - discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her size - and volubility and color. - </p> - <p> - Isabel talked to her in her bedroom—it was of course also Freddie's, - but he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas <i>she</i>, by a - series of touches—the light green wall-paper and the hard black of - the shining looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not - very many, but all made the most of),—had made it her own - unmistakably, so that everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of - welcome. It was indeed, in spite of the light green paper, a noisy - impression, and one had always the feeling that things—the china, - the silver, and the chairs—jumped when one wasn't in, charged, - as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. Comber's temperament and - the color of her dresses. - </p> - <p> - But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the - least mind the stridency of it—in fact it all rather suited the - sense of battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to - say that they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked - it. Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all - his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one - felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being - there. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown - on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have - these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that - skirt of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame - me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!” Here she hugged and - kissed and patted her hand. “And he is <i>such</i> a nice young man, - although Freddie doesn't like him, you know, over the football or - something, although I'm sure I never know what men's reasons - are for disliking one another, and Freddie's especially; but I liked - him ever since he dined here that night, although I didn't really - see much of him because, you know, he played Bridge at the other table and - I was <i>much</i> too worried!” She drew a breath, and then added - quite simply, like a child, and in that way of hers that was so perfectly - fascinating: “My dear, I love you, and I want you to be happy, and I - think you will—and I want <i>you</i> to love me.” - </p> - <p> - Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her very - tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there was more - pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was terribly - hard for some people. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, it is wonderful,” she said at last, looking with - her clear, beautiful eyes straight in front of her. “One never knew - how wonderful until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer - has ever said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has - ever thought it—and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose,” - she added laughing; “but it only means that I'm up to all the - surprises and ready for them.” - </p> - <p> - “You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it,” Mrs. - Comber said slowly. “I don't think the other party has really - very much to do with it. You never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a - matter of fact he's the very nicest and trustiest young man, and no - one could ever be a brute to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to - anyone else—and I wish I'd remembered about that skirt.” - </p> - <p> - The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, came - about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that - everything was most splendidly right. - </p> - <p> - “And now, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber, “tell me what this - is that I hear about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard - the veriest words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time - about not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's - always doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn.” - </p> - <p> - Isabel looked grave. - </p> - <p> - “It seems the silliest affair,” she said; “and yet it's - a great pity, because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But - that's why we announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll - be, it appears, a case of taking sides.” - </p> - <p> - “It always is here,” said Mrs. Comber, “when there's - the slightest opportunity of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of - opportunity this time,” Isabel said sighing. “It really is <i>too</i> - silly. Apparently Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation - in Upper School this morning without asking. They hadn't been - getting on very well before, and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella - and Archie said that he'd taken it, there was a regular fight. The - worst of it is that there were lots of people there; and now, of course, - it is all over the school, and it will never be left alone as it ought to - be.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, “it will be the - opportunity for all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. - How perfectly absurd of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I - always said so, and now it only proves it, and I wish he'd never - come here. Of course you know that I'm with you, my dear; but I'm - afraid that Freddie won't be, because he doesn't like your - Archie, and there's no getting over it—and on whose side all - the others will be there's no knowing whatever—and indeed I - don't like to think of it all.” - </p> - <p> - She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her - worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, - instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors - and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the - crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised soon - to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she cried, “will they hate us?” - </p> - <p> - “They 'll do their best, my dear,” said that lady - solemnly, “to hate somebody.” - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next - afternoon. - </p> - <p> - Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's - relief that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' - terror at its horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of - course, in the first place those of any “at home” whatever—the - stilted and sterile fact of being there sacrificially for anyone to - trample on in the presence of a delighted audience and a glittering - tea-table. But in Mrs. Comber's case there was the additional - trouble of “town” and “school” never in the least - suiting, although “town” was only a question of local houses - like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have combined, one - would have thought, easily enough. - </p> - <p> - The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the - jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the - quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter that - is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the conversation of - the ladies of Moffatt's in this way—it was a thing of far - deeper and graver import. - </p> - <p> - The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion - made what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply - malicious conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a - perpetual battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its - weightiest result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that - things said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the - safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that - whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it - was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays as - days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and - hoping that she would “get off,” so to speak, on that. But on - occasions like the present, when there was really something to talk about, - she shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong - enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought - her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then she - couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella - Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where - they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's - engagement as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that - bright, young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some - odd, obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - </p> - <p> - She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her silver, - tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin pieces of - bread-and-butter, that the “town” would, on this occasion at - any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really - “getting at” things; but, of course, as it happened, the - “town” for once wasn't there at all, and the battle - raged quite splendidly. - </p> - <p> - The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically - enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that they - represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; and poor - Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and wished that the - little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly the reason of their - separate appearances and the danger that they were, severally and - individually. - </p> - <p> - The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as - securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and - drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. - Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so far - as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. - Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented - her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy whose - accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads - spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - </p> - <p> - The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of - herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her chair, - and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her stouter - sister to a wonderful extent. - </p> - <p> - The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, “Well, so - Miss Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!” showed immediately which - of the two pieces of news was considered the most important. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, “and I'm sure it's - delightful. Do have one of those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they - 're quite fresh; and I want you especially to notice that little - water-color over there by the screen, because I bought it in Truro last - week for simply nothing at Pinner's, and I believe it's quite - a good one—I'm sure we 're all delighted.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. “They 're a little young,” - she said in so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly - transferred, against her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest - attire, into the heart of Siberia. “And what's this I hear - from my husband about Mr. Perrin and Mr. Traill tumbling about on the - floor together this morning—something about an umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, - “I heard something this morning about it.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely - as she did on this afternoon—she seemed to chill the room with her - presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to - various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that - they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's - only way of easing the situation, “Do have another little pink cake, - Mrs. Thompson,” failed altogether on this occasion, and she could - only stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with a - start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the morning's - proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. “You were down there, - Miss Madder; tell us all about it.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and - having heard what she called “the first struggle,” and having - yielded eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine - curiosity—having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and - Mr. Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Actually on the floor!” said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, actually on the floor—also all the breakfast things and - coffee all over the tablecloth.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the cold - eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from her - position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't to—also - the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever sister - afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as her - opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. Traill - was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was the harder - one to live with—and that it had been a clean tablecloth that - morning. - </p> - <p> - “I call it disgraceful,” was the only light that the younger - Miss Madder would throw upon the question. - </p> - <p> - For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, “And - really about an umbrella?” - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work - and beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, “that Mr. Traill - borrowed Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that - there was a dispute.” - </p> - <p> - But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the - question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect - that that had upon the disturbance in question. - </p> - <p> - “I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively; - “and I cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and - I must say that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. - Traill's temper was uncertain.” - </p> - <p> - “Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss - Madder with a sniff. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know - what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her - peace. - </p> - <p> - The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an opinion - from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady - understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a - question of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master - attacks an older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in - the dust and that before a large audience, the whole system of education - is in danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and - other masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and - then other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second - boys showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - </p> - <p> - Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the - question of property. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—One had one's things—here she was - sure Mrs. Comber would agree—and if one didn't keep a tight - hold of them in these days, one simply did n 't know where one would - be. Of course one umbrella was a small thing; but, after all, it <i>was</i> - aggravating on a wet morning not to find it and then to have no excuse - whatever offered to one—anyone would be cross about it. And, after - all, with some people if you gave them an inch they took an ell, as the - saying was, and if one didn't show firmness over a small thing like - this, it would only lead to people taking other things without asking - until one really did n't know where one was. Of course, it was a - pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his self-control as completely as he - appeared to have done, but nevertheless one could quite understand how - aggravating it was. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no - light matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty - years were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were - to be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by - anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, then - one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then - what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and - finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus b</i>—Enlarged the original issue. It was really - rather difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to - congratulate the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was - of course perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst - still so young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with - that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't - develop into. - </p> - <p> - <i>Semi-Chorus a</i>—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without - mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of - married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of - discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in - blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an - exceedingly poor time. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It was not - her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the present - occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous figure of - Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against her, and there - in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her lap, with the - black silk of her dress shining in little white lines where the light - caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie entirely. Whatever - happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this again and - again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found her anger - rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in Miss Madder's - hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense of the hat and - why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't suit her, and whether - Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in a nice green grave - with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract - questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she - listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more than - anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly - attacked. - </p> - <p> - Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated Isabel—Isabel - who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, even and cold, - went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the corner, and her hands - began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. Suddenly in an instant - Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten save Isabel, and she burst - out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: “Really, Mrs. Dormer, you - are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all agree that it's - a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else down because someone - else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I should never - want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who was matron here - two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel with her and - putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything of it, and I - remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for it back again. - I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a fuss about - nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows it; - but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear - Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful - fellow, and I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's - very unkind of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep - breath. - </p> - <p> - “Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, - “I'm sure we none of us wish them anything but happiness. - Please don't have the impression that we are not eager for their - good.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder, - “that you have rather misunderstood our position in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have,” broke - in Mrs. Comber hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had - spoken so quickly. - </p> - <p> - “You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don't - think we can any of us have two feelings about the question of discipline. - I'm sure you agree with us there, Mrs. Comber.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber. - </p> - <p> - But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and - they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not be - able to come and stay again—they were of one mind. - </p> - <p> - Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of that - silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell - Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - </p> - <p> - Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, Freddie - had still to be faced. - </p> - <p> - His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly - not in a line with her own. - </p> - <p> - Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a - crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, - because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie Traill, - and indeed with everyone in the present story. - </p> - <p> - But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,” - as she used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which - disaster she was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled - kind of way why it was that they should all have wanted to be so - disagreeable, why, as a development of that, everyone always preferred to - be disagreeable rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu - clock and the peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, - with their color and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim, - misty, vague, and lost almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn't - really anyone's fault at all—that it was the system, the - place, the tightness and closeness and helplessness that did for - everybody; that nobody could escape from it, and that the finest saint, - the most noble character, would be crushed and broken in that remorseless - mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the mills of a - rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring at the clock - and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these women, crushed, - beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss Madder, her own - Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even already young - Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave... once. The coals clicked - in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down the darkening - paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all up—she must - leave Freddie and the children and go away... anywhere... she could not - endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, peevish, - scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his hours, and that - annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish very little - better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to be pleasant - and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella affair. - </p> - <p> - “Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all - coming to, I should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a - month or two, and he goes and takes a senior master's things without - asking leave, and then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard - anything like it. The fellow wants kicking out altogether.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Well, why don't you say something? You've got some - opinion about it, I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's - gone and got himself engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl - thinking of? They 're both much too young anyhow. It's absurd. - I 'll tell her what I think of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's - so happy about it, and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to - both of us that she deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be - successful. After all, if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very - young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very difficult man to get on with. You - know, dear, you've always said—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously, - “I 've never advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and - betters in the face, and if you think I have, you 're mightily - mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart was - dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber - was glad that the girl was not with them. - </p> - <p> - She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and - her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary - dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's - scowling face. - </p> - <p> - At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little - drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and - she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest of - the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of - places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and forests - and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no travail nor - ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw Freddie as he had - once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen about him, and in - her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her and she could make - no mistakes. - </p> - <p> - Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she smiled - at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was nearly out. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a - nice, cheerful room for a man to come into, isn't it, after he's - tired and cold with work? I have got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm - a lucky man, I am.” - </p> - <p> - Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten - it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the - use of making a noise and fuss with it now?” - </p> - <p> - Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look - here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business.” - </p> - <p> - “What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her - cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I'm - not going to have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I - object to him—he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants - putting in his place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near - here. I won't have him in the house, and it's just as well he - should know it. So don't you go asking him here.” - </p> - <p> - She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have - told Isabel that I am glad, and I <i>am</i> glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I - don't think it was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, - you know you are not quite fair to him because of his football, or - something silly, and I'm sure you don't mind him, really—you - don't like Mr. Perrin, you know.” - </p> - <p> - This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could - possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie - Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to - swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things - alone that don't belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I - 've got for disliking young Traill—it's enough if I say - that he's not to come here—and Miss Isabel shall hear that - from my own lips.” - </p> - <p> - In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as he - was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at the - mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew herself - up. - </p> - <p> - “You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult - Isabel here, when she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so - good. I love her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. - “This is defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I - tell you that he shall not come here.” - </p> - <p> - “And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly - came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We 'll see - about the master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her - brooch, and she fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her - hands spread out against it, staring at him.... - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant - wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They - both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had - suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations - could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be worse—they - could never be the same. - </p> - <p> - But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. - Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay - against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, because - her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was - appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years was - brought to life by that blow. - </p> - <p> - “My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I - did not mean anything—I am not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... - Please—” - </p> - <p> - His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. She - took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him fixedly. - </p> - <p> - “You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At - least, you have never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.” - </p> - <p> - Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then - she went slowly out of the room. - </p> - <p> - He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a - whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark - buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” - And then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to - the shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO - DESTROY....” - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the month - that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a week of that - original incident there was no one in the establishment who had not his or - her especial grievance against someone else. In the Senior common room, at - the middle morning hour, the whole staff might be seen, silent, grave, - bending with sheer resolution over the daily papers, eloquent backs turned - to their enemies, every now and again abstract sarcasm designed for some - very concrete resting-place. - </p> - <p> - That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the - original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something - that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's - purpose to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any - small detail be the provocation, the battle was the thing. - </p> - <p> - Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to watch - and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; what a - delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents and verbs - in with their principal parts of <i>savior</i> and <i>dire</i> and their - conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and - exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting your - neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious misconception—all - this within so small an area of ground, so slight a period of time, at so - wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - </p> - <p> - The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy - in the school, but here there was not so intense a division—there - was indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the - whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old - Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the - custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply - a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once - accepted as a fearful authority—between this and the novel and - athletic Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... - why? There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old - Pompous's umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his - property? He would n't hesitate to take someone else's things - if he wanted them.... Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion - amongst all those who came beneath his discipline—as to the way that - he took this, there is more to be said later. - </p> - <p> - But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel - and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was - nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw - something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should have - taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the - circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took - the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse - combat. No—the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of - it, when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, they - were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance—they were - almost lost and forgotten—and the reason of this was that everyone - in the place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance - silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an issue - between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being worked out - in silence—even the spectators themselves made no comment, but Mrs. - Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that “Everyone was - so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that no one said - anything at all”—and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - </p> - <p> - Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those - most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, and - her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's - experience of it, because the only difference between herself and the rest - was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more discerning - intuition. - </p> - <p> - In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own battles. - It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the place, with - the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time being at any rate, - up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed herself to be - engaged to Mr. Traill—there were no two opinions about it. It was - not ladylike—she was allying herself, to disorder and tumult, she - was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking down of persons - in authority—above all, she was setting herself up, whatever that - might mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first day in Mrs. Comber's - drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She - loved a battle—she had never realized before how dearly she loved - it, she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head - up and her eyes flashing fire—she was quiet unless she was attacked; - but so soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled - on and the trumpet sounded. In a way—and it seemed to her curious - when she looked back upon it—this month of hers was stirring and - even rather delightful. - </p> - <p> - But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that - something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness - and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. - But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside - help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had - dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing—she only - begged her not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to - attempt to bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Comber was now a different person—her animated volubility - had disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a - pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken to. - But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel had never - liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have disappeared. - He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any rate he was - quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he was on the - watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that his eyes would - leave his work and stray about the room as though he were searching for - something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, and sometimes when she - spoke to him he would start and look at her curiously, almost - suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she knew. He was not - kind and attentive to her, as he had been before—she felt sure that - he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her miserable, and she - loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her back from speaking to - Mrs. Comber about it all—but something prevented her. - </p> - <p> - The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, - more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any attitude - towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided camps—it - all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very childishness it could - not have a serious conclusion; but as the days went on and she saw into it - all more deeply, the pathos of it caught her heart and she could have - cried to think of what men they might have been, of the things that they - might have done. Some of them seemed to seek her out now with a - courtliness and deference that they had never shown her before. Birkland, - of whom she had always been rather frightened, spoke to her now whenever - there was an opportunity, and his sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she - saw the sadness in their gray depths, and she felt in the pressure of his - hands that he wanted now to be friends with her. White, too, was different - now. He said very little to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak - at all was a wonderful thing, but there were a few words about his - affection for Archie. - </p> - <p> - With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to do - something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly able - to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her - engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty—it was a case of - waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than that—something - was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and that atmosphere to be - afraid. But it was not until later than this that she began to be afraid - definitely of Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something grew - when she perceived the inertia of the others—inertia was perhaps - scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing - impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait for - the result. - </p> - <p> - And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, having - for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation—she could - not put it more optimistically than that—before the end of the term - came. - </p> - <p> - It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her—indeed, her - flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger Miss - Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles whatever—but - rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to explain. She wished to - prevent things happening, was the way that she herself would have put it; - but that did not hinder her from feeling a natural anxiety that Miss - Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have some of their own shots back - before the end of the term was reached. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. - Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly drawn - days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the brittle - leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get him to see - the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first on the - question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at once against a - bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her ignorance of public - school and university laws had formerly hidden from her. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as - he summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world - for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a - fellow felt—there were things a man couldn't do. She found - that the laws of the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison - with the stone tables of public school custom: “The man was a - bounder”—“There were things a fellow couldn't do.” - </p> - <p> - She had not expected him to go and beg for peace—she had not - probably altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all - left her with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so - immensely young, and therefore to be—most delightful of duties—looked - after. Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of - his nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between - them be a great many tussles and battles. - </p> - <p> - But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very - gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then - kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. - Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and hid - it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out and saw - that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly discovered - that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people were taking - sides about him—all this was horrible. - </p> - <p> - He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. “I never meant to - knock the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella—all - this fuss!”—which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, - because the thing was done and there was no more to be said about it. He - thought a great deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand - up for her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him - any satisfaction—that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder - against the “low, bounding” world, and he declared, as he - looked at her, that he loved her more and more every day. - </p> - <p> - But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes - with regard to that gentleman could only look one way—he would not - make advances. - </p> - <p> - The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, she - felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite - watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but when - she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and - she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a great - many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was—cross, - irritable, violent, even wicked—he was, at any rate, lonely, and - that was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - </p> - <p> - She could not, of course, make Archie see that. “The fellow's - always wanted to be lonely—thinks himself much too good for other - people's society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a - beast, he must expect to be left alone.” - </p> - <p> - <i>That</i> did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from - the fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled - with anyone before—people <i>never</i> did quarrel with him; and now - suddenly here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, stiff - and sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him whenever he - got the opportunity. - </p> - <p> - Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under - these circumstances—but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. - Isabel herself was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as - possible. He wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light - and sunshine at the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, - comfortable, a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class - found that nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and he - snapped at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always - gentle, but his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far - away from tears. - </p> - <p> - But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud with - Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, always - amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed and was at - last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, afraid of - what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag Archie out of - it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and all this - discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was ninety at - least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult - education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several - stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were - very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries of - people getting along together. Her present feeling was something akin to - Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being - flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being - hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and - hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of Mr. - Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before the end - of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That something in - the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations was busy about - the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in the most singular - way would break out; there was continual quarreling in the common room, - strange rumors were carried of things that people had said—it was - all a question of strain. - </p> - <p> - There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of - snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and - when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black - and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in - Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was - no other light in the room. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her - hand, silently staring at the fire. - </p> - <p> - Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the - consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the - trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good - night to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves - stretched to breaking-point—all this overwhelmed her. She had never - felt so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep anything - at all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... to-morrow; it - might be too late. - </p> - <p> - She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that he - had called him a “rotten little counter-jumper,” and that West - had made an allusion to “stealing things.” Where were they - all? What were they all doing to be fighting like this? - </p> - <p> - They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the fire, - and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling coal, - were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go - mad. What is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? - Oh! I <i>do</i> want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. - For the last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been - no peace at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from - the fire; “I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there - are only three weeks more of the term, because I 'm sure that - somebody would be cutting somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, - and I wouldn't mind very much if somebody would cut mine.” She - gave a little choke in her throat, and then suddenly her head fell forward - into her hands, and she burst into passionate sobbing. - </p> - <p> - Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair and - took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long time, and - the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the snow had begun - to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against the window. - </p> - <p> - At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I - should have done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my - eyes are a perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't - help it. Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've - stood it as long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think - I shall go away and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you - 're let alone.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mrs. Comber;” said Isabel, still holding her hand, - “do tell me about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of - course, I 've seen that something 's happened between you and - Mr. Comber. I can see that he is most dreadfully sorry about something, - and I know that he wants to make it up. But this silence is worse than - anything, and if you 'd only have it out, both of you, I'm - sure it would get all right.” - </p> - <p> - “No, dear.” Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. - “It's not that so much. Freddie and I will get all right - again, I expect, and even be better together than we were be-for; but all - this business has shown me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've - known it really all the time, and I used to pretend that if one was nice - enough to people one could n't be altogether a failure, because they - wanted one to like them—and that's the truth. Nobody wants me - to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in the world. I'm - not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless and silly and - untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so - badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was - all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you - 're going to be married there's an end of you, the only person - I had.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie and I,” said Isabel softly, “will care for you - to the end of your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't - you? And you know that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him - looking at you during these last weeks as though he could die for you, and - then he's been afraid to say anything. It's only this horrid - place that has got in the way so dreadfully.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. “Do you really think so, my - dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's - been different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and - is n't worried about his form; but things are always worse at - examination time, and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through - as quickly as possible; and something <i>dreadful did</i> happen the other - day, and I know he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps - things will be all right.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, - after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: “You know, - Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten - you, but Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of - me, but I don't quite like it—” - </p> - <p> - “Like what?” said Isabel. “Well, Mr. Perrin; he's - been looking so queer ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay - you haven't noticed anything, and I daresay it may be all my own - imaginations, and I'm sure in a place like this one might imagine - anything—” - </p> - <p> - “How does he look queer,” said Isabel quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say - about him. You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he - didn't care about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't - another reason for his disliking Archie—” - </p> - <p> - “Care about me?” said Isabel laughing; “why, no, of - course not. He's only spoken to me once or twice.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mrs. Comber, “I've seen him looking - at you in the strangest way in chapel. And his face has got so white and - thin and drawn, I'm really quite sorry for the poor man. And his - eyes are so odd, as though he was trying to see something that wasn't - there. And the boys say that he's so strange in class sometimes and - stops suddenly in the middle of a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. - Clinton was telling me that he never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when - Archie's there he gets very white and shakes all over and leaves the - room. I only want you to warn Archie to be careful, because when a man's - lonely like that and begins to think about things, he might do anything.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what could he do?” Isabel said, with a little catch in - her breath. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't know, dear,” Mrs. Comber said rather - uncertainly. “Only when examinations come on they do seem to get - into the men's heads so, and it's only that I thought that - Archie might be careful and ready if Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all...” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the - room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and - the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, - Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside gather - ominously about her. - </p> - <p> - She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other a - moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each other. - </p> - <p> - “At any rate,” said Isabel, “whatever else this place - may do, it can't alter our being together. You 've always got - me, you know.” - </p> - <p> - But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were strained, - perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; but she - longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and she could - not sleep at nights. - </p> - <p> - And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke to - her. - </p> - <p> - She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was just - turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; there - was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and purple - shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though cut out of - paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against the sky. He - came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted to speak to her, - so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up to her—with his - gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black mortar-board, with his - thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his straggly, unkept mustache—she - had a moment of ungovernable fear. She could give no reason for it, but - she knew that her impulse was to turn and run away, anywhere so that she - might escape from him. - </p> - <p> - Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and held - out her hand. - </p> - <p> - She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that - didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - </p> - <p> - “How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a - long time. Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like - this.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped her - hand and held it. - </p> - <p> - “I 've been wanting to say...” he said in an odd voice, - and there he stopped and stood staring at her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said gently. - </p> - <p> - His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face - with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - </p> - <p> - “I've wanted to say—um, ah—to congratulate you...” - </p> - <p> - He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! thank you!” she said impulsively, coming up to him and - putting her hand on his arm. “Thank you so very much!” and - then she could say no more. - </p> - <p> - He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant - horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech - that he had learnt, “I wanted to congratulate you on your - engagement. I hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm - afraid I 'm a little late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm - a little late. Yes. Good morning!” - </p> - <p> - Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the - path. - </p> - <p> - As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that her - vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>EANWHILE, many - things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On that night after - Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement to Traill, he - did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black grate without - moving until the morning. He did not know until this had happened to him - how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in middle life there - comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that he has missed - ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were other ambitions that - would have been more profitable of pursuit; and then, if the rest of his - days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he must make reckoning with - other things that have perhaps no glitter nor promise, but will give him - enough—life has no compensation for cynics. - </p> - <p> - In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that his - last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest boyhood, - was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, it seemed - to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at the altar. A - great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his head in his - hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The things that he - could have done had she been faithful to him!—that was the way he - put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He had pleaded - his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on his breast, - and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and stroked her - hair. - </p> - <p> - And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came in - at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared about - him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man like him—that - sort of creature? - </p> - <p> - What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; it - pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other men - might sport with it—other beardless boys like Traill.... - </p> - <p> - He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show God - that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that—he would - mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid—ah! - but he <i>was</i> afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid since - those days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat listening - to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such lurid and - wonderful accuracy. - </p> - <p> - God was like that—He took away from you all the things that made - life worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards - because you resented His behavior. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that - the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very - large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head ached, - it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he had now so - long attempted to control came creeping out—that other Mr. Perrin - who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin whom he did - not want his friends to see. - </p> - <p> - On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin seemed - to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, Mr. Perrin - fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was watching. He was - wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, but it was an evil - face—all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had gone wrong. Mr. - Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last he had broken out, - and perhaps he would never go away again. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - </p> - <p> - Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was - something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some - connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as - he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, - there was nothing to be angry about—of course not—no; but he - knew that there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he - ought to do to young Traill. What was it? - </p> - <p> - Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. - Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from the - room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very desolate - and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and so end it - all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot themselves, or - they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be afraid to do any of - those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in an inconsequent way, - of the sight that he would look afterwards. - </p> - <p> - There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his - great chance—the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. - Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to give - him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing he showed - them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, supposing he - won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of course, it was - absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not “do” - magnificently anywhere. - </p> - <p> - No, he was no good—he was done for. He thought, as he heard the - clock strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at - the yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then - four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were ugly - flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss - Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his thin, - sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - </p> - <p> - His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and - enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - </p> - <p> - Young Traill had done this—young Traill was his enemy... young - Traill! He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - </p> - <p> - And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper - flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all - resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When - he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in his - mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat - with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great - black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the - eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, - wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and - the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - </p> - <p> - It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that was - trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He found at - once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, and as the - days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling inside him that - he must not let out was always stronger and more violent when Traill was - there. Of course they did not speak to one another, but it was something - more active than mere silent avoidance. They had struggled on the floor - together, struggled before Comber and Birkland—Perrin would not - forget that. He remembered it as an act of faith and said to himself a - great many times. He always found that when he was in the room with Traill - something seemed to drag him across the floor towards him, and he had to - hold himself back. - </p> - <p> - This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind on - his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his form, - because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst them. They - must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and he thought that - when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked amongst themselves. - They had always done that of course, but now there was an added reason. - </p> - <p> - There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always - hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the master - who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door of the hall - and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see whether - they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had seemed to him - most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands raised to his - eyes, one after the other—hands that were ill-kept, bitten, and - ragged, and torn—this had been, in some bidden way, irritating. Now - it was much more irritating, so that when it was his week on duty and this - horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, as it seemed to him, with - insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to beat them all down, to run - amok amongst them, to trample until all the hands were broken and - bleeding. - </p> - <p> - Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He used - to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him up, and - he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very inky. Then - Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly eye, had - sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to escape, but with - a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands were always - beautifully clean—he did not look at Perrin. This was, of course, a - very small affair. - </p> - <p> - But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently - behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end “per - Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum” and a great clatter of forms being - dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices—then he - wanted to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew that - he must not. - </p> - <p> - One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone in - the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to him. - </p> - <p> - Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned - his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: “I say, Perrin, - isn't this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be - speaking to a fellow—I'm sorry if I did things, but you know—” - </p> - <p> - And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had - moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and Traill - had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - </p> - <p> - But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. - No! that man must not get out—he must at all costs be kept in his - box. And so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - </p> - <p> - Traill did not try to speak to him again. - </p> - <p> - With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked - afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, - and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way and - said, “Go back, and do it again—do it again,” as though - he were not thinking of what he said. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather - thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white - faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with ink, - and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces hanging - down, stupid things like toads. - </p> - <p> - He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no effort - now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, other - numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if it was - right—that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could - help it. He did not analyze his silence—it was merely a fact that he - did not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his - own... it reminded him of things that hurt. - </p> - <p> - But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference - except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do - things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than - had hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the - difference more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that - there was to say about his form. - </p> - <p> - It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out - that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was that - he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very - provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, - because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One - morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt that - Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill to do - this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the Upper - School—moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it - opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. Perrin - could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door at all but - at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was standing, and - at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he turned round - sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - </p> - <p> - The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of - conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly to - Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill with all - his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. It was not - hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite him at - dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though someone - at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging the cloth - with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do - things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept in a - box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was that people - were talking about him. This might almost be called the Irritation of the - Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw a closed door—and - they were very many—he knew that there were people behind it who - were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very softly, a door - and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one in the room, he was - sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind chairs. Once when he - opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss Madden was alone in the - room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped her work and screamed, - which was foolish of her. - </p> - <p> - But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like to - have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said—he was - sure that she would be kind—and he stared at her very hard in - chapel, because he saw her so very little at other times, and because he - would like to know what she was thinking about. He would like to know - whether it was about the same things as his things—and so he stared - at her in a curious way. - </p> - <p> - And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which - he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the - first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had - written saying how much she had missed it—so he must not forget it - again. - </p> - <p> - He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly - broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think of - his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his hands - to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture of her - sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from him. He - sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and paper and - began, as he had begun for a great many years: - </p> - <p> - “Dear old lady... - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he did - now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held the - lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with his head - between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his mother; - and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that had been about - him during these days fell from him, and he regained his clear vision—he - began to write as he always did:— - </p> - <p> - “...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I - really didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these - days with the examinations coming on and everything. - </p> - <p> - “I'm very well, except that I have these headaches—nothing - at all, and I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope - you 're all right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. - Keeping warm's the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that - shawl that Miss Bennett gave you is the very thing—mind you wear it, - and don't sit in draughts. I'm all right...” - </p> - <p> - And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between his - hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be - afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... - His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have lifted - away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him to the - ground. He did not hate Traill—Traill could not help it; but he - wanted her—oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - </p> - <p> - He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled so - that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his last - hold on life, to pray. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to - that state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like - that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so hard—there - are so many little things—there is no time!... They will not let me - alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me someone to - love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do not let me go - back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I may do...” - </p> - <p> - But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with his - head on his arm. - </p> - <p> - And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself there—and - it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly frightened, - because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the other Mr. - Perrin—and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and he - cursed God and stumbled to his bed. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was quite - sure now that God hated him. - </p> - <p> - Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping that - box closed—he was damned anyhow. - </p> - <p> - Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of - anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing on - his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, because - it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was sure that it - would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore Traill must go. - </p> - <p> - He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to consider - it.... - </p> - <p> - These days before the examinations began were very difficult for - everybody, and Perrin began that hideous “getting behind-hand” - that made things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever - catching up. There were all the term's marks to be added up before - the examinations began, there were trial papers and test questions to be - set, and therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he - was not able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his - chair with his hands folded in front of him and think of—Traill—and - then he would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were - others to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room—sometimes - a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there - scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with - all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his room. - </p> - <p> - But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin welcomed - it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune with his - own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very difficult - one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been before. - </p> - <p> - The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was - multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now - filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, - whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one or - two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others naturally - had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that had broken out - over the umbrella incident had developed until there was very little to - prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this occasion, West was the - person who was let off easily by the examination list, and he was not the - kind of man to allow his advantage to pass without comment. - </p> - <p> - Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common room. - He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the window - and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat there: for - instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they were not - watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs—it - would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, - and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must - run, screaming, from the room—or to twist Birk-land's ears - round and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be - pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - </p> - <p> - At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly all - gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - </p> - <p> - Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his corner. - </p> - <p> - “It will be very pleasant,” West said, smiling a little, - “to have that third hour off all through this week. I can't - think, Comber, why Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to - do—I—” - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake,” Comber broke out furiously, “stop - it! Aren't we all sick to death with hearing of your beastly good - luck? Don't we all know that the whole thing's about as unfair - as it is possible for anything to be? Just keep quiet about it if you can.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course, Comber,” said West. “You grudge a man - any bit of luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew - anything more selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you - 'd have let us know about it all right.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West,” said Dormer. - “Leave it alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired - out as we can be? We've had enough fighting this term to last us a - century.” - </p> - <p> - With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a - common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - </p> - <p> - They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, and - they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their eyes. - </p> - <p> - With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their - heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in a - cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only - Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest with - his back against the wall, spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to - fill a great many years. We 're a wretched enough crew.” - </p> - <p> - He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder sometimes,” he went on, “how long we are going - to stand it. Most of us have been here a great many years—most of us - have had our hopes broken a great many years ago—most of us have - lost our pluck—” Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, - because he paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. “This term - has been worse than any other since I have been here. We have all been - very near doing things as well as thinking them. I wonder if you others - have ever thought, as I have thought sometimes, that we have no right to - be here?” - </p> - <p> - “How do you mean,” said Comber slowly, “no right?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting and - cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or - friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who used - us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him notice and - go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do things—we - all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot of us, now—” - He paused again, but there was still silence. “They say to us—the - people outside—that it is our own fault, that other men have made a - fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is - splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. I - know that—we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid - lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man that - we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have tried to do - decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a minute is our - own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come and try and see - what they will make of it.” - </p> - <p> - A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one spoke. - Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands waving in - the air. - </p> - <p> - “But it is not too late—it is not too late, I tell you. Let us - break from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that - unless they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, - unless they give us more freedom, we will leave—in a body. There is - a chance if we can act together, and better, far better, that we break - stones in the road, that we die free men than this... that this should go - on.” - </p> - <p> - His voice was almost a shout. “My God!” he cried, “think - of it! Think of our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act - together and break free!—free!” - </p> - <p> - He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved - together. Cries broke from them. - </p> - <p> - “You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't - stand it. It's our last chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Now! Let us go now!” - </p> - <p> - “Let us go and face him!” - </p> - <p> - Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. “Now or never!” - he cried. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the - voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved—the voice of a thousand - years of authority: “The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as - soon as possible.” - </p> - <p> - It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see what - he would do. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held by - Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to - hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak—then, with a - helpless gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the - room, and passed out through the door. - </p> - <p> - There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin - laughed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH examinations - there comes a new element into the life of the term—it is an element - of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching end of an impossible - situation; it is, an element of despair in so far as it provides an - overpowering number of answers, differing in the minutest particulars, to - the same questions; and is even an element of romance, because it heralds - the appearance of a final order in which boys will beat other boys, - generally in a surprising and unforeseen manner. But whatever it means it - also tightens to a higher pitch any situation that there may have been - before, so that anything that seemed impossible now appears incredible; - the days are like years, and the hours, filled with the empty scratching - of pens and the rubbing of blotting-paper, stretch infinitely into the - distance and hide release. - </p> - <p> - Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force - extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the - situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon - it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was - hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid - attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, - invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was - concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan whereby - every master set and corrected the papers of some other master's - form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most admirable - opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report always led, - next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, with the hapless - master who had incurred it in the rôle of victim. Therefore, if, as was - usually the case, your especial enemy was correcting the papers of your - form and would write a report on them, unless something were done to - appease him, you were, during the whole of the next term, delivered over - mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You might perchance appease your - enemy, or you might yourself be examining <i>his</i> form, in which case - you had every opportunity of a pleasant retort. At any rate, this plan - invariably inflamed any hostilities that might already be in existence and - resulted in the provision of at least half a dozen victims for Mr. - Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - </p> - <p> - For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and - misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, - because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term - the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays—also - he considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic - conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that - prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a - rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - </p> - <p> - He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from earlier - papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him and waited. - There was only one subject now in the whole world, and all these curious - boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these appalling noises, and - then these equally appalling silences, only diverted his attention and - prevented his thinking. - </p> - <p> - There were always three of them now—himself, the other Mr. Perrin, - and Traill—they always went about together. When he was taking an - examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the other - Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the room, - and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but away - from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at - him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - </p> - <p> - Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was - accompanied by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with - their own affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of—one couldn't - possibly have anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. - Sometimes it was curiously confused, because there were two Traills—a - Traill who moved about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and - the Traill who stood always by the door and never moved at all except to - slip away. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very much - indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. There had - been something once about an umbrella, and there was something else about - Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden Minimus; but none - of these things were fixed very resolutely in his mind, and his thoughts - slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - </p> - <p> - It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go on - like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long hours - whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and what he - could do. - </p> - <p> - There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two figures - at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He saw - suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it was - like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at it, - frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, and - the world would once more grow dark. - </p> - <p> - At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to realize - then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous it was. - </p> - <p> - Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy - figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden - Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's - round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth - quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - </p> - <p> - At last he said, “Oh!—Ah!—Garden—I haven't - seen much of you lately. How do the exams go?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to be - kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - </p> - <p> - But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and his - eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for help. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir—I—I could n't - do the geography this morning, sir.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the - road. - </p> - <p> - “When do you go for—um, ah,—your holidays, Garden?” - </p> - <p> - Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he - was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, “awfully - sick about something—not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing.” - </p> - <p> - He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was “jolly odd” - during these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of - every other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help—after all, Old - Pompous had been beastly decent to him—and then there came an - overwhelming sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had - suddenly appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He - looked down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a - murmured word about “having to meet some fellows—beastly late,” - was off. - </p> - <p> - Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school - buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the - other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat - prowls.... - </p> - <p> - About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had - never been inside it—he knew only that plain brown door with marks - near the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - </p> - <p> - But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by the - windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square black - lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy to turn, and - then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be inside—he - would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and the - chairs... it might be useful to know. - </p> - <p> - He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down the - passage; there was no one there—it was all very silent. The sun of - the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the - shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - </p> - <p> - He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands behind - his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened - again—he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very - loudly indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near - the window—the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver - hair-brushes and the china basin and jug. - </p> - <p> - It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one - photograph. - </p> - <p> - He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss - Desart—Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - </p> - <p> - He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. Then - he went out, closing the door softly behind him. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, - and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in - the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - </p> - <p> - Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected no - papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks—none of them - were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the papers; - other masters left all the results until the end. It was not considered - strange that Perrin had posted no results. - </p> - <p> - But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have done - something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his hands to - his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of course, he ought - to correct them—he ought to say what was good and what was bad. - </p> - <p> - He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his fingers - because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on French - Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - </p> - <p> - “I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of <i>donner, - recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir</i>...” - </p> - <p> - Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one—he had always found that that was - difficult. He turned over the page: - </p> - <p> - J'eu, tu eus, il eut—that looked wrong.. . - </p> - <p> - Again, here was Simpson Minor—“Je fus, tu fus, il fut”—surely - that was confused in some way. - </p> - <p> - The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and all - of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, flying - into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under the table - and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered wildly on the - floor. - </p> - <p> - The silly papers stared at him: - </p> - <p> - “Je dors tous...” - </p> - <p> - “Il faut que...” - </p> - <p> - “I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt...” - </p> - <p> - “Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns...” - </p> - <p> - And then, Simpson Minor: “Je fus, tu fus...” - </p> - <p> - He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the - floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was - maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to - trample on them—he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and - wildly stamping... . - </p> - <p> - And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped - still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could not - collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - </p> - <p> - Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the - important thing—the important thing was between himself and Traill; - that was what he must think about. - </p> - <p> - This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, - he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill - would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - </p> - <p> - The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - </p> - <p> - It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision that - something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with a - pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack on - his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered on - the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... - Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that he had - already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out. Wednesday - morning came. - </p> - <p> - Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday - morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - </p> - <p> - He gave out the Old Testament questions: - </p> - <p> - “1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and - Abiram; its cause and effects. - </p> - <p> - “2. Write briefly a life of Aaron...” - </p> - <p> - He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was - Wednesday—before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came - to him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - </p> - <p> - “6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I - have found favor in thy sight.' “'Let us make a captain - and let us return into Egypt.' - </p> - <p> - “'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'.rdquo; - </p> - <p> - He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him - afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was a - complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been - there for people to laugh at and mock him. - </p> - <p> - If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use—he might - have married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and - now the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He - hated Traill—of course he hated Traill; but it was not really - because of that that he was going to kill Traill—it was only because - he wanted to show all these people that he could do something: he was not - useless, after all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, - after all, the laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not - be able to kiss Miss Desart very much longer—another day, and he - would never be able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - </p> - <p> - Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and - easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - </p> - <p> - He had given God His opportunity—he had prayed to God and besought - Him; he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and - to be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the - distance, but everything had been very hard, and that was God's - fault for making it so hard. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not be - expecting that. - </p> - <p> - Still more would he surprise the place—Moffatt's—that - place that had treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a - grand, big thing to kill his enemy! - </p> - <p> - On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked - slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long dining-hall. - The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside every round, - shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a long, glittering - line right down the table, and the sun caught their gleaming steel and - flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them fascinated Mr. Perrin—it - was with a knife that he would kill Traill—he would cut Traill's - throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and felt their edges—they - were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great many of them—you - could cut a great many throats with all those knives, but he did not want - to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's—Traill was - his enemy. - </p> - <p> - At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys on - either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Cromer—um—yes, very pleasant. Our little friend - will amuse himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on - Christmas Day. Um, yes—and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! - Whitby—long way. Yes, able to read your holiday task in the train.” - </p> - <p> - He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was - brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering - the gravy over the cloth. - </p> - <p> - After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail - across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light of - the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a - transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors - behind it. - </p> - <p> - Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious - shapes—perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of - the sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that - could see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, - and fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular - creatures with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were - splendid galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and - mountain ranges—they were all very strange and beautiful, and - perhaps this was the last time that he would see them. - </p> - <p> - Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the - direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they - were Miss Desart and Traill—there was no doubt at all that that was - Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was - Traill. - </p> - <p> - The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be - amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know how - he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from - behind and strangle him with his hands. - </p> - <p> - And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the - path. - </p> - <p> - It was a day of ghosts—even the brown color of the earth of the hill - that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one - felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring place, - but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked hedges, and, - at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the cottages of the - village. - </p> - <p> - The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like the - rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, with - his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, and he - could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were discussing, - probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him to think that - he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the other Mr. Perrin - also. - </p> - <p> - They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path to - the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path the - mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of the sea by - gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges piercing the - sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the other figures had - preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden by boulders. He - hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, and then he hung - back a little lest he should be too close to them. They were still talking - very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led to a sheltered cove. - At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, and Perrin hid behind a - rock and watched them. - </p> - <p> - The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that made - the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the water - made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded away into - the mist again. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down behind - his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on the - sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it and - sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw that, he - knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss Desart was - there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and his eyes - filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there had been - someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there had ever been - anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his eyes. He had not - come there to cry—he had come there for vengeance, and then, at that - thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor a creature that - he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he were to miss even this - chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, he tried to gather together - all his reasons for hating Traill; but he couldn't think properly, - and the pebbles on which he was sitting were pressing into his trousers, - and his neck was hurting because he craned it so. - </p> - <p> - At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do - nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he got - up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly up the - path again. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the last - time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear - determination of settling things up. - </p> - <p> - His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had - corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - </p> - <p> - He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out - imaginary examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was - for the last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in - which they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - </p> - <p> - Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This - took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to - overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - </p> - <p> - <i>Dear Old Lady:</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret - it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a - failure. There is £100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get - things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you very - much, old lady, but I am no good.—Your loving son,</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Vincent Perrin.</i> - </p> - <p> - He fastened up the letter and addressed it to— - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Perrin, - </p> - <p> - Holly Cottage, - </p> - <p> - Bubblewick, - </p> - <p> - Bucks. - </p> - <p> - Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited - until the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the - passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down the - lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the - tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and he - tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and put - it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When he - got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly at the - knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of course. - </p> - <p> - But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got the - knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with it. - But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he was, - and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - </p> - <p> - The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a - chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There was - nothing fine about him—there was nothing fine about anyone at - Moffatt's—they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there - would be speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - </p> - <p> - But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It was - quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night—he - might just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was - shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his lamp. - </p> - <p> - He hated the dark—he had always hated it—and so he hurried - into his bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking - so that it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed - the matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - </p> - <p> - He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his shirt - and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the black - marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At last he - blew out the candle and got into bed. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was asleep—but - after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was conscious of - someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the other Mr. Perrin - was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the room was quite - dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that he could see that - he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were exactly the same as - his own. He was forced against his will to get out of bed and to follow - the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the long, white road, down to - the sea. Here they were in that little cove where Traill and Miss Desart - had been that afternoon. They sat with their backs against the rocks, and - in all the air there was a strange, uncertain light, and the sea came over - the shore in sullen, dreamy movements, as a tired woman's fingers - move when she is sewing. - </p> - <p> - Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession of - gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces were - white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung at - their sides. - </p> - <p> - He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice—that this must - not be allowed—and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was - all wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens—but - he could not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces - that he knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and - then—his own. - </p> - <p> - He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back - up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into his - room. - </p> - <p> - He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his surprise - he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although there had - been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he could - distinguish every object perfectly—and then he realized slowly that - things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not his, his - bed was not there—that photograph.... - </p> - <p> - Someone was in the bed. - </p> - <p> - For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between the - window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been walking in - his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - </p> - <p> - He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the - counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was - smiling. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity—here - was his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed—he - bent over the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... - it would be very easy. - </p> - <p> - Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept from - the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day, its - brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its train great things. - </p> - <p> - The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the last - day of the summer term, because it was a more private family affair. - </p> - <p> - One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, - one fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, - but it was in the midst of the family that it was done. - </p> - <p> - Parents—mothers and fathers and cousins—were indeed there, but - they, too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual - Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great - worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - </p> - <p> - Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender - history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be - over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred - years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone - mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last into - a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of the - Brown Hill—a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other - things the founder of Moffatt's. - </p> - <p> - It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had been - perhaps but vaguely recognized—perchance, perchance, the surest - foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our - tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - </p> - <p> - But this Marmadukery—a hideous word, but it serves—spread far - beyond that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the - <i>esprit de corps</i> signified by the School song (it began “Procul - in Cornubia,” and was violently shouted at stated intervals during - the year), the splendid appeal “to our fathers who have played in - these fields before us”—this was the cry that these banners - and orations signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true—but - shout enough about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have - tears in his eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke - becomes medieval, mystic, “the great, good man” of history, - and Moffatt's is “one of our good old schools. There's - nothing like our public school system, you know—has its faults, of - course; but tradition—that 's the Thing.” - </p> - <p> - The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone feels - it—everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir - Marmaduke is the Thing. - </p> - <p> - He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that he - kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she treated - anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers arrived in great - numbers on these occasions, and these three great days of the three terms - were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused events in the year. - They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the immediate return of - her own children, and they marked an amazing number of things that ought - to be done at once, with the confusing feeling about Sir Marmaduke also in - the air. - </p> - <p> - But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. - She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and - nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe—or almost - safe—and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out - of the place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had - last night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and - kissed her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be - all right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of - the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened - during the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - </p> - <p> - Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one - very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all sat - very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - </p> - <p> - She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and - happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of talking - to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at a pool, - flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured no - attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - </p> - <p> - But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at the - advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: “My - dear!—no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early—one - o'clock, and cold—you don't mind, do you, dear; but - there's to be <i>such</i> a dinner to-night, and I've just had - four mothers, and wise is n't the word for what I've been, - although I confused all their children as I always do, bless their hearts. - But, oh! the term's over, and I could go on my knees and thank - Heaven that it is, because I 've never hated anything so much, and - if it had lasted another week I should have struck off Mrs. Dormer's - head for the way she's treating you, for dead sure certain—” - </p> - <p> - “Archie's not coming back, you know,” Isabel - interrupted. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of - course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as - young and we'd be off from here tomorrow.” She stopped and - sighed a little and looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, - the stiff, bare trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. “But it's - no use wishing,” she went on cheerfully enough, “and we won't - any of us think of next term at all but only of the blessed month of - freedom that's in front of us.” Her voice softened; she put - her hand on Isabel's arm. “All the same, my dear, I'm - glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It was touching him, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I saw it,” the girl answered. “And I don't - want him to schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's - help he 'll be able to get a Government office of some sort.” - She hesitated, then said, smiling a little, “Are you and Mr. Comber—” - She stopped. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Comber bruskily, “we are—and - there 's no doubt that things are better than they have been. I - suppose marriage is always like that: there 's the thrilling time at - first, and then you find it is n't there any longer and you've - got to make up your mind to getting along. Things rub you up, you know, - and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome as anything, and then - there's a good big row and the air's cleared—and shall I - wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?” - </p> - <p> - “The black one fits the day better,” said Isabel - absent-mindedly. She was wondering whether the time would ever come when - she and Archie would feel ordinary about each other. - </p> - <p> - “But isn't it funny,” she went on, “that here we - are at the end of the term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all - our quarrels and fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming - impossible? It was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone.” - </p> - <p> - “It all comes,” said Mrs. Comber, “of our living too - close. Now that we're going to spread out over the holidays, we - 're as friendly as anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. - Dormer as much as ever”—which was difficult to believe when - that lady arrived at a quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel - and to go with them to the prize-giving. - </p> - <p> - Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black neck - to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of this she - spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one another as they - walked down the path to the school hall. - </p> - <p> - “And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?” - </p> - <p> - “I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the - housemaid. I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I - had to speak to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and - she gave notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and - unless I can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able - to get away.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, what servants are coming to!” Mrs. Dormer was - struggling with her collar like a dog. “Poor Mrs. Comber, I am <i>so</i> - sorry—of course management's the thing, but we haven't - all the gift and can't expect to have it.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over - Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be <i>so</i> - nice if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I - have n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. - Rose yesterday—quite a nice girl she sounded—who's been - under-parlormaid at Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, - and never a fault to find with her except a tendency to catching cold, - which made her sniff at times.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to - spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have loved—” - </p> - <p> - For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface responsible. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible for - clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this morning, - that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had hitherto been. - The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as he was not - returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was concerned. - He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term had shown him - that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought himself. His - pride, his temper, his irritation—all these things were lions with - which he had never fought before: now they must always, for the future, be - consciously kept in check. - </p> - <p> - He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going away—now - he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, together, - forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the buildings of - Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He could not - sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad dream... he - could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened suddenly in a - great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. Of course it - had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep properly - to-night. - </p> - <p> - At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on - this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they - all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble that - he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - </p> - <p> - Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to him. - </p> - <p> - He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The - floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the - air was full of dust. - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's - all this?” - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you - 've come. I was coming round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm - off for good.” - </p> - <p> - “Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have - finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I die—nothing - can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.” - </p> - <p> - “What are you going to do?” asked Traill. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've - saved a tiny hit of money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a - shot at anything. Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!” - </p> - <p> - He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with dust - on his cheeks and his hair on end. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all, - I'm on the same game. I don't know what I'm going to do - either. We 're both in the same box.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a - beautiful lady to help you. I'm alone, and most of the spirit's - knocked out of me after twenty years of this; but I'm going to have - a shot—so wish me luck!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We - 'll do it together—we 'll see heaps of each other.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm - too dry and dusty a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm - better alone. But I 'll come and see you one day.” - </p> - <p> - “You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what - you said about the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I - came in to see you. You were quite right.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, - “you had a hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. - It drove you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the - beginning, I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, - you met Miss Desart here.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Traill, “that makes it worth it fifty times - over.” - </p> - <p> - “And now,” went on Birkland grimly, “this afternoon you - shall see the closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our - tradition. You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with - the term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that - pervades the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, - maker of strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which - we all, from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share.” He - spread his arms. “Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!—to - get out of it! And now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If - it hadn't been for you, Traill, I believe I'd be here still. - Well, perhaps it's to breaking stones on a road that I'm - going... at any rate, it won't be this.” - </p> - <p> - And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his - influence. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly feeling, - with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had little to do. - This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling or a triumph at - approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' troubled and - confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening consciousness that - he had again, now for the second time, missed his chance. - </p> - <p> - This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; - not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - </p> - <p> - To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, they - would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same insignificant - creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and then it would be - worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, and in the distant - ages it would be told how once there had been a young man, straight from - the University, who had flung him to the ground and trampled on him, and - beaten him, in all probability, with his own umbrella.... - </p> - <p> - Ah, no! it was not to be borne—the thing must be done; there must be - no missing of an opportunity this third time. - </p> - <p> - He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. Somerset-Walpole - knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he suffered no punishment. - Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus had looked at him as though - he would like to speak to him, but he could not think of Garden Minimus - now—there were other more important things to think about. - </p> - <p> - Of course it must be done that night—there was only one night left. - Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown himself. - He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - </p> - <p> - His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would - say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some way - that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able to - laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something - terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. Miss - Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did not - wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the best, - because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only be - unhappy if she married him. - </p> - <p> - What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his throat - cut!—no, they would not laugh at him again! - </p> - <p> - He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went - back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in - front of him, with the door closed. - </p> - <p> - And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to - the school for the speeches. - </p> - <p> - He smiled and said, “Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up—now - that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that - we should not part friends—it's all been my stupid fault, and - I am so very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path with - his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you couldn't - shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in the evening. - He heard Traill's exasperated “Oh! very well,” and then - he passed into Big School. - </p> - <p> - He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were - always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they came - in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were - unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about his - popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore surprise - him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that greeted - Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - </p> - <p> - The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and - the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner - by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept - them there until the end of the ceremonies—no one noticed him—no - one spoke to him—not for him were their songs and festivals. - </p> - <p> - The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, - and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the - Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to - come. - </p> - <p> - These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with stout - bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that they - considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive and as - nonexistent as possible—they all wore a considerable amount of - watch-chain. - </p> - <p> - In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged the - prizes—a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been - biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside them - in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, in patent - leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was intermittent, but - regular. - </p> - <p> - This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the prizes, - because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the other - side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality and - authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; he - stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were seated: - Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, endeavoring - to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually as though - by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many parents. - </p> - <p> - The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He - alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, “our - founder, hero, and example”; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur - Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the - pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the - successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of Police in - Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in an examination - that had something to do with Tropical Diseases (more cheers); M. Watson - had received the College Essay Prize at St. Catherine's College, - Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second class in the first part - of the Previous Examination at the same university (frantic cheering, - because Duffield had been last year's captain of the Rugby - football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was exceedingly encouraging, - and they could not help reflecting that Sir Marmaduke Boniface, were he - conscious of these successes, would be extremely pleased (cheers). Passing - on to the present term, he was delighted to be able to say that never, in - all his long period as headmaster, could he remember a more equable and - energetic term (cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events - of special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those - concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a will. It - was a familiar saying that “a nation was blessed that had no history”—well, - that applied to such a term as the one just concluded (cheers). If he - might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he was quite sure that - Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man to rejoice in this - spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude for a moment to his - staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded with so pleasant a - body of men—men who understood exactly the kind of <i>esprit de - corps</i> necessary if a school's work were to be properly carried - on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great purpose of - making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed, - the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they - might be sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept - before him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, - who would give away the prizes. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic - cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness of - Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the - room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's - head intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved - their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed their - immovability. - </p> - <p> - Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he believed - in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he - should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like to say - one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning - prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who - failed to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.” - It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. - No—um—ah—he never used to win prizes at school himself. - It wasn't always the boys—here he pulled himself up and - remembered that he had said it before. There was something else that he'd - wanted to say, but he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was - conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and thought that he'd never - seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem to be able to escape them. - What a dangerous-looking man! - </p> - <p> - So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them - from our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of - paper on which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched - his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the - third row, suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. - He would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and - now he would give away the prizes. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's - speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to - speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least, - that his eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson - acute discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching - him with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was - not aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because - he looked so queer, as though he had a headache.” - </p> - <p> - He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second - Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of - Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not - matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at - issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated - impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager - realization. - </p> - <p> - He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. And - suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken himself, - forcibly, out of one room into another—out of a room in which there - was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise - dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place - that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that - Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, - but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - </p> - <p> - What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his place. - He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, stupid - faces. <i>That</i> Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her bony - neck; <i>that</i> silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming - garments; <i>that</i> Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she - were of any importance to anyone—all of them listening to these - things that Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing - these... Lies! - </p> - <p> - Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the - wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's - face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with - that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his head. - He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that they could - stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step forward and - tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat governors, to the - little man with the shining boots on the platform? They knew that these - thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had it not been slow torture - for them all, had not that man with the white beard full knowledge of - these lies that he was telling? What was his private quarrel with Traill - as compared with this monstrous injustice? He was pale now, with a long - red mark against the white of his cheek. He had stepped right away from - the wall and the small boys of the First and Second Forms were watching - him. - </p> - <p> - It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, that - it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than the - others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this place! - Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he - remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before in - the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt by - Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! what - rot! He could have shouted it to the roof—“Lies! Lies! Lies!” - </p> - <p> - There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his speech—ladies' - dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along the floor—and - then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his hands against one - another—they were hot and dry and something rather like a bobbin on - a latch went up and down in his throat—his eyes were burning. He - moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to the central - gangway between the blocks of boys. - </p> - <p> - And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies - of “Tennyson's Poems,” Sir Robert Ball's “Wonders - of the Heavens,” “The Works of Spencer,” and other - volumes of our admirable classics. They began with the bottom of the - school, and a small fat boy with a crimson face, boots that creaked like a - badly-oiled door and were shaped like Chinese boats, staggered up to the - platform. A lady, prominent for her size and large picture hat moved - eagerly in her chair, clapped vehemently with her white gloves and so - proclaimed herself a mother. - </p> - <p> - Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to - each prizewinner—“something that they could remember - afterwards, you know”—and began to say something to the small - and red-faced boy, but was startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory - breathing close to his ear. Turning round, he discovered that three more - small boys were waiting anxiously for their turn and that others were - coming up the room. He therefore hurried along with “Here you are, - my boy. Remember that prizes aren't everything in life—hope - you 'll read it—delightful book.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He must - wait—now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech to - thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To his - excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were looking - at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must have felt as - indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been telling them. But - those governors should know the truth for once at any rate and in a way - that they should not forget... strangely, in the back of his mind he - wished that his mother could be present.... - </p> - <p> - The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered - according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, - had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest - of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very pleased - with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a flushed - face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the leading - rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with a book - and a few pleasant words—fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came - quicker as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - </p> - <p> - Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. It - had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so distinguished - a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that afternoon. It must have - been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time amongst so many - engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. (Cheers—Sir - Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at his shirt cuffs - as though his engagements were written down there.) They on their part - were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the room, however - young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as long as he lived, - those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it was not only for the - winners of prizes that life was intended (here Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated - many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and the governors moved - restlessly in their chairs), but (and here Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a - new note) it might not be, perhaps, presumptuous of him to hope that it - was not only for them that afternoon might have pleasant memories. For Sir - Arthur Spalding also, he might hope, there would be times in the future - when he would look back and remember that he had seen, for an instant at - least, one of our British public schools in one of its happiest and most - prosperous phases. He might flatter himself— - </p> - <p> - “It 's all lies!” - </p> - <p> - The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. - To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the - over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, there - may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange master of - theirs—“that old ass Pompous”—seen his edging from - the wall into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands - clenching and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that - sudden lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his - feet, could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to - the governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively - desiring his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the - staff, the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a - wind, “What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered - little cries, they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice—they - were held, paralyzed. - </p> - <p> - And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange - figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window - upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his - gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - </p> - <p> - “It's lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one - upon another. “I don't care—I must speak. Ladies and - gentlemen,”—he caught his throat for a moment with his hand—“I - know that this is no occasion for saying those things, but no one else has - the courage—the courage. It is not true what he has been saying”—he - pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white patriarch. “We are - unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by that man—we are not - paid enough—we are not considered at all—never considered—everything - is wrong—we all hate each other—we hate <i>him</i>—he - hates <i>us</i>—we are unhappy—it is all hell.” - </p> - <p> - He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from - head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell - here... hell!” - </p> - <p> - And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly to - his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by the - wide doors behind him. - </p> - <p> - There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - </p> - <p> - “It 's Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was entirely - unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across the green - quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, nor grass, nor - gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that his words may - have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest in what had - happened after he had left the building. The one fact was there before - him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the rejected, had flung - into the midst of them all his bomb. They might hate him now; the - governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they might deny - indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, ignore him. - His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. Everything in it - watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as though nothing - tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, the little specks of - dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly something gleaming from - beneath the pile of examination papers on the table. He turned the papers - over, and there, shining against the old, worn-out tablecloth, was the - knife. He stared at it and then very slowly and thoughtfully put it away - in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was surprised, amazed, at the - indifference with which he looked at it. That morning it had meant so - much, now—— - </p> - <p> - It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, - greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a - tyrant. - </p> - <p> - He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind his - back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What would - they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must be an - enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions that had - been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the other - Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill being always - in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most - certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly - there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their - solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only - that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That - quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one - was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious - quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill aside - with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in the - world. - </p> - <p> - What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would - the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and - thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with - his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they - would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they would - find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had hitherto - despised. - </p> - <p> - He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that - hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - </p> - <p> - The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, - but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the - world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the - darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would - be time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room - before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. - Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - </p> - <p> - He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course they - would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. He - felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they had to - say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden silence, and - then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their plans; perhaps - they had already prepared a written protest supporting his own outburst. - </p> - <p> - He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes - and a beating heart to the Upper School. - </p> - <p> - He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered - the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire—all of them, - he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they - seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for - years.” - </p> - <p> - And the other voices came together: - </p> - <p> - “Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a - disgrace, a thing like that happening.” - </p> - <p> - “Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all - the holidays in the world!” - </p> - <p> - “No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have - got started before anyone saw him.” - </p> - <p> - “Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of - him.” - </p> - <p> - But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these - speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a smile - and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - </p> - <p> - They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the - fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no - movement. They watched him. - </p> - <p> - He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were - watching him, he thought, curiously. - </p> - <p> - His confidence began to leave him. - </p> - <p> - “It's nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum! - ha!” - </p> - <p> - There was no answer. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't - I? Yes, indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He - stopped again. - </p> - <p> - Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were - looking at the papers. - </p> - <p> - Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him - any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of - course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; - had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he - had seized his—well! - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I - flatter myself that something will come of it. It will be difficult for - them, I think, to disregard that altogether—hum—yes.” - </p> - <p> - There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - </p> - <p> - “Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?” - </p> - <p> - “Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.” - </p> - <p> - Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I - should go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you - 're wanting. Take my advice. Bed's the place—shouldn't - go to chapel if I were you—hem.” - </p> - <p> - “No, shouldn't go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly. - </p> - <p> - Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried. - “Why shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a - holiday?” - </p> - <p> - “You 're tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That's - what it is. We're all tired—overdone. We've all been - feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing term's come to an end. - I knew something would happen. You 're tired, Perrin.” - </p> - <p> - “Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. - “Tired! It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't - like to see me taking the lead—you hate my coming to the front. You've - always hated me, the lot of you. You 're jealous, that's what - it is. You 're cruel”—his voice suddenly broke—“I - was helping you all. That's why I spoke—and now—” - </p> - <p> - And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that's what they - are—beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!” - </p> - <p> - He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a - note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - </p> - <p> - <i>'.ir:</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible - to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel....</i> - </p> - <p> - So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of the - window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes—the boys from - the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy - chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night—the dark-swelling - trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells - stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that - his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the - evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his - feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common - room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He - might have known that that would be the way that they would take it—he - was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future. - He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace - himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be - the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined he - was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or tittle - of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his feet. - To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would sound a - very different note. - </p> - <p> - He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were - cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it - was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, - and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - </p> - <p> - His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought of - Traill—-Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one - thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection - somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public - outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he - confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had - been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it was - that he was going to do. - </p> - <p> - He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it - was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn—“Lord, - dismiss us with Thy Blessing”—and singing it too with vigor - that, exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching - freedom. He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the - window. Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. - He could be humble or he could he arrogant—he could plead for mercy - or he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two - possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as - possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There - would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must - make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions - were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - </p> - <p> - On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped - the sides of his chair—well, he would find that he had made a - mistake. The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body - trembled—in half an hour there would be this battle! - </p> - <p> - In half an hour!—in less than half an hour! Already the opening of - the chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the - evening breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and - singing. On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed - into preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was - the last night of the term—there was to be a concert—and by - this time to-morrow— - </p> - <p> - They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more - there was silence—the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were - closed. - </p> - <p> - Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the very - heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his enemy had been - Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the ingenuity of the - devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin had thought that it - was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, with extraordinary - clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. That spider with that - dark study for his web was spinning, always spinning—more - effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with its dim light, - surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other room into which he - was going frightened him against his will. He was determined that he - would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the back of his mind was an - undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, Moy-Thompson would get the - better of him. - </p> - <p> - He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not - beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's - study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table by - the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical busts on - the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white beard at - the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with flashes of - golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not - raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen - down slowly, looked up and smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't - inconvenient for you coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed haggard - and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to collect his - thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - </p> - <p> - “But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this - easy-chair by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between - his hands, sat down. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this - letter—hum, yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which - some heavy clock ticked solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he - 'll wait—of course, he 'll wait—of course, he - 'll wait.” - </p> - <p> - At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. - His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his - clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really, - only a few moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a - long day. But come, Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've - got to discuss this matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can - assure you that I have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you - in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr. - Perrin, I beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am - most anxious to prove to you that I am nothing but friendly in this - matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and tapped his nails, with sharp little - rattling noises, one against the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm - sure you must agree with me that a disturbance like that of this afternoon - is exceedingly unusual and I may say with very considerable truth that no - one who was present was more completely and remarkably surprised than - myself. I do not pretend,” he went on with a smile and lifting a - deprecating hand towards the fire, “that I am so pleasantly - self-assured as to believe that there is no unsound plank in this good - ship of ours; there are many things, I am sure, that would be the better - for a newer and a younger hand, but I had supposed—and naturally - supposed, I think—that any complaints that there were would be - brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to time complaints - <i>have</i> been brought to me and I may say that I have always dealt with - them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson - paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you - know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have - come to me with any complaint of any kind?” - </p> - <p> - Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long - speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular - and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was bent - towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he would reply - and half started from his chair. - </p> - <p> - Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - </p> - <p> - “No—please, a moment—may I not explain myself? although - it needs surely no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that - has always, I believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had - yesterday been questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely - trust and honor I should have named yourself.” He paused and then - slowly added, “I need scarcely remind you that it is only a - fortnight since there passed between us, in this very room, an interview - of the most friendly and confidential description.” - </p> - <p> - There was no word from the chair. - </p> - <p> - “You must remember that, during the many years that have passed - since you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You - have had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I - have always been frank with you—you 've seized none of them. - All the more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what - occurred to-day.” - </p> - <p> - At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled with - silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his brain. - What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the things - that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, it was true; - it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and Moy-Thompson, all - these years, great friends. Other members of the staff may have rebelled - and quarreled and disputed, but he had always supported authority. He - remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the pleasure that he had - taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews in that very room. - This momentous and horrible fact rose now before him and froze any reply - that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's devoted henchman for - twenty years—was he the right man to head a rebellion now? - </p> - <p> - In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against - another, “I see that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in - some of my remarks. These things are facts—that you have been twenty - years without a complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here - more rubbing of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard - task that demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this - outbreak; an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an - outbreak for which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its - nature, I should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and - habits—” Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, - “Well, what is the only explanation? What can be the only - explanation?” - </p> - <p> - Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, “overwork, - of course. Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last - weeks, things were being a little too much for you—hum—yes—natural - enough, natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a - long time since you were out of harness—yes, indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'm not tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the - game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient - excuse for to-day's little episode—the only excuse indeed - (this a little more sharply)—but an excuse that we all of us—I - speak for others as well as myself—are only too ready to seize. A - holiday, my friend, a holiday—there we have our doctor's - medicine.” - </p> - <p> - Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised his - head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the worst. He - faced it with despair—he knew as he heard the other man's - words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he - make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting and - abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that he was - merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of the terror - that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle contempt and - the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - </p> - <p> - Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him that - this was not quite so simple as it appeared—that this old man in his - dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in the - dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his head was - buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. To have - Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, was to - have Perrin silenced, humbled—finally quieted. But how was he to - battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the - accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those - many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn - consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid to - that white beard, these things rose and defeated him—defeated him on - the last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - </p> - <p> - Yet he tried to say something. - </p> - <p> - He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - </p> - <p> - “I had reason,” he said slowly, “for what I did. I meant - what I said and I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of - us and I want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did - this afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us - all to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me—if - anyone else had done it—” - </p> - <p> - His head dropped—his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, - “I want to hand in my resignation.” - </p> - <p> - The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently and - a little sadly: - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel - that I have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think - me unfriendly—my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly—if - I say that this opinion of yours—a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps—owes - something to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I beg - of you is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait until you - are stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that the governors - will only too readily allow you a holiday during next term—when the - summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in body and mind.” - </p> - <p> - Tick—tick—tick went the clock—“Here's a good - offer—Here's a good offer.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish to hand in my resignation,” said Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <p> - “Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all - be genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making - your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps—” - </p> - <p> - “I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is - scandalous—scandalous—” - </p> - <p> - “I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you - feel about it as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few - weeks. Write to me. Write to the governors—write to anyone you - please. But wait—let me urge you to wait.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again - there was silence. Then at last: - </p> - <p> - “Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the - strength to break with anything. I'm no use—no good.” He - got to his feet and then suddenly broke out: - </p> - <p> - “But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, - but I'm right. What I've said is true, it's all true. - You 're a devil. You've had us all at your mercy for years and - years. You've worked us against one another until you've - rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and you 're pleased—you - 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it—you, a God's - parson—and you've made money and you've broken hearts - and you've eaten and drunk—and you 're too clever for - us, but there's hell for you somewhere. I see it and I know it.” - </p> - <p> - He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - </p> - <p> - It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some - judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world - about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was - thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his - defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - </p> - <p> - He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no more - for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the heart - of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good—no good at all—an - utterly useless man. - </p> - <p> - He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation - in his face. He was no good. - </p> - <p> - He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the door - he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, looking very - shy. - </p> - <p> - Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at - all. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Good evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Won't you sit down?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you. I only came in for a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right. What is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Only I wanted to tell you—that—well—oh, that - I thought you were awfully plucky this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really—it was a very - foolish thing to do.” - </p> - <p> - “No—really—the other fellows did n't understand—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes! They understood very well.” - </p> - <p> - Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to - go through with it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know—not coming - back—and I thought that it would be a pity if we parted—well, - sick with each other. What do you say? We've had one or two - turn-ups, but we 're friends, are n't we?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course.” - </p> - <p> - “Shake hands, will you?” - </p> - <p> - They shook hands. - </p> - <p> - “Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't - you? Always awfully pleased. Well, I must be going.” - </p> - <p> - And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - </p> - <p> - But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's - utter despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his - life. “He had made it up with the chap,” but Perrin, in the - dark, was looking, with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray - figure that had haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him - face to face. - </p> - <p> - And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—THE GOLDEN VIEW - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ITH the coming - dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, sitting in his chair - without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, the gray cold pane of his - window and the last faint glow of the sinking coals that lingered in the - grate. He did not know what he could have said to Moy-Thompson, what he - ought to have said. He thought that he might have faced it out better had - the interview been in some other place. There were so many things that - hung about that room and made it impossible for him to speak. He had not - known that it would be so hard. - </p> - <p> - But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all these - many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had been - coming upon him but he had never confessed it—now it stared him in - the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. He - knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and face - the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the courage - to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had not even - had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would do. - </p> - <p> - And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant - enough man if only someone had tried to like him—and then these - headaches—and then those days when his brain was so strangely - confused—no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if - Isabel Desart.—-Well, why think about it? They all mocked him—even - Moy-Thompson did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was - very sick and tired of life. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p> - The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very silent - as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. Some clock - downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black cold grate and - saw that soon it would be sunrise. - </p> - <p> - The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything - was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making - everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the - pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the - middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - </p> - <p> - At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with a - little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it was - hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the - solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the dark - hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the half-light. - </p> - <p> - He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into the - mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; its - beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of him, - almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause before - he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the daytime, but - now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle of the hours - when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when the brown earth - and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in the pageant. The - breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness of the first - moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the movement and - stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter day bare - branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen sun—now - everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - </p> - <p> - He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In front - of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the threads and - fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of the land hid it - great fountains of color were held behind the cloud and the suggestion of - their richness was passing already into the thickly-curtained gray. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off - across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was growing - with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out sharp and - black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud was slowly - filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through the heart of - it a little avenue of trees ran—now they were gaunt and stiff in two - lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end of the little avenue - there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running sharply to the white road - beneath, and then below the road again there is the sea. It is a wonderful - view from here, for the sea curves like a silver bowl into infinite - distance. Through the country-side it is known as “The Golden View,” - not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving and heaving beneath its - gray veil with the faintest threads of color beginning to interlace the - fabric of it. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and - looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in - front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun rose - above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. “To - fling oneself down on to that cold white road” was a very easy death - to die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the - courage. He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw - coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p> - He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought - that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of his - life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She was - dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - </p> - <p> - And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. - “Oh!” he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his - voice was full of pain. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, Mr. Perrin,” she said very easily; “I - could not sleep and I had thought that I would come down here to see the - sun rise—and then I saw you pass through the school gates and I was - impertinent enough to follow you. I want to talk to you.” - </p> - <p> - “To talk to me?” - </p> - <p> - He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there - just as the sun rises.” - </p> - <p> - He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full of - what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. He - glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she was! - He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you didn't very much want to be alone,” she said - smiling at him; “but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I - have been wanting—very badly—ever since yesterday afternoon—to - speak to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Since yesterday afternoon,” he repeated bitterly. “You - must feel as they all do, about that.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how the others feel,” she answered almost - fiercely. “That is no business of mine. But I understood, I - sympathized, a great deal more than you would believe—and I wanted - to tell you so.” - </p> - <p> - “You couldn't understand—you couldn't sympathize. - It doesn't touch you anywhere. You 're going to-day and you - won't come back. Well, don't think of any of us again. Don't - try and help us—it only makes it worse for us.” - </p> - <p> - “No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would - understand—and even if I am going away it would be something for - both of us if we knew that we had parted friends, that—” - </p> - <p> - But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working - most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered - what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking - dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some strange - greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his back and - in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, please—don't,” and then she stayed in - infinite distress waiting for him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so - thin and ragged, in the cold morning air, and her heart was full of the - deepest aching pity. - </p> - <p> - At last he turned round to her. “Let us go on,” he said - roughly; “I am all in pieces—don't mind me—you - shouldn't have spoken to me like that—it's more than I - can stand.” Then after a pause he went on, “You mustn't - talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend of yours.” - </p> - <p> - “That is for me to say,” she answered gently. “I have - been so wrong all this term. I have only made things worse instead of - better and I did so want to help. It's been awful this term and - yesterday afternoon was the worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had - agreed with the things you said!” - </p> - <p> - “It is n't any use,” he answered. “It's too - late.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't - let me help you, why then perhaps you 'll help me.” - </p> - <p> - “Help you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we - part like this—I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a - little of what you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It - isn't kind to me to leave it like this.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she was; - her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt bitterly - that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every word that - she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if she went away - without speaking she would regret it all her life. - </p> - <p> - At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute control - of himself and his voice was quite steady. - </p> - <p> - “No—I hadn't meant to be rude like that—only you - took me by surprise. I've made a wretched muddle of things and, - since yesterday afternoon, I 've seen that I'm a complete - failure in every possible sense of the word. You are so splendid in all - ways—and you are going to have such a splendid life—that we - are at the opposite ends of the world, you and I.” - </p> - <p> - She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all its - little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the - strange creature whom she had known before. - </p> - <p> - “No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so - miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have made - things better between you and Archie—Mr. Traill—all that - wretched quarreling—and yet I felt so helpless.” - </p> - <p> - “No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man - feeling that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and - the younger man resenting the older man's interference—and - neither Traill nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were - pressed up against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. - No, you had n't very much to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, - half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering - whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of all - self-consciousness, held him back— - </p> - <p> - He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. “And - then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I - was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him - if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair that he - should have everything—youth, health, prospects, popularity—everything—and - I nothing. I had never been a likable man, perhaps, but there seemed to be - no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to do things—” - </p> - <p> - He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot - with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling back - like gates before the sun. - </p> - <p> - “—And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making - his speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place—the - system—that I had been up against all this time, and not any one - person—and suddenly I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know—and - I thought I'd done rather a big thing. I thought the other men would - be glad that I had led the way. I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious - and frightened, but the other men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed—and - suddenly everything cleared and I saw what this place had made of me. They - say that it takes a man all a lifetime to know himself—well, I - 've got that knowledge early. I know what I am.” - </p> - <p> - She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. “You - 're going to have a fine life,” he said; “there are so - many people that you will do good to—but you have been everything to - one useless creature.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall always be proud to be your friend.” Curiously, in the - growing light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she - felt more strongly moved than she had ever been before—yes, even - Archie Traill's wooing had not touched her as this did. - </p> - <p> - “I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you,” at - last she said brokenly, “but I shall never, all my life through, - forget you. I shall want, please, always to hear—” - </p> - <p> - “To hear?” His lips twisted into a strange smile. “Ah, - you must n 't want that.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not? What are you going to do—now?” - </p> - <p> - “To do?” He was still strangely smiling. “What is there - for me to do? I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no - means and I am fit for nothing but schoolmastering—” - </p> - <p> - “Cannot you come back here—in spite of it all?” - </p> - <p> - “Come back?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so - unimportant that—it does n't matter.” - </p> - <p> - “You will—promise that you will!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, it is all so useless,” he said, shaking his head. “Before, - when I had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but - now, when that is all gone—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand”—her eyes - were flaming—“you <i>must</i>—you <i>must</i>. Don't - you see that you 're being given such a chance! Think of the pluck - of it—after all that has happened—to come back, knowing what - they think of you, knowing what you think of yourself. Oh! I envy you. I - believe the only thing we 're in the world for is to have courage—that - answers everything—and some of us have such fat, easy lives that we've - no chance at all. But you to come back with your teeth set, to build it - all up again, to will it all back! Oh! it's splendid! And Archie and - I will have our happy, ordinary existences—just going along—and - you 'll be here doing the finest thing in the world. I'd - change places with you to-morrow,” she magnificently ended up. - </p> - <p> - “You see it like that?” he said slowly almost to himself. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all - this term's been for—to bring to a head—to show you your - great chance. That 's life—everything leading up to the one - big thing—and now this is yours.” - </p> - <p> - “My God!” he whispered, “If I could!” - </p> - <p> - “You must,” she answered, “I believe in you—come - back—fight it—win.” - </p> - <p> - But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - </p> - <p> - “No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I - 've had my spirit broken—this place has broken it.” - </p> - <p> - “No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance—take - it.” - </p> - <p> - “All these years,” he answered grimly, “twenty years—it's - a long time for a man. I can't begin all over again.” - </p> - <p> - “Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight - as you see things now—It 's never been the same before.” - </p> - <p> - He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Do you believe I could do it?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Win back respect—make them forget yesterday—go on with - the old torture—” he shuddered and buried his face in his - hands. - </p> - <p> - “I believe in you,” she answered steadfastly. - </p> - <p> - He drew a deep breath. “At last!” - </p> - <p> - “I believe in you.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not saying that only to comfort met” - </p> - <p> - “No; you know that I am not.” - </p> - <p> - “To come back—to go on—to face it all.” - </p> - <p> - “It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall - know—I shall always remember.” - </p> - <p> - As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would not - have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief - moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell - that Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some - way a new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he - do anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the - sea swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly - blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded the - brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through the - brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a white - gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out to sea. - </p> - <p> - Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come - back,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The new day shone about their heads. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p> - Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. - Comber was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only - for a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and - pleasant than he had been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys - were returning that afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's - a bill from that dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't - leave one alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and - I told her only a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk - until Easter—well, some marmalade, then, if you won't have - another—what train did you say you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm - so glad it's a sunny day—you were up quite early weren't - you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. Dormer had to say - about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and now I shan't - have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's - shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash, - so that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?” - </p> - <p> - “Of what all?” asked Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been - queer all this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what - he 'll do now?” - </p> - <p> - “I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if - he can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors - that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm - sure we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been - most queer all this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie - and everything. Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under - his thumb.” - </p> - <p> - Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a - fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the - things that she ought to do. - </p> - <p> - “Dear?” said Isabel. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to do something for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's - hill for that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—” - </p> - <p> - “No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen - altogether to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin <i>is</i> coming back. I saw him - this morning—” - </p> - <p> - “You saw him this morning! Isabel!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View. - He talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or - people. There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside - and so dull outside.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered - slowly, “but I cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I - can't really.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when - I think of Archie and myself and our lives—and all the other people - with lives like them—and then when I think of all the awkward, - bad-mannered, stiff, jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm - ashamed!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Comber was astonished. “Well, my dear,” she said, “it - does seem to have affected you—really. Of course I want to be kind - to everybody—even Mrs. Dormer—and of course I 'll - believe what you say, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for him, and - it won't be pleasant for him coming back.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Isabel. “It won't—no one ought - ever to come back here again—but if only you 'll be a friend - to him— - </p> - <p> - “You see,” she went on again, “he's the kind of - man whom those things matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever - taken any interest in him or any trouble—and now if you and I—” - </p> - <p> - “Anything,” said Mrs. Comber, “that you want me to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes think,” said Isabel, “that the world's - topsy-turvy. People seem to put so much value on all the outside things, - and if someone's ugly and awkward—” - </p> - <p> - Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at the door - of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown portmanteau—a - very old brown portmanteau—and he put it on the cab. It was a very - old cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old - shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - </p> - <p> - The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - </p> - <p> - Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that he - would. - </p> - <p> - Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious beauty - of that day she seemed to get her answer. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - </p> - <p> - “It <i>shall</i> be all right, next term,” said Mr. Perrin. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Gods and Mr. Perrin - A Tragi-Comedy - -Author: Hugh Walpole - -Release Date: June 1, 2016 [EBook #52211] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - -A Tragi-Comedy - -By Hugh Walpole - -Author Of "Fortitude," - -"The Prelude To Adventure," Etc. - -New York George H. Doran Company - -Copyright, 1911 - -"The Way Here Also Was Very Wearisome Through Dirt And Shabbiness: Nor -Was There On All This Ground So Much As One Inn Or Victualling-House -Wherein To Refresh The Feebler Sort."--Pilgrim's Progress - - -TO - -PUNCH - -My Dear Punch, - -There are a thousand and one reasons why I should dedicate this book to -you. It would take a very long time and much good paper to give you them -all; but here, at any rate, is one of them. Do you remember a summer day -last year that we spent together? The place was a little French town, -and we climbed its high, crooked street, and had tea in an inn at the -top--an inn with a square courtyard, bad, impossible tea, and a large -black cat. - -It was on that afternoon that I introduced you for a little time to Mr. -Perrin, and you, because you have more understanding and sympathy than -anyone I have ever met, understood him and sympathized. For the good -things that you have done for me I can never repay you, but for the good -things that you did on that afternoon for Mr. Perrin I give you this -book. - -Yours affectionately, - -HUGH WALPOLE. - -Chelsea, January 1911. - - - - -THE GODS AND MR. PERRIN - - - - -CHAPTER I--MR. VINCENT PERRIN DRINKS HIS TEA AND GIVES MR. TRAILL SOUND -ADVICE - - -I. - -|VINCENT PERRIN said to himself again and again as he climbed the hill: -"It shall be all right this term"--and then, "It _shall_ be"--and then, -"_This_ term." A cold wintry sun watched him from above the brown shaggy -wood on the horizon; the sky was a pale and watery blue, and on its -surface white clouds edged with gray lay like saucers. A little wind -sighed and struggled amongst the hedges, because Mr Perrin had nearly -reached the top of the hill, and there was always a breeze there. He -stopped for a moment and looked back. The hill on which he was stood -straight out from the surrounding country; it was shaped like a -sugar-loaf, and the red-brown earth of its fields seemed to catch the -red light of the sun; behind it was green, undulating country, in front -of it the blue, vast sweep of the sea. - -"It _shall_ be all right this term," said Mr. Perrin, and he pulled -his rather faded greatcoat about his ears, because the little wind was -playing with the short bristly hairs at the back of his neck. He was -long and gaunt; his face might have been considered strong had it not -been for the weak chin and a shaggy, unkempt mustache of a nondescript -pale brown. His hands were long and bony, and the collar that he wore -was too high, and propped his neck up, so that he had the effect of -someone who strained to overlook something. His eyes were pale and -watery, and his eyebrows of the same sandy color as his mustache. His -age was about forty-five, and he had been a master at Moffatt's for over -twenty years. His back was a little bent as he walked; his hands were -folded behind his back, and carried a rough, ugly walking-stick that -trailed along the ground. - -His eyes were fixed on the enormous brown block of buildings on the top -of the hill in front of him: he did not see the sea, or the sky, or the -distant Brown Wood. - -The air was still with the clear suspense of an early autumn day. The -sound of a distant mining stamp drove across space with the ring of -a hammer, and the tiny whisper--as of someone who tells eagerly, but -mysteriously, a secret--was the beating of the waves far at the bottom -of the hill against the rocks. - -Paint blue smoke hung against the saucer-shaped clouds above the chimneys -of Moffatt's; in the air there was a sharp scented smell, of some hidden -bonfire. - -The silence was broken by the sound of wheels, and an open cab drove up -the hill. In it were seated four small boys, surrounded by a multitude -of bags, hockey-sticks, and rugs. The four small boys were all very -small indeed, but they all sat up when they saw Mr. Perrin, and touched -their hats with a simultaneous movement. Mr. Perrin nodded sternly, -glanced at them for a moment, and then switched his eyes back to the -brown buildings again. - -"Barker Minor, French, Doggett, and Rogers." he said to himself quickly; -"Barker Minor, French.. . ;" then his mind swung back to its earlier -theme again, and he said out loud, hitting the road with his stick, "It -shall _be_ all right _this_ term." - -The school clock--he knew the sound so well that he often thought he -heard it at home in Buckinghamshire--struck half-past three. He hastened -his steps. His holidays had been good--better than usual; he had played -golf well; the men at the Club had not been quite such idiots and fools -as they usually were: they had listened to him quite patiently about -Education--shall it be Greek or German? Public School Morality, and What -a Mother can do for her Boy--all favorite subjects of his. - -Perhaps this term was not going to be so bad--perhaps the new man would -be an acquisition: he could not, at any rate, be _worse_ than Searle of -the preceding term. The new man was, Perrin had heard, only just down -from the University--he would probably do what Perrin suggested. - -No, this term was to be all right. He never liked the autumn term; -but there were a great many new boys, his house was full, and then--he -stopped once more and drew a deep breath--there was Miss Desart. He -tried to twist the end of his mustache, but some hairs were longer -than others, and he never could obtain a combined movement.... Miss -Desart.... He coughed. - -He passed in through the black school gates, his shabby coat flapping at -his heels. - -The distant Brown Wood, as it surrendered to the sun, flamed with gold; -the dark green hedges on the hill slowly caught the light. - -II. - -The master's common room in the Lower School was a small square room -that was inclined in the summer to get very stuffy indeed. It stood, -moreover, exactly between the kitchen, where meals were prepared, and -the long dining-room, where meals were eaten, and there was therefore a -perpetual odor of food in the air. On a "mutton day"--there were three -"mutton" days a week--this odor hung in heavy, clammy folds about the -ceiling, and on those days there were always more boys kept in than on -the other days--on so small a thing may punishment hang. - -To-day--this being the first day of the term---the room was exceedingly -tidy. On the right wall, touching the windows, were two rows of -pigeon-holes, and above each pigeon-hole was printed, on a white label, -a name-- - -"Mr. Perrin," - -"Mr. Dormer," - -"Mr. Clinton," - -"Mr. Traill." - -Each master had two pigeon-holes into which he might put his papers and -his letters; considerable friction had been caused by people putting -_their_ papers into other people's pigeon-holes. On the opposite wall -was an enormous, shiny map of the world, with strange blue and red lines -running across it. The third wall was filled with the fireplace, over -which were two stern and dusty photographs of the Parthenon, Athens, and -St. Peter's, Rome. - -Although the air was sharp with the first early hint of autumn, the -windows were open, and a little part of the garden could be seen--a -gravel path down which golden-brown leaves were fluttering, a round -empty flower-bed, a stone wall. - -On the large table in the middle of the room tea was laid, one plate of -bread and butter, and a plate of rock buns. Dormer, a round, red-faced, -cheerful-looking person with white hair, aged about fifty, and Clinton, -a short, athletic youth, with close-cropped hair and a large mouth, were -drinking tea. Clinton had poured his into his saucer and was blowing at -it--a practice that Perrin greatly disliked. - -However, this was the first day of term, and everyone was very friendly. -Perrin paused a moment in the doorway. "Ah! here we are again!" he said, -with easy jocularity. - -Dormer gave him a hand, and said, "Glad to see you, Perrin; had good -holidays?" - -Clinton took the last rock bun, and shouted with a kind of roar, "You -old nut!" - -Perrin, as he moved to the table, thought that it was a little hard that -all the things that irritated him most should happen just when he was -most inclined to be easy and pleasant. - -"Ha! no cake!" he said, with a surprised air. - -"Oh! I say, I'm so sorry," said Clinton, with his mouth full, "I took -the last. Ring the bell." - -Perrin gulped down his annoyance, sat down, and poured out his tea. It -was cold and leathery. Dormer was busily writing lists of names. The -Lower School was divided into two houses--Dormer was house-master -of one, and Perrin of the other. The other two junior men were under -house-masters: Clinton belonged to Dormer; and Traill, the new man, to -Perrin. Both houses were in the same building, but the sense of rival -camps gave a pleasant spur of emulation and competition both to work and -play. - -"I say, Perrin, "have you made out your bath-lists? Then there are -locker-names--I want." Perrin snapped at his bread and butter. "Ah, -Dormer, please--my tea first." - -"All right; only, it's getting on to four." - -For some moments there was silence. Then there came timid raps on the -door. Perrin, in his most stentorian voice, shouted, "Come in!" - -The door slowly opened, and there might be seen dimly in the passage a -misty cloud of white Eton collars and round, white faces. There was a -shuffling of feet. - -Perrin walked slowly to the door. - -"Here we all are again! How pleasant! How extremely pleasant! All of us -eager to come back, of course--um--yes. Well, you know you oughtn't to -come now. Two minutes past four. I 'll take your names then--another -five minutes. It's up on the board. Well, Sexton? Hadn't you eyes? -_Don't_ you know that ten minutes past four is ten minutes past four and -_not_ four o'clock?" - -"Yes, sir, please, sir--but, sir--" - -Perrin closed the door, and walked slowly back to the fireplace. - -"Ha, ha," he said, smiling reflectively; "had him there!" - -Dormer was muttering to himself, "Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, Cummin; -10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock--" - -The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path. - -The door opened again, and someone came in--Traill, the new man. Perrin -looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first impression -of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very young -and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very -dress--the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, -turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His -hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his -eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back -very broad, his legs rather short--he looked, beyond everything else, -tremendously clean. - -He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. -Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been -old enough to have an opinion of his own--several opinions of his own; -he had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the -end of the term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a -pig-headed ass.... - -But Traill evidently wanted to "know"--was quite humble about it, -and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists and -dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. "I must say -as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It 's _in_ a man -if he 's going to do it--I've always managed them all right--never -any trouble--hum, ha! Yes, you 'll find them the first few days just -a little restive--seeing what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, -drop on them." - -Traill asked about the holiday task. - -"Oh, yes, Dormer set that. _Ivanhoe_--Scott, you know. Just got to read -out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let them go when you hear -the chapel bell." - -Traill was profuse in his thanks. - -"Not at all--anything you want to know." - -Perrin smiled at him. - -There was, once again, the timid knock at the door. The door was opened, -and a crowd of tiny boys shuffled in, headed by a larger boy who had -the bold look of one who has lost all terror of masters, their ways, and -their common rooms. - -"Well, Sexton?" Perrin cleared his throat. - -"Please, sir, you told me to bring the new boys. These are all I could -find, sir--Pippin Minor is crying in the matron's room, sir." Sexton -backed out of the room. - -Perrin stared at the agitated crowd for some moments without saying -anything. The boys were herded together like cattle, and were staring at -him with eyes that started from their round, close-cropped heads. Perrin -took their names down. Then he talked to them for three minutes about -discipline, decency, and decorum; then he reminded them of their -mothers, and finally said a word about serving their country. - -Then he passed on to the subject of pocket-money. "It will be safer for -you to hand it over to me," he said slowly and impressively. "Then you -shall have it when you want it." - -A slight shiver of apprehension passed through the crowd; then slowly, -one by one, they delivered up their shining silver. One tiny boy--he -had apparently no neck and no legs; he was very chubby--had only two -halfcrowns. He clutched these in his hot palm until Perrin said, "Well, -Rackets?" - -Then, with eyes fixed devouringly upon them, the boy delivered them up. - -"I don't like to see you so fond of money, Rackets." Perrin dropped -the half-crowns slowly into his trouser pocket, one after the other. "I -don't think you will ever see these half-crowns again." He smiled. - -Rackets began to choke. His fist, which had closed again as though the -money was still there, moved forward. A large, fat tear gathered slowly -in his eye. He struggled to keep it back--he dug his fist into it, -turned round, and fled from the room. - -Perrin was amused. "Caught friend Rackets on the hip," he said. - -Then suddenly, in the distance, an iron bell began to clang. The four -men put on their gowns, gathered books together, and moved to the door. -Traill hung back a little. "You take the big room with me, Traill," said -Dormer. "I 'll give you paper and blotting-paper." - -They moved slowly out of the room, Perrin last. A door was opened. There -was a sudden cessation of confused whispers--complete silence, and -then Perrin's voice: "Question one. Who were Richard I., Gurth, Wamba, -Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert?.. . B,r,i,a,n--hyphen..." - -The door closed. - -III. - -A few papers fluttered about the table. It was growing dark outside, and -a silver moon showed above the dark mass of the garden wall. - -The brown leaves, now invisible, passed rustling and whispering about -the path. Into the room there stole softly, from the kitchen, the smell -of onions.... - - - - -CHAPTER II--INTRODUCES A CONFUSING COMPANY OF PERSONS, WITH SPECIAL -EMPHASIS ON MRS. COMBER - - -I. - -|IT would be fitting at this moment, were it possible, to give Traill's -impressions, at the end of the first week, of the place and the people. -But here one is met by the outstanding and dominating difficulty that -Traill himself was not given to gathering impressions at all--he felt -things, but he never saw them; he recorded opinions in simple language -and an abbreviated vocabulary, but it was all entirely objective; -motives, the way that things hung and were interdependent one upon the -other, the sense of contrast and of the incessant jostling of comedy on -tragedy and of irony upon both, never hit him anywhere. - -Nevertheless, he had, in a clear, clean-cut way, his opinions at the end -of the first week. - -There is a letter of his to a college friend that is interesting, -and there are some other things in a letter to his mother; but he was -engaged, quite naturally, in endeavoring to keep up with the confusing -medley of "things to be done and things not to be done" that that first -week must necessarily entail. - -His relations to Perrin and Perrin's relations to him are, it may be -said here now, once and for all, the entire _motif_ of this episode--it -is from first to last an attempt to arrive at a decision as to the real -reasons of the catastrophe that ultimately occurred; and so, that being -the case, it may seem that the particulars as to the rest of the -people in the place, and, indeed, the place itself, are extraneous and -unnecessary; but they all helped, every one of them, in their own way -and their own time, to bring about the ultimate disaster, and so they -must have their place. - -Traill had learnt during his three years at Cambridge that, above all -things, one must not worry. He had been inclined, a little at first, to -think, after the easy indolence of Clifton, that one ought to bother. -He had found that two thirds in his Historical Tripos and a "Blue" for -Rugby football were very easily; obtained; he found that the second of -these things led to a popularity that invited a pleasant indifference to -thought and discussion, and he was extremely happy. - -His "Blue" would undoubtedly have secured him something better than a -post at Moffatt's had he taken more trouble; but He had left it, lazily, -until the last and had been forced to accept what he could get; in a -term or two he hoped to return to Clifton. - -All this meant that his stay at Moffatt's was in the nature of an -interlude. He buoyantly regarded it as a month or two of "learning the -ropes," and he could not therefore he expected to regard masters, boys, -or buildings with any very intense seriousness. It is, indeed, one of -the most curious aspects of the whole affair that he remained, for so -long a period, blind to all that was going on. - -In his motives, in his actions, he was of a surprising simplicity. He -found the world an entirely delightful place--there was Rugby football -in the winter, and cricket in the summer; there were splendid walks; -there was a week in town every now and again; as to people, there -was his mother--a widow, and he was her only son--whom he entirely -worshiped; there were one or two excellent friends of his from Clifton -and Cambridge; there was no one whom he really disliked; and there were -one or two girls, hazily, not very seriously, in the distance, whom he -had liked very much indeed. - -He read a little--liked it when he had time; had a passion for Napoleon, -whose campaigns he had followed confusedly at Cambridge; and was even -stirred--again when he had time--by certain sorts of poetry. - -And it is this that leads me to one of the questions that are most -difficult of decision--as to how strongly, if indeed at all, he had any -feeling for beauty before he met Isabel Desart. - -He certainly--if he had it at this time--could not put it into -words; but I believe that he had, in the back of his brain, a kind of -consciousness about it all, and his meeting with Isabel fired what had -been lying there waiting. - -He never, certainly, talked about it, but it will be noticed that -he went to the wood a great many times, even before he felt Isabel's -influence, and that he realized quite vividly certain aspects of -Pendragon and the Flutes; and he would not have cared for _Richard -Feverel_ quite so passionately had he not had something--some poetry and -feeling--already in him. - -The reverse of the shield is, at any rate, given in that first letter -to his mother. He says of Moffatt's: "You never saw anything so hideous. -The red brick all looks so fresh, the stone corridors all smell so new, -the iron and brass of the place is all so strong and regular. It's -like the labs at Cambridge on an extensive scale; you'd think they were -inventing gases or something, not teaching boys the way they should -go.... All the same, coming up the hill the other night, with the -sun setting behind it, it looked quite black and grand--it 's the -fresh-lobster color of it that I can't stand..." - -That shows that he was, to some degree at any rate, sensitive to the -way that the place looked, and he, in all probability, felt a great deal -more about it than he ever said to anyone. - -Cambridge may have done something for him--few people can spend three -years with these gray palaces and blue waters without some kind -of development, although probably--because we are English--it is -unconscious. - -II. - -He had, during that first week, too much to do to get any very concrete -idea of the staff. On the first morning of term there was a masters' -meeting, and he could see them all sitting, heavily, despondently, in -conclave. There was a gradation of seats, and Traill, of course, took -the lowest--a little, hard, sharp one near the window with a shelf just -above his head, and it knocked him if he moved. - -The Rev. Moy-Thompson, the head master--a venerable-looking clergyman, -with a long grizzled heard and bony fingers--sat at the end of the table -in an impatient way, as though he were longing for an excuse to fly -into a temper. For the others, Traill only noticed one or two; Perrin, -Dormer, and Clifton were there, of course. There was a large stout -man with a heavy mustache and a sharp voice like a creaking door; a -clergyman, thin and rather haggard, with a white wall of a collar much -too big for him; an agitated little Frenchman, who seemed to expect that -at any moment he might be the victim of a practical joke; a thin, bony -little man with a wiry mustache and a biting, cynical speech that seemed -to goad Moy-Thompson to fury; a nervous and bald-headed man, whose -hand continually brushed his mustache and whose manner was exceedingly -deprecating. There were others, but these struck Traill's eyes as they -roved about. - -During the discussion that followed concerning the moving of boys up -and the moving of boys down, the time of lock-up, the possibilities and -disadvantages of the new boys, it seemed to be everybody's intention -to be as unpleasant as possible under cover of an agreeable manner. On -several occasions it seemed that the storm was certain to break, and -Traill bent eagerly forward in his seat; but the danger was averted. - -As the week passed, he found that these men grew more distinct and -individual. The stout man with the heavy mustache was called Comber; he -had once been a famous football player, and was now engaged on a book -concerning the athletes of Greece. The clergyman, the Rev. Stuart, was -very quiet except on questions of ritual and ceremony, and these things -stirred him into a passion. The little Frenchman, Monsieur Pons, spent -his time in hating England and preparing to leave it--an escape that he -never achieved. - -The little man with the mustache, Birkland by name, seemed to Traill the -most "interesting" of them. He was fierce and caustic in his manner to -everybody and was feared by the whole staff. - -White, the nervous man, never, so far as Traill could see, opened his -mouth; and if he did say anything, no one paid the slightest attention. - -None of these men, Traill discovered, concerned him very closely, as his -work was for the most part at the Lower School. He was pleasant to all -of them, and, if he had thought about it at all, would have said that -they liked him; but he did not think about it. - -His relations with Dormer, Perrin, and Clinton were quite agreeable. -Dormer was kind and helpful in a fatherly way; Clinton admired his -football and liked to compare Oxford (at which he had, several years -before, been a shining light) with Traill's own university; Perrin asked -him into his sitting-room for coffee and talked School Education to him -at infinite length. - -Everyone, during this first week, was quite pleasant and agreeable. - -III. - -The ladies of the establishment came to Traill's notice more slowly; -and they came to him, of course, considering his temperament, quite -indefinitely and without his own immediate realization of anything. He -could point, of course, to the moment of his meeting Isabel, because, -from that moment, his life was changed; but it was the meeting rather -than any keen and tangible idea of her that he realized. - -It is essential, however, that Mrs. Comber should appear on the scene a -good deal more clearly than he would ever probably see her. She had -so much to do with everything that occurred--quite unconsciously, poor -lady, as indeed she was always unconscious of anything until it was -over--that she demands a close attempt at accurate presentation. - -The immediate impressions that she left on any observer, however -casual, were of size and color, and of all the things that go with those -qualities. She was large, immense, and seemed, from her movements and -her air of rather tentatively and timidly embracing the world, to be -even larger. - -Her hair was of a blackness and her cheeks of a redness that hinted at -foreign blood, but was derived in reality from nothing more than Cornish -descent--and that indeed may, if you please, be taken as foreign enough. -There was a great deal of hair piled on her head, and in her continual -smiles and anxiety to be pleasant there seemed, too, to be a great deal -of her red cheeks. - -In those earlier days, the daughter of a country clergyman, and the -youngest of six sisters, she had been, when so permitted, jolly, noisy, -with a tremendous sense of life. The key that was going, she believed, -to unlock life for her was Romance, and she looked eagerly and -enthusiastically down the dusty road to watch for the coming of some -knight. When he came in the person of Freddie Comber, young, handsome, -athletic, and the most devout of lovers, she felt that, now that her -lamp was lighted, she had only got to keep the flame burning and she -would be happy for ever. That--the keeping of it alight--seemed, as she -looked at the handsome and ardent Freddie, an easy enough thing to do. -She did not know that Fate very often, having given a tempting glimpse -and even a positive handling of its burnished brass and intricate -tracing, removes it altogether--merely, as it may seem to some cynical -observers of life, for the fun of the thing. In any case, from the -moment of her marriage, Mrs. Comber's eager hands found nothing to -hold on to at all, and she passed, in the ensuing years from a -plucky determination to make the "second best" do, to the final blind -acquiescence in anything at all that might have the faintest resemblance -to that earlier glorious radiance. - -Freddie Comber's transition from the handsome, enthusiastic young lover -into the stout, lethargic and querulous Mr. Comber, master of the Middle -Fourth and anticipatory author of a work on the athletes of Greece, -would need an exhaustive treatise on "Public School Education as applied -to our Masters" for its reasonable analysis. Perhaps this faithful -account of the relations of Perrin and Traill may offer some solution to -that and other more complex riddles. - -It says, however, everything for Mrs. Comber's pluck and determined -stupidity that she lived, even now, after fifteen years' married life, -at the threshold of expectation. Things that were apparent to the -complete stranger in his first five minutes' interview with Comber were -hidden, wilfully and proudly hidden, from _her_. - -She yielded to facts, however, in this one particular, that she extended -her attempts at Romance to wider fields. It always might return as far -as Freddie was concerned--she was continually hoping and expecting that -it would; but meanwhile she dug diligently in other grounds. Her three -boys--fat, stolid, stupid, pugnacious--cared, they showed her quite -plainly, nothing for her at all; but she put that down to their age, -to their school, even to their appetites, their clothes, anything that -pointed to a probable change in the future. In their holidays she spent -her days in eagerly loving them and being repulsed, and then in -hiding her love under a troubled indifference and being entirely -disregarded.... They were unpleasant boys. - -Another place for digging was the ground of "things," of property. -Having had nothing at all when she was a girl, and having almost -nothing--they were very poor, and she "managed" badly--now, she had -always had an intense feeling for possession. She was generous to an -amazing degree, and would give anything, in her tangled, impetuous -kind of way, to anybody without a moment's thought. But she loved her -valuables. They were very few. Potatoes and cabbages, clothing and -school-bills for the boys, consumed any money that there might happen -to be, and consumed it in a muddled, helpless kind of way that she -was never able to prevent or correct. But things had come to her--been -given, left, or eagerly seized in a wild moment's extravagance,--and -these she cherished with all her eyes and hands. The peacock-blue -Liberty screen, the ormolu clock, some few pieces of dainty Dresden -china, some brass Indian pots, a small but musically charming piano, -some sketches and two good prints, and edition de luxe of Walter Pater -(a wedding-present, and she had never opened one of these beautiful -volumes), some silver, a teapot, a tray, some cups that Freddie had won -in an earlier, more glorious period, some small pieces of jewelry--over -these things she passed every morning with a delicate, lingering touch. - -Clumsy and awkward as she generally was, when she approached her -valuables she became another person: she would lie awake thinking about -them.... They seemed--dumb things as they were--to give her something of -the affection for which, from more eloquent persons, she was always so -continually searching. - -She was as clumsy in her relations to all her neighbors and -acquaintances as she was in her movements and her finances. She was -famous for her want of tact; famous, too, for a certain coarseness and -bluntness of speech; famous for a childlike and transparent attempt to -make people like her--an attempt that, from its transparency, always -with wiser and more cynical persons failed. - -She generally thought of three things at once and tried to talk about -them all; she was quite aware that most of the ladies connected with -the town and the neighborhood disliked her, and she never, although -she wondered in a kind of muddled dismay why it was, could discover -a satisfactory reason. She spent her years in cheerfully rushing into -people's lives and being hurriedly bundled out again--which "bundling," -at every reiteration of it, left her as confused and dismayed as before. - -But against all this rejection and muddled confusion there was, of -course, to be set Isabel Desart. What Miss Desart was to Mrs. Comber -no simple succession of printed words can possibly say. She was, in her -free, spontaneous fashion, a great many things to a great many people; -but to none of them was she quite the special and wonderful gift that -she was to Mrs. Comber. - -Perhaps it was some feeling of this kind that brought her so often, and -for so long a period, down to Moffatt's--a proceeding that her London -friends could never even vaguely understand. That she--having, as she -might, such a glorious "time" in London behind her--should care to go -and stay for so long a period at that dullest of places, a school, with -those dullest and most arid of people, scholastic authorities (this term -to include wives as well as husbands), was indeed to them all a total -mystery. - -Mrs. Comber, with all her faults and insufficiencies, would have seemed -a poor enough answer to the riddle as an answer; it was, in fact, only -partial. - -In addition to Mrs. Comber, there was Cornwall; and Cornwall, as it was -at Moffatt's, was quite enough to draw Isabel unerringly, irresistibly. - -Of the place--the surroundings, the look of it all, the "sense" of -it--there is more to be said in a moment--being seen, more completely -perhaps, with Traill's new and unaccustomed eyes; it is enough here -that, on every separate occasion of her coming, it meant to Isabel -deeper and more vital experiences. She was beginning even to be afraid -that it was not going to let her go again: its sea, its hard, black -rocks, its golden gorge, its deep green lanes, its gray-roofed cottages -that nestled in bowls and cups of color as no cottages nestle anywhere -else in the world--these were all things that she dreamed of afterwards, -when she had left them, to the extent, it began to seem to her, of -danger and confusion. - -She herself "fitted in" as only a few people out of the many that go -there could ever do. - -With her rather short brown hair that curled about her head, her -straight eyes, her firm mouth, her vigorous, unerring movements, the -swing of her arms as she walked, she seemed as though her strength -and honesty might forbid her softer graces. To most people she was a -delightful boy--splendidly healthy, direct, uncompromising, sometimes -startling in her hatred of things and people, sometimes arrogant in her -assured enthusiasms; Mrs. Comber, who, in her muddled eager way, had -told her so much, knew of the other side of her, of her tenderness, her -understanding. - -The boys loved her, and she had been their envoy on many occasions of -peril and disaster; they always trusted her to carry things through, and -she generally did. - -It was only, perhaps, with the other ladies of the establishment that -she did not altogether find favor. The other ladies consisted of Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, and the lady matrons--Miss Bonhurst, the two -Misses Madder, and Miss Tremans. - -Mrs. Moy-Thompson, a thin, faded lady in perpetual black, had long ago -been crushed into a miserable negligibility by her masterful husband. -She very seldom spoke at all and, when she did, hurriedly corrected what -she had just said in a sudden fear lest she should be misunderstood. She -allowed her husband to bully her to his heart's content. - -Mrs. Dormer, stern, with the manner of one who never says what she -means, had never got over the disappointment of her husband having, -fifteen years before, missed the head-mastership. She was continually -finding new reasons for this omission and venting her dislike on -people who had had nothing whatever to do with it. She was neat and -puritanical, and hated Mrs. Comber because she was neither of these -things. - -Of the matrons, it may be enough to say that they all disliked each -other, but were perfectly ready to combine in their mutual dislike -of the other ladies; they felt that their position demanded that they -should assert their birth and breeding; they also felt that Mrs. Comber -and Mrs. Dormer looked down on them. - -The best of them was the matron of the Lower School, the elder Miss -Madder--stout and kind-hearted and extremely capable. She made up for -the undeniable fact that no one had ever asked her to change her name -for a pleasanter one by loving the small boys of the Lower School with a -warmth and good-humor that they none of them, in after life, forgot. - -And so there they all were--most of them--a background, and simply, -as individuals, witnesses to the whole case and, perhaps, by reason of -their very existence, factors in assisting the result. - -They were, most of them, never in young Traill's consciousness at -all--Miss Madder, perhaps because she was at the Lower School; Mrs. -Comber, because Isabel was staying with her... and Isabel. - -IV. - -A word, finally, about the surrounding country. - -It becomes, perhaps, at once most definitely presented if you take the -Brown Hill as the center, and Pendragon to the right along the coast, -and Truro inland to the left--both at an equal distance--as the farthest -boundaries. - -Between Truro and Moffatt's there is a ridge of hill--undulating, -gently, vaguely shaped, with its cool brown colors melting into the blue -or gray of the sky as dim clouds melt into one another. - -The Brown Hill itself rises sharply, steeply, straight from the sea, -with the little village--Chattock--at its feet, curling with its -steep, cobbled street up the incline. Halfway down the hill there is -a wood--the Brown Wood--and it hangs with all its feathery trees in -friendly, eager fashion over the little white-stoned and yellow-sanded -cove (so tiny and so perfect in its shape and color that it almost -audibly cries out not to be touched). There is a little part of the wood -where the trees part and you may sit, in a kind of magical wonder, -right over the gray carpet of the sea, hearing what the wood, with its -creaking and bending and rustling, is saying to the water and what the -water, with its slipping and hissing and singing, is saying to the wood. -Of the two towns Pendragon has become, from the invasion of the -Vandals, modern and monotonous. It had, not so long ago, a cove on its -outskirts--that was the whole of Cornwall in a tiny space; now there -is a row of modern villas, red-roofed and wooden-paled. Traill, in his -visits there, was concerned with the chief house there--The Flutes, -owned by a certain Sir Henry Trojan, whose son, Robin Trojan, had been, -although senior, a friend at Cambridge. The house was beautiful both in -its position and in the spirit of its owner, and Traill snatched what -moments he could to visit it and to snatch a respite there. - -Had he known, it became in the back of his mind a contrast with the -"lobster red" and the stone corridors of Moffatt's, so that he took its -wide, high rooms and its shining, ordered garden with an added sense of -richness. Had he realized how soon its dignity and peace stood to him -for an "escape," he would have realized also his growing protest -against his voluntary imprisonment. He went over also on occasions to -Truro--because he liked the walk over the hill, because he liked certain -quaintnesses in the market, in the sharp cobbles of Lemon Street, in the -higher breezes of Kenwyn, because, above all, he liked the dark quiet -and solemnity of the Cathedral. - -The point about both Pendragon and Truro is that it was the kind of life -that he was leading at Moffatt's--the sides of it that are soon to be -given you in detail--that led him to notice these places. Contrast drove -him to a sudden opening of his eyes--contrast and Isabel Desart. He was -growing so very quickly. - -In letters to his mother he spoke of a splendid little wood where one -could sit and watch the sea for hours if there was only time; of the -funny old hill, all brown, with the white road curling up it; of calling -at The Flutes, and "Sir Henry Trojan and Lady Trojan being most awfully -kind," and the house being quite beautiful, but very little about the -people of the school, and during those first few weeks nothing at all -about Isabel Desart. - -It was not until Mrs. Comber gave her dinner-party that the -preliminaries could be said to be over. - - - - -CHAPTER III--CONCERNS ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS THAT MAY HAPPEN BETWEEN -SOUP AND DESSERT - - -I. - -|WHEN Mrs. Comber asked Vincent Perrin to her dinner-party he was -delighted, although he assumed as great an indifference as possible. -This was at the end of the first week of term, and he had not spoken -to Miss Desart--he had merely bowed to her across the grass and gone -indoors to teach the Lower Third algebra with a beating heart. - -He was also fortunately prevented from seeing that Mrs. Comber was -giving the dinner for Traill. If he had seen that, things might have -been very different; as it was, he thought that that kind, good-natured -woman (he did not always like her) had noticed his attachment--as he -thought most carefully concealed--to Miss Desart and wanted to help him. - -He himself had not noticed the attachment until the holidays. She had -stayed at Moffatt's during part of the summer term, and he had played -tennis with her and talked to her and even walked with her. But it -was not until he had returned to the seclusion of his aged mother and -Buckinghamshire that he realized that for the first time for twenty -years he was in love. - -The discovery affected him in many ways. In the first place it swept -away in the most curious manner all the years that had intervened since -the last affair. He was suddenly young again. He began to regret the -way that he had spent his days. He played tennis (badly but with -enthusiasm). He talked to the men of his Club about "the absurdity of -considering forty-five any age," and quoted juvenile athletes of eighty. -He gave his mustache a terrible time, wearing things to hold it straight -at night, looking at it often in the glass. - -He told his aged mother (a very old lady with a brown, shriveled face, a -white lace cap, and mittens) vaguely but magnificently about there being -somebody. He hinted that she cared for him and was eager to marry him -as soon as he felt ready to ask her. He talked about "getting a house," -even about wallpapers and stair-carpets and a nice sunny room for the -old lady. - -She was delighted at first, and then agitated. Who might this new young -person be? Perhaps she would not like her--in any case, it meant taking -a second place. But she idolized and worshiped her son: she knew sides -of him that no one else knew--she saw him as a little, thin, serious hoy -in knickerbockers. - -But this new spirit revived things in Vincent Perrin that he had long -thought dead. He knew, he savagely knew, in his heart of hearts, that he -was a failure; he was determined that the world should never know it; he -covered his knowledge with a multitude of disguises; but now perhaps, if -she cared for him, there might yet be a chance. - -But most of all he was afraid of something--he could never give it a -name--that always crept slowly, increasingly over him as term advanced. -He could not give it a name: that thing made up of a myriad details, of -a myriad vexations; that evil spirit that they all, the masters and the -rest, seemed to feel as the weeks gathered in numbers--the end-of-termy -feelings: strained nerves, irritated tempers, almost, the last week or -two when examinations came, seeing red. - -No--this term it _shall_ be all right. He felt, as he said good-by to -his mother and kissed her, almost an eagerness to get back and prove -that it was all right. After all, Searle had left, and there was -Miss Desart. Supposing she cared for him? He twisted his thin fingers -together. Oh! what things he could do! - -And so he was glad of Mrs. Comber's dinner-party. - -II. - -Giving a dinner-party was no light, easy thing for Mrs. Comber. So -many wide issues were involved. Not very many dinner-parties were -given during the term, and Mrs. Comber was perfectly aware of all the -conversation that it would give rise to, of all the people that would in -all probability be angry with all the other people because they had -been asked or because they had not. There was, generally, a reason for -a dinner. Some important person had to be asked, some unimportant people -had to be worked off, someone was conscious that there had not been a -dinner-party for a very long time. But on this occasion there was no -reason except that Mrs. Comber had liked the look of young Traill, had -at once thought of Isabel, and had conceived a plan. - -Then, of course, it followed that other people must be asked: Vincent -Perrin, because she didn't like him, but felt that she ought to; the -Dormers, because it was time they were asked; and the elder Miss Madder, -because she was the nicest of the matrons and wouldn't talk quite so -much and quite so spitefully as the others would. - -All this involved danger and destruction as far as the people invited -were concerned. One chance word at dinner--some errant, tiny omission or -commission--and anything might happen: the time might be made miserable -for everybody. - -But there was more immediate peril in it than that. There was in the -first place "ways and means." How this harassed poor Mrs. Comber no -words can say. She was forced to drive her frail cockle-shell of a -boat between the Scylla of increased bills and the Charybdis of -not-being-smart-enough. - -Were things not right--if there were no meringues, no mushroom savories -(there were rules and regulations about these things), no kummel--well, -the party had better not be given at all. And then, on the other hand, -there was the end of the month, nothing in hand to pay, and Freddie -scowling over his _Greek Athletes_ to such an extent that it wouldn't do -to speak to him. All this was dreadfully difficult, but it revolved -in reality almost entirely around Freddie's stout figure. Every -dinner-party, every party of any kind, was an attempt to win Freddie -back. - -Mrs. Comber never confessed this even to herself, and she was, poor -woman, only too completely aware that its usual result was to drive -Freddie only more completely "in." Something was sure to happen, -before the evening was over, to annoy him--she would have "such a time -afterwards." But it always, of course, might be the other way. He might -suddenly see, by some little word or act, how fond, how terribly fond, -she was of him. She had learnt Bridge to please him--he used to like a -game; but the result, although she would not admit it, had simply been -disastrous. - -She was much too muddled a person to be good at cards--she was very, -very bad; she lost sixpences and shillings with the sinking feeling in -her heart that they ought to be going to pay for their boys' clothes. -She plunged desperately to win it all back again--she was known -throughout the neighborhood as the worst player in the world. - -It was indeed this conclusion to the evening that she dreaded most of -all. There were eight of them, so, of course, they would have to play. -Her heart sank because of all the things that might happen. - -But Isabel was, of course, the greatest use in the world. She saved all -kinds of needless extravagances; she always got things where they were -cheap and not bad, instead of getting them expensive and rotten. She -thought of a thousand little things, and she managed the servants--only -two of them, and both ill-tempered. - -Mrs. Comber said nothing to Isabel about young Traill--she did not even -think that she had as yet noticed him. They neither of them said a word -about Mr. Perrin. - -III. - -Gathered all together in the drawing-room, it was everybody's chief -object to avoid knocking things over. This may be taken metaphorically -as well as literally, but in that ten minutes' prelude everyone had the -hard task of being socially agreeable to people whom they met, as they -met their tables and their chairs, their beds and their hair-brushes, -every day of their lives. - -The curtains; had been closely drawn, but outside the winds were up and -were beating with wild fingers at the panes. They gathered in clusters -about the house, screamed in derision at the dinner-party, chattered -wildly round the buttresses and chimneys of the sedate and solemn -buildings, and then rushed furiously down the gravel paths and away to -the sea. - -The tall lamp had been so placed that its light fell on the peacock-blue -screen and the ormolu clock; it also fell on the enormous shoulders, in -black silk, of Miss Madder, on the thin, bony neck of Mrs. Dormer, and -on the deep red of Mrs. Comber's dress (open at one place at the back, -where it should have been closed, and cut, Mrs. Dormer considered, a -great deal lower than it need have been). - -They were all waiting for Mr. Comber, and Mrs. Comber was trying to -explain to Traill why Freddie was always late, why people at Moffatt's -always liked meringues, and why with a magnificent "heart" hand she had, -only two nights ago, gone hearts with most disastrous results. "They -like them best with jam in them--you shall see to-night if they aren't -good; and there was really no reason at all why they shouldn't have come -off, but we had such bad luck, and I oughtn't to have played my King -when I did; I'm always telling him that he ought to go and dress a -little earlier--but he stays working." - -Poor Mrs. Comber! She was talking with her eyes all about the room, with -a sickening consciousness that something was wrong with her dress at the -back, with a sure and a certain knowledge that it would be related in -the common room the next morning that dinner was kept half an hour -too long, with a keen misgiving that Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder had -quarreled furiously only the day before and that she had known nothing -about it. Every now and again she glanced at Isabel to gather comfort -from her, and Isabel's eyes were always ready to give it her. - -Isabel was standing in a dark corner by the window, talking to Vincent -Perrin. Her dress was of dark brown silk, very simply cut, and falling -in one straight piece, save for a golden girdle that bound her waist. -She was standing with that perfect repose that came to her so naturally; -when she moved it was as though that was the only movement possible--her -limbs did not seem to hesitate, as do the limbs of so many people, -before they could decide on the way that they were going to act. Her -brown eyes were smiling at Vincent Perrin in a very friendly way, -and his heart was beating a great deal faster than it had ever beaten -before. - -He had taken very especial pains with his dressing that night. He found -that there were only three shirts in his drawer and that the cuffs of -two of them were badly frayed, and that the stud-hole in the third was -so broken that it would need a very large stud indeed to fill it. He -found a kind of soup-plate at last, but was painfully conscious of its -brazen size and of a little brown smudge on the front of the shirt -near the collar. His suit--it had done duty for a great many years--was -painfully shiny in the back: he had never noticed it before; and there -was a small tear in one sleeve that he knew everyone would see. His -hair, in spite of water, was lanky and uneven; his mustache was raggeder -than ever; his coat fell over his cuffs and shot them into obscurity in -the most distressing manner. - -All these things were new discomforts and distresses--he had never cared -about them before. Then, when Isabel was so kind to him, he felt that -they did not matter; he began in another few minutes to believe that he -was rather well dressed after all; after ten minutes' conversation he -was proud of his appearance. - -Then suddenly his eye fell on Traill, and that moment must be -recorded as the first moment of his dislike. Traill was absurd, quite -absurd--over-dressed in fact. - -His hair was brushed and parted so that you could almost see your face -in brown glossiness. His coat fitted amazingly. There was a wonderful -white waistcoat with pearl buttons, there were wonderful silk socks with -pale blue clocks, there was a splendid even line of white cuff below the -sleeves. - -But Perrin was forced to admit that this smartness was not common; it -was quite natural, as though Traill had always worn clothes like that. -Could it be that Perrin was shabby... _not_ that Traill was smart? - -Perrin dragged his cuffs from their dark hiding-places, then saw that -there was a new frayed piece that had escaped his scissors, and pushed -them back again. - -They all went in to dinner. - -IV. - -Traill took Isabel in. That was the first time that she had consciously -recognized him--even then it was fleeting and was confined in reality to -a vague approval... and she liked his voice. - -He had never seen her before--that is, he had never detached her from -the vague background of people moving in the distance against the trees -and the buildings; but now at once he fell in love with her. He had -been in love before, and the strange suddenness of the ending of those -fugitive episodes--the way that it had been, in an instant, like a -candle blown out--had led him to fancy that love was always like that; -he had even begun to be a little cynical about it. But he was in no way -a complicated person. It didn't seem to him in the least strange that -yesterday he should have laughed at love and that now he should have a -sense of beauty and strange wonder--something that had suddenly, like -streaming silk or a sweeping, golden sunlight, flooded Mrs. Comber's -dining-room. - -He thought her very grave; he noticed the white, crinkly sound of the -silk of her dress against the table, the broad bands of light in her -hair, and the way that her fingers, so slim and soft and yet so strong, -touched the white cloth; and when she asked him whether he had ever been -a schoolmaster before, the soup suddenly choked him and he could not -answer her, but blushed like a fool, waving a spoon. - -"And you like it!" - -"I _love_ it." - -"So far. Well, you shall cherish your illusions." She still looked at -him very gravely. "The boys like you so far." - -"Ah! they told you!" He was pleased at that. - -"Oh! one soon knows--they are cruelly frank." - -Suddenly she caught her eyes away from him and looked down the table. -Mrs. Comber was in distress. Everyone had finished their soup a terribly -long time before, and there was no sign of the fish. One of those pauses -that are so cruelly eloquent fell about the table. Freddie Comber was -moodily staring at his plate and paying no attention at all to Dormer, -who was trying to be pleasant. Mrs. Dormer was sitting up stiffly in her -chair and gazing at Landseer's "Dignity and Imprudence" that hung on the -opposite wall as though she had never seen it before. - -It was at moments like this that Mrs. Comber felt as though the room -got up and hit one in the face. She was always terribly conscious of her -dining-room. It was a room, she felt, "with nothing at all in it." It -had a wallpaper that she hated; she had always intended to have a new -one, but there had never been quite enough money to spend on something -that was not, after all, a necessity. The Landseer picture offended her, -although she could give no reason--perhaps she did not care about dogs. -The sideboard was a dreadfully cheap one, with imitation brass knobs to -the doors of the cupboards, and there were three shelves of dusty and -tattered books that never got cleared away. - -All these things seemed to rise and scream at her. She noticed, too, -with a little pang of dismay that one of the glass dessert dishes was -missing. The set had been one of their wedding-presents--the nicest -present that they had had. Oh! those servants!... She talked with a -brave smile to anybody and everybody, but she watched furtively her -husband's gloomy face. - -But Isabel, having given her a smile, turned back and attacked Mr. -Perrin, feeling, as she always did about him, that she was sorry for -him, that she wanted to be kind to him, and that she would be so glad -when her duty would be over. She also noticed that she wanted to talk to -Traill again. - -Perrin himself had been in a state of torture during dinner that was, -for him, an entirely; new experience. Traill had taken her in.... -His thoughts hung about this fact as bees hang about a tree. -Traill--Traill... with his elegant waistcoat and his beautiful shirt. He -splashed his soup on to his plate. As through a mist people's words came -to him--Miss Madder's fat, cheerful voice: "Oh! I think we shall fill -the West Dormitory this term. There are five small Newsoms--all new -boys, poor dears."... Comber himself, growling at the end of the table -to Dormer: "It's perfectly absurd. It means that Birk-land has one hour -less than the rest of us--that middle hour ten to eleven..." - -The same old subjects, the same old dinners--but with her he was going -to escape from it all; with her by his side, his ambition would grow -wings. - -He saw himself at Eton or Harrow, or a school-inspectorship. Why not? He -was able enough. It only needed something to force him out of the rut. - -But Traill had taken her in.... - -And then she turned and spoke to him, and at once he put up his hand -as though he would stroke his chin, but really it was to cover the -stud--the large soup-plate stud. He stroked his straggling mustache, -and used his official voice. He spoke as he always did when he wanted to -create an impression, as though in the cloistral courts of Cambridge. - -Slow, deliberate, a little majestic... he shot his cuff back into his -sleeve. He spoke of ambition, of the things that a man could do if he -tried, of the things that _he_ could do, if-- - -"If?" said Isabel. - -"Oh! well, if... marriage, for instance, was such a help to a man... -one never knew--" He drank furiously and finished at a gulp a glass of -Freddie Comber's very bad claret. - -Young Traill was having a very good time indeed with Miss Madder, and -Isabel turned round to hear what they were talking about. The meringues -had arrived--there was also fruit-salad, but everyone took meringues -although they would have liked, had they dared, to take both--and -conversation was quite lively. - -"I do hope," said Mrs. Dormer, "that there will be several extra halves -this term." - -And at once poor Mrs. Comber, who was eagerly congratulating herself on -the success with which, so far, she had escaped danger, burst in: - -"Oh, so do I. You know, they always used to give the boys a half for -every new baby born on the establishment. Well, you and I have done our -duty nobly in that direction, haven't we, Mrs. Dormer?" - -It is impossible that those who are not acquainted with both ladies -should have any conception of the disaster that this simple sentence -involved. - -Mrs. Dormer had a glorious, pugnacious prudery in her stiff, angular -body that rejoiced in any opportunity for display. She hated Mrs. -Comber; she had now an excuse for being offended for weeks. - -She could embroider and discuss to her heart's delight. She saw in the -amusement of Miss Madder, the discomfort of her husband, the dismay of -Miss Desart, the distaste of Mr. Perrin, the wrath of Mr. Comber, ample -confirmation of her exultant prophecies. It does not take much to make -a scandal at Moffatt's--and the propriety of the schoolmaster, -the anxious, eager propriety, exceeds the propriety of every other -profession. - -Mrs. Dormer had the game in her hands, and she played the first move by -sitting silently, whitely, protestingly in her chair. - -"I _do_ hope the football will be good this season," she said at last, -quietly and patiently, to Mr. Comber. - -Mrs. Comber realized at once that she was defeated. She did not know why -she had said a thing like that--she knew that Mrs. Dormer didn't like -such things to be talked about. She smiled and laughed and talked about -gardens and the school bell and Mrs. Moy-Thompson's hat. "It always -rings half a note flat, and it's no use speaking about it; and how she -can bear that colored green when it's the last color she _ought_ to -wear, I _can't_ think; if it weren't for these flies--what do you -call them!--the roses would have done quite well." But her eyes stared -desperately down the table at Freddie, and she saw that he would not -look at her, and she knew that the dinner had been only one more nail in -her coffin. - -There was still, of course, Bridge. - -V. - -Sitting at the little tables in the tiny drawing-room afterwards, -they were all tremendously--as of course you must be at such small -tables--conscious of each other. - -They had drawn lots, and Mrs. Comber was playing with Dormer against her -husband and Miss Madder at one table, and Mr. Perrin was playing with -Mrs. Dormer against Isabel and young Traill at another. - -It may seem a slight thing, but it was certainly a factor in the whole -situation that Perrin was forced to gaze--over a very small intervening -space--at Traill's immaculate clothes for the rest of the evening. He -was always a bad Bridge player--he thought that he disguised his bad -play by a haughty manner and a false assurance; to-night the confusion -of his thoughts, his incipient dislike for Traill, the bad claret that -he had drunk, the distracting way that Miss Desart held her cards, -caused his play to be something insane. - -Mrs. Dormer disliked intensely losing money, and there seemed every -prospect, if Perrin continued to play like that, of her losing at least -five shillings before the end of the evening. She was convinced that -she had every reason for being angry, and when, at the end of the first -deal, her partner had thrown away a splendid heart hand by refusing to -follow any of her leads, she could not resist a stiff movement in her -chair and a sharp, "Well, Mr. Perrin, I think we ought to have done -better than that." - -For the first time in his experience his usual assured reply, containing -an implication that it was all his partner's fault, that he had been -at Cambridge for three years, and that he taught Algebra and Euclid six -days a week and therefore ought to know how to play Bridge if anyone -did, failed him. He stared at her miserably, gathered the cards -hurriedly together, and began to shuffle them in a dreadfully confused -way. He knew that Miss Desart must think him a fool, and he wanted her -so terribly badly to think him clever and even brilliant. He was sure -that Traill was laughing at him. He hated the assurance with which -he played. If only he, Perrin, had been playing with Miss Desart what -things he might have done.... His head ached, and his shirt creaked a -little every time he moved, and every time it creaked Mrs. Dormer made a -little stir of disapproval. - -At the other table also things were not as they should be. The drawing -of lots had secured precisely the combination of players that Mrs. -Comber had most wished to avoid. Whatever she did, however she played, -she was lost. If she played badly, her husband, although playing against -her, was infuriated at her stupidity; if she won, he hated being beaten, -As it was, she was playing extremely badly, but was winning because of -the good cards that she held. His brow was growing blacker and blacker. -She held her cards so badly--she never could make them into a fan, and -every now and again one fell with a sharp rattle against the table. - -Also she forgot sometimes that they were playing and broke into -sentences that had to be instantly checked--as, for instance: "Oh, I saw -Mrs.-------- I'm so sorry, it 's my lead." - -"I believe _this_ term.... Oh! I beg your pardon.... _What_ are -trumps?" - -Every now and again she gazed at the peacock screen, and the clock, and -the dark corner of the room where there was a little water-color in a -gilt frame, and they gave her comfort. - -The end of the rubber came, and Mrs. Dormer refused to play any more; -they had had magnificent cards, but she had lost three shillings. She -wouldn't look at Mr. Perrin. He stood nervously moving one foot against -the other, pulling his mustache. - -"No, really I'm afraid we must go. You 've finished your rubber, Mrs. -Comber? Yes, we _ought_ to have won.... No, I can't think how it was." - -"Considering the way my wife's been playing," said Freddie Comber -brutally, "I think it is just as well to stop." - -Mrs. Comber chattered with amazing confusion as she helped Mrs. Dormer -to get her cloak. In her eyes something bright was shining, and every -now and again she put up her band to push back some of her black hair -(always on the edge of a perilous descent) with a little, desperate -action. - -"Good night. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. We meet to-morrow, -of course, although I can't think why they aren't going to play -golf--there's going to be _such_ a storm in an hour or two, isn't -there?--probably because it's football to-morrow afternoon. Yes, -good-by." Everyone departed. Mr. Perrin stood desperately with something -going up and down in his throat. He had a sentence in his head: "Please, -Miss Desart, _do_ let me see you back to the lodge." (Mrs. Comber had -had to plant her out there to sleep because there was no room in their -own tiny house.) He meant to say it, he wanted to say it. He clutched -his mortar-board frantically in his band. Then suddenly be beard -Traill's voice: - -"Oh! please, Miss Desart--of course, I'll see you back. Good night, Mrs. -Comber. Thank you _so_ much--I've _loved_ it. Good night, Comber. Night, -Perrin. Look out, Miss Desart, it's dark." - -Perrin felt his band just touched by Miss Desart's, and her voice, "Good -night, Mr. Perrin." - -He was left alone on the step. - -VI. - -I don't suppose that at this stage of things Isabel bad the very -slightest idea of all the emotions that had been in play that evening. -Her bead, as they walked away down the dark gravel path, was full of her -hostess. - -"Poor Mrs. Comber," she said, and then checked herself as though there -were some disloyalty in talking about her. "I hate Mrs. Dormer," she -added quietly. - -"I don't like her," Traill said. "And Dormer's such a jolly little man. -I don't envy; him." - -"Oh! I don't suppose it's her fault any more than it's anyone's fault -here about anything they do. It's all a case of nerves." - -There was going to be a storm soon. Already that little preparatory -whisper of the wind, the ominous, frightened rustle of the leaves down -the path, was about them. It was all very dark, with a curious white -light on the horizon, and the dark buildings of the Lower School huddled -against it in sharp, black outline like the broad backs of giants -bending to the soil. - -The scent of trees--vague and uncertain in the daytime, but now clear -and pungent--was borne through the air, and the voice of the sea, -rolling in long, mournful cadences far below the hills, came up to them. -The wind's whisper grew into a furious, strangled cry; little eddies of -it swept about their feet, and cascades of withered leaves fell wildly -against them and were blown, sweeping, streaming away. - -They were silent. Traill was thinking of her voice. It was so grave and -assured and restful. He thought that he could trust her tremendously. -But there was reserve in it too, and he felt, a little hopelessly, that -he might never perhaps get to know her better. - -When they got to the lodge gates, they stopped and stood for a moment -silently. - -Then she said, looking very gravely in front of her at the dark bend of -the road, "There must be such a storm coming up. I feel it all through -me. It _was_ depressing to-night, was n't it?" - -"Just a little," he said. - -"Anyhow, I'm glad you like it--being here. Mind you always do. I don't -want to be pessimistic when you are just beginning; but--well, you don't -mean to stay here for ever, do you?" - -"I should think not," he answered eagerly. "Only a term or two at the -most, and then I hope to go back to Clifton, my old school." - -"That's right--because--really it isn't a very good place to be--this." - -"Why not?" he asked. - -"It's difficult to explain without maligning people and making things -out worse than they really are." She paused a moment, and then she went -on: "Do you know, at the bottom of the hill, just before you get into -the village, a melancholy orchard? One always passes it. You will see at -the right time of the year lots of green apples on the trees, but they -never seem to come to anything. And such blossoms in the spring! I 've -seen men working there sometimes. I don't know what it is, but nothing -'s any good there. They call it in the village 'Green Apple Orchard.'... -Well, I've stayed here a great deal, and there's an obvious comparison." - -"That's cheerful," he said, laughing. "It would, I suppose, be awful -if one had to stay here for ever like Perrin and Dormer and the rest of -them; but this time next year will see me somewhere better, I hope." - -"Mind you stick to that," she said eagerly. "I have a horrible kind -of feeling that they all meant to go very soon; but here they are -still--soured, disappointed. Oh! it doesn't bear thinking of." - -"One must have ambition," he answered her confidently. - -She smiled at him, and took his hand, and said good night. - -He went, smiling, to his room. As he climbed into bed, the storm broke -furiously. - - - -CHAPTER IV--BIRKLAND LOQUITUR - - -I. - -|AT the end of his first month young Traill looked back, as it were from -the top of a hill, and thought that it all had been very pleasant. How -much of this pleasantness was due to Isabel (although he had seen her -during that period extremely seldom) and how much of it was due to his -agreeable acceptance of things as they were without any very definite -challenge to them to be different, it is impossible to say. - -The crowded day had of course something to do with it: the fact that -there was never from the first harsh clanging of the bell down the stone -passages at half-past six to the last leap into bed, jumping as it were -from a heap of Latin exercises and the cold challenge of Perrin's voice -as he went round the dormitories turning lights out--never a moment's -pause to think about anything extra at all. But he was in no way a -reflective person. He saw that his own small boys in their untidy, -scrambling kind of way liked him and that the bigger boys of the Upper -Fourth, to whom he taught French twice a week, revered him because of -his football. - -The masters at the Upper School seemed pleasant fellows, although he -might, had he thought about it, have perceived dimly an atmosphere of -unrest and discomfort in their common room. - -With Moy-Thompson as yet he had had no dealings at all. He had been to -supper there once on Sunday night, had been appalled by the dreariness -of the whole affair, the shrivelled ill-temper of Moy-Thompson's parents -(aged about ninety apiece), the inadequacy of the food, the melancholy -inertia of Mrs. Moy-Thompson; but he had had no nearer relations with -him. - -He had, indeed, already begun to perceive that in his own common room -things were not quite as they should be. He was always an exceedingly -equable and easy-tempered person, and he had been surprised at himself -on several occasions for being irritated at very unimportant and -insignificant details. There were, for instance, the incidents of the -bath and the morning papers. Both of these incidents derived their -irritation from their original connection with Perrin, and this might -have led him, had he thought about it, to the discovery that he did not -like Perrin and that Perrin did not like him. But he never dwelt upon -things--he was always thinking of the matter immediately in hand, and -where there was an empty reflective quarter of an hour his eyes were on -Isabel. - -The incident of the bath was, it might have been thought, -inconsiderable. - -Perrin's bedroom was next to Traill's. Opposite their doors, on the -other side of the passage, was a bathroom containing two baths. In this -bathroom Traill always arrived some minutes after Perrin. Try as he -might, he never succeeded in arriving first. Perrin always filled both -baths, one with hot and one with cold, and stood moodily, his naked -body gaunt and bony in the gray light, watching them whilst they filled. -Traill was forced to wait until Perrin had had both his baths before he -could have his. At first it had seemed a small matter. Gradually as -the days passed the irritation grew. There was something in Perrin's -complacent immobility as he stood above his bath that was of itself -annoying. Why should a man wait? One morning they rushed out together. -There were words. - -"I say, Perrin, why not have hot and cold in the same bath?" - -"Really, Traill, it isn't, I should have thought, quite your place...." - -Traill sometimes dreamt early in the morning of French exercises, of the -midday mutton, of Perrin's bony, ugly body watching the bath. If Traill -had thought about it, he would have seen that Perrin did not like him. - -The incident of the morning paper was equally trivial. Dormer always had -breakfast in his own house, and that left therefore three of them. They -clubbed together and provided three newspapers--the _Morning Post_, the -_Daily Mail_, and a local affair. It was obvious that the person who -came in last was left with the local paper. Perrin generally came in -last, because he took early prep, in the Upper School, and he expected -that the _Morning Post_ should be left for him. But Traill, as he paid -the same subscription as Perrin, did not see why this should be. Clinton -always took the _Daily Mail_, and therefore Perrin had to be contented -with the _Cornish News_. There was at last an argument. Traill refused -to give way. The rest of the meal was eaten in absolute silence. Perrin -came no more to Traill's room for an evening chat--a very small matter. - -But at the end of the first month Traill did not see these things as in -any way ominous. He could keep his boys in order. He liked his game -of football; he was in a glow because he was in love--moreover, he had -never quarreled with anyone in his life. He did not know that he had -made any progress with Isabel. It was very difficult to see her. She -came down sometimes to watch them play football; after Chapel in the -evening, he had walked up the little dark lane with her, the stars above -the dark, cloudy trees, and the leaves a carpet about their feet--and -at every meeting he loved her more. When he had spare hours in the -afternoon he liked to walk to the Brown Wood or down to the sea. Once -or twice he bicycled over to Pendragon and had tea with the Trojans. Sir -Henry Trojan was a man who had appealed to him immensely. In spite of -his size and strength and simplicity, his air of a man who lived out of -doors and read little, he had a tremendous poetic passion for Cornwall. -He showed Traill a great many things that were new to him. He began to -feel a sense of color; he saw the Brown Wood, the twisting, gray-roofed -village, the sweeping, striving sea with fresh vision. He stopped -sometimes in his walks and drew a deep breath at the way that the lights -and colors were hung about him. Of course the contrast of his school -life drove these other things against him--and also his love for Isabel. - -These little things would have no importance were it not that they all -helped to blind him to his true relations with Perrin. He did not think -about Perrin at all; he did not think about his life even in any very -definite way. - -He never analyzed things; he took things and used them. - -And then at the end of that first month Birkland talked in the most -amazing way.... - -II. - -Traill had been attached to Birkland from the first. The man had -definite personality--aggressive in its influence--and contempt of the -rest of the common room, but they justified it to some extent by their -own terror of his tongue and their eager criticism of him behind his -back. - -He had treated Traill like the rest, but then Traill never noticed it. -He was not afraid of Birkland, he never resented his criticism, and he -appreciated his humor. - -And then suddenly one evening Birkland asked him to come and see him. -His room was untidy--littered with school-books, exercise-books, stacks -of paper to be corrected; but behind this curtain of discomfort there -were signs of other earlier things: some etchings, dusty and uncared -for, sets of Meredith and Pater, some photographs, and a large engraving -of Whistler's portrait of his mother. The latticed window was open, and -from the night outside, blowing into the gusty candles, there were the -scent of decaying leaves and a faint breath of the distant sea. - -Birkland was thin--sticks of legs and arms; a short, wiry mustache; -heavy, overhanging eyebrows; thin, straight, stiff hair turning a little -gray. He gave Traill a drink, watched him fill a pipe; and then, huddled -in his armchair, his legs crossed under him, his eyes full on the open -window and the night sky, he asked Traill questions. - -"And so you like it?" - -"Yes--immensely!" - -"Why?" - -"Well--why not? After all, it gives a fellow what he wants. There's -plenty of exercise--the hours are healthy--the fellows are quite nice -fellows. I like teaching." - -Traill gave a sigh of satisfaction, and, after all, he had omitted his -principal reason. - -"Yes. How long do you mean to stay here?" - -"Oh! a year, I suppose. Then I ought to get to Clifton." - -"Yes. You'd better not tell the Head that, though. How do you like the -other men?" - -"Oh, I think they 're very good fellows. Dormer's splendid." - -"Yes--and Perrin?" - -"Oh! he's all right. He seems to get annoyed pretty easily. As a matter -of fact, I have felt rather irritated once or twice." - -"Yes--everyone's wanted to cut Perrin's throat some time or other. As -a matter of fact, I shouldn't wonder if it was n't the other way -round--one day." - -There was a pause, and then Birkland said, "And so you like it." - -"Yes, of course; don't you?" - -Birkland laughed. There was a long pause. Then Traill said again, rather -uncertainly, "Don't you?" - -He had never thought of Birkland as an unhappy man--as a matter of fact -he never thought of people as being definite kinds of people, and he -scarcely ever read novels. - -Then Birkland spoke: "You had better not ask me that, young man, if you -want an encouraging answer." - -Then very slowly, after another pause, the words came out: "I'm going -to speak the truth to you to-night for the good and safety of your -soul, and I haven't cared for the good and safety of anyone's soul -for--well!--I should be afraid to say how long. I'm afraid--I don't -really care very much about the safety of yours--but I care enough to -speak to you; and the one thing I say to you is--get out--get away. Fly -for your life." His voice sank to a whisper. "If you don't, you will die -very soon--in a year perhaps. We are all dead here, and we died a great -many years ago." - -Traill moved uncomfortably in his chair. He smiled across the flickering -candles at Birkland. - -"Oh! I say," he said, "that's a bit of exaggeration, isn't it? I suppose -one is tired sometimes, of course; but, after all, there are a good many -men in the country who make a pretty good thing out of mastering and are -n't so very miserable." - -It was evident that he thought that it was all a kind of joke on -Birkland's part. He pulled contentedly at his pipe. - -But the other man went on: "I shouldn't have said this at all if I -hadn't meant it, and if I hadn't got twenty years of experience behind -me to prove what I say. I don't know why I'm bothering you, I'm sure; -but now I've begun I'm going on, and you've got to listen. You can't -say you haven't been given your chance. Have you ever looked round the -common room and seen what kind of men they are?" - -"Of course," said Traill; "but," he added modestly, "I'm not observant, -you know. I'm not at all a clever kind of chap." - -"Well, you would have seen what I'm telling you written in their faces -right enough. Mind you--what I'm saying to you doesn't apply to the -first-class public school. That's a different kind of thing altogether. -I'm talking about places like Moffatt's--places that are trying to be -what they are not--to do what they can't do--to get higher than they can -reach. There are thousands of them all over the country--places where -the men are underpaid, with no prospects, herded together, all of them -hating each other, wanting, perhaps, towards the end of term, to cut -each other's throats. Do you suppose that that is good for the boys they -teach?" - -He paused and relit his pipe, and his voice was, too, measured, but -showing in its tensity his emotion. - -"It's a different thing with the bigger places. There, there is more -room; the men don't live so close together; they are paid better; there -is a chance of getting a house; there is the _esprit de corps_ of the -school... but here, my God!" - -Birkland bent forward, his face white, over the candles. - -"Get out of it, Traill, you fool! You say, in a year's time. Don't I -know that? Do you suppose that I meant to stay here for ever when I -came? But one postpones moving. Another term will be better, or you try -for a thing, fail, and get discouraged... and then suddenly you are too -old--too old at thirty-three--earning two hundred a year... too old! and -liable to be turned out with a week's notice if the Head doesn't like -you--turned out with nothing to go to; and he knows that you are afraid -of him and he has games with you." - -Traill stared at the little man's burning eyes. How odd of Birkland to -talk like this! - -"You think you will escape, but already the place has its fingers about -you. You will be a different man at the end of the term. You will be -allowed no friends here, only enemies. You think the rest of us like -you. Well, for a moment perhaps, but only for a moment. Soon something -will come... already you dislike Perrin. You must not be friends with -the Head, because then we shall think that you are spying on us. You -must not be friends with us, because then the Head will hear of it and -will immediately hate you because he will think that you are conspiring -against him. You must not be friends with the boys, because then we -shall all hate you and they will despise you. You will be quite alone. -You think that you are going to teach with freshness and interest--you -are full of eager plans, new ideas. Every plan, every idea, will be -immediately killed. You must not have them--they are not good for -examinations--you are trying to show that you are superior." - -Birkland paused. Traill moved uneasily in his chair. - -"Wait! You must hear me out. It all goes deeper than these things. It is -murder--self-murder. You are going to kill--you have got to kill--every -fine thought, every hope, that you possess. You will be laughed at for -your ambitions, your desires. You will not even be allowed any fine -vices. You must never go anywhere, because you are neglecting your -work. You have no time. Here we are--fifteen men--all hating each other, -loathing everything that the other man does--the way he eats, the way -he moves, the way he teaches. We sleep next door to each other, we eat -together, we meet all day until late at night--hating each other." - -"After all," said Traill, still smiling, "it is only a month or two, and -there are holidays." - -"If term lasted another week or two," went on Birkland quietly, "murder -would be committed. The holidays come, and you go out into the world to -find that you are different from all other men--to find that they know -that you are different. You are patronizing, narrow, egotistic. You -realize it slowly; you see them shunning you--and then back you go -again. God knows, they should not hate us--these others! they should -pity us. If you marry, see what it is--look at Mrs. Dormer, Mrs. -Comber, Mrs. Moy-Thompson. Look at their husbands, their life. There -is marriage--no money, no prospects, perhaps in the end starvation! And -gradually there creeps over you a dreadful and horrible inertia: you do -not care--you do not think--you are a ghost. If one of us dies, we do -not mind--we do not think about it. Only, towards the end of the term, -when the examinations come, there creeps about the place a new devil. -All our nerve is gone; our hatred of each other begins to be active. -It is the end-of-termy devil.... Another week or two, and there is no -knowing what we might do. We are all tired, horribly tired. Be careful -then what you do and what you say." - -"My word!" said Traill, filling his pipe, "what a horrible picture of -things! You must be out of sorts. Why, it's hysteria!" - -Birkland had crawled back into his chair again. He puffed at his pipe. - -"Oh! of course you don't see it!" he said. "After all, why should you? -But it's true, every word of it. Oh! I'm resigned enough now. Besides, -it's the beginning of the term. I'm inclined to think it's untrue, -myself, just now. Wait and see. Watch White after he's had an interview -with the Head--see Perrin and Comber together later on--study Mrs. -Comber. But don't you bother. You won't listen to me--why should you? -Only, in ten years' time you 'll remember." - -After that they talked of other things. Birkland was rather amusing in -his sharp, caustic way. - -"I say," said Traill as he stood by the door on the way out, "that was -all rot; was n't it?" - -"What was?" asked Birkland. - -"Why, about the place--this place." - -"All rot!" said Birkland gravely. - -III. - -But of course one dismisses these things very soon--especially, and -immediately, if the person in question is Archie Traill. - -Why think about a problematic and depressing forty? Take these men -that Birkland so gloomily points to as disappointing and unsatisfactory -exceptions. Life is like that. There are always the riders who collapse -into ditches and sit there mumbling, wishing for the company, down in -the dirt and the grime, of their fellow-horsemen. - -Meanwhile there is this fine autumn weather. Birkland remains a crabbed -shadow; life is sharp, pungent--formed with faint blue skies, dim and -shining like clear glass with a hard yellow sun stuck like a tethered -balloon between saucer-clouds. - -Archie Traill, on a free afternoon--an early frost had made the ground -too hard for football--in the week after that Birkland evening, stood -in the village street as the church clock struck half-past three, and he -thanked God for a half-holiday. - -The air was so still that the distant mining stamps and the breaking sea -had it for the plain of their unceasing war, cannon against cannon, -and the withdrawing rattle of their rival shot echoing against the blue -horizon and the stiff side of the Brown Hill. The village cobbles shone -and glittered; the gray roofs lay like carpets spread to dry. The -brown church tower seemed to sway--so motionless was the rest of the -world--with the clatter of its chiming clocks. - -Suddenly Isabel Desart turned the corner. "Good afternoon, Mr. Traill," -and the clasp of her hand was strong and clean as all the rest of her -movements. She smiled at him as she always smiled, a little ironically -and also a little seriously, as though she found the world a strange -place, ought to think it a solemn one, but couldn't help finding it -funny. - -Three old women, their skirts kilted about them, their eyes fixed on -vacancy, flung their voices into the silence like balls against a board. - -"And she only sixteen--what a size!" - -"Only sixteen!--to think of it!" - -"With her great legs and all!" - -"Only sixteen...!" - -The man and woman moved up the road together. She was usually so full -of things to say that her silence surprised him. The thought that his -presence could possibly be agitating to her, and therefore responsible, -drove the blood to his head, and then he rebuked himself for a -presumptuous fool. But if he had spoken, he would have had to tell her -that he loved her--and it was n't time yet. - -But at last he broke against the silence very quietly. "We must talk, -one of us--it is so wonderfully quiet that it's alarming." - -She turned round to him, and suddenly, so that he stopped in the road -and looked at her, she put her hand on his arm. - -"We are both so frightfully young," she said. - -"Why, yes," he said, laughing at her; "but why not?" - -"Why, for the things that we 'll have to do. You for the boys, and I for -my poor Mrs. Comber. I had thought when I saw you first that you were -going to be old enough, but I don't think you are." - -"I know that I can't--" he began. - -"Oh! it isn't for anything that you _can't_ do!" she broke in. "It's -just because you don't see it--why should you? You 're too much in the -middle--I suppose it's only outsiders who can really understand. But I -get so depressed sometimes with it all that I think that I will leave it -and go back to London and never come here again. One doesn't seem to be -any use--no use at all. And it all seems worse in the autumn somehow. -Poor Mr. Traill! I always happen to be gloomy when you catch me, and I'm -not gloomy really in the least." - -"But what is it all about? And don't go to London, please. You mustn't -think of it." - -He was so much in earnest that she turned and looked at him. "Why?" she -said gravely. "Do you like my being here?" And then, before he could say -anything, she added, reflectively, "Well, that's one, at any rate. - -"I have to go in here," she said, stopping before a gate with a drive -behind it. "Tea, you understand." Then she gave him her hand. "Although -you don't in the least know what I mean, you 're a help," she said; "and -I shall look across the chapel floor in the evening and know that I have -a friend. Sometimes when I'm down here--out of it--and everything's -so fresh and clear, like to-night, I think that it can't be true--the -things that go on. Oh! I'm so sorry for them, all of them." She went -through the gate and looked back at him. "But I don't want to have to be -sorry for you as well--please," she added, and was lost in the trees. - -But he, in his triumphant, buoyant sensation of things having moved a -step--or even a good many steps further--was ready that she should be -sorry or have any sensation whatever so long as she thought of him. Her -claiming Chapel-time as a meeting-ground made that somewhat irritating -and so swiftly recurrent a ceremonial a thrice-blessed moment to which -he might eagerly look forward throughout the day. But it is not my -intention to give you all his symptoms--his passion is in no way -the chief point; it was simply one of the things that helped in the -culminating issue. - -Isabel, meanwhile, found that throughout the tea-party her little -conversation with Traill ran in her head. It was not a very interesting -tea-party--three old ladies who regarded her as something very dangerous -and alarming and offered her cake as though they expected it to turn -into a bomb in her hands. She looked at their comfortable fire, their -dark, cozy drawing-room, their caps and shawls, with the eye of someone -whose passage through that country was very swift and whose language -was not theirs. The dancing glow of the firelight, the tinkle of -the tea-things, the softness of the rugs at her feet, were not the -expression of her idea of life, and she flung them away from her and -thought of Moffatt's and the night outside. Throughout their soft and -courteous speech her mind was with Traill. He had said, "Don't go to -London, please," and he had meant it--it was almost as though he had -appealed to her from a sudden vision that he had of all that was in -front of him. _She_ knew, of course--she had seen it happen so very -often before; and perceived that for this man, too, with his bright, -eager challenge of life, his absurdly young notion of the way that -things would be certain to be simple when they were never simple at all, -grim, baffling disappointment was at hand. To her those red walls of -Moffatt's were alive, moving--crushing, as in some story that she had -once read, relentlessly the victims that were hidden within. Perhaps he -had suddenly seen or understood something of that--there had come to him -some forewarning. Her cheek reddened at the thought and her breath came -quickly. She liked him--she had liked him from the first--she liked him -very much; and if he wanted her to help him, she would do all that she -could. She said good-by to the three old ladies and left them behind her -with a little humorous laugh. It was right that there should be three -old ladies living like that, so cozily and comfortably, with their fires -and their carpets, at the very foot of Moffatt's. How little people -realized! These old ladies with their park gates and long drive! How -they would roll up in their carriage!... and the Moffatt's! - -It was dark, and the long hill that stretched above her was black and -ominous. The lights of Moffatt's showed, to the right at the top, and -the darker shape of its buildings cut the lighter gray of the sky. There -was a lamp-post at the corner of the road, and as she closed the gates -behind her with a clang she heard a voice say, "Good evening, Miss -Desart," and saw that Mr. Perrin was at her side. Mr. Perrin always made -her feel nervous, and now, in the dark, she instinctively shrank back, -but it was only for an instant, and she was immediately ashamed of -her fears. She could not see his face, but she fancied that his voice -trembled---he seemed troubled about something; and then that feeling of -pity that she had for him before came upon her again, and her voice was -softer and more tender. - -"It was--um--a great piece of good fortune for me that I should be -passing just when you were coming out--a great piece of good fortune." - -He seemed very nervous. - -"And for me too," she said; "this hill grows extraordinarily dark, and I -stayed on longer than I ought to have done. Have you been paying calls, -too?" - -"Oh, no! I--um--never pay calls--merely a stroll down to the village -to buy some tobacco--merely that--nothing more... yes, merely that... -simply some tobacco." - -She felt his agitation, and wished that the top of the hill might -be reached as speedily as possible, but she fancied a little that he -lingered. She hastened her steps. - -"I'm not sure that it is n't raining--I felt a drop just now, I -thought--and it was such a lovely afternoon." - -"Oh, no, I assure you--" and then he suddenly stopped. - -She was frightened--quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the warmth -and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible and escape -from this strange, awkward man. - -She broke the silence. "How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower -School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but -then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor." - -Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. -"Ah, well, yes, Traill--young, of course, young, and one can only learn -by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure--dangerous -thing to be too certain--a fault of youth, of course." - -"Oh, I've found him," said Isabel, "very modest and pleasant. Of course, -I haven't seen very much of him, but I must say that what I 've seen of -him I've liked." - -They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the -horizon. - -In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. -Perrin's face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was -clenching and unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie -had risen at the back above his collar... his eyes were looking into -hers and beseeching her like the eyes of a dumb animal. - -They had come to the gates. - -"Miss Desart..." - -They both came to a halt in the road. - -"Yes?" she said, smiling at him. - -"I want you to... I'd be awfully glad one day if..." - -He stopped again desperately. - -"What can I do?" she said, still smiling at him. He looked so odd, -standing there in the dark, silent road... his hands restless. His eyes -had moved from her face and were gazing up the road. - -"I would be so glad if--one day--so flattered if--you -would--will--um--come for a walk, one day." He stopped with a jerk. - -She moved through the gate and looked back at him before turning up the -path to the house. - -"Why, of course, Mr. Perrin, I shall be delighted. Good night." - -He stood looking after her. - - - - -CHAPTER V--A GAME OF FOOTBALL AND A DANCE IN PENDRAGON HAVE THEIR PART -IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS - - -I. - -|LATER there is Mr. Perrin heavily--with the midday mutton close about -his head--surveying, in his dingy and tattered sitting-room, four small -boys who gaze at him with staring eyes and jumping throats. - -It is a piece of English poetry that has brought them, miserably, by the -ears--Browning's "Patriot," one verse a week, to be said every Tuesday -morning first hour, and to be forgotten eagerly, completely forgotten, -every Tuesday morning second hour.= - -```I go in the rain and, more than needs - -```The rope--the rope--the rope--= - -Johnson Minor gazed miserably at his companions and, finding no help in -man, but only a jesting glory at his misfortunes, dizzily, despairingly, -to the top row of Mr. Perrin's bookcase, where _Advanced Algebra and -Mensuration_ hold perpetual war and rivalry. - -It was a desperate affair altogether, because it was the afternoon of a -football match--a great football match against a mighty Truro team,--and -already the gathering multitude in the field below flung a derisive -murmur at the dusty panes. - -But Mr. Perrin was motionless. He offered no assistance, he suggested -no remedy, he merely tapped with his bone paper-knife on the red -tablecloth--a tap that showed Johnson Minor once and for all that his -case was hopeless:= - -````A rope--a rope that--= - -Johnson Minor, with hanging head and red eyes, passed out to write it, -the whole poem, fifty times before lock-up. He would miss the match. -Outside, in the passage, he suddenly remembered the whole verse clearly, -perfectly; but it was too late. - -At last one prisoner only remained--Garden Minimus, a cheerful, untidy -person aged ten, in enormous boots and no kind of parting to his hair. - -Garden Minimus was the boy whom Perrin liked best in the whole -school--had liked him best for the last two years. When things were -really black, when headaches were violent, and when unpopularity seemed -to hang about him in a dense, thick cloud, there was always Garden -Minimus. He flattered himself that the boy was not aware of this -partiality; but the boy, he was sure, liked him. He treated him always -with an elaborate irony that the boy seemed to understand in some -curious way. Garden would stand, with his head on one side like a rather -intelligent small dog, and although he rarely said anything more than -"Yes, sir," or "No, sir," Perrin felt that he grasped the situation. - -On this afternoon it was plain that Garden Minimus did not know a word -of "The Patriot," and had made no attempt whatever to learn it. - -Mr. Perrin looked at him with a slow smile. "I'm afraid, friend Garden," -he said, "that it will devolve upon your lordship--hum--ha--that you -should write this poem of the noble Mr. Robert Browning's no less than -fifty times. I grieve--I sympathize--I am your humble servant; but the -law commands." - -Garden Minimus brushed Mr. Perrin's fine periods aside, and said, with -a most engaging smile, "There's a most ripping footer match this -afternoon, sir." - -"Fool though I am," said Mr. Perrin, "I have nevertheless observed that -there is, as you say, a footer match. Nevertheless, I am afraid 'The -Patriot' calls you, friend Garden." - -"It would be an awful pity," said Garden reflectively, without paying -the slightest attention to Mr. Perrin, "to miss a decent game like -that." - -Suddenly Mr. Perrin was irritated. He snapped out sharply, "All right, -Garden; that will do. You 'll get it a hundred times if you aren't -careful!" - -Garden, realizing his defeat, moved slowly out of the room, his forehead -lowering. Outside the door he muttered, "Silly, pompous ass!" - -Mr. Perrin remained discontented, unhappy. He was continually attempting -to make the boys fond of him and at the same time to retain his dignity. -He never succeeded in this, because so definite an attempt on his part -immediately precluded any capitulation on theirs. They thought he was a -fool to try, and they resented his airs. - -He was really fond of Garden Minimus, he thought, as he sat with his -head between his arms in his dingy, dusty room. The dust wove patterns -above his head in the pale, dim sunlight. He must go down and watch the -football. He must get out amongst people, because he had a sickening -fear that for the first time that term his headaches were coming back to -him. He had avoided them. Miss Desart had been there instead, and every -time that she spoke to him he had felt well and happy. - -She had spoken to him a good many times lately, and he now was sure that -she was attracted to him. Soon he would ask her to go with him for -a walk... then there would be more walks... then.... He wrote to his -mother that the thing was practically arranged. - -As for that puppy, Traill--well, he 'd kept him in his place, thank -Heaven. As the days increased, Perrin had grown to dislike him more and -more--conceited, insufferable, giving himself such airs. When he met -anyone who gave himself airs, Perrin had a curious habit of referring -things back to his old mother and seeing her insulted. He could see the -patronizing way that Traill would speak to her. This always made him -furiously angry when he thought of it. But being furiously angry only -brought on his headaches again. Oh! there were things to be done! He -looked around his room and saw a pile of mathematical papers, some -English essays. His eye crossed to the mantelpiece, and he saw there a -silly china figure, painted in red and yellow, of an old gentleman in a -cocked hat. This, for no reason that he could explain, always irritated -him. The old gentleman had so confident and knowing a smile. He had -always meant to get rid of it, but for some reason or other he never -could destroy it. - -Oh! he must get out into the air! His head was very had. - -As he left his room, there was a vague fear, somewhere, at his heart. - -The game had begun. The ropes on either side were thickly lined with a -dark crowd of boys, and a long wailing shout, "Scho-o-l!" rose and -fell without ceasing. Perrin, in his shabby greatcoat, watched with a -superior but interested air. There was nothing in the world that excited -him more, but he had never been able to play himself and so he affected -to despise it. - -In front of him, pressed against the rope, were three small boys of -his own house, each boy holding a paper bag from which he drew fat and -sticky green and brown sweets. They had not noticed him. They divided -their attention between their neighbors, their sweets, and the game. - -"Shut up, Huggins, you silly fool! What are you shoving for?" - -"Can't help it--Grey's barging--Oh! I say, run it, Morton. That's it! -Pick it up--dodge him, man! Oh, hang it!" - -"I say, swop one of those brown things for one of mine--Thanks! Where's -Garden, you chaps?" - -"Swotting up for Old Pompous." - -"Oh! what rot! I'm blowed if I would. I thought Pompous was rather sweet -on Garden." - -"So he is--but Garden can't stand him." - -"No wonder--blithering ass, with his long words!" - -"Oh! I say--they 've got it! There's Morton off again--Oh! he's going! -Well run, my word! He's in! No, he isn't! The back's got him! No, he -hasn't! Hurray! Try! Good old Morton!" - -Amongst the commotion that followed the happy event Perrin moved to a -less crowded portion of the people. He was accustomed to hearing himself -spoken of with but little respect by those who, when he was present, -trembled before him. He always told himself that all the members of the -staff were in the same box; but this afternoon it hurt--it hurt badly. - -Little beasts! He'd punish them! As he moved along behind the ranks of -boys--each boy with his friend--the familiar mantle of loneliness, that -he had known so long, swept him in its somber folds. He saw Comber in -the distance, turned to avoid him, and suddenly confronted Mrs. Comber -and Miss Desart. - -He pulled himself up with a sudden effort of one who, feeling at his -very worst, has immediately to appear at his very best, and the struggle -was glaring to the observer, in the nervous clutching of the buttons of -his coat and his uneasy, agitated laugh. - -Mrs. Comber was always at her noisiest and most affable with Mr. Perrin, -because she didn't like him, and she always tried to cover that dislike -with an increased amiability. Isabel stood rather gravely by and watched -the game. - -"We appear to be winning," said Perrin, glaring as he spoke at -three small hoys who had looked up at the sound of his voice. "We -appear--um--to be winning. Morton has secured a try." - -"Yes, I'm so glad," gasped Mrs. Comber--she was out of breath. "Morton's -a nice boy--we had him once in our house, and I do hope the school will -win, because it's so nice for everybody's tempers, and the boys like -it--and there's that nice Mr. Traill playing and running about most -beautifully." - -Perrin started. He hadn't noticed that Traill was playing. He looked -at Isabel and saw that she was watching the game with deep attention. -Traill was certainly in his element. The ball came suddenly in his -direction. He had it in his hands and was off with it. There was a -breathless, hushed pause; then, as he sped along, just inside the -touch-line, swerved past his opposing three-quarter to the center of the -field, and flew for the goal, the silence broke into a roar. Miss Desart -gave a long-drawn "Oh!" Mrs. Comber a little scream, Mr. Perrin moodily -stroked his mustache. - -The back was outwitted, and came floundering to the ground--a very -pretty try. - -"Good old Traillers!" - -"That's something like!" - -"Isn't he spiffing?"--and then Miss Desart's, "Oh! that was splendid!" -beat about Mr. Perrin's poor head, that was aching horribly. - -"That nice Mr. Traill! I do like to see people run like that. Oh! it's -half-time." - -Mrs. Comber caught Mr. Perrin slowly into her vision again and prepared -once more to be volubly pleasant. - -But Mr. Perrin had had enough. On the opposite side of the field, on the -top of the hill against the china white of the autumn sky, were three -trees, gnarled, bent, gaunt, like three old men. Quite alone they -stood and watched, impersonally and gravely, the game. Mr. Perrin felt -suddenly as though he, too, were really one of them. Behind them sheets -of white light, falling from the hidden sun, flooded the long, brown -fields. - -Cold pale blue was reflected against the gray stodgy clouds. Mr. Perrin -went back slowly to his room. The dusty untidiness of it closed -about him. He sat down to his pile of English essays on "Town and -Country--Which is the best to live in?" with a confused sense of -running men, lights across the hills, the china red and black man on the -mantelpiece, and Miss Desart's shining eyes. - -At five o'clock, with a heavy scowl, Garden Minimus presented "The -Patriot" neatly written fifty times. - -II. - -It was about this time that Archie Traill accepted an invitation to a -dance at Sir Henry Trojan's. It was to be only a small dance, and it was -to be over by twelve. "Do let us," Lady Trojan wrote, "put you up. You -will be able to see more of Robin, who is coming down for the night from -London. He will want to see you so badly." Traill wrote back, accepting -the dance, but explaining that he must return on the same evening, -quoting as his imperative necessity early morning preparation. - -It was Clinton's evening on duty, and therefore there was no very -obvious necessity to say anything more about it; but Traill, in order -to free himself from any further danger, thought that he would go and -receive definite permission from Moy-Thompson. He had not as yet been to -a single dinner or evening party outside the school, and he had noticed -that the rest of the staff never went out at all, nor had apparently -any intention of doing so. He went round at twelve o'clock after morning -school to Moy-Thompson's study, knocked on the door, and entered. He was -conscious at once of trouble in the air. He saw that White, the nervous -man who took the Classical Fifth, was standing by Thompson's table. He -moved back as though he would leave the room; but the headmaster called -to him, "Ah! Traill, don't go. I shall be ready in a moment." - -Then Traill noticed several things. He noticed, first, that -Moy-Thompson's garden beyond the window was colored a brilliant brown in -the sun; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's study was dark and black, like -a prison; he noticed that White's long hatchet-face was yellow in the -half-light; he noticed that both White's hands, hanging straight at -his side, were tightly clenched, and that his thin legs, spread widely -apart, were drawn tight beneath his trousers so that the cloth flapped a -little against his thin calves; he noticed that Moy-Thompson's long gray -beard swept the table and that his fingers tapped the wood every now -and again with the sound of peas rattling on a plate; he noticed that -Moy-Thompson was smiling. - -Moy-Thompson said, "But I think I told you that Maurice was on no -account to have an exeat." - -White's voice came from a far, hesitating distance: "Yes, I know. But -his father was only to be in London for an hour, and he has not seen his -son for a year, and I thought that under the circumstances--" - -"That does not alter the fact that I had expressed a wish that he should -not have an exeat." - -"No--but I thought that if you knew all the circumstances of the case, -you would not object." - -"What is your position here? Are you here to consider my wishes? What -are you paid to do?" - -White made no answer. - -"Of course if you are dissatisfied with the condition of things here, -you have only to say so. It would be doubtless possible to fill your -place." - -"No,"--White's voice was very low--"I have no complaint. I am sorry -if--" - -"You must remember your position here. I have yet to discover any paid -position that enables you to indulge your own particular fancies when -you please. Doubtless you are better informed." - -Traill could endure it no longer. He was so angry that the blood had -rushed to his head, and his face was scarlet. White had flung one glance -at him, as though to beseech him to go away, and he moved to the door; -but again Moy-Thompson said, "Just a moment, Traill." - -He was so angry that, on the impulse of the moment, he had almost -stepped across the room and flung in his resignation. White's long -haggard figure was torture; it was cruelty, devilish cruelty, laughing -with them there in the room. - -The man at the table was playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, -shaming one of them before the younger man, as though he had stripped -him naked and driven him so into the playing-fields outside, forcing the -other to listen, brutally, intolerably, against his will. - -The room seemed full of pain--it seemed to cross and recross in waves. -White's head bent down.... At last he passed with lowered eyes out -through the door. - -Traill could not speak; without another word, he turned and followed -him. Outside the door in the darkened passage he suddenly held out his -hand and caught White's. White held his for an instant; suddenly, with a -frightened, startled look, he stepped away. - -III. - -When the evening of the dance arrived, Traill noticed that he was glad -to get away. Term had now lasted for six weeks, and in another week it -would be half-term. He was a little tired; he found it more difficult -to get up in the morning. Little things mattered a great deal--he now -emphatically disliked Perrin more than he had ever disliked anyone in -his life before; there was even annoyance in the mere sight of his long, -lean, untidy figure, in the sound of his assured, supercilious voice, in -the sense of his arrogance. - -They never spoke to each other if they could help it; meals were -extremely disagreeable. - -He found, too, that love did not mingle properly with school work. He -was always going into day-dreams when he should have been teaching his -form. He tried to keep the sea and the wood and the funny man that he -had met there and Isabel apart from his work; but they came skipping -in--and at night he dreamt--he was almost sure that she loved him.... -Whenever they met now they were very silent. - -He escaped whilst they were all in chapel. He lit his bicycle-lamp, -wrapped a long, thin coat about him, and escaped. It had been a cold, -fine day. The sun was just setting over the sea as he spun down the -hard, white road. - -As he flew between the dark, sweet-scented hedges, as he felt the wind -in his ears and about his face, as the smell, salt and sharp, of the sea -came to him, it was strange to find how the cares and troubles of those -brown buildings on the hill fled away from him. He was already his old -self; he sang to himself. - -A faint red glow hovered over the dark, heaving water; the trees stood -black on the horizon, and the long, low lines of shadow, white and gray, -stole about the road as the evening sky slowly settled, with a little -sighing of the wind, into the colors that it would bear during the -night. The lights of the little village behind him made a red cluster -against the dark shoulder of the Brown Hill. - -He sang aloud. - -It was a most enjoyable dance; he had never enjoyed a dance so much -before. He realized that he, was looking on the past six weeks as -imprisonment; he also noticed that when he told his partners that he -was a schoolmaster they stared at him a little apprehensively. It was -delightful to see Robin Trojan again. They walked into the garden -and strolled about the paths together; he was much improved since -the Cambridge days, Traill thought--less self-assured and with wider -interests. And then Sir Henry Trojan always gave Traill a broader -feeling of life--sanity and health and strength--and lie had an -admirable sense of humor. - -And then it was over, and Traill was speeding back over the hill again. -He thought of Isabel all the way back. He fancied that she was with him -in the dark. The night was so black that he could only see the little -round white circle that his lamp flung on the road in front of him. The -hedges, like black, bulging pillows, closed him in. - -He seemed to be back in no time. He heard the school clock strike one. -He took the Yale key and fitted it into the door; it would not move; he -tugged, pulled it out, forced it in again, and pushed it. With a click -it broke in half. - -He looked at the big, black, silent buildings in despair--supposing he -had to stay out all night. He would die rather than ring. - -He went round to the other side of the building and looked up. Then he -saw that the dining-room windows were not very high and that he might -climb. He caught on to a buttress and pulled himself up; then another -hand on the window-sill drew him level. - -He found to his delight that the window was not latched. He pushed it -up, and then, with one hasty look into the dark cavern beneath him, -jumped. He was saluted on his descent with a noise as though all the -crockery in the world had fallen about his ears. The sharp collapse of -it seemed to go rushing through the silent house for hours; he knew that -he had cut his hand and had bruised his knee. - -For a moment he was stunned; then slowly he realized what he had done: -the tables were laid for the next morning's breakfast, and he had jumped -down straight amongst the cups and plates. - -He sat up on the floor and began, with his head aching, to staunch the -blood that came from the cut. He saw, as in a dream, the door open. -Someone was standing there, in a nightshirt, holding a candle; it was -Perrin. - -"Who's there? What's that?" Perrin held a poker in his other hand. - -Traill got up slowly from the floor. "It is I--Traill," he stammered. He -was still feeling stunned. - -Perrin held the candle a little closer. "Oh, is it you, Traill?" - -"Yes, I have been out. I fell on to the plates and things. I am sorry." - -"You made a great noise." Perrin was speaking very slowly. "You woke me -up." - -"Yes; I am most awfully sorry." - -Traill moved towards the door. Perrin still stood there, holding his -candle, his nightshirt flapping about his legs. He did not seem inclined -to move. - -"You made a great noise. It is one o'clock." He said it as though he -were Robespierre condemning Louis XVI to execution. - -"Yes, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. I broke my key." - -Still Perrin did not move. "What are you doing out so late?" he said at -last, slowly. - -What the devil had it to do with Perrin! - -"I did n't know that this was a girls' school," Traill said at last, -sarcastically. His head was aching, his knee hurt, he was tired, and in -a very bad temper. - -Perrin moved from the door. "It's struck one--coming in like this!" - -The candle flung a most ridiculous shadow of him on the wall--a huge, -gigantic head with hair sticking out of it like spears. - -Because he was tired and rather hysterical, this suddenly amused Traill -enormously. He hurst into a peal of laughter. - -"I can't help it," he said, shaking; "you look so funny, so frightfully -odd!" - -Perrin said nothing. He looked at him for a moment. He had been -disturbed in his sleep; he had every reason to be very angry. But he -said nothing at all. He moved slowly down the passage. - -Traill followed him in silence; he was suddenly frightened. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--SAEVA INDIGNATIO - - -I. - -|TO Perrin, in his sleep that night there came, accompanied with roaring -wind and crashing sea, a dream of the little man in red and black china -that lived on the mantelpiece. He came tip-tap across the floor to him -and bent over the bed and whispered in his ear. He had grown in his -transit and was large in the leg and trailed behind him a long black -gown, and he troubled Mr. Perrin by buzzing like a wasp. - -He was urging Perrin to do something, but it was hard to distinguish the -words because of the booming of the sea. The cold light of early morning -and, an hour later, the harsh clang of the bell down the stone passages, -restored the china gentleman once more to the mantelpiece; but the -discovery that there had been a storm in the night only seemed to -confirm the gentleman's appearance. Besides, he was no new thing--he had -climbed down from his perch on other occasions. - -Perrin and Traill exchanged no word during breakfast. - -II. - -Garden Minimus played his small part in the whole affair by being sulky -and obstinate during the whole of first hour. It was a game that he was -perfectly accustomed to playing, and he knew every move from the opening -gambit of "saying things under your breath that looked bad, but couldn't -possibly be heard," to the triumphant checkmate of a studied, sarcastic -politeness that was most unusual and hinted at danger. - -Perrin had slept, as we have seen, exceedingly badly, and the old -hallucination that twenty boys were in reality five hundred crept over -him. They sat in stupid, irritated rows at hard wooden desks soiled with -ink. Beyond the drab windows the wind howled, and the dry leaves blew -against the panes. - -His temper rose as the hour advanced. The fifth proposition of the -first book of Euclid was scarcely calculated to show dull boys at their -brightest and best, and Perrin found that, by changing the letters of -the figure on the board, the form knew nothing about it at all. - -He proceeded, as was his way, to secure the dullest, fattest, and -heaviest boy (a youngster with spectacles and a protruding chin, -called Somerset-Walpole) and to make merry at his expense. -Somerset-Walpole--his fingers exuded ink, his coat whitewash, and his -hair dust--stood with his mouth open and his brow wrinkled, and a vague -wonder as to why, when he ought to be thinking about Euclid, his mind -would invariably wander to the bristly hairs at the back of Mr. Perrin's -neck and the silly leaves dancing about outside. - -Mr. Perrin played heavily with him for about quarter of an hour (the -form laughing nervously at his ironical sallies), and then sent the -youngster back, crying, to his seat; the boy spent the rest of the hour -in drawing hideous people with noses like pens and tiny legs, and then -smudging them out with his fingers. - -Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, frowning -face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt wildly -from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty purring at -his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, only when -the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, suddenly, that -he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his hands and twist them -back further and further until they cracked. He would like to take his -little fat arms and close his fingers about them and pinch them until -they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white knuckles and beat -them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Perrin -began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a little. - -"Take the triangle A B C," he began, and stopped. Perrin began to pinch -the back of his neck. - -"You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I am -sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve -to think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your -preparation last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, -you know--you will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it -out thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea." - -But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... He -saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was -shaking with rage. - -"Go back to your seat," he said in a whisper, and he gave him a push. He -sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the rest of -the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had rung -and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. "I think -fifteen times will be enough," and he touched the boy's sleeve with his -hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite contempt in -his eyes. - -Then, the hoys gone, Mr. Perrin's mind went back to the incident of -the preceding night. It was his custom to go and talk for a little to -Moy-Thompson once a week. They disliked each other, of course; but they -could be of mutual advantage, and they both found that hints dropped and -accepted during these little talks were of great value during the days -that followed. Perrin had never any deliberate intention of harming -anyone in these little conversations. But, every man's hand being -against him, it seemed to him only fair that he should use such -opportunities of retaliation as were given him. At the same time these -little confidential talks flattered his sense of power. Dormer was the -senior master at the Lower School, but Perrin knew that Dormer did not -have these little talks; it did not occur to him that the reason might -be that Dormer was too honorable to care about them. Moreover, as far -as Traill was concerned, Perrin really felt that it did not do to have -masters leaping through windows at any hour of the night. The accidental -fact that he disliked Traill intensely had, he persuaded himself, -nothing whatever to do with it; he would have felt it just as strongly -his duty to speak about it had the offender been his dearest friend. - -The accumulative irritations of the morning, succeeding a disturbed and -broken night, only stirred him to further zeal for the school's good. -The only consoling fact in a dark world was that Miss Desart had, in -chapel, last evening, looked at him with eyes that seemed to him on fire -with devotion. He intended, in a day or two, to ask her to come for -a walk with him... and then another walk... and then another... and -then.... - -And so he went to see Moy-Thompson. You can, if the simile is not too -terribly old, imagine Moy-Thompson as a spider and his study as his web; -it was certainly dusty enough, with faded busts of Romans and Greeks -on the top shelves of the book-cases, and gloomy photographs of gloomy -places on the walls. The two men seemed to suit the place well enough, -and its depression really brightened Mr. Perrin up. But it must be -remarked once more that it was not from any anticipation of doing Traill -damage that he embraced and cuddled his little piece of news so eagerly, -but only because it helped his sense of importance. He was already -wishing that he had told Garden Minimus to write his Euclid thirty times -instead of fifteen, so cheered and inspired did he feel. - -The two men understood one another perfectly, and had a mutual respect -for each other 's strong qualities. No time was wasted in preliminaries, -and it was a curious coincidence that Moy-Thompson's first question -should be: "What do you think of Traill? How's he doing?" - -Moy-Thompson is not a pleasant person to contemplate, alone, amongst the -people of that place, there is nothing whatever to be said for him, and -it is my intention to pass over him as quickly as may be. Perrin knew -from the sound of his voice that he had some reason for disliking -Traill. - -"Oh, I think, well enough," he answered, looking out of the window. -"The boys like him." - -"Oh, they like him; do they?" - -"Yes. I think he indulges them rather. I'm not quite sure that he sticks -to his work as he should do." - -"Why! What does he do?" - -"I found him jumping through the Lower School dining-room window at one -o'clock this morning." - -"Oh, did you!" Moy-Thompson smiled. "Where had he been?" - -"I didn't ask." - -Perrin pulled his gown about him. A sudden distaste for the whole -business had seized him; after another word or two he went away, back to -his own rooms. - -III. - -Meanwhile Traill was tired and cross and out of temper with the world. -He found that there was more to be said for the stay-at-home tastes of -the rest of the staff than he had suspected. You couldn't, if you went -gaily dancing the evening before, embrace early morning preparations -with the eagerness and even the attention that it properly demanded. His -mind was heavy, drowsy; he had forgotten his anger with Perrin and was -only rather amused by the whole affair of the night before; but, instead -of correcting Latin exercises, he sat, with his eyes gazing dreamily out -of the window, his thoughts on Isabel. - -He found first hour tiresome and irritating. He lost his temper for the -first time that term, and went, at the end of the second hour, into the -Upper School common room with a cloudy brow and dragging feet. - -Anything drearier than this place it would be impossible to conceive. -There was a long, red-clothed table, a black, yawning grate, a dozen -stiff wooden chairs and, scattered about the room, the whole of the -staff waiting for the bell to ring for third hour. This was the most -irritating quarter of an hour of the day. - -Several men, Comber, Clinton, Dormer, and another, were bending over the -table, supervising the selection of the team for the afternoon's match. -As Traill came in he heard Comber's voice: "Toggett at three-quarter is -perfectly absurd. That's obviously Traill's choice. Traill may be able -to play, but his knowledge of the theory of the game is absolutely nil." -Comber has resented Traill's entrance into the school football from the -very first. He, although many years past his game, had hitherto led the -Rugby enthusiasts of the school--he had been supreme on the Committee -and had had the last word about the teams. Traill's football, however, -was so obviously superior to anything that the school had had for a -great many years that he was received with open arms. He had not perhaps -been as judiciously submissive to Comber as he might have been, but he -had always deferred his opinion and had never been goaded by Comber's -caustic contradictions into ill-temper. - -He did not now show any ill-temper, but only, with a laugh as he came up -to the table, said, "Thanks, Comber." - -Dormer hurried to make peace, but Comber continued to mutter: "What -the devil you want to put the man there for, I can't think...." By -the window Birkland and Monsieur Pons were arguing about the latter's -discipline. - -"I should get them to stamp and rush about a bit more, Pons, if I were -you," Birkland was saying. "It's so delightful for me, being just under -you. It is so easy for me to do my work, so nice to think that they -really _are_ enjoying themselves." - -Monsieur Pons was waving his arms, excitedly. "I keep them perfectly -still this morning, as still as one mouse. No one stirs. You can hear a -pin drop." - -"You must have dropped a cartload of them," said Birkland, frowning. -"Try and drop less next time." - -Suddenly in the middle of the room there appeared the school sergeant. -That could only mean one thing, and conversation instantly ceased. - -"Mr. Moy-Thompson wishes to see Mr. Traill at twelve," he said. - -Comber gave a grunt of satisfaction. Traill laughed. "I thought things -were a little too pleasant to last," he said. His mind flew back to -the incidents of last night. Surely Perrin couldn't have said anything. -Probably Moy-Thompson had heard of it in some other way. He shrugged -his shoulders and thought, as he looked round the dreary room, that -schoolmastering wasn't always pleasant. He wondered, too, a little -unhappily, why, when one wanted things to go well everything should go -wrong, through no fault of one's own. - -Here were Perrin and Comber, for instance; they both obviously disliked -him, and yet he had done nothing to either of them. As he went out, he -caught White looking at him timidly, but sympathetically, and he smiled -at him. And indeed at twelve, when he knocked on the door at the end of -the dark passage, it was chiefly his memory of the last occasion that he -had been there, of White's pale face, that remained with him. - -Pathos has, too, often its intense, pathetic moment coming, for no -definite reason, out of a mysterious distance and choosing to fill, -as water fills a pool, rooms and places and companies of people. Now, -suddenly, this study; with Moy-Thompson in it was a place, to Traill, -of the intensest pathos, so that it seemed strange that, with such -brilliant things as the world contained, it should be allowed to -continue. His own position was lost in the perpetual vision of White -standing, as he had seen him, with bent head. - -"Ah, Traill," said Moy-Thompson. "Sit down. I have been wanting to have -a talk with you. I hope that this time is quite convenient?" - -"Perfectly," said Traill. - -"I've been intending to come down and look at your form, but I have had -no opportunity. I must try and manage next week." - -Traill said nothing. Moy-Thompson smiled at him. "I hope that you have -had no trouble with discipline." - -"None. The boys are excellent." - -"Ah! that is splendid." There was a pause; then the beard was suddenly -lifted, and a glance was flashed across the table. "I hope that you take -your work seriously, Mr. Traill." Traill flushed a little. "I think that -I do," he said. - -"That is well.... Because we are--ah! um--a great institution, a very -great institution. We owe our traditions--um, eh--a very serious and -determined attention to detail. To work together, as one man, for the -good of our race, that must be our object. Yes. No divisions, all in -friendly brotherhood--um, yes." Traill said nothing. - -"I hope that you realize this. We want every energy, every nerve, at -work. We must not waste a moment, nor grudge every instant to the cause -we have at heart. Um, yes, I hope that you agree, Mr. Traill." - -"I hope," Traill said, "that you have not found me wanting, that you -have nothing to complain of. I think that I have worked--" - -"Worked? Ah, yes." Moy-Thompson caught him up, cracking his fingers -together. "But what about play, eh? What about play?" Traill flushed. -"As to football--" - -"No, it is not football. It is merely a detail--quite a detail. But Mr. -Perrin informs me that you came in at one o'clock this morning through -the window. I confess that I was surprised." - -"That is quite true," said Traill, in a low voice. "I went--" - -"Ah! no! please!" Mr. Thompson lifted a large white hand. "No details -are necessary. The facts are sufficient. I need not, I think, say any -more. You must see for yourself.... Only, I think you will agree with me -that it should not occur again." - -"I am sorry--" Traill said. - -"Ah, please! No more; it shall not be mentioned again. Only work and -play together are impossible. We have long vacations that give us all we -ask. To pass for a moment to another matter." Moy-Thompson put his -hand on some papers. "Here are the scholarship questions that you have -set--geography and history. I think they are scarcely what we require. -If you would not mind resetting them and bringing them to me to-morrow. -Yes. Thank you.... Good morning." Traill rose, took the papers in his -hand, and left the room. He knew, surely, certainly, as though Birkland -himself had told him, that this was to be the beginning of persecution. -The Reverend Moy-Thompson had got his knife into him, and he had Perrin -to thank for it. - -IV. - -The interview that had lasted barely five minutes hung heavily over him -throughout the midday dinner. He always hated the meal: the great -joints of mutton, waiting to be carved, in shapeless, thick hunks, the -incessant noise throughout the meal, the clatter of plates and noise and -voices, the dreary monotony and repetition of it--Perrin's face seen at -the end of a long white table with the two rows of boys in between. - -But to-day as he sat there he felt that he could kill Perrin if he had -the opportunity. What business was it of his? He had at any rate lost no -time in running to tell Moy-Thompson about it. The thought of the savage -joy that must have filled Perrin's breast whilst he told his news, made -Traill grind his teeth. Well! he would be even with him! - -The moment the meal was over, and grace had been chanted in a loud, -discordant yell, Traill left the table and, without a word to anyone, -rushed down to the sea. - -A tremendous wind was blowing. There was a certain part of the cliff -that jutted out into the water, and this was surrounded now, on three -sides, by a furious, heaving flood. - -Wet mist hung over the sea, so that the enormous breakers leapt out of -the sea, came whistling with a thousand arms into the sky, and them -fell with a deafening roar upon the rocks. One after another, in swift -succession, first suspended in mid-air, hanging there like serpents -about to strike, then falling with a curve and glistering, shining -backs, then sweeping, tearing, at last lashing the iron rock. About him -the wind screamed and tugged at his clothes; behind him the trees bent -and creaked along the road; the rain lashed his face. - -He was seized with a kind of fury; he stood, facing the sea, with his -hands clenched, his head up, his cap in his hand, and Isabel Desart, as -she came battling down the road and saw him there, knew, in that moment, -that she loved him and had loved him from the first moment that she saw -him. He saw her, but they could not speak to one another: the noise was -too great--the waves, the wind, the bending trees caught them into their -clamor; they stood, side by side, in silence. Suddenly he put out his -hand and caught hers. He held it; still, without a word, with the wind -almost flinging them to the ground, they drew together. The mist swept -about their heads, the spray beat in their faces. He drew her closer -to him, and she yielded. For a moment he held her with his face pressed -close against hers, and then their lips met. At last, and still without -a word, they moved slowly down the road.... - -V. - -It was about half-past nine when Perrin, looking up at the sound of the -opening door, saw Traill standing there. Traill filled the doorway, and -Perrin knew at once that there was going to be a disturbance. He had had -disturbances before, a good many of them, and always it had brought to -him a sense of pathos that he, with an old mother (he always saw her as -a crumpled but vehement background), should have always to be fighting -people--he, so unoffending if they would let him alone. However, if -anyone (especially Traill) wished to fight him, he would do his best. - -Traill was frowning. Traill was very angry. - -Perrin said, "Ah, Traill! Come in for a chat? That's good of you. -Splendid! Sit down, won't you? Anything I can do for you?" But he wasn't -smiling. - -"No," said Traill, slowly. "There's nothing you can do for me. But I -want to speak to you." - -"Ah, well, sit down; won't you?" - -"No, thanks. I 'll stand." Traill cleared his throat. "Did you by any -chance say anything to the Head about my coming in last night?" - -Perrin smiled. "My dear Traill, I really can't remember; and is it -really, after all, any business of yours?" - -"Only this much, that he has been speaking to me about it. He says that -you told him--I want to know why you told him." - -"It is my business," Perrin said, "as housemaster here to find out -anything that may be harming my house. I consider your late hours, your -disregard of your work, prejudicial to the school's progress,--um, yes." - -The impulse that had brought Traill to Perrin's room had not altogether -been one of anger. He was much too excited by the other event of the -afternoon to have any very angry feelings against anyone, and indeed -it had been rather a desire for peace, for clearing things up and being -well with the world, that had brought him there. He was a little ashamed -of the way that he had allowed, during these last weeks, his anger -against Perrin to grow, and he seemed to be losing some of his -good-humor and equability. - -So now he put all the self-command that he possessed into play, and said -quietly, "I'm sorry, Perrin, if you feel that I have been neglecting my -duty. I don't think that, after all, one night's outing during the term -can do anyone very great harm. But I only spoke to you about it because -I have been feeling during these last weeks that we have not been very -good friends. It seems a pity when we are cooped up together here -so closely that we should not get on as well as possible; it makes -everything uncomfortable. And, in so far as I am to blame at all, I am -very sorry." - -The little red and yellow china man on the mantelpiece, Perrin said, -had been watching the conversation with great curiosity, and Perrin felt -that he was a little disappointed now when matters promised to finish -comfortably. Perrin himself was only too ready for peace. These quarrels -always brought on headaches, and, in his heart, he longed eagerly, -hungrily, for a friend. He already was beginning to feel again that he -liked young Traill very much. - -He sat back in his chair and meant to be pleasant once more; but it was -his eternal misfortune, his curse from the deriding gods, that he had -ever at his hack the memory of all these jesting years that had already -passed him by: the memory of the men, the boys, the women, who had -laughed at him: the memory of the ways that he had suffered, of the -taunting jeers that had been flung at him, of the jests that so many of -his fellow-beings had, in his time, played upon him. - -And so now he felt that at all costs he must regain his dignity, he must -show this young fellow his place and then be nice to him afterwards; and -really, somewhere in the hack of his mind, he saw his old mother with -her white lace cap sitting stiffly in her chair, and Traill on his -knees, kissing her hand. - -"Well, Traill, I 'm sure I 'm glad you feel like that--um, yes. One -must, you know, maintain discipline. You are young; when you are older -you will see that there is something in what I say--um. We know, you -see; schoolmastering is a thing that takes some learning; yes, well, I'm -sure I'm very glad." - -But Traill was white again; his good determinations, his pleasant -tempers were flung, suddenly screaming, helter-skelter to the winds. -The patronage of it, the stupid, blundering fool with his "When you are -older," and the rest. - -"All right," he said hotly; "keep that advice for others. I don't know -that I was so wrong, after all. What business of yours was it to -go sneaking to the Head like that? There are certain things that a -gentleman doesn't do." - -"Oh, really!"--the little man on the mantelpiece was smiling again. -Perrin was snarling, and his hands gripped the sides of his chair. "Your -apologies seem a little premature. One can forgive something to your -age, but that sort of impertinence--I don't think you remember to whom -you are speaking. You are the junior master here, you must be taught -that, and when those who are wiser than yourself choose to give you some -advice, you should take it gratefully." - -Traill took a step down the room, his hands clenched. - -"My God! you conceited, insufferable--" - -"Get out of my room!" - -"All right, when I 've told you what I 've thought of you." - -"Get out of my room!" Perrin's eyes were starting out of his head. - -Traill swung on his heel. "I won't forget this in a hurry," he said. - -"Take care you don't come in here again," Perrin shouted after him. The -door was banged. - -Perrin sat back in his chair; the room was going round and round, and he -had a confused idea that people were running races. He pressed his hands -to his head; the little china man leapt, screaming, off the mantelpiece -and ran at him, kicking up his fat little legs; and with the breeze from -under the door, a pile of French exercises fluttered, blew like sails in -the wind, and then slid, scattering, to the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; THEY OPEN FIRE - - -I. - -|BUT, during the week that followed, Traill's good-temper slowly -reasserted itself once more. After all, it was really impossible to -be angry with anyone when the world was alight and trembling with -so wonderful an adventure. They had each of them written to those in -authority. Isabel had a complacent father who knew something of young -Traill's family and, answering at once, said that he would come down -to see them and made it his only stipulation that the engagement should -last for at least a year, until they were both a little older. Traill's -mother was delighted with anything that could give her son such -happiness. It had all been very sudden of course; but then, was not true -love always like that? Had not she, a great many years ago, fallen -in love with Archie's father "all in a minute," and was not that the -beautiful incautious way that the new practical generation seemed so -often to forget? So, she sent him her blessing and also wrote a little -note to Isabel. - -But they still kept their secret from the others. They meant every day -to reveal it, but they shrank, as each morning came, from all the talk -and chatter that would at once follow. It would mean an end, Isabel -knew, to any easy and pleasant relations that she might have with anyone -at the school. She never understood the reason, but she knew that they -would feel that she had acted in a conceited, presuming manner. It would -not be pleasant. - -So their meetings were, during these days, few and difficult. They -met in the wood and at the sea, and their eyes crossed over the chapel -floor, and they even wrote to one another and posted them elaborately in -the letter-box. - -But on any morning the secret might be revealed. Traill told Isabel -about his quarrel with Perrin, and she urged him to make it up. - -"When we ourselves are so happy," she said, "we can't quarrel with -anyone--and, poor man, no wonder his temper is irritable. He's a -miserably disappointed man, and I don't think he's very well either. He -looks dreadfully white and strained sometimes. We can afford to put up -with some ill-temper from other people, Archie, just now. When we are so -happy and he is so unhappy, it is a little unfair, isn't it?" - -And so he kissed her and went back resolved to be pleasant and -agreeable. But Perrin gave him no opportunity. They spoke to each other -a little at meals for appearance' sake, but any advances that Traill -made were cut short at once without hesitation. - -Perrin passed about the passages and the class-rooms during this week -heavily, with a white face and a lowering brow--he had headaches, bad -headaches; and his form suffered. - -II. - -And so it was suddenly, without warning or preparation, that the storm -broke--the storm that was to be remembered for years afterwards at -Moffatt's: the great Battle of the Umbrella, about which strange myths -grew up, that will become, doubtless, in later centuries at Moffatt's a -strange Titanic contest, with gods for its warriors and thunderbolts -for their weapons; the great battle that involved not only the central -combatants, not only Traill and Perrin and their lives and fortunes, but -also others--the Combers, the matrons, the masters, the whole world -of that place seized by the Furies... and, in the corner, in that -umbrella-stand by the hall door, underneath the stairs, that faded -green umbrella--now, we suppose, passed into that limbo into which all -umbrellas must eventually go, but then the gage, the glove, the sign -token of all that was to come. - -Let, moreover, no one imagine that these things are not possible. This -Battle of the Umbrella stands for more, for far more, than its immediate -contest. Here is the whole protest and appeal of all those crowded, -stifled souls buried of their own original free-will beneath fantastic -piles of scribbled paper, cursing their fate, but unable to escape from -it, seeing their old age as a broken, hurried scrambling to a no-man's -grave, with no dignity nor suavity, with no temper nor discipline, with -nerves jangling like the broken wires of a shattered harp--so that there -is no comfort or hope in the future, nothing but disappointment and -insult in the past, and the dry, bitter knowledge of failure in the -present--this is the Battle of the Umbrella. - -It was Monday morning, and Monday morning is worse than any other day of -the week. - -There has been, in spite of many services and the reiteration of -religious stories concerning which a shower of inconvenient questions -are flung at the uncertain convictions of authority, a relief in the -rest and repose of the preceding day. - -Sunday was, at any rate, a day to look forward to in that it was -different from the other six days of the week, and although it might not -on its arrival show quite so pleasant a face as earlier hours had given -it, nevertheless it was something--a landmark if nothing else. - -And now on this dark and dreary Monday--with the first hour a tedious -and bickering discussion on Divinity, and the second hour a universal -and embittered Latin exercise--that early rising to the cold summoning -of the hell was anything but pleasant. - -Moreover, on this especial Monday the rain came thundering in furious -torrents, and the row of trees opposite the Lower School wailed and -cried with their dripping, naked boughs, and all the brown leaves on the -paths were beaten and flattened into a miserable and hopeless pulp. - -Monday was the only morning in the week on which Traill took early -preparation at the Upper School, and he had noticed before that it -nearly always rained on Mondays. He was in no very bright temper as he -hurried down the cold stone passages, pulling on his gown and avoiding -the bodies of numerous small boys who flung themselves against him as -they rushed furiously downstairs in order to be in time for call-over. - -He heard the rain beating against the window-panes and hurriedly -selected the first umbrella that he saw in the stand and rushed to the -Upper School. - -That preparation hour was unpleasant. M. Pons, the French master, was -in the room above him, and the ceiling shook with the delighted stamp of -twenty boys blessed with a sense of humor and an opportunity of power. -M. Pons could be figured with shaking hands in the middle of the room, -appealing for quiet. And, as was ever the case, the spirit of rebellion -passed down through the ceiling to the room beneath. Traill had his boys -well under control; but whereas on ordinary occasions it was all done -without effort and worked of its own accord, on this morning continual -persistence was necessary, and he had to make examples of various -offenders. - -A preparation hour always invited the Seven Devils to dance across the -two hundred of open books, and the tweaking of boys' bodies and the -digging of pins into unsuspecting legs was the inevitable result. Traill -rose at the end of the hour, cross, irritable, and already tired. He -hurried down to the Lower School to breakfast and forgot the umbrella. - -The rain was driving furiously against the window-panes of the Junior -common room. The windows were tightly closed, and still the presence of -yesterday's mutton was felt heavily, gloomily, about the ceiling. The -brown and black oilcloth contained numberless little winds and draughts -that leapt out from under it and crept here and there about the room. - -A small fire was burning in the grate--a mountain of black coal and -stray spirals of gray smoke, and little white edges of unburnt paper -hanging from the black bars. Beyond the side door voices quarreling in -the kitchen could be heard, and beyond the other door a hum of voices -and a clatter of cups. - -It was all so dingy that it struck even the heavy brain of Clinton, who -was down first. Perrin was taking breakfast in the big dining-room, and -Traill was not yet hack from the Upper School. - -Clinton seized the _Morning Post_ and, with a grunt of dissatisfaction -at the general appearance of things, sat down. He never thought very -intently about anything, but, in a vague way, he did dislike Monday and -rain and a smoking fire. He helped himself to more than his share of the -breakfast, ate it in large, noisy mouthfuls, found the _Morning Post_ -dull, and relapsed on to the _Daily Mail_. The rain and the quarreling -in the kitchen were very disturbing. - -Then Traill came in and sat down with an air of relief. He had no very -great opinion of Clinton, but they got on together quite agreeably, -and he found that it was rather pleasanter to have an entirely negative -person with one--it was not necessary to think about him. - -"My word," said Clinton, his eyes glued to the _Daily Mail_, "the London -Scottish fairly wiped the floor with the Harlequins yesterday--two goals -and a try to a try--all that man Binton--extraordinary three-quarter--no -flies on him! Have some sausages? Not bad. I wonder if they 'll catch -that chap Deakin?" - -"Deakin?" said Traill rather drearily, looking up from his breakfast. -How dismal it all was this morning! Oh, well--in a year's time! - -"Yes, you know--the Hollins Road murder--the man who cut his wife and -mother into little bits and mixed them up so that they couldn't tell -which was which. There's a photograph of him here and his front door." - -"I think," said Traill, shortly, "following up murder trials like that -is perfectly beastly. It isn't civilized." - -"All right!" said Clinton, helping himself to the remaining sausages. -"Perrin's having breakfast in there, isn't he? He won't want any more." - -"He sometimes does," said Traill, feeling that at the moment he hated -Clinton's good-natured face more than anything in the whole world. "He's -awfully sick if he comes in hungry and doesn't find anything." - -Clinton smiled. "He's rather amusing when he's sick," he said. "He so -often is. By the way, has the Head passed those exam, questions of yours -yet?" - -"No," said Traill, frowning. "He 's made me do them five times now, and -last time he crossed but a whole lot of questions that he himself had -suggested the time before. I pointed that out to him, and he called me, -politely and gently, but firmly, a liar. There's no question that he's -got his knife into me now, and I've got friend Perrin to thank for it!" - -"Yes," said Clinton, helping himself to marmalade, "Perrin does n't love -you--there's no question of that. Young Garden Minimus has been helping -the feud." - -"Garden? What's he got to do with it?" - -"Well, you know that he was always Old Pompous' especial pet--well, -Pompous has riled him, kept him in or something, so now he goes about -telling everybody that he's transferred his allegiance to you. That -makes Pompous sick as anything." - -"I like the kid especially," Traill said. "He 's rather a favorite of -mine." - -"Yes," said Clinton. "Well, look out for trouble, that 's all. There 'll -be open war between you soon if you are not careful." - -At that moment Perrin came in. He was continuing, as he entered, a -conversation with some small boy whose head just appeared at the door -for a moment and revealed Garden Minimus. - -"Well, a hundred times," Perrin was saying, "and you don't go out till -you 've done it." - -Garden displayed annoyance, and was heard to mutter under his breath. -Perrin's face was gray; his hair appeared to be unbrushed, and there was -a good deal of white chalk on the back of his sleeve. - -"Really, it's too bad," he said to no one in particular and certainly -not to Traill. "I don't know what's come over that boy--nothing but -continuous impertinence. He shall go up to the Head if he isn't careful. -Such a nice boy, too, before this term." - -At this moment he saw that Traill was reading the _Morning Post_ and -Clinton the _Daily Mail_. He looked as though he were going to say -something, then by a tremendous effort controlled himself. He stood -in front of the dismal fire and looked at the other two, at the dreary -window-panes and the driving rain, at the dusty pigeon-holes, the untidy -heap of books, the torn lists hanging from the wall. - -He had slept badly--had lain awake for hours thinking of Miss Desart, of -his own miserable condition, of his poor mother--and then, slumbering -at last, in an instant he had been pulled, dragged wide-awake by that -thundering, clamoring bell. - -He had been so tired that his eyes had refused to open, and he had sat -stupidly on the edge of his bed with his head swaying and nodding. -Then he had been late for preparation, and he knew that they had been -"playing about" and had rubbed Somerset-Walpole's head in the ink -and had stamped on his body, because, although it was so early, -Somerset-Walpole's eyes were already red, his back a horrible confusion -of dust and chalk, his hair and collar ink and disaster. - -He was sorry for Somerset-Walpole, whose days were a perpetual tragedy; -but as there was no other obvious victim, he selected him for the -subject of his wrath, expatiated to the form on the necessity of getting -up clean in the morning, and sent the large, blubbering creature up -to the matron to be cleansed and scolded. Verily the delights of some -people's school days have been vastly exaggerated! - -Then Garden Minimus had been discovered sticking nibs into the fleshy -portion of his neighbor, and, although he had vehemently denied the -crime, had been heavily punished and had therefore sulked during the -rest of the hour. At breakfast-time Perrin had called him up to him and -had hinted that if he chose to be agreeable once again the punishment -might be relaxed; but Garden did not please, and sulked and muttered -under his breath, and Perrin thought he had caught the word "Pompous." - -All these things may have been slight in themselves, but combined they -amounted to a great deal--and all before half-past eight in the morning. -Also he had had very little to eat. - -He had been brought a small red tomato and a hard, rocky wedge of bacon -with little white eyes in it, and an iron determination to hold out at -all costs, whatever the consumer's appetite and determination. He smelt, -when he came into the common room, sausages, and he saw, with a glance -of the eye, that there were sausages no longer. - -"I really think, Clinton," he said, "that a little less appetite on your -part in the early morning would be better for everyone concerned." - -Clinton was always perfectly good-tempered, and all he said now was, -"All right, old chap--I always have an awful appetite in the morning. I -always had." - -Perrin drew himself to his full height and prepared to be dignified. - -Clinton said, "I say, old man, you 've got chalk all over your sleeve." - -And Perrin, finding that it was indeed true, could say nothing and -feebly tried to brush it off with his hand. - -Traill had not spoken since Perrin had come in. He disliked intensely -the atmosphere of restraint in the room. He had never before been -on such bad terms with anyone, and now at every turn there were -discomforts, difficulties, stiffnesses. At this moment he loathed the -term and the place and the people as he had never loathed any of them -before; he felt that he could not possibly last until the holidays. - -Perrin was going to the Upper School for first hour. He was going to -teach Divinity, the lesson that he loathed most of all. He gathered his. -books up and his gown, and went out into the hall to find his umbrella. -The rain was falling more heavily than before, and lashed the panes as -though it had some personal grievance against them. - -Robert, the general factotum--a long, pale man with a spotty face and a -wonderful capacity for dropping china--came in to collect the breakfast -things. He passed, clattering about the table. Traill was still deep in -the _Morning Post._ - -Perrin came in with a clouded brow. "I can't find," he said, "my -umbrella." - -The rain beat upon the frames, Robert clashed the plates together, but -there was no answer. Clinton's head was in his pigeonhole, looking for -papers. - -"Robert, have you seen my umbrella?" - -No, Robert had not seen any umbrella. He might have seen an umbrella -last week, somewhere upstairs, in Miss Madder's room--an umbrella with -lace, pink--Oh! of course, a parasol. There were three umbrellas in the -stand by the hall door. Perhaps one of those was the one. No? Mr. Perrin -had looked? Well, he didn't know of anywhere else. No--perhaps one -of the young gentlemen.... There was nothing at all to be got out of -Robert. - -"Clinton!" No answer. "Clinton!" - -At last Clinton turned round. - -"Clinton, have you seen my umbrella?" - -"No, old man--why should I? Isn't it outside?" - -It was getting late, the rain was pelting down, and Perrin was quite -determined that he would _not_ under any circumstances use anyone else's -umbrella. - -He went out again and looked in the hall. He was beginning to get very -angry. Was not this the last straw sent by the little gods to break his -humble back? That it should be raining, that he should be late, and that -there should be no umbrella! He stormed about the hall, he looked in -impossible places, he shook the three umbrellas that were there; he -began to mutter to himself--the little red and yellow china man was -creeping down the stairs. He was shaking all over, and his hands were -trembling like leaves. - -He came into the common room again. "I can't think--" he said, with his -trembling hand to his forehead. "I know I had it yesterday--last night. -Clinton, you _must_ have seen it." - -"No," said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so profoundly -irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts are far away. -"No--I don't think I've seen it. What did I do with that Algebra? Oh! -there it is. My word! is n't it raining!" - -The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. -Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a -furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the -conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. - -"What's the matter?" he said. - -"Really, Robert," said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, "you -_must_ have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want to go out." - -"There are the other gentlemen's," said Robert, looking a little -frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. - -It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. -Then on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken -that morning might be Perrin's umbrella. - -Of course it _must_ be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort of -umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be -likely to have. However, it was really very awkward--most awkward. - -He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the _Morning -Post_. - -Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. "I -_must_ have my umbrella," he said, storming at Robert. "I want to go to -the Upper School." - -He had left the door a little open. - -"I am very sorry," Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his -fingers. - -Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. - -"I'm very sorry," said Traill again, "but I'm afraid I must have taken -it--my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed--" - -"You!" said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. - -"Yes," said Traill, "I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. -I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you--" - -He was smiling a little--really it was all too absurd. His smile drove -Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. - -"You dared to take my umbrella?" he said, "without asking? I never heard -such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece--all of a piece!" - -"But it's really too absurd," Traill broke in. "As though a man mightn't -take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too -absurd." - -"Oh! is it?" said Perrin, his voice shaking. "That's all of a -piece--that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here -thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've -all got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. -We must give up everything to your Highness--our clothes, our -possessions--you conceited--insufferable puppy!" - -These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself -with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his -misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he -had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had -been against him at every turn. - -All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did -not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the -room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could -hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, -supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob -and ruin him. - -"Really, this is too absurd," said Traill, stepping back a little, and -conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert--he did not -want to have a scene before a servant. "I am exceedingly sorry that I -took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any reason to speak -to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards--not here." - -"Oh, yes!" screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. "Oh! of -course to you it is nothing--nothing at all--it is all of a piece -with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how to behave like -a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen don't steal other -people's things. You can be put in prison for that sort of thing, you -know." - -"I didn't steal your beastly umbrella," said Traill, beginning in his -anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. "I don't want your -beastly things--keep them to yourself." - -"I say"--this from Clinton--"chuck it, you two. Don't make such a row -here--everyone can hear. Wait until later." - -But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was -shaking his fist in Traill's face. - -"It's beastly, is it?" he shouted. "I 'll give you something for saying -that--I 'll let you know." And then, in a perfect scream, "Give me my -umbrella! Give me my umbrella!" - -"I haven't got your rotten umbrella," shouted Traill. "I left it -somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You can jolly well go and look -for it." - -And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, "the scrap -began." Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face -with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon the -breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he rose he -brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had left -upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of -streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything -came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed -together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. - -Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland -and Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's -absolute silence. - -Then suddenly Traill and Perrin both rose from the floor. Traill's lip -was cut and bleeding--coffee was on Perrin's collar; their faces were -very white. - -For a moment they looked at each other in absolute silence, then they -passed, without a spoken word, through the open door. - -In such a way, and from such a cause, did this Battle of the Umbrella -have its beginning. - -Let us credit the gods with interest sufficient, and we see that it had -been their pleasant amusement to beguile those tedious Olympian hours -with a game; and to the onlooker, here is comedy enough, for about what -simpler can mortals dispute than this green umbrella? But for others, -more nearly concerned, there is some question of tragedy involved. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; CAMPS ARE FORMED--ALSO SOME -SKIRMISHING - - -I. - -|ISABEL DESART heard about it early on the afternoon of the same day. -Traill himself told her as he stood with her for a moment outside the -school gates before he went down to football. - -She saw it at once more seriously than he did; his attitude had been -that it was a pity, above all that it was indecorous, that he had, in a -way, made a fool of himself--that to struggle in that fashion with a -man like Perrin before an audience was a pity. But to her it was a great -deal more than this. In many ways she was older than Archie Traill, and -her feminine intuition helped her now; she saw Perrin as something to -be feared and also something to be pitied, and she did not know which of -these feelings was the stronger. She had always seen Perrin as someone -to be pitied--that was the reason of her kindness to him--and now that -he was ludicrous, now that his climax had made him prominent, her pity -for him was increased. - -But she was also afraid. She guessed suddenly a great deal more than -she could actually see; she felt the miserable years that he had been -through, she felt his hatred of his own position, and she knew that he -would not be likely to forgive the man who had brought all this to a -climax. - -They were all at such terribly close quarters. It would be easy enough -to get away from that sort of incident if they all of them were, as she -put it to herself, "spread out"; but halfterm was only just over and she -did not know what the next six weeks might bring. Traill's feeling, she -saw, was mainly one of disgust--the same kind of sensation that he would -have had if he had not been able to have his bath in the morning. -About Perrin he only felt contempt, a man who could make that kind of -disturbance about so small a thing.... - -Traill's final opinion, in fact, about it all was that "it wasn't done" -and that Perrin was therefore an "outsider," and that there the thing -ended. - -Isabel, in the few words that he had time to say to her, saw all this -and knew that his attitude would not make the whole affair any easier. -But she was wise enough to leave it all where it was for the moment and -simply to tell him that she was sorry. - -"One thing, you know," she said, smiling at him and blushing a little. -"We must let them all know about us, at once, to-day." - -"Oh! must we?" he said, shrinking back a little. - -"Why, of course. You don't suppose there isn't going to be talk about -all this business. Of course, there is, heaps--and you must let me do my -share of standing up for you. I must have the right, you know." - -He had not figured the talk that there would be--he saw it all now in an -instant, that there would be sides and discussions, and, looking further -still, he had some idea of all the issues that were to be involved; but -he was much too simple a person to think this further vision anything -but fantastic: people simply didn't fight to that extent about -umbrellas.... - -He left her with a smiling consent to the announcement of their -engagement, and, for the moment, the thought of that swallowed all the -Perrin affair. He went down to his football cheerfully. - -II. - -Meanwhile, in the Senior common room, during that interval between -chapel and dinner, things had occurred. The news of the morning -struggle had been brought, of course, by the eager witnesses, Comber and -Birkland, much earlier in the day; but the school day was a very busy -one--one hour followed another with terrible swiftness, and then there -were boys to see and games to play and all the accumulated details -to fill in any odd moments that there might be,--so that, with the -exception of short sentences and exclamations and a general air of -pleasurable surprise pervading everything, no real movement was possible -until this evening hour. The room, lighted by gas, was more ugly and -naked than ever--although it was close and stuffy, the spirit of it was -cold and chill. - -Comber was in the chair of honor, the only arm-chair in the room; -Birkland and Pons, White and Dormer, and the little science master, -West, were also there. Little West was so obvious and striking an -example of his type that it seemed as though he had been especially -created to stand to the end of time as an example of what a Board School -education and a pushing disposition can do for a man. He was short -and square, with a shaggy, unkempt mustache and that sallow, unhealthy -complexion that two generations of ill-fed progenitors tend to produce. -He was a little bald on the top of his head, wore ready-made clothes, -and spoke slowly and with great care. He had worked exceedingly hard -all his youth and was the only master at Moffatt's whose ambitions were -unimpaired and his optimism (concerning his own future) unchecked. His -most striking feature were his hard, burning, little eyes, and it was -with these that he kept order in class. - -He disliked all the other members of the staff, but he hated Birkland. -Birkland had, from the first, laughed at him; he had laughed at his -clothes, at his accent, at his pretensions to being a gentleman (to do -Birkland justice, if West had never pretended to be a gentleman at all, -he would have admired and liked him). In fact he made him his chief -and principal butt; and West, being slow of speech and (outside his own -subject) slow of brain, could never reply anything at all to Birkland's -sallies, and was left helpless and fuming. - -Comber was reciting for the hundredth time what it was that he had seen. -The whole affair gave him very particular pleasure; he thought Traill -a conceited, insufferable young man, who had come in and taken the -football out of his hands and supplanted him completely--whenever he -thought of it he boiled over with rage; but he had never been able to -do anything, because Traill had never given himself away. He played -football a great deal better than Comber even in his palmiest days had -ever played it. Traill had given him no opportunity until now; but now -at last Comber glowed with the thought of the things that he would be -able to do. He intended it in no way maliciously--it was simply that the -younger generation should be taught its place; let Traill once submit to -Comber's rule in the football world and Comber would be pleasant enough. -Then Comber did not like Birkland's sharp tongue any more than the rest -of the staff did, and Birkland was a friend of Traill's. Of course, on -the other side, Comber did not like Perrin either. Perrin was a pompous, -pretentious fool, but in this case it was clearly Comber's duty to -uphold the senior staff. - -He was leaning back in his arm-chair, with his chest out and one finger -impressively in the air. "There they were, you know, rolling--positively -rolling--on the floor. And all the breakfast things broken to bits and -the coffee streaming all over the floor--you never saw anything like it. -And then up they both got and looked at each other, and went out of the -room without a word, brushing past Birkland and me as though we weren't -there; didn't they, Birkland?" - -Birkland was sitting in his chair with a sad, rather cynical, smile on -his face, as though he were saying, "This is their kind of life. Look -at Comber there, now--how pleased he is with things! Will be happy for -a month at least, and all their little private hates and jealousies are -being fed just as you feed the snakes at the Zoo. And am I not just as -bad as the rest? Am I not pleased, because it will give me a chance of -having a hit at the rest of them?... What a set we are!" - -But he didn't say anything--he just sat there listening, with his -contemptuous smile, to Comber. - -"An awful noise, you know, they made," Comber went on. "And anything -funnier than Perrin when he got up you never saw, with his hair all -tousled and pulled about, and dust all over his back, and his cheek -bleeding where the coffee-pot had hit him. My word, it was funny!" - -"At all events," said Birkland dryly, "we ought all to be glad that you -got such amusement out of it, Comber. That's something to be thankful -for, at any rate." - -"Oh, it's all very well, Birkland," Comber answered angrily; "you were -amused enough yourself, really--you know you were. In any case," he went -on importantly, "the thing can't go on, you know. We can't have junior -masters flinging themselves at the throats of senior ones. That sort of -thing must be stopped." - -So it was at once apparent on whose side Comber was, and everyone -trimmed their sails accordingly. If one disliked Comber sufficiently and -was not afraid of him, one would, of course, for the moment, side with -Traill; and supposing one wished to get into Comber's good graces (no -easy thing to do), here would be an excellent opportunity. M. Pons, for -instance, thought so. - -"It is--_degoutant_," he cried, waving his hands in the air, "that a young -man, that is here one month, two months, should catch the throat of his -senior. These things," he added with the air of one who waves gloriously -the flag of the Republic, "are not done in my country." - -"Well, when they are, perhaps you 'll be able to judge of them better, -Pons," said Birkland. "Until then, I should recommend silence." - -M. Pons flushed angrily, but made no reply, and then looked appealingly -at Comber. - -"Of course, Birkland," said Comber, "if you are going to encourage that -sort of spirit in the staff, one has nothing to say. I daresay you would -like all the boys to be springing at one another's throats in the -same way; if that's what you want, well--"; and he waved his hands -expressively. - -"It's absurd," said Birkland quietly, "of Perrin to have made such a -fuss. As if a man mayn't borrow another man's umbrella without being -struck in the face. It's more than absurd, it's childish. It's just the -sort of thing that Perrin _would_ do." - -"Very well," said Comber; "let Perrin treat you in the way that Traill's -treated him, and you see what you'd say and do. All I know is that you -would n't stand it for a minute, you of all men, Birkland." - -"What do you mean by that?" Birkland said hotly. - -"Oh, well, we all know you haven't got the sweetest of tempers, old -man," Comber said laughing. "You can't lay claim to good temper whatever -else you may have." - -West laughed also and seemed to enjoy the joke immensely. - -"Of course, you 're on the side of authority, West," Birkland said. "You -naturally would be." West was all the more annoyed because he didn't in -the least understand what Birkland meant. - -The atmosphere began to get warm. But Comber despised West as an ally -and did not think very much of M. Pons, so he turned round to White. -White was sitting, as he always did, quietly in the background, without -saying anything. He was so quiet that people often forgot that he was -there at all. The effect of many years' bullying by Moy-Thompson was -to make him agree eagerly with the opinion of the last speaker, and -therefore Comber hadn't any doubt about the support that he would -receive. But White had never forgotten that handclasp that Traill had -given him, and now, to everyone's intense surprise, he said, "I think -Birkland's perfectly right. A man oughtn't to lose his temper because -another man's borrowed his umbrella. I think Traill's been very hardly -used--at any rate, we all know what Perrin must be to live with." - -Everyone was surprised, and Comber so astonished that for some time he -could find no words at all. - -At last he broke out, "Well, all I can say is that you people don't know -what you 're in for; if you go on encouraging people like Traill to go -about stealing people's things--" - -"Look here, Comber," Birkland broke in. "You've no right to say -stealing. You may as well try and be fair. Traill never stole anything; -you'd better be more careful of your words." - -"Well, I call it stealing anyhow," said Comber hotly. "You can call it -what you like, Birkland. I daresay you've got pet words of your own for -these things. But when a man takes something that is n't his and keeps -it--" - -"He didn't keep it," Birkland said angrily. "You 're grossly prejudiced, -just as you always are." - -"What about yourself?" West broke in. "People in glass houses--" - -At this point the temperature of the room became very warm indeed. -Comber was pale with rage; he had never been so insulted before--not -that it very much mattered what a wretched creature like Birkland said. - -He began to explain in a loud voice that some people weren't fit to be -in gentlemen's society, and that though, of course, he wouldn't like to -mention names, nevertheless, if certain persons thought about it long -enough, they would probably find that the cap fitted, and that if only -people could occasionally see themselves as others saw them--well, it -might be better for everyone concerned, and then perhaps there would -be a chance of their behaving decently in decent society, although of -course, if one's education had been neglected.... - -Meanwhile, M. Pons was explaining to West that whether you went in for -science or modern languages one's opinion of this sort of affair must be -the same, there was no question about it. - -Birkland was sitting back, white and stiff in his chair and wishing -that he might take all their heads and crash them together in one big -_debacle_. - -Then suddenly, when another two minutes might have been dangerous for -everyone concerned, the door was flung open, and Clinton entered. He was -excited, he was stirred; it was obvious that he had news. - -"I say!" he cried, and then stopped. All eyes were upon him. - -"What do you think?" he cried again, "Traill has just told me. He 's -engaged to Miss Desart." - -At that there was dead silence--for an instant nobody spoke. Then Comber -got up from his chair. "Well, I'm damned!" he said. - -This was a new development; it is hard to say whether he saw at once -then the domestic complications into which it would lead him. Miss -Desart had stayed with them again and again; she was their intimate -friend. His wife was devoted to her and would, of course, at once -espouse her cause. But this piece of news made him, Comber, even -angrier than he had been before. His feeling about the engagement defied -analysis, but it rested in some curious, hidden way on some strange -streak of vanity in him. He had always cared very especially for Miss -Desart; he had given her, in his clumsy, heavy way, little attentions -and regards that he gave to very few people. He had always thought that -she had very great admiration and reverence for himself, and now she -had engaged herself without a word to him about it to someone whom he -disliked and disapproved of. He was hurt and displeased, he knew that -his wife would be delighted--more trouble at home. Here was White openly -insulting him in the common room; he was called names by Birkland; a -nice, pleasant girl had defied him (it had already come to that); his -wife would probably defy him also in an hour or two--with a muttered -word or two, he left the gathering. - -For the others, this engagement was a piquant development that lent a -new color to everything. They had all noticed that Mr. Perrin cared for -Miss Desart, and now this sudden dramatic announcement was another knock -in the face for that poor, battered gentleman. Of course, she would -never have accepted him; but, nevertheless, it was rather hard that she -should be handed over to his hated rival. - -"Does Perrin know?" was West's eager question. - -"No," said Clinton smiling, "I'm just going to tell him." - -III. - -Meanwhile, there is our Mr. Perrin sitting very drearily and alone in -front of his somber fire. As he sat there it was n't that he was so -much depressed by the morning's affair as that he was so frightened by -it--not frightened because of anything that Traill could do, or indeed -of anything that anyone could very especially say: he was long past -the terror of tongues--but rather afraid of himself and the way that he -might be going to behave. - -He had long ago, when he was a very young man indeed, recognized that -there were two Mr. Perrins; indeed, in all probability, more than two. -He knew that when he had been quite a boy he had had ideas of being a -hero--a hero, of course, just as other young things meant to be heroes, -with a great deal of recognition and trumpets and bands and one's face -in the papers. He had, moreover, in those days, a stern and ready belief -in his own powers and judged, from a comparison of himself with other -boys, that he was really promising and had a future. He had heard some -preacher in a sermon--he went to sermons very often in those days--say -that every man had, once at any rate during his lifetime, his chance, -and that it was his own fault if he missed it; that very often people -did not know that it had ever come, because they had not been looking -out for it, and then they cursed Fate when it was really their own -fault--all this Perrin remembered, and he would lie awake at nights on -the watch for this chance--this splendid moment. - -That was one Mr. Perrin; rather a fine one, with a great desire to do -the right thing, with a very great love for his mother, and with rather -a pathetic anxiety to have friends and affection and to do good. - -Then there was the other Mr. Perrin--the ill-tempered, pompous, -sarcastic, bitter Mr. Perrin. When Perrin No. 1 was uppermost, he -recognized and deeply regretted Perrin No. 2; but when Perrin No. 2 was -in command, he saw nothing but a spiteful and malignant world trying, as -he phrased it, to "do him down." - -Now, as he sat sadly by his fire, he saw them both. That Mr. Perrin this -morning had, of course, been Perrin No. 2, and Perrin No. 2 very fierce -and strong and warlike. Perrin No. 1 was afraid. If this sort of thing -continued, then Perrin No. 1 would disappear altogether. This term had -been worse than ever, and he had begun it with so strong a determination -to make a good thing of it! This young Traill--and then Perrin No. 2 -showed his head again, and the room grew dark and there was thunder in -the air. But, oh! if he could only have his chance! If he could only -prove the kind of man that he _could_ be! If he could only get out of -this, away from it--if someone would take him away from it: he did not -feel strong enough, after all these years, to go away by himself. And -then, suddenly, he thought of Miss Desart. He saw her as his shining -light, his beacon. There was his salvation; he would make her love him -and care for him. He would show her the kind of man that he could be; -and then at the thought of it he began to smile, and a little color -crept into his pale cheeks, and he felt that if only that were possible, -he might be quite pleasant to Traill and the rest. Oh! they would matter -so little! - -He nodded humorously to the little man on the mantelpiece and fell into -a delicious reverie. He forgot the quarrel of the morning, the insults -that he had received, all the talk that there would be, all the -opportunities that it would give to his enemies to say what they thought -about him. And then, perhaps, with her by his side, he might rise to -great things: he would have a little house, there would be children, -he would be his own master, life would be free, splendid, above all, -tranquil. He could make her so fond of him--he was sure that he could; -there were sides of him that no one had ever seen--even his mother did -not know all that was in him. - -Perrin No. 1 filled the dingy room with his radiance. There was a knock -on the door. Clinton came in, a pipe in his mouth, a book in his hand. - -"Oh! here's your Algebra that you lent me. I meant to have returned it -before." - -"Oh, thanks!" Perrin was always rather short with Clinton. "Won't you -sit down?" - -"No thanks, I'm taking prep." Nevertheless, Clinton lingered a little, -talking about nothing in particular; he stood by the mantelpiece, -fingering things--a practice that always annoyed Perrin intensely,--then -he took up the little china man and looked at him. "Rum chap that," he -said. "Well, chin-chin--" He moved off; he stood for a moment by the -door. "Oh, I say!" he said, half turning round, his hand on the handle; -"have you heard the news? Traill's engaged to Miss Desart. He's just -told me." He looked at Perrin for a moment, and then went out, banging -the door behind him. - -Perrin did not move; his hands began to shake; then suddenly his head -fell between his shoulders, and his body heaved with sobs. He sat there -for a long time, then he began to pace his room; his steps were faster -and faster--he was like a wild animal in a cage. - -Suddenly he stopped in front of the little china man. His face was -white, his eyes were large and staring; with a wild gesture he picked -the thing up and flung it to the ground, where it lay at his feet, -smashed into atoms.... - - - - -CHAPTER IX--THE BATTLE OP THE UMBRELLA; WITH THE LADIES - - -I. - -|ISABEL told Mrs. Comber on that same afternoon at tea-time; but that -good lady, owing to the interruption of the other good ladies and her -own Mr. Comber, was unable to say anything really about it until just -before going to bed. Mrs. Comber would not have been able to say very -much about it in any case quite at first, because her breath was so -entirely taken away by surprise, and then afterwards by delight and -excitement. For herself this term had, so far, been rather a difficult -affair: money had been hard, and Freddie had been even harder--and hard, -as she complained, in such strange, tricky comers--never when you -would expect him to be and always when you wouldn't. This Mrs. Comber -considered terribly unfair, because if one knew what he was going to -mind, one would look out for it and be especially careful; but when he -let irritating things pass without a word and then "flew out" when there -was nothing for anyone to be distressed about, life became a hideous -series of nightmares with the enemy behind every hedge. - -Mrs. Comber knew that this term had been worse than usual, because she -had arrived already, although it was only just past halfterm, at the -condition of saying nothing to Freddie when he spoke to her--she called -it submission, but she never arrived at it until she was nearly at the -limits of her endurance. And now this news of Isabel suddenly made the -world bright again; she loved Isabel better than anyone in the world -except Freddie and the children; and her love was of the purely -unselfish kind, so that joy at Isabel's happiness far outweighed her own -discomforts. She was really most tremendously glad, glad with all her -size and volubility and color. - -Isabel talked to her in her bedroom--it was of course also Freddie's, -but he had left no impression on it whatever, whereas _she_, by a series -of touches--the light green wall-paper and the hard black of the shining -looking-glass, the silver things, and the china things (not very many, -but all made the most of),--had made it her own unmistakably, so that -everything shouted Mrs. Comber with a war of welcome. It was indeed, in -spite of the light green paper, a noisy impression, and one had always -the feeling that things--the china, the silver, and the chairs--jumped -when one wasn't in, charged, as it were, with the electricity of Mrs. -Comber's temperament and the color of her dresses. - -But of course Isabel knew it all well enough, and she didn't in the -least mind the stridency of it--in fact it all rather suited the sense -of battle that there was in the air, so that the things seemed to say -that they knew that there was a row on, and that they jolly well liked -it. Freddie had been cross at dinner, and so, in so far as it was at all -his room, the impression would not have been pleasant; but he just, one -felt, slipped into bed and out of it, and there was an end of his being -there. - -Mrs. Comber, taking a few things off, putting a bright new dressing-gown -on, and smiling from ear to ear, watched Isabel with burning eyes. - -"Oh! my dear!... No, just come and sit on the bed beside me and have -these things off, and I've been much too busy to write about that skirt -of mine that I told you I would, and there it is hanging up to shame -me! Well! I'm just too glad, you dear!" Here she hugged and kissed and -patted her hand. "And he is _such_ a nice young man, although Freddie -doesn't like him, you know, over the football or something, although I'm -sure I never know what men's reasons are for disliking one another, -and Freddie's especially; but I liked him ever since he dined here that -night, although I didn't really see much of him because, you know, he -played Bridge at the other table and I was _much_ too worried!" She drew -a breath, and then added quite simply, like a child, and in that way of -hers that was so perfectly fascinating: "My dear, I love you, and I want -you to be happy, and I think you will--and I want _you_ to love me." - -Isabel could only, for answer, fling her arms about her and hold her -very tight indeed, and she felt in that little confession that there -was more pathos than any one human being could realize and that life was -terribly hard for some people. - -"Of course, it is wonderful," she said at last, looking with her clear, -beautiful eyes straight in front of her. "One never knew how wonderful -until it actually came. Love is more than the finest writer has ever -said and not, I suspect, quite so much as the humblest lover has -ever thought it--and that's pessimistic of me, I suppose," she added -laughing; "but it only means that I'm up to all the surprises and ready -for them." - -"You 'll find it exactly whatever you make it," Mrs. Comber said slowly. -"I don't think the other party has really very much to do with it. You -never lose what you give, my dear; but, as a matter of fact he's the -very nicest and trustiest young man, and no one could ever be a brute -to you, whatever kind of brutes they were to anyone else--and I wish I'd -remembered about that skirt." - -The silence of the room and house, the peace of the night outside, -came about Isabel like a comfortable cloak, so that she believed that -everything was most splendidly right. - -"And now, my dear," said Mrs. Comber, "tell me what this is that I hear -about your young man and Mr. Perrin, because I only heard the veriest -words from Freddie, and I was just talking to Jane at the time about -not breathing when she's handing round the things, because she's always -doing it, and she 'll have to go if she doesn't learn." - -Isabel looked grave. - -"It seems the silliest affair," she said; "and yet it's a great pity, -because it may make a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But that's why we -announced our engagement to-day, because it 'll be, it appears, a case -of taking sides." - -"It always is here," said Mrs. Comber, "when there's the slightest -opportunity of it." - -"Well, it looks as though there was going to be plenty of opportunity -this time," Isabel said sighing. "It really is _too_ silly. Apparently -Archie took Mr. Perrin's umbrella to preparation in Upper School this -morning without asking. They hadn't been getting on very well before, -and when Mr. Perrin asked for his umbrella and Archie said that he'd -taken it, there was a regular fight. The worst of it is that there were -lots of people there; and now, of course, it is all over the school, and -it will never be left alone as it ought to be." - -"My dear," said Mrs. Comber, solemnly, "it will be the opportunity for -all sorts of things. We 're all just ripe for it. How perfectly absurd -of Mr. Perrin! But then he's an ass, and I always said so, and now it -only proves it, and I wish he'd never come here. Of course you know that -I'm with you, my dear; but I'm afraid that Freddie won't be, because he -doesn't like your Archie, and there's no getting over it--and on whose -side all the others will be there's no knowing whatever--and indeed I -don't like to think of it all." - -She was so serious about it that Isabel at once became serious too. Her -worst suspicions about it all were suddenly confirmed, so that the room, -instead of its quiet and peace, was filled with a thousand sharp terrors -and crawling fears. She was afraid of Mr. Perrin, she was afraid of the -crowd of people, she was afraid of all the ill-feeling that promised -soon to overwhelm her. She clutched Mrs. Comber's arm. - -"Oh!" she cried, "will they hate us?" - -"They 'll do their best, my dear," said that lady solemnly, "to hate -somebody." - -II. - -And they came, comparatively in their multitudes, to tea on the next -afternoon. - -Tuesday was, as it happened, Mrs. Comber's day, and the hour's relief -that followed its ending scarcely outweighed the six days' terror at its -horrible approach. Its disagreeable qualities were, of course, in the -first place those of any "at home" whatever--the stilted and sterile -fact of being there sacrificially for anyone to trample on in the -presence of a delighted audience and a glittering tea-table. But in Mrs. -Comber's case there was the additional trouble of "town" and "school" -never in the least suiting, although "town" was only a question of -local houses like the squire and the clergyman, and they ought to have -combined, one would have thought, easily enough. - -The society of small provincial towns has been made again and again the -jest and mockery of satiric fiction, having, it is considered, in the -quality of its conversation a certain tinkling and malicious chatter -that is unequaled elsewhere. Far be it from me to describe the -conversation of the ladies of Moffatt's in this way--it was a thing of -far deeper and graver import. - -The impossibility of escape until the term's triumphant conclusion made -what might, in a wider and finer hemisphere, have been simply malicious -conversation that sprang up and disappeared without result, a perpetual -battle of death and disaster. No slightest word but had its weightiest -result, because everyone was so close upon everyone else that things -said rebounded like peas flung against a board. - -Mrs. Comber, at her tea-parties, had long ago ceased to consider the -safety or danger of anything that she might say. It seemed to her that -whatever she said always went wrong, and did the greatest damage that it -was possible for any one thing to do; and now she counted her Tuesdays -as days of certain disaster, allowing a dozen blunders to a Tuesday and -hoping that she would "get off," so to speak, on that. But on occasions -like the present, when there was really something to talk about, she -shuddered at the possible horrors; her line, of course, was strong -enough, because it was Isabel first and Isabel last; and if that brought -her into conflict with all the other ladies of the establishment, then -she couldn't help it. Had it been merely a question of the Umbrella -Riot, as some wit had already phrased it, she knew clearly enough where -they were all likely to be; but now that there was Isabel's engagement -as well, she felt that their anger would be stirred by that bright, -young lady having made a step forward and having been, in some odd, -obscure, feminine way, impertinently pushing. - -She wished passionately, as she sat in glorious purple before her -silver, tea-things, her little pink cakes, and her vanishingly thin -pieces of bread-and-butter, that the "town" would, on this occasion at -any rate, put in an appearance, because that would prevent anyone really -"getting at" things; but, of course, as it happened, the "town" for once -wasn't there at all, and the battle raged quite splendidly. - -The combatants were the two Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, and it might seem that these ladies were not numerically -enough to do any lastingly serious damage; but it was the bodies that -they represented rather than the individuals that they actually were; -and poor Mrs. Comber, as she smiled at them and talked at them and -wished that the little pink cakes might poison them all, knew exactly -the reason of their separate appearances and the danger that they were, -severally and individually. - -The Misses Madder represented the matrons, and they represented them as -securely and confidently as though they had sat in conclave already and -drawn up a list of questions to be asked and answers to be given. Mrs. -Dormer represented the wives and also, separately, Mrs. Dormer, in so -far as her own especial dislike of Mrs. Comber went for everything; Mrs. -Moy-Thompson, above all, faded, black, thin, and miserable, represented -her lord and master, and was regarded by the other ladies as a spy -whose accurate report of the afternoon's proceedings would send threads -spinning from that dark little study for the rest of the term. - -The eldest Miss Madder, stout, good-natured, comfortable, had not of -herself any malice at all; but her thin, bony sister, exact in her -chair, and with eyes looking straight down her nose, influenced her -stouter sister to a wonderful extent. - -The thin Miss Madder's remark on receiving her tea, "Well, so Miss -Desart's engaged to Mr. Traill!" showed immediately which of the two -pieces of news was considered the most important. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Comber, "and I'm sure it's delightful. Do have one of -those little pink cakes, Mrs. Thompson; they 're quite fresh; and I -want you especially to notice that little water-color over there by the -screen, because I bought it in Truro last week for simply nothing at -Pinner's, and I believe it's quite a good one--I'm sure we 're all -delighted." - -Mrs. Dormer wasn't so certain. "They 're a little young," she said in -so chilly a voice that she might have been suddenly transferred, against -her will, in the dead of night in the thinnest attire, into the heart -of Siberia. "And what's this I hear from my husband about Mr. Perrin and -Mr. Traill tumbling about on the floor together this morning--something -about an umbrella?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Thompson, moving her chair a little closer, "I heard -something this morning about it." - -Mrs. Comber had never before disliked this thin, faded lady so intensely -as she did on this afternoon--she seemed to chill the room with her -presence; and the consciousness of the trouble that she would bring to -various innocent persons in that place by the report of the things that -they had said, made of her something inhuman and detached. Mrs. Comber's -only way of easing the situation, "Do have another little pink cake, -Mrs. Thompson," failed altogether on this occasion, and she could only -stare at her in a fascinated kind of horror until she realized with -a start that she was intended as hostess to give an account of the -morning's proceedings. But she turned to Miss Madder. "You were down -there, Miss Madder; tell us all about it." - -Miss Madder was only too ready, having been in the hall at the time and -having heard what she called "the first struggle," and having yielded -eventually, rather against her better instincts, to her feminine -curiosity--having in fact looked past the shoulders of Mr. Comber and -Mr. Birkland and seen the gentlemen struggling on the floor. - -"Actually on the floor!" said Mrs. Dormer, still in Siberia. - -"Yes, actually on the floor--also all the breakfast things and coffee -all over the tablecloth." - -Miss Madder was checked in her enthusiasm by her consciousness of the -cold eye of Mrs. Thompson, and the possibility of being dismissed from -her position at the end of the term if she said anything she oughtn't -to--also the possibility of an unpleasant conversation with her clever -sister afterwards. However, she considered it safe enough to offer it as -her opinion that both gentlemen had forgotten themselves, and that Mr. -Traill was very much younger than Mr. Perrin, although Mr. Perrin was -the harder one to live with--and that it had been a clean tablecloth -that morning. - -"I call it disgraceful," was the only light that the younger Miss Madder -would throw upon the question. - -For a moment there was silence, and then Mrs. Dormer said, "And really -about an umbrella?" - -"I understand," said Miss Madder, who was warming to her work and -beginning to forget Mrs. Thompson's eye, "that Mr. Traill borrowed -Mr. Perrin's umbrella without asking permission, and that there was a -dispute." - -But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the -question of Miss Desart's engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect that -that had upon the disturbance in question. - -"I never quite liked Mr. Traill," said Mrs. Dormer decisively; "and I -cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart--and I must say -that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. Traill's -temper was uncertain." - -"Very uncertain indeed, I should think," said the younger Miss Madder -with a sniff. - -Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know -what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her -peace. - -The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an -opinion from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady -understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--The question of the umbrella was, of course, a question -of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master attacks an -older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in the dust -and that before a large audience, the whole system of education is in -danger; there 's no knowing when things will begin or end, and other -masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and then -other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second boys -showing what they can do with knives and pistols. - -Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the -question of property. - -_Semi-Chorus b_--One had one's things--here she was sure Mrs. Comber -would agree--and if one didn't keep a tight hold of them in these days, -one simply did n 't know where one would be. Of course one umbrella was -a small thing; but, after all, it _was_ aggravating on a wet morning not -to find it and then to have no excuse whatever offered to one--anyone -would be cross about it. And, after all, with some people if you gave -them an inch they took an ell, as the saying was, and if one didn't -show firmness over a small thing like this, it would only lead to people -taking other things without asking until one really did n't know where -one was. Of course, it was a pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his -self-control as completely as he appeared to have done, but nevertheless -one could quite understand how aggravating it was. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no light -matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty years -were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were to -be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by -anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, -then one might just as well pack up one's boxes and go home; and then -what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and -finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country? - -_Semi-Chorus b_--Enlarged the original issue. It was really rather -difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to congratulate -the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was of course -perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst still so -young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with -that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn't -develop into. - -_Semi-Chorus a_--Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without -mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture -of married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of -discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed -in blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an -exceedingly poor time. - -Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It -was not her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the -present occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous -figure of Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against -her, and there in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her -lap, with the black silk of her dress shining in little white lines -where the light caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie -entirely. Whatever happened, she must keep silence--she told herself -this again and again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she -found her anger rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers -in Miss Madder's hat and tried to discuss with herself the general -expense of the hat and why Miss Madder always wore things that didn't -suit her, and whether Miss Madder wouldn't he ever so much better in -a nice green grave with daisies and church bells in the distance, but -these abstract questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. -She knew as she listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to -whom she owed more than anyone in the whole world, was being -attacked--cruelly, wickedly attacked. - -Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated -Isabel--Isabel who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their -voices, even and cold, went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in -the corner, and her hands began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. -Suddenly in an instant Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten -save Isabel, and she burst out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: -"Really, Mrs. Dormer, you are a little inaccurate. I'm sure we must all -agree that it's a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else -down because someone else has stolen one's umbrella, and I'm sure I -should never want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who -was matron here two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel -with her and putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything -of it, and I remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for -it back again. I think it's very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a -fuss about nothing, and I never did like him, and I don't care who knows -it; but at any rate I don't see what this has all got to do with dear -Isabel's engagement, and I think young Traill's a delightful fellow, and -I hope they 'll both be enormously happy, and I think it's very unkind -of you to wish them not to be!" Mrs. Comber took a deep breath. - -"Really, my dear Mrs. Comber," said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, "I'm sure -we none of us wish them anything but happiness. Please don't have the -impression that we are not eager for their good." - -"I can't help feeling, Mrs. Comber," said Miss Madder, "that you have -rather misunderstood our position in the matter." - -"Well, I'm sure I'm very sorry if I have," broke in Mrs. Comber -hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had spoken so quickly. - -"You see," went on Miss Madder, "that I don't think we can any of us -have two feelings about the question of discipline. I'm sure you agree -with us there, Mrs. Comber." - -"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Comber. - -But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and -they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not -be able to come and stay again--they were of one mind. - -Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of -that silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell -Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie? - -Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, -Freddie had still to be faced. - -His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly -not in a line with her own. - -Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for! - -III. - -And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a -crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, -because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie -Traill, and indeed with everyone in the present story. - -But whilst waiting for him downstairs, "dressed and shining," as she -used to like to say--with the dinner getting cold (for which disaster -she was certain to be scolded)--she wondered in her muddled kind of way -why it was that they should all have wanted to be so disagreeable, why, -as a development of that, everyone always preferred to be disagreeable -rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu clock and the -peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, with their -color and decoration help her, had a revelation--dim, misty, vague, and -lost almost as soon as it was seen--that it wasn't really anyone's fault -at all--that it was the system, the place, the tightness and closeness -and helplessness that did for everybody; that nobody could escape -from it, and that the finest saint, the most noble character, would -be crushed and broken in that remorseless mill--"the mills of the -gods"?--no, the mills of a rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... -She saw, staring at the clock and the screen and clinging to them, these -men and these women, crushed, beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. -Dormer, Miss Madder, her own Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. -White--even already young Traill--all of them decent, hopeful, brave... -once. The coals clicked in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind -passed down the darkening paths. She felt suddenly as though she must -give it all up--she must leave Freddie and the children and go away... -anywhere... she could not endure it any longer. And then Freddie came -in, irritable, peevish, scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed -one of his hours, and that annoyed him; the soup of course was stone -cold, the fish very little better. He scowled across the table at her, -and she tried to be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched -into the umbrella affair. - -"Young Traill wants kicking," he said. "What are we all coming to, I -should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a month or two, and -he goes and takes a senior master's things without asking leave, and -then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. -The fellow wants kicking out altogether." - -Mrs. Comber said nothing. - -"Well, why don't you say something? You've got some opinion about it, -I suppose; and there's more in it than that--he's gone and got himself -engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl thinking of? They 're both -much too young anyhow. It's absurd. I 'll tell her what I think of it." - -"Oh, no, Freddie--don't say anything to her. She's so happy about it, -and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she -deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, -if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very young, and Mr. Perrin 's a -very difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you've always said--" - -"Well, whatever I 've said," he broke in furiously, "I 've never -advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and -if you think I have, you 're mightily mistaken." - -After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart -was dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber -was glad that the girl was not with them. - -She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one--and -her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the -dreary dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her -husband's scowling face. - -At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little -drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and -she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest -of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams--of -places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and -forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no -travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw -Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen -about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her -and she could make no mistakes. - -Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she -smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was -nearly out. - -"Yes," he said, following her glance, "it's a nice, cheerful room for a -man to come into, isn't it, after he's tired and cold with work? I have -got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm a lucky man, I am." - -Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten -it, he said, "Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the use of making a -noise and fuss with it now?" - -Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, "Look -here, we've got to come to an understanding about this business." - -"What business?" she said faintly, all the color leaving her cheeks. - -"Why, young Traill," he went on, standing over her. "I'm not going to -have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I object to -him--he's a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants putting in his -place, and I 'll let him know it if he comes near here. I won't have him -in the house, and it's just as well he should know it. So don't you go -asking him here." - -She was now white to the lips. "But," she said, "I have told Isabel that -I am glad, and I _am_ glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I don't think it -was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, you know you are not -quite fair to him because of his football, or something silly, and I'm -sure you don't mind him, really--you don't like Mr. Perrin, you know." - -This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could -possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie -Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to -swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed. - -"Look here, my lady," he said, "you just leave things alone that don't -belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I 've got for disliking young -Traill--it's enough if I say that he's not to come here--and Miss Isabel -shall hear that from my own lips." - -In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as -he was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at -the mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew -herself up. - -"You must not do that," she said. "You cannot insult Isabel here, when -she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good--so good. I love -her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend." - -"Oh!" he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. "This is -defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I tell you that he -shall not come here." - -"And I say that he shall," she answered in a whisper. - -Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly -came to her and, muttering between his teeth, "We 'll see about the -master here," struck her so that he cut his hand on her brooch, and she -fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her hands spread out -against it, staring at him.... - -There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant -wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They -both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had -suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations -could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be -worse--they could never be the same. - -But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. -Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay -against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, -because her knees were bending under her--drove this home to him. He was -appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years -was brought to life by that blow. - -"My dear--my dear--don't look at me like that--I did not mean -anything--I am not angry--I am terribly ashamed.... Please--" - -His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. -She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him -fixedly. - -"You never struck me before, Freddie," she said. "At least, you have -never done that. I am so sorry, my dear." - -Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then -she went slowly out of the room. - -He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a -whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark -buildings. "Curse the place! It is that--it has done for me...." And -then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the -shadowy room, "I am no good--I am no good at all!" - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; "WHOM THE GODS WISH TO -DESTROY...." - - -I. - -|DURING the month that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within -a week of that original incident there was no one in the establishment -who had not his or her especial grievance against someone else. In the -Senior common room, at the middle morning hour, the whole staff might -be seen, silent, grave, bending with sheer resolution over the daily -papers, eloquent backs turned to their enemies, every now and again -abstract sarcasm designed for some very concrete resting-place. - -That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the -original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner--something -that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's purpose -to support. One hated one's neighbor--well, let any small detail be the -provocation, the battle was the thing. - -Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to -watch and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; -what a delightful and admirable system!--with their Greek accents and -verbs in with their principal parts of _savior_ and _dire_ and their -conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and -exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting -your neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious -misconception--all this within so small an area of ground, so slight a -period of time, at so wonderfully inconsiderable an expense. - -The question at issue passed of course speedily to the very smallest boy -in the school, but here there was not so intense a division--there -was indeed scarcely a division at all, because there could not, on the -whole, be two opinions about it. When it came to choosing between Old -Pompous with his stupid manners and his uncertain temper, with all the -custom of his twenty years' stay at the school so that he was simply -a tiresome tradition that present fathers of grown families had once -accepted as a fearful authority--between this and the novel and athletic -Traill, with his splendid football and his easy fellowship... why? -There was nothing more to be said. Why should n't one take Old Pompous's -umbrella? Who was he to be so particular about his property? He would -n't hesitate to take someone else's things if he wanted them.... -Meanwhile there was an encouragement to rebellion amongst all those who -came beneath his discipline--as to the way that he took this, there is -more to be said later. - -But the point about this month is not the question of individual quarrel -and disturbance. Of that there was enough and to spare, but there was -nothing extraordinary about its progress, and every successive term saw -something of the kind: the two questions as to whether Traill should -have taken Perrin's umbrella and whether Isabel Desart should, under the -circumstances, have allowed herself to be engaged to Traill, simply took -the place of other questions that had, in their time, served to rouse -combat. No--the peculiar fact about this month was that at the end of -it, when their quarrels and hatreds should have reached their climax, -they were sunk suddenly almost to the point of disappearance--they were -almost lost and forgotten--and the reason of this was that everyone -in the place, in some cases unconsciously and in nearly every instance -silently, was watching Perrin.... It had become during that time an -issue between two men, and one of those men was passive. It was being -worked out in silence--even the spectators themselves made no comment, -but Mrs. Comber afterwards put it into words when she said that -"Everyone was so afraid that talking about it might make it happen that -no one said anything at all"--and that indeed was the remarkable fact. - -Amongst all the eyes that were turned on the developing incident those -most fitted for our purpose of elucidation belonged to Isabel Desart, -and her experience of it all will do very well for everyone else's -experience of it, because the only difference between herself and -the rest was that she was more acute in her judgment and had a more -discerning intuition. - -In the first place she had very crucially indeed to fight her own -battles. It did not take her a day to discover that every lady in the -place, with the single exception of Mrs. Comber, was, for the time -being at any rate, up in arms against her. She ought not to have allowed -herself to be engaged to Mr. Traill--there were no two opinions about -it. It was not ladylike--she was allying herself, to disorder and -tumult, she was encouraging the stealing of things, and the knocking -down of persons in authority--above all, she was setting herself up, -whatever that might mean: all this was foreshadowed on the very first -day in Mrs. Comber's drawing-room. - -These things did not, in the very least, surprise or dismay Isabel. She -loved a battle--she had never realized before how dearly she loved it, -she gave no quarter and she asked none. She went about with her head up -and her eyes flashing fire--she was quiet unless she was attacked; but -so soon as there were signs of the enemy, the armor would be buckled on -and the trumpet sounded. In a way--and it seemed to her curious when -she looked back upon it--this month of hers was stirring and even rather -delightful. - -But there were other and more serious sides to it. She saw at once that -something had happened in the Comber family, and with all the tenderness -and gentleness that was so wonderfully hers she sought to put it right. -But she soon realized that it had all gone far too deep for any outside -help. She did not know what had occurred on that evening when she had -dined at the Squire's. Mrs. Comber told her nothing--she only begged her -not to speak to Freddie about the umbrella quarrel and not to attempt to -bring Archie to the house, at present at any rate. - -But Mrs. Comber was now a different person--her animated volubility had -disappeared altogether, she went about her house very quietly with a -pale face and tired eyes, and she did not speak unless she was spoken -to. But the change in Freddie Comber was still more marked. Isabel -had never liked him so much before. His harsh dogmatism seemed to have -disappeared. He said very little to anybody, but in his own house at any -rate he was quiet, reserved, and even submissive. Isabel noticed that he -was on the watch to do things for his wife, and sometimes she saw that -his eyes would leave his work and stray about the room as though he were -searching for something. He scarcely seemed to notice her at all, -and sometimes when she spoke to him he would start and look at her -curiously, almost suspiciously, as though he were wondering how much she -knew. He was not kind and attentive to her, as he had been before--she -felt sure that he had now a great dislike for her. All this made her -miserable, and she loved to wonder sometimes what it was that held her -back from speaking to Mrs. Comber about it all--but something prevented -her. - -The masters, she knew, were divided about her. They were, she thought, -more occupied with their own quarrels and disputes than with any -attitude towards herself. At first she was amused by their divided -camps--it all seemed so childish and absurd, and for its very -childishness it could not have a serious conclusion; but as the days -went on and she saw into it all more deeply, the pathos of it caught -her heart and she could have cried to think of what men they might have -been, of the things that they might have done. Some of them seemed to -seek her out now with a courtliness and deference that they had -never shown her before. Birkland, of whom she had always been rather -frightened, spoke to her now whenever there was an opportunity, and his -sharp, sarcastic eyes softened, and she saw the sadness in their gray -depths, and she felt in the pressure of his hands that he wanted now to -be friends with her. White, too, was different now. He said very little -to her, and he was so quiet that for him to speak at all was a wonderful -thing, but there were a few words about his affection for Archie. - -With all of this Isabel got a profound sense of its being her duty to -do something; as far as her own affairs were concerned she was perfectly -able to manage them, and if the matter in dispute had been simply her -engagement to Archie, there would be no difficulty--it was a case -of waiting, and then escaping; but things were more serious than -that--something was in the air, and she knew enough of that life and -that atmosphere to be afraid. But it was not until later than this that -she began to be afraid definitely of Mr. Perrin. - -But this feeling that she had of the necessity of doing something -grew when she perceived the inertia of the others--inertia was perhaps -scarcely the word: it was rather, as the matter advanced, an increasing -impulse to sink their own quarrels and sit back in the chairs and wait -for the result. - -And, with this before her, Isabel set out on a determined campaign, -having for its ultimate issue the hope of possible reconciliation--she -could not put it more optimistically than that--before the end of the -term came. - -It was not at all a desire to do good that drove her--indeed, her -flashing disputes with Mrs. Dormer, her skirmishes with the younger -Miss Madder, were very far away from any evangelistic principles -whatever--but rather some hint of future trouble that was hard to -explain. She wished to prevent things happening, was the way that she -herself would have put it; but that did not hinder her from feeling a -natural anxiety that Miss Madder, Mrs. Dormer, and the rest should have -some of their own shots back before the end of the term was reached. - -II. - -But she began her campaign with her own Archie, and found him difficult. -Going down the hill by the village on one of those sharp, tightly -drawn days with the horizon set like marble and nothing moving save the -brittle leaves blowing like brown ghosts up and down, she tried to get -him to see the difficulties as she saw them, She attacked him at first -on the question of making peace with Mr. Perrin, and came up at -once against a bristling host of obstinacies and traditions that her -ignorance of public school and university laws had formerly hidden from -her. - -Perrin was a bounder, and young Traill's eyes were cold and hard as he -summed it all up in this sentence. He would do anything in the world -for Isabel, but she did n't probably altogether understand what a fellow -felt--there were things a man couldn't do. She found that the laws of -the Medes and Persians were nothing at all in comparison with the stone -tables of public school custom: "The man was a bounder"--"There were -things a fellow couldn't do." - -She had not expected him to go and beg for peace--she had not probably -altogether wished him to; but the way that he looked at it all left her -with a curious mixture of feelings: she felt that he was so immensely -young, and therefore to be--most delightful of duties--looked after. -Also she felt, for the first time, all the purpose and obstinacy of his -nature, so that she foresaw that there would in the future between them -be a great many tussles and battles. - -But she was very much cleverer than he was, and dealt with him very -gently, and then suddenly gave him a sharp, little moral rap, and then -kissed him afterwards. She found, in fact, that this trouble with Mr. -Perrin was worrying him dreadfully. He hid it as well as he could, and -hid it on the whole very successfully; but Isabel dragged it all out -and saw that he hated quarreling with anybody, and that he now dimly -discovered that he was the center of a vulgar dispute and that people -were taking sides about him--all this was horrible. - -He also felt very strongly the injustice of it. "I never meant to knock -the fellow down. I never knew I'd taken his beastly umbrella--all this -fuss!"--which was, Isabel thought, so very like a man, because the thing -was done and there was no more to be said about it. He thought a great -deal about her in the matter and was very anxious to stand up for -her; indeed, that was the only aspect of the affair that gave him any -satisfaction--that they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder against -the "low, bounding" world, and he declared, as he looked at her, that he -loved her more and more every day. - -But all of this did not touch on his relations with Perrin, and his eyes -with regard to that gentleman could only look one way--he would not make -advances. - -The more Isabel felt his determination, the more, curiously enough, -she felt Mr. Perrin's pathos. She had not yet arrived at the definite -watching of him that was to come upon them all soon so curiously; but -when she thought of him she thought of Archie's definition of him, and -she realized, as she had not realized before, that that would be a great -many other persons' definition of him also. Whatever he was--cross, -irritable, violent, even wicked--he was, at any rate, lonely, and that -was enough to make Isabel sorry, and more than sorry. - -She could not, of course, make Archie see that. "The fellow's always -wanted to be lonely--thinks himself much too good for other people's -society, that's the fact, and if a man behaves like a beast, he must -expect to be left alone." - -_That_ did not worry Archie. The whole of his annoyance arose from the -fact that there should be such a fuss. He had never really quarreled -with anyone before--people _never_ did quarrel with him; and now -suddenly here were Comber and West and the little French worm Pons, -stiff and sulky whenever they met him, and Moy-Thompson bullying him -whenever he got the opportunity. - -Of course he wasn't going to stay! he couldn't stay under these -circumstances--but it was all unpleasant and disagreeable. Isabel -herself was only too anxious to take him out of it all as soon as -possible. He wasn't wearing well under it. He had been full of light and -sunshine at the beginning of the term, pleasant to everyone, equable, -comfortable, a splendid creature to be with. Now the boys of his class -found that nothing pleased him, little things roused him to a fury, and -he snapped at people when they spoke to him. With Isabel he was always -gentle, but his eager eyes were tired, and once he wasn't very far away -from tears. - -But she did not allow any of these things to worry her. She was proud -with Miss Madder, haughty with Moy-Thompson, gentle with Mrs. Comber, -always amusing and cheerful with Archie. But when she had gone to bed -and was at last alone, she would lie there, trying to puzzle it all out, -afraid of what the future might bring, and praying that she might drag -Archie out of it all before they had damaged him. He was such a boy, and -all this discussion was so new to him; but she felt that she herself was -ninety at least, and she would wonder sometimes that all men's difficult -education seemed to leave them just where they began, which was several -stages earlier than the place where women commenced. Love and death were -very simple things, it seemed to her, beside the tangled daily worries -of people getting along together. Her present feeling was something -akin to Alice's sensation at the Croquet party when the hoops (being -flamingoes) would walk away and climb up trees, and the balls (being -hedge-hogs) would wander off the ground. They were all flamingoes and -hedge-hogs at Moffatt's. - -III. - -But towards the end of this month, Isabel became suddenly conscious of -Mr. Perrin in a very different way. It was now only three weeks before -the end of term, and in another week examinations would begin. That -something in the atmosphere that signified the coming of examinations -was busy about the place. People were very quiet, and then suddenly in -the most singular way would break out; there was continual quarreling in -the common room, strange rumors were carried of things that people had -said--it was all a question of strain. - -There came, it now being the first week in December, the first day of -snow, and the light, feathery flakes fell throughout the afternoon, and -when the sun set there was a soft, white world with the buildings black -and grim and a sky of hurrying gray cloud. Isabel and Mrs. Comber sat in -Mrs. Comber's little drawing-room over a roaring fire, and there was no -other light in the room. - -Mrs. Comber sat, as she so often sat now, with her chin resting in her -hand, silently staring at the fire. - -Isabel was unhappy; the silent whiteness of the world outside, the -consciousness of Miss Madder's rudeness to her that afternoon, the -trouble that she had seen in Archie's eyes when she had said good night -to him after Chapel, above all, a general sense of strain and nerves -stretched to breaking-point--all this overwhelmed her. She had never -felt so strongly before that she and Archie, if they were to keep -anything at all of their vitality, must escape at once... to-night... -to-morrow; it might be too late. - -She knew that Archie had lost his temper with West that afternoon, that -he had called him a "rotten little counter-jumper," and that West had -made an allusion to "stealing things." Where were they all? What were -they all doing to be fighting like this? - -They sat in silence opposite to one another, one on each side of the -fire, and the ticking of the clock, and every now and again a tumbling -coal, were the only sounds. Then suddenly Isabel broke out. - -"Oh! I can't stand it any longer; I feel as though I should go mad. What -is the matter with everybody? Why are we all fighting like this? Oh! I -_do_ want to be pleasant to somebody again, just for a change. For the -last three weeks, ever since that wretched quarrel, there has been no -peace at all." - -"I know," Mrs. Comber answered without raising her eyes from the fire; -"I am very tired, too, and it's a good thing there are only three weeks -more of the term, because I 'm sure that somebody would be cutting -somebody's throat if it lasted any longer, and I wouldn't mind very much -if somebody would cut mine." She gave a little choke in her throat, and -then suddenly her head fell forward into her hands, and she burst into -passionate sobbing. - -Isabel said nothing, but came over to her and knelt down by her chair -and took her other hand. They stayed together in silence for a long -time, and the burning fire flung great shadows on the walls, and the -snow had begun to fall again and rustled very softly and gently against -the window. - -At last Mrs. Comber looked up and wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. - -"Ah! my dear! you are so good to me. I don't know what I should have -done this terrible term if you hadn't been, and now my eyes are a -perfect sight, and Freddie will be coming in; but I could n't help it. -Things only seem to get worse and worse and worse, and I've stood it as -long as I can, and I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall go away -and be a nun or a hospital nurse or something where you 're let alone." - -"Dear Mrs. Comber;" said Isabel, still holding her hand, "do tell me -about these last few weeks, if it would help you. Of course, I 've seen -that something 's happened between you and Mr. Comber. I can see that -he is most dreadfully sorry about something, and I know that he wants to -make it up. But this silence is worse than anything, and if you 'd only -have it out, both of you, I'm sure it would get all right." - -"No, dear." Mrs. Comber shook her head and wiped her eyes. "It's not -that so much. Freddie and I will get all right again, I expect, and even -be better together than we were be-for; but all this business has shown -me, my dear, that I'm a failure. I 've known it really all the time, and -I used to pretend that if one was nice enough to people one could n't be -altogether a failure, because they wanted one to like them--and that's -the truth. Nobody wants me to like them, and I'm the loneliest woman in -the world. I'm not grumbling about it, because I suppose I'm careless -and silly and untidy, but I don't think anyone's wanted friends quite so -badly as I have, and some people have such a lot. I used to think it was -all just accidents, but now I know it's really me; and now you 're going -to be married there's an end of you, the only person I had." - -"Archie and I," said Isabel softly, "will care for you to the end of -your days, and you will come and stay with us, won't you? And you know -that Freddie loves you. Why, I 've seen him looking at you during these -last weeks as though he could die for you, and then he's been afraid -to say anything. It's only this horrid place that has got in the way so -dreadfully." - -Mrs. Comber caught her hand eagerly. "Do you really think so, my -dear? Oh! if I could only think that, because I have fancied he's been -different lately, and he's such a dear when he likes to be and is n't -worried about his form; but things are always worse at examination time, -and I always pray that the two weeks may be got through as quickly as -possible; and something _dreadful did_ happen the other day, and I know -he was ashamed of himself, the poor dear.... Perhaps things will be all -right." - -Mrs. Comber gave a great sigh and looked a little more cheerful. Then, -after a pause, she began again, but a little doubtfully: "You know, -Isabel dear, there's something else. I don't want to frighten you, but -Mrs. Dormer noticed it as well, and I know it's silly of me, but I don't -quite like it--" - -"Like what?" said Isabel. "Well, Mr. Perrin; he's been looking so queer -ever since that quarrel with your Archie. I daresay you haven't noticed -anything, and I daresay it may be all my own imaginations, and I'm sure -in a place like this one might imagine anything--" - -"How does he look queer," said Isabel quietly. - -"Well, it's his eyes, I suppose, and the things the boys say about him. -You know, my dear, I've wondered since whether perhaps he didn't care -about you rather a great deal, and whether that isn't another reason for -his disliking Archie--" - -"Care about me?" said Isabel laughing; "why, no, of course not. He's -only spoken to me once or twice." - -"Well," said Mrs. Comber, "I've seen him looking at you in the strangest -way in chapel. And his face has got so white and thin and drawn, I'm -really quite sorry for the poor man. And his eyes are so odd, as though -he was trying to see something that wasn't there. And the boys say that -he's so strange in class sometimes and stops suddenly in the middle of -a lesson and forgets where he is; and Mr. Clinton was telling me that he -never speaks to Archie, but sometimes when Archie's there he gets very -white and shakes all over and leaves the room. I only want you to warn -Archie to be careful, because when a man's lonely like that and begins -to think about things, he might do anything." - -"Why, what could he do?" Isabel said, with a little catch in her breath. - -"Well, I don't know, dear," Mrs. Comber said rather uncertainly. "Only -when examinations come on they do seem to get into the men's heads so, -and it's only that I thought that Archie might be careful and ready if -Mr. Perrin seemed odd at all..." - -Mrs. Comber left it all very uncertain, and as they sat silently in the -room with the fire turning from a roaring blaze into a golden cavern and -the shadows on the wall growing smaller and smaller as the fire fell, -Isabel seemed to feel the cold black and white of the world outside -gather ominously about her. - -She said good night very quietly, and the two women clung to each other -a moment longer than usual, as though they did not wish to leave each -other. - -"At any rate," said Isabel, "whatever else this place may do, it can't -alter our being together. You 've always got me, you know." - -But from this moment Isabel was afraid. Perhaps her nerves were -strained, perhaps she saw a great deal more than there was to be seen; -but she longed for the end of the term with a passionate eagerness, and -she could not sleep at nights. - -And then, curiously, on the very next morning Mr. Perrin came and spoke -to her. - -She always afterwards remembered him as she saw him that day. She was -just turning out of the black gate to go down the hill to the village; -there was a very pale blue sky; the ground was white with gray and -purple shadows, and the houses were brown and sharply edged, as though -cut out of paper, in the distance; the hills were a gray-white against -the sky. He came towards her very slowly, and she saw that he wanted -to speak to her, so she stopped and waited for him. When he came up -to her--with his gown hanging loosely about him and his heavy, black -mortar-board, with his thin, haggard cheeks, and staring eyes, with his -straggly, unkept mustache--she had a moment of ungovernable fear. She -could give no reason for it, but she knew that her impulse was to turn -and run away, anywhere so that she might escape from him. - -Then she controlled herself and turned and faced him, and smiled and -held out her hand. - -She could see him staring beyond her, over her shoulder, with eyes that -didn't see her at all. She saw that his hand was shaking. - -"How do you do, Mr. Perrin? I haven't seen you for quite a long time. -Isn't this snow delightful? If it will only stay like this." - -Suddenly he came quite close to her, looking into her eyes; he grasped -her hand and held it. - -"I 've been wanting to say..." he said in an odd voice, and there he -stopped and stood staring at her. - -"Yes," she said gently. - -His throat was moving convulsively, and he put his hand up to his face -with a helpless gesture and pulled his mustache. - -"I've wanted to say--um, ah--to congratulate you..." - -He cleared his throat, and suddenly she saw tears in his eyes. - -"Oh! thank you!" she said impulsively, coming up to him and putting her -hand on his arm. "Thank you so very much!" and then she could say no -more. - -He moved his arm away, and his eyes passed her again, out of the distant -horizon. Then he said very rapidly, as though he were reciting a speech -that he had learnt, "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. I -hope you 'll be very happy. I'm sure you will. I'm afraid I 'm a little -late in my good wishes. I'm afraid I'm a little late. Yes. Good morning!" - -Then, before she could say any more, he had moved away and gone down the -path. - -As she watched his black gown waving a little behind him she knew that -her vague fears of the night before had taken definite form. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--MR. PERRIN SEES DOUBLE - - -I. - -|MEANWHILE, many things had happened to Mr. Perrin during this month. On -that night after Clinton had told him about Miss Desart's engagement -to Traill, he did not go to bed for many hours, but sat over his black -grate without moving until the morning. He did not know until this had -happened to him how greatly he had valued his dreams. To every man in -middle life there comes a day when he sees clearly and pitilessly that -he has missed ambitions, or, if he has gained them, that there were -other ambitions that would have been more profitable of pursuit; and -then, if the rest of his days are to be worthily and honorably spent, he -must make reckoning with other things that have perhaps no glitter nor -promise, but will give him enough--life has no compensation for cynics. - -In that black night, the darkest night of his life, Perrin saw that -his last claim to that chance to which he had clung from his earliest -boyhood, was gone. At first, in the blind pathos of his disappointment, -it seemed to him that she had promised to marry him and had left him at -the altar. A great wave of self-pity swept over him, and he sat with his -head in his hands, and the tears trickled through his thin fingers. The -things that he could have done had she been faithful to him!--that was -the way he put it. He saw now scenes that had occurred between them. He -had pleaded his love, and she had accepted him; her head had rested on -his breast, and, in that very room, he had held her and kissed her and -stroked her hair. - -And then, slowly, as the room grew colder and the faint gray dawn came -in at the window, he knew that that was not true; she had never cared -about him, she had scarcely spoken to him; how could she care for a man -like him--that sort of creature? - -What had God meant by making a man like that? It was His game, perhaps; -it pleased Him perhaps to have some ridiculous animal there that other -men might sport with it--other beardless boys like Traill.... - -He felt that he would like to take his revenge on God. He would show God -that he was not the kind of man to be played with like that--he would -mock at Him and show that he didn't care, that he was not afraid--ah! -but he _was_ afraid, terribly afraid. He had always been afraid -since those days when, a very small boy in short trousers, he had sat -listening to the clergyman who had painted pictures of hell with such -lurid and wonderful accuracy. - -God was like that--He took away from you all the things that made life -worth living, and then punished you with eternal fire afterwards because -you resented His behavior. - -Mr. Perrin was not crying now, because his head was aching so badly that -the pain of it prevented any tears. He was sitting with his eyes very -large and bright and his cheeks very white and drawn. When his head -ached, it always meant that that other Mr. Perrin whose appearances he -had now so long attempted to control came creeping out--that other Mr. -Perrin who did not want him to have his chance, that other Mr. Perrin -whom he did not want his friends to see. - -On this night for the first time in his life that other Mr. Perrin -seemed to have a concrete appearance and form. He was standing, -Mr. Perrin fancied, somewhere in the corner of the room, and he was -watching. He was wearing the same clothes, and he had the same features, -but it was an evil face--all the eyes and nose and mouth and ears had -gone wrong. Mr. Perrin had kept him in control so long; but now at last -he had broken out, and perhaps he would never go away again. - -Mr. Perrin was dreadfully afraid that he had come to stay. - -Then, as the minutes passed, Mr. Perrin was conscious that there was -something that this other Mr. Perrin wanted him to do. It had some -connection with that young Traill. Mr. Perrin was conscious that now, as -he thought of him, he had no anger in his brain about young Traill. No, -there was nothing to be angry about--of course not--no; but he knew that -there was something that the other Mr. Perrin thought that he ought to -do to young Traill. What was it? - -Then, very slowly, as though he were awaking out of a bad dream, Mr. -Perrin pulled himself together. That other Mr. Perrin passed from -the room, and the cold gray dawn crept across the floor. He was very -desolate and very unhappy. He thought perhaps he would kill himself, and -so end it all. What did people do? They hung themselves, or they shot -themselves, or they poisoned themselves. No, he knew that he would be -afraid to do any of those things. He was afraid of the pain and also, in -an inconsequent way, of the sight that he would look afterwards. - -There came to him the curious, strange idea that perhaps this was his -great chance--the chance that he had been waiting for all his life. -Perhaps God intended to knock him down as far as He could, so as to -give him the opportunity of rising. Supposing he rose now, supposing -he showed them that he did not care about Miss Desart or young Traill, -supposing he won a fine position and did magnificently... but then, of -course, it was absurd; after twenty years in Moffatt's one did not "do" -magnificently anywhere. - -No, he was no good--he was done for. He thought, as he heard the clock -strike five, he would go to bed. And then he lay there, staring at the -yellow flowers on the wall-paper. There were five in a row, and then -four, and then three, and then two, and then five again.... They were -ugly flowers. He wanted Miss Desart! he wanted Miss Desart! he wanted -Miss Desart! He bit the pillow and lay with his face buried in it, his -thin, sharp shoulders heaving.... He wanted Miss Desart!... - -His misery came upon him now in great clouds, and it buffeted him and -enveloped him, and left him at last weak and shaking. - -Young Traill had done this--young Traill was his enemy... young Traill! -He hated him, and would do him harm if he could. - -And then, across the gray floor, outlined against the yellow paper -flowers, he saw once more the gray figure of the other Mr. Perrin. - -II. - -But when the morning came, and as the days passed, he found that it all -resolved itself into an effort to keep control. This was very hard. When -he had been a small boy there had been a picture that used to hang in -his mother's dining-room. It was a gray picture of a skeleton that sat -with a grin on its ghastly face on a huge iron chest studded with great -black nails. The lid was raised a little, and from under it peeped the -eyes of some wretched man, and over the edge there hung a grasping, -wrenching hand. Someone was in there, someone was trying to get out, and -the skeleton was sitting on the box.... - -It was like that now with Mr. Perrin; there was something in him that -was trying to get out, and he was determined that it should not. He -found at once that he could not bear to be in the same room with Traill, -and as the days advanced this feeling did not decrease. The feeling -inside him that he must not let out was always stronger and more violent -when Traill was there. Of course they did not speak to one another, -but it was something more active than mere silent avoidance. They -had struggled on the floor together, struggled before Comber and -Birkland--Perrin would not forget that. He remembered it as an act of -faith and said to himself a great many times. He always found that when -he was in the room with Traill something seemed to drag him across the -floor towards him, and he had to hold himself back. - -This was all very difficult, and he found it very hard to keep his mind -on his form. It was more necessary than ever to keep his mind on his -form, because he fancied that there was a new spirit abroad amongst -them. They must, of course, have heard all about the quarrel, and -he thought that when he was with them they laughed at him and mocked -amongst themselves. They had always done that of course, but now there -was an added reason. - -There was one thing that they did at the Lower School that he always -hated. When the bell rang at five minutes to one for luncheon, the -master who was on duty was supposed to station himself at the door -of the hall and look at the boys' hands, as the boys filed in, to see -whether they were clean. Perrin had always hated doing this; it had -seemed to him most undignified, and the sight of fifty pairs of hands -raised to his eyes, one after the other--hands that were ill-kept, -bitten, and ragged, and torn--this had been, in some bidden way, -irritating. Now it was much more irritating, so that when it was his -week on duty and this horde of boys passed him, raising their hands, -as it seemed to him, with insolence and levity, he wanted to scream, to -beat them all down, to run amok amongst them, to trample until all the -hands were broken and bleeding. - -Garden Minimus had often been turned back for having dirty hands. He -used to try to slip through with the crowd, and Perrin had called him -up, and he had come with a twinkling smile, and his hands had been very -inky. Then Perrin, with apparent austerity, but in reality with a kindly -eye, had sent him back to wash. But now the boy made no attempt to -escape, but with a grave, serious face passed slowly along; his hands -were always beautifully clean--he did not look at Perrin. This was, of -course, a very small affair. - -But afterwards, when they had all passed in, when they stood silently -behind their forms and he began the Latin grace and at the end "per -Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum" and a great clatter of forms being -dragged out and people sitting down and the hum of voices--then he -wanted to run amongst them and strike their stupid faces, but he knew -that he must not. - -One day at the very beginning he had suddenly found that he was alone in -the Junior-Common room with Traill, and Traill had begun to speak to him. - -Traill was standing away from him at the window, and he scarcely turned -his head, but over his shoulder in a gruff voice: "I say, Perrin, isn't -this rather rot, our quarreling like this? I hate not to be speaking to -a fellow--I'm sorry if I did things, but you know--" - -And Perrin, with his head a little lowered and his hands swinging, had -moved towards him, making a curious little noise in his throat, and -Traill had seen his face and stepped back against the window. - -But Perrin had remembered that picture in his mother's dining-room. No! -that man must not get out--he must at all costs be kept in his box. And -so he had turned and left the room without saying anything. - -Traill did not try to speak to him again. - -With his form during these days Perrin was very quiet. It was remarked -afterwards how quiet he had been. He was never angry. Boys did bad work, -and he did not seem to mind, but he looked at them in a strange way and -said, "Go back, and do it again--do it again," as though he were not -thinking of what he said. - -Perhaps he did not altogether realize them during those days, but rather -thought of them as faces and boots. There were faces in a row, white -faces, and then there was a long strip of wooden desk, scarred with -ink, and then there were boots, broad-toed boots, sometimes with laces -hanging down, stupid things like toads. - -He had taught the things that he taught so often that it needed no -effort now to think of them. When you began with numbers on the board, -other numbers followed, and then an answer, and a face got five marks if -it was right--that was all. He never spoke to Garden Minimus if he could -help it. He did not analyze his silence--it was merely a fact that he -did not wish to have Garden Minimus's face brought too close to his -own... it reminded him of things that hurt. - -But, on the whole, his form did not notice any delightful difference -except that there was a visible slackening of authority. One could do -things with pens and ink and other people's books more often than had -hitherto been the case, and Somerset-Walpole perhaps felt the difference -more severely than anyone else.... That was really all that there was to -say about his form. - -It was perhaps about a week after the Battle of the Umbrella broke out -that Perrin noticed two things. The first thing that he noticed was -that he saw Traill when Traill wasn't there. This was very odd and very -provoking. It could not be said with real accuracy that he saw him, -because he was always just round the corner and out of his eye. One -morning during an Algebra hour, sitting at his desk, he suddenly felt -that Traill was standing just inside the door. It was very odd of Traill -to do this, because he ought, by rights, to have been teaching at the -Upper School--moreover, the door had apparently made no sound when it -opened and none of the boys seemed to notice his entrance; also Mr. -Perrin could not be quite sure, because he was not looking at the door -at all but at the board in front of him. He knew exactly how Traill was -standing, and at last, his motionless silence was so irritating that he -turned round sharply and looked at the door, but Traill was not there. - -The silence that was between them, the elaborate prevention of -conversation when they were together at meals or in a room, came slowly -to Perrin as an added impertinence. He knew now that he hated Traill -with all his heart and soul, but that was a very mild way of putting it. -It was not hatred that he felt when he found Traill's face opposite -him at dinner: it was something more active than that. It was as though -someone at his elbow was urging him to leap across the table, dragging -the cloth with him as he went, and to catch Traill's throat... and to do -things; but he knew that he must not, because something must be kept -in a box. And the other thing that he noticed about this time was -that people were talking about him. This might almost be called the -Irritation of the Closed Door, because on every occasion that he saw -a closed door--and they were very many--he knew that there were people -behind it who were talking about him. Sometimes he suddenly opened, very -softly, a door and looked, and although there was, as a rule, no one -in the room, he was sure that they were hiding in cupboards and behind -chairs. Once when he opened a door suddenly like that, the stout Miss -Madden was alone in the room, sewing, and when she saw him she dropped -her work and screamed, which was foolish of her. - -But they were all of them always talking about him, and he would like -to have heard what they said. He wondered what Miss Desart said--he was -sure that she would be kind--and he stared at her very hard in chapel, -because he saw her so very little at other times, and because he would -like to know what she was thinking about. He would like to know whether -it was about the same things as his things--and so he stared at her in a -curious way. - -And then one evening he suddenly discovered that it was the day on which -he wrote to his mother. He had omitted to write to her last week for the -first time for very many years, because he had forgotten, and she had -written saying how much she had missed it--so he must not forget it -again. - -He had had a very trying day, and the man in the box had more nearly -broken out than ever before, so that at first it was very hard to think -of his mother at all. But he stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his throbbing head, and he made in his mind a little picture -of her sitting in her lace cap and black gown, waiting for a letter from -him. He sat down in his chair and lit his lamp and took out his pen and -paper and began, as he had begun for a great many years: - -"Dear old lady... - -Then suddenly he thought that Traill was in the room, standing, as he -did now, just inside the door. He turned sharply in his chair and held -the lamp up towards the door, but there was no one there. He sat with -his head between his hands and cleared his mind of everything except his -mother; and gradually, as he sat there, all that strange state that -had been about him during these days fell from him, and he regained his -clear vision--he began to write as he always did:-- - -"...I didn't write last week, because I had so much to do. I really -didn't have time, and you know how busy we get during these days with -the examinations coming on and everything. - -"I'm very well, except that I have these headaches--nothing at all, and -I'm taking these liver pills that you told me of. I hope you 're all -right, and that Dr. Sanders comes to see you every week. Keeping warm's -the thing, old lady, with this weather, and that shawl that Miss Bennett -gave you is the very thing--mind you wear it, and don't sit in draughts. -I'm all right..." - -And then the pen dropped from his fingers, and his head fell between -his hands. He wanted to tell her about Miss Desart, that she needn't be -afraid now of his marrying anyone, that he was never going to marry.... -His mind was very clear now. It was like a moor when the mists have -lifted away from it.... His unhappiness came all about him and held him -to the ground. He did not hate Traill--Traill could not help it; but he -wanted her--oh! he wanted her so dreadfully. - -He slipped on to his knees on the ground, and he was terribly troubled -so that his back shook. He began with desperation, as though it were his -last hold on life, to pray. - -"Oh! God, God, God!... Help me!... Do not let me go back again to that -state that I have just been in. I cannot hold myself when I am like -that. I do not know what I am doing or thinking. But it is all so -hard--there are so many little things--there is no time!... They will -not let me alone. Oh, God! give me my chance, give me my chance! Give me -someone to love; I am so terribly alone... nobody wants me. Oh, God! do -not let me go back to that darkness again.... I am so afraid of what I -may do..." - -But at last exhaustion took him, there on the floor, and he slept with -his head on his arm. - -And suddenly he awoke in the middle of the night and found himself -there--and it was all very dark. He rose to his feet and was terribly -frightened, because there, a gray figure against the fireplace, was the -other Mr. Perrin--and he knew that God had not answered his prayer, and -he cursed God and stumbled to his bed. - -III. - -And after that, things, for him, developed in an amazing way. He was -quite sure now that God hated him. - -Now that he was sure of that, he need not care so much about keeping -that box closed--he was damned anyhow. - -Traill now took complete possession of his mind. He never thought of -anyone else, and it was exactly as though an iron weight was pressing -on his head, shutting him down. He must get rid of that iron weight, -because it was so disagreeable and prevented him thinking; but he was -sure that it would not go until he had got rid of Traill: therefore -Traill must go. - -He did not know how Traill would be likely to go, but he began to -consider it.... - -These days before the examinations began were very difficult for -everybody, and Perrin began that hideous "getting behind-hand" that made -things accumulate so that there seemed no chance of ever catching up. -There were all the term's marks to be added up before the examinations -began, there were trial papers and test questions to be set, and -therefore a great many papers to be corrected. He found that he was not -able to keep at it for very long at a time, but would sit in his chair -with his hands folded in front of him and think of--Traill--and then he -would find that the papers were not corrected and that there were others -to be done, and they would be in dingy piles about his room--sometimes -a pile would slip from the table on to the floor and would lie there -scattered, and he would feel his rage rising so that if he had not, with -all his force, kept it down he would have rushed screaming about his -room. - -But with the whole staff this irritation was at work, and Perrin -welcomed it because it amused him, and because it seemed to him in tune -with his own moods. Always this week before the examinations was a very -difficult one, but now, this term, it was worse than it had ever been -before. - -The place was badly understaffed, and always at this time the work was -multiplied so that any spare hours that there had been before were now -filled to overflowing. Also the examination scheme had now appeared and, -whether by design or not, Moy-Thompson always arranged it so that one -or two men seemed to have scarcely any work at all, and the others -naturally had a great deal more than they could do. The quarrels that -had broken out over the umbrella incident had developed until there -was very little to prevent physical struggle. It happened that on this -occasion, West was the person who was let off easily by the examination -list, and he was not the kind of man to allow his advantage to pass -without comment. - -Perrin passed a considerable amount of time now in the Senior common -room. He never talked to anyone, but would sit in a dark corner by the -window and watch them all. The funniest thoughts came to him as he sat -there: for instance, he fancied that it would be pleasant, when they -were not watching, to crawl under the table and bite White's legs--it -would be amusing to spring suddenly from behind on to Comber's back, -and to strip all the clothes from him until he was stark naked, and must -run, screaming, from the room--or to twist Birk-land's ears round -and round until they were tom and hung.... All these things would be -pleasant to do, but he sat in his corner and said nothing. - -At last the day before the examinations arrived, and they were nearly -all gathered in the Senior common room in the half-hour before Chapel. - -Perrin, with his white face and untidy hair, watched them from his -corner. - -"It will be very pleasant," West said, smiling a little, "to have -that third hour off all through this week. I can't think, Comber, why -Moy-Thompson's given you all that extra Latin to do--I--" - -"For God's sake," Comber broke out furiously, "stop it! Aren't we all -sick to death with hearing of your beastly good luck? Don't we all know -that the whole thing's about as unfair as it is possible for anything to -be? Just keep quiet about it if you can." - -"Oh, of course, Comber," said West. "You grudge a man any bit of -luck that he may have. It's just like you. I never knew anything more -selfish. If you'd had an hour off yourself, you 'd have let us know -about it all right." - -"Well, stop talking about it anyhow, West," said Dormer. "Leave it -alone. Can't you see that we 're all as tired out as we can be? We've -had enough fighting this term to last us a century." - -With common consent they seemed to sink their private differences in a -common thought of that strange, silent man sitting behind them. - -They all drew closer together. The pale gas-light fell on their faces, -and they were all white and tired, with heavy, dark marks under their -eyes. - -With their dark gowns, their long white hands, their pale faces, their -heavy eyes, they moved silently about the room and gathered at last in -a cluster by the fire, and stood and sat silently without a word. Only -Perrin, hidden in the shadow behind them, did not move. - -Then suddenly Birkland, who was standing a little away from the rest -with his back against the wall, spoke. - -"You're right, Dormer. We've fought enough this term to fill a great -many years. We 're a wretched enough crew." - -He paused; but no one spoke, and no one moved. - -"I wonder sometimes," he went on, "how long we are going to stand it. -Most of us have been here a great many years--most of us have had our -hopes broken a great many years ago--most of us have lost our pluck--" -Perhaps he expected a vehement denial, because he paused; but no one -spoke, and no one moved. "This term has been worse than any other since -I have been here. We have all been very near doing things as well as -thinking them. I wonder if you others have ever thought, as I have -thought sometimes, that we have no right to be here?" - -"How do you mean," said Comber slowly, "no right?" - -"Well, we were not always like this. We were not always fighting -and cursing like beasts. We were not always without any decency or -friendliness or kindliness. We did not always have a man over us who -used us like slaves, because he knew that we were afraid to give him -notice and go. I was a man myself once. I thought that I was going to do -things--we all thought that we were going to do things. Look at the lot -of us, now--" He paused again, but there was still silence. "They say -to us--the people outside--that it is our own fault, that other men have -made a fine thing of teaching, that there are fine schools where life is -splendid, that we have the interests of the boys under us in our hands. -I know that--we all know that there are splendid schools and splendid -lives; but what is that to do with us?... Do you know the kind of man -that we have got over us? Do they know that every time that we have -tried to do decently, it has been crushed out of us by that devil? Not a -minute is our own; even in the holidays we are pursued. Let others come -and try and see what they will make of it." - -A little stir like a wind passed through the listeners, but no one -spoke. Birkland was leaning forward; his eyes were on fire, his hands -waving in the air. - -"But it is not too late--it is not too late, I tell you. Let us break -from it, let us go for the governors in a body and tell them that unless -they improve our conditions, unless they remove Moy-Thompson, unless -they give us more freedom, we will leave--in a body. There is a chance -if we can act together, and better, far better, that we break stones in -the road, that we die free men than this... that this should go on." - -His voice was almost a shout. "My God!" he cried, "think of it! Think of -our chance! We are not dead yet. There is time. Let us act together and -break free!--free!" - -He had caught them, he had held them. They saw with his eyes. They moved -together. Cries broke from them. - -"You 're right, Birkland; you 're right. We won't stand it. It's our -last chance." - -"Now! Let us go now!" - -"Let us go and face him!" - -Birkland held them all with his uplifted hand. "Now or never!" he cried. - -Suddenly the door opened. Into the midst of their noise there came the -voice of the school-sergeant, cold, unmoved--the voice of a thousand -years of authority: "The headmaster would like to see Mr. White as soon -as possible." - -It was the test. They all realized it as they turned to White to see -what he would do. - -For a moment he stood there, tall, gaunt, haggard, his eyes held -by Birkland's, the fire dying from them. For a moment he seemed to -hesitate, his lips moved as though he would speak--then, with a helpless -gesture of his hand, he moved slowly, with hanging head, down the room, -and passed out through the door. - -There was silence, and then from his chair in the dark corner Perrin -laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--MR. PERRIN WALKS IN SLEEP - - -I. - -|WITH examinations there comes a new element into the life of the -term--it is an element of triumph in so far as it marks the approaching -end of an impossible situation; it is, an element of despair in so -far as it provides an overpowering number of answers, differing in the -minutest particulars, to the same questions; and is even an element of -romance, because it heralds the appearance of a final order in which -boys will beat other boys, generally in a surprising and unforeseen -manner. But whatever it means it also tightens to a higher pitch any -situation that there may have been before, so that anything that seemed -impossible now appears incredible; the days are like years, and the -hours, filled with the empty scratching of pens and the rubbing of -blotting-paper, stretch infinitely into the distance and hide release. - -Their effect on everyone on the present occasion was to force -extravagantly the longing that everything might soon be over, that the -situation couldn't stand the kind of strain that was being put upon -it unless the curtain were rung down as soon as possible. Everyone was -hideously busy with long periods of doing nothing except the aforesaid -attention to pens and blotting-paper. Mr. Moy-Thompson had, moreover, -invented a little scheme which always provided, as far as he was -concerned, the pleasantest and most happy results. This was a plan -whereby every master set and corrected the papers of some other -master's form and then wrote a report on them. Here obviously was a most -admirable opportunity for the paying off of old scores, as a bad report -always led, next term, to a miserable period of bullying and baiting, -with the hapless master who had incurred it in the role of victim. -Therefore, if, as was usually the case, your especial enemy was -correcting the papers of your form and would write a report on them, -unless something were done to appease him, you were, during the whole of -the next term, delivered over mercilessly to the Rev. Moy-Thompson. You -might perchance appease your enemy, or you might yourself be examining -_his_ form, in which case you had every opportunity of a pleasant -retort. At any rate, this plan invariably inflamed any hostilities that -might already be in existence and resulted in the provision of at least -half a dozen victims for Mr. Moy-Thompson's games on a later occasion. - -For once, however, these examinations came to Perrin as very vague and -misty affairs. This was not usual with him. As a rule they pleased him, -because he could hold over hoys who had been rude to him during the term -the terror of being detained all the first day of the holidays--also he -considered that he was ingenious in the invention of pleasant Algebraic -conundrums and fascinating, derisive questions in Trigonometry that -prevented any possible solution. The devising of these gave him, as a -rule, pleasure and amusement, but this term he could not face them. - -He set his papers, in an odd, abstracted way, with questions from -earlier papers, and then he sat with his hands folded in front of him -and waited. There was only one subject now in the whole world, and -all these curious boys, these strange, visionary class-rooms, these -appalling noises, and then these equally appalling silences, only -diverted his attention and prevented his thinking. - -There were always three of them now--himself, the other Mr. Perrin, -and Traill--they always went about together. When he was taking an -examination and was sitting at his desk, isolated, by the wall, the -other Mr. Perrin, a gray, thin figure, was behind him, looking into the -room, and Traill stood, as he always did now, just inside the door, but -away from Mr. Perrin's eye, because when he turned round and looked at -him he always slipped, in the cleverest way, out of the door. - -Perrin wondered that other people didn't notice that he was accompanied -by these persons, but probably they were all too occupied with their own -affairs. Of course Traill must be got rid of--one couldn't possibly have -anyone whom one hated as much as that always with one. Sometimes it was -curiously confused, because there were two Traills--a Traill who moved -about and spoke to people (although never to Perrin), and the Traill who -stood always by the door and never moved at all except to slip away. - -Perrin was quite clear in his own mind now that he hated Traill very -much indeed, but he could not be very definitely sure of any reasons. -There had been something once about an umbrella, and there was something -else about Miss Desart, and there was even something about Garden -Minimus; but none of these things were fixed very resolutely in his -mind, and his thoughts slipped about like goldfish in a pond. - -It was quite certain, however, that Traill must not be allowed to go -on like this, because he was a nuisance, and Perrin would sit for long -hours whilst he was superintending examinations thinking about this and -what he could do. - -There were moments, even hours, when the consciousness of the two -figures at his side and the weighty burden of his decision left him. He -saw suddenly as clearly as he had ever seen, and he was frightened; it -was like waking from an evil dream, and just when he was gazing hack at -it, frightened, even terrified, it would come slipping about him again, -and the world would once more grow dark. - -At last he was frightened at these intervals, because he seemed to -realize then how dismal and unhappy it all was, and also how dangerous -it was. - -Once, during one of these clear moments, he was standing, a melancholy -figure, by the iron gate, looking down the Brown Hill road, and Garden -Minimus passed him. Perrin stopped him, and then when he saw the boy's -round face and shining eyes, a little frightened now, and the mouth -quivering a little, he had nothing to say. - -At last he said, "Oh!--Ah!--Garden--I haven't seen much of you lately. -How do the exams go?" - -Perrin had an absurd impulse to take the boy by the arm and ask him to -be kind to him. He was so dreadfully unhappy. - -But Garden was very frightened; he choked a little in his throat, and -his eyes moved frantically down the white road as though appealing for -help. - -"Oh! very well, sir, thank you, sir--I--I could n't do the geography -this morning, sir." - -There was a long pause. Garden gave frightened glances up and down the -road. - -"When do you go for--um, ah,--your holidays, Garden?" - -Garden looked up in Mr. Perrin's face, and suddenly, young though he -was, felt that Mr. Perrin was, as he put it afterwards, "awfully sick -about something--not ratty, you know, but jolly near blubbing." - -He had, with his friends, noticed that Perrin was "jolly odd" during -these days, but now this thought struck him to the extinction of every -other feeling. He had a sudden desire to help--after all, Old Pompous -had been beastly decent to him--and then there came an overwhelming -sensation of shyness, as though his feminine relations had suddenly -appeared and claimed him in the company of his contemporaries. He looked -down, rubbed one boot against the other, and then suddenly, with a -murmured word about "having to meet some fellows--beastly late," was -off. - -Perrin watched him go and then turned slowly back towards the school -buildings. The shadows were creeping about him again. He felt that the -other Mr. Perrin was behind him. He walked stealthily, a little as a cat -prowls.... - -About this time he took great curiosity in Traill's bedroom. He had -never been inside it--he knew only that plain brown door with marks near -the bottom of it where the paint had been scratched. - -But he sat now in his room and thought about it. He sat in a chair by -the windows and looked across the room at his own door, at the square -black lock and the shining brass handle. It was of course very easy -to turn, and then he would be inside. It would be interesting to be -inside--he would know then where the bed was, and the washing-stand, and -the chairs... it might be useful to know. - -He went to his own door and opened it, and looked very cautiously down -the passage; there was no one there--it was all very silent. The sun of -the December afternoon flooded the cold passage, and from downstairs the -shouts of some boys floated up.... There were no other sounds. - -He walked very softly down the passage, his head lowered, his hands -behind his back. He stopped outside Traill's bedroom door and listened -again--he was surprised to hear that his heart was beating very loudly -indeed. He pushed the door open and looked inside. The bed was near the -window--the sun flooded the room and shone on the silver hair-brushes -and the china basin and jug. - -It was a very simple room, and the bed took up most of it; there was one -photograph. - -He went very softly up to it and saw that it was a photograph of Miss -Desart--Miss Desart, smiling, out of doors with the sun on her dress. - -He bent towards the photograph, over the china basin, and kissed it. -Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him. - -III. - -And the week wore away, and Monday came round. Thursday was Speech-Day, -and on Friday everybody went home; all marks and form lists had to be in -the headmaster's room on Wednesday night before nine. - -Perrin, on Monday evening, was vaguely conscious that he had corrected -no papers at all. They lay about his room now in stacks--none of them -were corrected. Some masters posted results as they corrected the -papers; other masters left all the results until the end. It was not -considered strange that Perrin had posted no results. - -But he knew as he looked at these white sheets that he ought to have -done something with them. He stood in the middle of the room with his -hands to his head and wondered what he ought to have done. Why, of -course, he ought to correct them--he ought to say what was good and what -was bad. - -He took up a large pile of them, and they almost slipped from his -fingers because there were so many. He found that it was a paper on -French Grammar. He looked at the slip with the questions. - -"I. Give the preterite (singular only) and past participle of _donner, -recevoir, laisser, s'asseoir_..." - -Ah! s'asseoir was a hard one--he had always found that that was -difficult. He turned over the page: - -J'eu, tu eus, il eut--that looked wrong.. . - -Again, here was Simpson Minor--"Je fus, tu fus, il fut"--surely that was -confused in some way. - -The papers at the bottom slipped: he bent to prevent them falling, and -all of them tipped over. They rose in a cloud about him, a white cloud, -flying into the air, sailing to the other end of the room, diving under -the table and into the fireplace, and a great white pile lay-scattered -wildly on the floor. - -The silly papers stared at him: - -"Je dors tous..." - -"Il faut que..." - -"I used to love my mother, but now I love my aunt..." - -"Rule for the conjunctive and disjunctive pronouns..." - -And then, Simpson Minor: "Je fus, tu fus..." - -He was infuriated with their silly, stupid faces. They lay there on the -floor, staring up at him and making no attempt whatever to move. He was -maddened by their impassivity. He began to stamp on them, and then to -trample on them--he rushed about the room, uttering little cries and -wildly stamping... . - -And then something suddenly seemed to go in his brain, and he stopped -still. What was he doing? He bent feebly to pick them up, but he could -not collect them. He sat down at his table with his head in his hands. - -Then he gave up trying to correct them. After all, they were not the -important thing--the important thing was between himself and Traill; -that was what he must think about. - -This was Monday, and on Friday everyone would go away. He would go away, -he supposed, with the rest: of course he would go to his mother. Traill -would go away with Miss Desart... would he? - -The other Mr. Perrin leant over and whispered in his ear. - -It was from this moment that Mr. Perrin came to the definite decision -that something must be done before Friday. He made five black marks with -a pencil on the yellow wallpaper in his bedroom, and he would lie hack -on his bed at night, staring up at the marks whilst his candle guttered -on the chair at his side. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... -Monday passed, and he scratched another mark across the mark that -he had already made. Tuesday passed, and that he also scratched out. -Wednesday morning came. - -Divinity was the only examination left except Repetition on Thursday -morning: Wednesday afternoon was a half-holiday. - -He gave out the Old Testament questions: - -"1. Say what you know about the rebellion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram; -its cause and effects. - -"2. Write briefly a life of Aaron..." - -He found that now suddenly his brain was perfectly clear. To-day was -Wednesday--before Friday he would kill Traill. The determination came to -him perfectly plainly in the midst of these questions: - -"6. Give context of: 'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found -favor in thy sight.' "'Let us make a captain and let us return into -Egypt.' - -"'Is the Lord's hand waxed short?'" - -He would kill Traill. He did not mind at all what happened to him -afterwards. What did it matter? Perhaps he would kill himself. He was -a complete failure; he had never been any use at all, and had only been -there for people to laugh at and mock him. - -If it had not been for Traill he might have been of use--he might have -married Miss Desart. Traill had been against him in every way, and now -the only thing that was left for him to do was to kill Traill. He hated -Traill--of course he hated Traill; but it was not really because of that -that he was going to kill Traill--it was only because he wanted to show -all these people that he could do something: he was not useless, after -all. They might laugh at him and call him Pompous, but, after all, the -laugh would be on his side at the end.... Traill would not be able to -kiss Miss Desart very much longer--another day, and he would never be -able to kiss her again.... That was a pleasant thought. - -Now that he had decided this question he felt a great deal happier and -easier in his mind. There was no longer any self-pity. - -He had given God His opportunity--he had prayed to God and besought Him; -he had tried very hard at the beginning of this term to go right and to -be agreeable to people and to keep the other Mr. Perrin in the distance, -but everything had been very hard, and that was God's fault for making -it so hard. - -He thought that he would surprise God by killing Traill. God would not -be expecting that. - -Still more would he surprise the place--Moffatt's--that place that had -treated him so cruelly all these years. It would be a grand, big thing -to kill his enemy! - -On that Wednesday, half an hour before the midday dinner, he walked -slowly, with his hands behind his bent back, through the long -dining-hall. The long, black tables were laid for dinner, and beside -every round, shining plate there lay two knives. These knives made a -long, glittering line right down the table, and the sun caught their -gleaming steel and flashed from knife to knife. The sight of them -fascinated Mr. Perrin--it was with a knife that he would kill Traill--he -would cut Traill's throat. He picked them up, one after the other, and -felt their edges--they were all wonderfully sharp. There were a great -many of them--you could cut a great many throats with all those knives, -but he did not want to cut anyone else's throat except Traill's--Traill -was his enemy. - -At dinner that day he was pleasant and cheerful. He joked with the boys -on either side of him and asked where they were going for the holidays. - -"Ah! Cromer--um--yes, very pleasant. Our little friend will amuse -himself hugely at Cromer, no doubt. Sure to over-eat on Christmas Day. -Um, yes--and you, Larkin, where do you go?... Ah! Whitby--long way. Yes, -able to read your holiday task in the train." - -He sent the servant out to sharpen the carving-knife, and when it was -brought back he attacked the mutton in the most furious way, scattering -the gravy over the cloth. - -After dinner he stood above the playing-fields, watching the clouds sail -across the sky. It was a very gray-colored day, but there was the light -of the sun behind it, so that everything shone without color but with a -transparency as though one should be able to see other lights and colors -behind it. - -Perrin thought that he had never seen the clouds assume such curious -shapes--perhaps they were not clouds at all, but rather creatures of the -sky that only his eye could see, just as it was only his eye that could -see the other Mr. Perrin. There were birds with long, bending necks, and -fat, round-faced animals with only one eye, and stiff, angular creatures -with wings and legs like sticks, and then again there were splendid -galleons with sails unfurled, and cathedral towers and trees and -mountain ranges--they were all very strange and beautiful, and perhaps -this was the last time that he would see them. - -Then he saw, passing down the path to the right and walking fast in the -direction of the road, two figures; another glance, and he saw that they -were Miss Desart and Traill--there was no doubt at all that that was -Miss Desart in her gray dress, and that man with his swinging stick was -Traill. - -The sight of them together suddenly roused him to fury; it would be -amusing to kill Traill now, there, before Miss Desart. He did not know -how he would do it, perhaps he would spring on to Traill's back from -behind and strangle him with his hands. - -And so, with the other Mr. Perrin at his ear, he followed them down the -path. - -It was a day of ghosts--even the brown color of the earth of the hill -that so seldom left it was gone to-day. It was not a cold day, and one -felt that the sun was burning with intense heat in some neighboring -place, but gray wisps of mist crept in and out of the black, naked -hedges, and, at the bottom of the hill, banks of mist lay, visiting the -cottages of the village. - -The two figures passed in front of him down the hill and became, like -the rest of the day, gray and misty, and he followed them, stealthily, -with his hands behind his back. Their heads were very close together, -and he could see that they were talking very eagerly. They were -discussing, probably, their plans for the holidays, and it pleased him -to think that he would make all their plans of no avail. It pleased the -other Mr. Perrin also. - -They passed down the village street and then up the steep, narrow path -to the road that led along the top of the cliffs. At the top of the path -the mists had cleared again, and the rocks, hidden at the floor of -the sea by gray vapor, stood as it were in mid-air, their black edges -piercing the sky. When Mr. Perrin climbed to the top of the path, the -other figures had preceded him some way along it and were almost hidden -by boulders. He hastened a little so that he might keep them in sight, -and then he hung back a little lest he should be too close to them. They -were still talking very eagerly and crossed down a stony path that led -to a sheltered cove. At the bottom of this they sat down on the sand, -and Perrin hid behind a rock and watched them. - -The world was terribly still, because, although there was a wind that -made the clouds race along, it seemed to leave the sea alone, and the -water made the very faintest sound as it touched the beach and faded -away into the mist again. - -Mr. Perrin found that his legs were very tired, and so he sat down -behind his stone and peered out at them. They sat very close together on -the sand, and then Traill put out his arm and Miss Desart crept into it -and sat there with her head against his shoulder. And when Perrin saw -that, he knew that he never could do anything to Traill whilst Miss -Desart was there. A dreadful feeling of home-sickness came over him, and -his eyes filled with tears. It was so unfair, so unfair. If only there -had been someone there to whom he could have done that: if only there -had ever been anyone in his life!... but he dashed the tears from his -eyes. He had not come there to cry--he had come there for vengeance, and -then, at that thought, he wondered whether after all he were not so poor -a creature that he would never be able to kill anyone. Supposing he -were to miss even this chance of achievement! There, behind his rock, -he tried to gather together all his reasons for hating Traill; but he -couldn't think properly, and the pebbles on which he was sitting were -pressing into his trousers, and his neck was hurting because he craned -it so. - -At any rate he was very uncomfortable, and as he could certainly do -nothing whilst Miss Desart was there, he had better go away. And so he -got up very slowly and painfully from behind his rock and went timidly -up the path again. - -IV. - -And that night, after going the round of the dormitories for the -last time, he went into his room and closed his door with the clear -determination of settling things up. - -His head had not been so clear for weeks. He saw at once that he had -corrected no papers and that something must be done about that. - -He sat down and, with the term's marks beside him, made out imaginary -examination lists. Of course it was all very wrong, but it was for the -last time, and he had, after all, put the boys in the order in which -they would probably; occur. This took him about an hour. - -Then he took all the files of examination papers and tore them up. This -took a long time, and they filled, at last, his waste-paper basket to -overflowing. Then he sat down to write to his mother. - -_Dear Old Lady:_ - -_This is the last time that you will see or hear from me. Do not regret -it or anything that I have done, because I am no good, and am just a -failure. There is L100 in the bank which I have saved, and you will get -things with it. Sell my things: they will bring a little. I love you -very much, old lady, but I am no good.--Your loving son,_ - -_Vincent Perrin._ - -He fastened up the letter and addressed it to-- - -Mrs. Perrin, - -Holly Cottage, - -Bubblewick, - -Bucks. - -Just as he finished it he heard eleven o'clock strike. He waited until -the clocks had ended, then he opened his door and looked down the -passage. It was quite silent. He walked quietly down the stairs, down -the lower passage, and so to the dining-room. - -Here the long tables were laid for breakfast. He paused at one of the -tables and chose one of the knives; they did not seem very sharp, and -he tried others on the hack of his hand. At last he had selected one and -put it under his coat. He returned to his room and closed his door. When -he got there he stood in the middle of his room, and looked stupidly -at the knife. What had he got it for? There was Traill next door... of -course. - -But he could not do anything now. He had fancied that when one had got -the knife, then the next thing was to go straight and do something with -it. But he found that he could not, that he could not move from where he -was, and that his hand was shaking as though with an ague. - -The knife dropped on to the floor with a sharp sound, and he sank into a -chair. What a wretched, miserable creature he was, after all! There -was nothing fine about him--there was nothing fine about anyone at -Moffatt's--they were all a miserable lot... and to-morrow there would be -speeches and prizes and cheering! What a funny thing life was! - -But it was no use thinking about life with that knife on the floor. It -was quite clear that he wasn't going to do anything to-night--he might -just as well go to bed. His headache was dreadfully bad, and he was -shivering all over. He put the knife into a drawer and blew out his -lamp. - -He hated the dark--he had always hated it--and so he hurried into his -bedroom and tried to light his candle, but his hand was shaking so that -it was a long time before he could strike a match, and he cursed the -matches feebly and felt inclined to cry. - -He was a long time undressing and sat on the edge of the bed in his -shirt and looked at his long, thin legs and hated them; then he saw the -black marks on the yellow paper, and he scratched another off.... At -last he blew out the candle and got into bed. - -He seemed to fall asleep all at once and was aware that he was -asleep--but after a time he felt that although he was asleep, he was -conscious of someone watching him. He opened his eyes and saw that the -other Mr. Perrin was sitting by his bed, watching him, and although the -room was quite dark, the gray figure was in some way luminous, so that -he could see that he wore a long, gray cloak and that his features were -exactly the same as his own. He was forced against his will to get out -of bed and to follow the other Mr. Perrin out of the house, down the -long, white road, down to the sea. Here they were in that little cove -where Traill and Miss Desart had been that afternoon. They sat with -their backs against the rocks, and in all the air there was a strange, -uncertain light, and the sea came over the shore in sullen, dreamy -movements, as a tired woman's fingers move when she is sewing. - -Then Mr. Perrin saw that down the beach there passed a long procession -of gray, bending figures with heavy burdens on their backs. Their faces -were white and hopeless, and their hands, with long, white fingers, hung -at their sides. - -He was conscious of some great feeling of injustice--that this must not -be allowed--and an over-mastering impulse to call out that it was all -wrong and to run forward and relieve them of their burdens--but he could -not move nor utter any sound. Then suddenly he recognized faces that he -knew, and he saw White and Birkland and Combers and Dormer and then--his -own. - -He gave a great cry and broke from his companion and rushed swiftly back -up the white road, in through the black gates, up the stairs, and into -his room. - -He stood in the middle of his room and felt suddenly cold. To his -surprise he saw that the moon was shining through the window, although -there had been no moon on the beach. The room was so bright that he -could distinguish every object perfectly--and then he realized slowly -that things were different. Those silver-backed hair-brushes were not -his, his bed was not there--that photograph.... - -Someone was in the bed. - -For an instant his heart stopped beating. There was a draught between -the window and the door... someone else was in the bed; he had been -walking in his sleep; he was in Traill's room. - -He could see Traill quite clearly now, lying with one hand on the -counterpane, his head on an arm. He was fast asleep, and his month was -smiling. - -Mr. Perrin shook from head to foot. Here was his opportunity--here was -his enemy fast asleep... now. He stepped nearer to the bed--he bent over -the face. Traill's pyjama-jacket was open at the neck... it would be -very easy. - -Then suddenly, with a little cry and his face in his hands, he crept -from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--MR. PERRIN LISTENS WHILE THEY ALL MAKE SPEECHES - - -I. - -|THE next day, its brilliant sun and hard, shining cold, brought in its -train great things. - -The last day of the Christmas term was in some ways greater than the -last day of the summer term, because it was a more private family -affair. - -One addressed one's ancestors, one arrayed one's traditions, one -fashioned one's history, with flags and flowers and orations, but it was -in the midst of the family that it was done. - -Parents--mothers and fathers and cousins--were indeed there, but they, -too, must recognize that it was not for their immediate individual -Johnny or Charles that these things were done, but rather for the great -worship and recognition of Sir Marmaduke Boniface. - -Sir Marmaduke Boniface has hitherto received no mention in this slender -history, but his importance in any chronicle of Moffatt's cannot be -over-estimated. He was a Cornish; magnate, living and dying some hundred -years ago, growing rich in the pursuit of jam, building large stone -mansions out of that same delicacy, fat, pompous, and fading at last -into a heavy stone monument in the corner of the church at the bottom of -the Brown Hill--a great man in his day and in his place, amongst other -things the founder of Moffatt's. - -It was not very long ago; outside the confines of Cornwall he had -been perhaps but vaguely recognized--perchance, perchance, the surest -foundation of an extravagant record.... No matter, here we have our -tradition, and let us make the best possible use of it. - -But this Marmadukery--a hideous word, but it serves--spread far beyond -that stout originator. It was the spirit of the public school, the -_esprit de corps_ signified by the School song (it began "Procul in -Cornubia," and was violently shouted at stated intervals during the -year), the splendid appeal "to our fathers who have played in these -fields before us"--this was the cry that these banners and orations -signified. Moffatt's was not a very old school, true--but shout enough -about some founder or other and the smallest boy will have tears in his -eyes and a proud swelling at his breast. Sir Marmaduke becomes medieval, -mystic, "the great, good man" of history, and Moffatt's is "one of our -good old schools. There's nothing like our public school system, you -know--has its faults, of course; but tradition--that 's the Thing." - -The stout figure of Sir Marmaduke hangs heavy over the day. Everyone -feels it--everyone feels a great many other things as well, but Sir -Marmaduke is the Thing. - -He was the Thing in some vague, blind way even to Mrs. Comber, so that -he kept coming into the confused but happy conversation to which she -treated anxious parents on the morning of this great day. Mothers -arrived in great numbers on these occasions, and these three great days -of the three terms were to Mrs. Comber the happiest and most confused -events in the year. They marked an approaching freedom, they marked the -immediate return of her own children, and they marked an amazing number -of things that ought to be done at once, with the confusing feeling -about Sir Marmaduke also in the air. - -But to-day she was happy; this horrible, terrible term was almost over. -She had been so sure that something dreadful was going to happen, and -nothing dreadful had happened, after all. They were safe--or almost -safe--and her dear Isabel and Isabel's young man would be out of the -place before they knew where they were. Then her own Freddie had last -night, suddenly, before going to bed, taken her in his arms and kissed -her as he had never kissed her before. Oh! things were going to be all -right... they were escaping for a time at any rate. In the thought of -the holidays, of a month's freedom, everything that had happened during -the term was swiftly becoming faint and vague and distant. - -Now she was smiling in her sitting-room with four mothers about her, one -very fat and one very thin, one in blue and one in gray, and they all -sat very stiff in their chairs and listened to what she had to say. - -She had a great deal to say, because she was feeling so happy, and -happiness always provoked volubility, but she made the mistake of -talking to all four of them at once, and they, in vain, like anglers at -a pool, flung, desperately, hurried little sentences at her, but secured -no attention. Beyond and above it all was the shadow of Sir Marmaduke. - -But her happiness, when she drove them at length from her, caught at -the advancing figure of Isabel, with a cry and a clasp of the hand: -"My dear!--no, we 've only got a minute, because lunch is early--one -o'clock, and cold--you don't mind, do you, dear; but there's to be -_such_ a dinner to-night, and I've just had four mothers, and wise is -n't the word for what I've been, although I confused all their children -as I always do, bless their hearts. But, oh! the term's over, and I -could go on my knees and thank Heaven that it is, because I 've never -hated anything so much, and if it had lasted another week I should have -struck off Mrs. Dormer's head for the way she's treating you, for dead -sure certain--" - -"Archie's not coming back, you know," Isabel interrupted. - -"Oh, my dear, I knew. He went and saw Moy-Thompson last week, and of -course it's the wisest thing, and I only wish my Freddie was as young -and we'd be off from here tomorrow." She stopped and sighed a little and -looked through the window at the hard, shining ground, the stiff, bare -trees, the sharp outline of the buildings. "But it's no use wishing," -she went on cheerfully enough, "and we won't any of us think of next -term at all but only of the blessed month of freedom that's in front -of us." Her voice softened; she put her hand on Isabel's arm. "All the -same, my dear, I'm glad you and Archie are getting away from it all. It -was touching him, you know." - -"Yes, I saw it," the girl answered. "And I don't want him to -schoolmaster again if he can help it. I think with father's help he 'll -be able to get a Government office of some sort." She hesitated, then -said, smiling a little, "Are you and Mr. Comber--" She stopped. - -"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Comber bruskily, "we are--and there 's no doubt -that things are better than they have been. I suppose marriage is always -like that: there 's the thrilling time at first, and then you find it -is n't there any longer and you've got to make up your mind to getting -along. Things rub you up, you know, and I'm sure I 've been as tiresome -as anything, and then there's a good big row and the air's cleared--and -shall I wear that big yellow hat or the black one this afternoon?" - -"The black one fits the day better," said Isabel absent-mindedly. She -was wondering whether the time would ever come when she and Archie would -feel ordinary about each other. - -"But isn't it funny," she went on, "that here we are at the end of the -term, and already, with the holiday beginning, all our quarrels and -fights about things like that silly umbrella are seeming impossible? It -was all too absurd, and yet I was as angry as anyone." - -"It all comes," said Mrs. Comber, "of our living too close. Now that -we're going to spread out over the holidays, we 're as friendly as -anything, although really, my dear, I hate Mrs. Dormer as much as -ever"--which was difficult to believe when that lady arrived at a -quarter-past two to pick up Mrs. Comber and Isabel and to go with them -to the prize-giving. - -Her dress was obviously very stiff and difficult, with a high, black -neck to it, with little ridges of whalebone all around it, and out of -this she spoke and smiled. The two ladies were very pleasant to one -another as they walked down the path to the school hall. - -"And where are you going for your Christmas vacation, Mrs. Comber?" - -"I really don't know. It depends so much on the boys and the housemaid. -I mean the housemaid's given notice, you know, because I had to speak -to her about breathing when handing round the vegetables; and she gave -notice on the spot, as they all do when I speak to them, and unless I -can get another, I really don't think I shall ever be able to get away." - -"Really, what servants are coming to!" Mrs. Dormer was struggling with -her collar like a dog. "Poor Mrs. Comber, I am _so_ sorry--of course -management's the thing, but we haven't all the gift and can't expect to -have it." - -"And Mrs. Dormer, I do hope that you are going to be here over -Christmas, so that we can keep each other company. It would be _so_ nice -if you and Mr. Dormer would come to us on Boxing evening, even if I have -n't got a housemaid, and I heard of a very likely one from Mrs. Rose -yesterday--quite a nice girl she sounded--who's been under-parlormaid at -Colonel Forster's now for the last five years, and never a fault to find -with her except a tendency to catching cold, which made her sniff at -times." - -"Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Comber; but my husband and I are hoping to -spend a few days in London about that time. Otherwise we should have -loved--" - -For so much charity is the presence of Sir Marmaduke Boniface -responsible. - -II. - -Sir Marmaduke, and all that his coming signified, was also responsible -for clearing the air in other directions. Young Traill found, on this -morning, that people were very much pleasanter to him than they had -hitherto been. The coming holidays were obviously to be a truce, and, as -he was not returning next term, it was an end of things so far as he was -concerned. He could not feel proud of it all. The events of the term -had shown him that he was not nearly so fine a fellow as he had thought -himself. His pride, his temper, his irritation--all these things were -lions with which he had never fought before: now they must always, for -the future, be consciously kept in check. - -He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going -away--now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, -together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the -buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He -could not sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad -dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened -suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. -Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep -properly to-night. - -At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on -this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton--they -all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble -that he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... - -Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to -him. - -He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The -floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the -air was full of dust. - -"Hullo!" said Traill, coughing in the doorway, "what's all this?" - -"Hullo!" said Birkland, looking up. "I'm glad you 've come. I was coming -round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm off for good." - -"Off for good!" Traill stared in astonishment. - -"Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have -finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I -die--nothing can be worse than this--I gave notice last week." - -"What are you going to do?" asked Traill. - -"I don't know--it's mad enough, I expect. But I've saved a tiny hit of -money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a shot at anything. -Nothing can he as bad as this--nothing!" - -He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with -dust on his cheeks and his hair on end. - -"Well, I'm damned!" said Traill. "Well, after all, I'm on the same game. -I don't know what I'm going to do either. We 're both in the same box." - -"Oh!" said Birkland, "you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you. -I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years -of this; but I'm going to have a shot--so wish me luck!" - -"Why, of course I do," said Traill, coming up to him. "We 'll do it -together--we 'll see heaps of each other." - -"Ah! heaps!" said Birkland, shaking his head. "No, I'm too dry and dusty -a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm better alone. -But I 'll come and see you one day." - -"You were quite right," said Traill suddenly, "in what you said about -the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see -you. You were quite right." - -"Poor boy," said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, "you had a -hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. It drove -you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning, -I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, you met Miss -Desart here." - -"Yes," said Traill, "that makes it worth it fifty times over." - -"And now," went on Birkland grimly, "this afternoon you shall see the -closing scene of our pageant. You shall see our glory, our tradition. -You will hear the head of our body state his satisfaction with the -term's work, proclaim his delight at the friendly spirit that pervades -the school, allude, through the great Sir Marmaduke Boniface, maker of -strawberry jam, to our ancient and honorable tradition in which we all, -from the eldest to the youngest, have our humble share." He spread his -arms. "Oh! the mockery of it! To get out of it!--to get out of it! And -now, at last, after twenty years, I'm going. If it hadn't been for you, -Traill, I believe I'd be here still. Well, perhaps it's to breaking -stones on a road that I'm going... at any rate, it won't be this." - -And so here, too, Sir Marmaduke Boniface is remembered and has his -influence. - -III. - -But with all these fine spirits, with all this stir and friendly -feeling, with all this preparation for a great event, Mr. Perrin had -little to do. This morning had, in no way, been for him a reconciling -or a triumph at approaching freedom. After some three or four hours' -troubled and confused sleep he awoke to the humiliating, maddening -consciousness that he had again, now for the second time, missed his -chance. - -This one thing that he had thought he could do he had missed once more; -not even at this last, blind vengeance was he any good. - -To-morrow it would be too late; Traill, his enemy, would be gone, -they would all be gone, and he would return, next term, the same -insignificant creature at whom they had all laughed for so long; and -then it would be worse than ever, because Traill would have escaped him, -and in the distant ages it would be told how once there had been a young -man, straight from the University, who had flung him to the ground -and trampled on him, and beaten him, in all probability, with his own -umbrella.... - -Ah, no! it was not to be borne--the thing must be done; there must be no -missing of an opportunity this third time. - -He heard the Repetition that morning with a vacant mind. -Somerset-Walpole knew nothing about it, but for once in his life he -suffered no punishment. Perrin thought afterwards that Garden Minimus -had looked at him as though he would like to speak to him, but he could -not think of Garden Minimus now--there were other more important things -to think about. - -Of course it must be done that night--there was only one night left. -Afterwards he thought that he would go down to the sea and drown -himself. He had heard that drowning was rather pleasant. - -His mind was busy, all that morning, with the things that everyone would -say afterwards. He wished very much that he could stay behind in some -way that he might hear what they said. At any rate, they would be able -to laugh at him no longer; he would appear to all of them as something -terrible, portentous, awful... that, at any rate, was a satisfaction. -Miss Desart, of course, would be sorry. That was a pity, because he did -not wish to hurt Miss Desart; but, in the end, it would be all for the -best, because she was much too good for a man like Traill and would only -be unhappy if she married him. - -What a scene there would be when they found Traill in bed with his -throat cut!--no, they would not laugh at him again! - -He spoke to nobody that morning; but, when Repetition was over, he went -back to his room and sat there, quite still, in his chair, looking in -front of him, with the door closed. - -And then Traill came up and spoke to him just as he was on his way up to -the school for the speeches. - -He smiled and said, "Oh! I say, Perrin, do let us make it all up--now -that term is over, and I 'm not coming back. I do hate to think that we -should not part friends--it's all been my stupid fault, and I am so very -sorry." - -But Perrin did not stop, nor answer. He walked straight up the path -with his eyes looking neither to the left nor the right. After all, you -couldn't shake hands with a man whose throat you were going to cut in -the evening. He heard Traill's exasperated "Oh! very well," and then he -passed into Big School. - -He stepped into the hall as unobtrusively as possible. The boys were -always there first, and it was their way to cheer the masters as they -came in. If you were very popular, they cheered you loudly; if you were -unpopular, they cheered you not at all. Perrin had no illusions about -his popularity, and the silence on his entrance did not therefore -surprise him, but matters were not improved by the roar of cheering that -greeted Traill. Ah, well! they would never cheer him again. - -The boys were placed in rows down the room according to their forms, and -the masters sat where they pleased. Perrin stationed himself in a corner -by the wall at the back; he fastened his eyes on the platform and kept -them there until the end of the ceremonies--no one noticed him--no one -spoke to him--not for him were their songs and festivals. - -The raised platform at the end of the hall was surrounded with flowers, -and ranged against the wall, seated on hard, uncertain chairs were the -Governing Body, or as many of the Governing Body as had spared time to -come. - -These were for the most part large, serious, elderly gentlemen, with -stout bodies, and shining, beady eyes; their immovability implied that -they considered that the business would be sooner over were they passive -and as nonexistent as possible--they all wore a considerable amount of -watch-chain. - -In front of them was a long, black table, and on this were ranged -the prizes--a number of impossibly shiny volumes that might have been -biscuit-tins, for all the reading that they seemed to contain. Beside -them in a wooden armchair was seated a little man like a sparrow, -in patent leather boots and a high, white collar, whose smile was -intermittent, but regular. - -This was Sir Arthur Spalding, who had been asked to give away the -prizes, because ten other gentlemen had been invited and refused. On the -other side of the table the Rev. Moy-Thompson tried to express geniality -and authority by the curves of his fingers and the bend of his head; -he stroked his beard at intervals. In the front rows the ladies were -seated: Mrs. Comber, large and smiling, in purple; Mrs. Moy-Thompson, -endeavoring to escape her husband's eye, but drawn thither continually -as though by a magnet; the Misses Madder, Mrs. Dormer, Isabel, and many -parents. - -The proceedings opened with a speech from the Rev. Moy-Thompson. He -alluded, of course, in the first place to Sir Marmaduke Boniface, "our -founder, hero, and example"; then by delicate stages to Sir Arthur -Spalding, whose patent leather boots simply shone with delight at the -pleasant things that were said. This preface over, he dilated on the -successes of the term. K. Somers had been made a Commissioner of -Police in Orang-Mazu-Za (cheers); W. Binnors had been fifteenth in -an examination that had something to do with Tropical Diseases -(more cheers); M. Watson had received the College Essay Prize at St. -Catherine's College, Cambridge; and C. Duffield had obtained a second -class in the first part of the Previous Examination at the same -university (frantic cheering, because Duffield had been last year's -captain of the Rugby football.) All this, Mr. Moy-Thompson said, was -exceedingly encouraging, and they could not help reflecting that Sir -Marmaduke Boniface, were he conscious of these successes, would be -extremely pleased (cheers). Passing on to the present term, he was -delighted to be able to say that never, in all his long period as -headmaster, could he remember a more equable and energetic term -(cheers). As a term it had been marked perhaps by no events of -special magnitude, but rather by the cordial friendliness of all those -concerned. Masters and boys, they had all worked together with a -will. It was a familiar saying that "a nation was blessed that had no -history"--well, that applied to such a term as the one just concluded -(cheers). If he might allude once more to their excellent Founder, he -was quite sure that Sir Marmaduke Boniface was precisely the kind of man -to rejoice in this spirit of friendship (cheers). He must here allude -for a moment to his staff. Surely a headmaster had never been surrounded -with so pleasant a body of men--men who understood exactly the kind -of _esprit de corps_ necessary if a school's work were to be properly -carried on; men who put aside all private feelings for the one great -purpose of making Moffatt's a great school--that was, he truly believed, -the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's--they might be -sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept before -him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, who -would give away the prizes. - -Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic -cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness -of Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the -room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's head -intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved -their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed -their immovability. - -Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he -believed in our public schools--that was the thing that made men of -us--he should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should -like to say one thing to the boys--that they were not to think that -winning prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who -failed to obtain them remember that "slow and steady wins the race." -It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. -No--um--ah--he never used to win prizes at school himself. It wasn't -always the boys--here he pulled himself up and remembered that he had -said it before. There was something else that he'd wanted to say, but -he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was conscious of Mr. Perrin's -eyes and thought that he'd never seen anything so discouraging. He did -not seem to be able to escape them. What a dangerous-looking man! - -So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them from -our great poet Tennyson--! He looked for the little piece of paper on -which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched his -pockets--no--where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the third row, -suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. He -would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine -poet--yes--and now he would give away the prizes. - -IV. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's -speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to -speak, "to be put in." He was not aware, in the very least, that his -eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson acute -discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching him -with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was not -aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity "because he looked -so queer, as though he had a headache." - -He stood there, beside the small round-eyed boys of the First and Second -Forms, staring in front of him, without moving. The first words of -Moy-Thompson's speech fell upon his ears unconsciously. It did not -matter what they said, it did not matter what they thought, the case at -issue was between himself and Traill and he faced that with an irritated -impatience at these tiresome hours that kept him from his eager -realization. - -He began slowly to understand the things that Moy-Thompson was saying. -And suddenly it was as though he had, morally and mentally, taken -himself, forcibly, out of one room into another--out of a room in which -there was only Traill's figure, gray, shadowy, by the door, otherwise -dark, obscured by a clinging mist... a dangerous place... into a place -that had for its furniture tangible things, things like this speech that -Moy-Thompson was making, things that had to do with no especial figure, -but rather with a vast, intolerable condition, with a system. - -What was he saying?... How dare he? Perrin moved impatiently in his -place. He looked at the row of faces raised to the platform, the silly, -stupid faces. _That_ Mrs. Thompson in her thin black dress with her -bony neck; _that_ silly, cheerful Mrs. Comber in her bulging, flaming -garments; _that_ Lady Spalding, so stiff and sharp, as though she were -of any importance to anyone--all of them listening to these things that -Moy-Thompson was saying, and believing them, believing these... Lies! - -Traill was almost forgotten as Perrin stepped a little forward from the -wall in order that he might hear better. The sight of Moy-Thompson's -face up there on the platform smiling, so complacent, patriarchal with -that white beard wagging at the end of it, brought the blood to his -head. He clenched his thin hands. What were the other men doing that -they could stand there and listen to these lies? Why did they not step -forward and tell the truth to all those stupid women and those fat -governors, to the little man with the shining boots on the platform? -They knew that these thing were lies. Had not this term been hell, had -it not been slow torture for them all, had not that man with the white -beard full knowledge of these lies that he was telling? What was his -private quarrel with Traill as compared with this monstrous injustice? -He was pale now, with a long red mark against the white of his cheek. He -had stepped right away from the wall and the small boys of the First and -Second Forms were watching him. - -It came upon him suddenly, like a flash from the lightning of heaven, -that it was for him to escape these things. He had suffered more than -the others, he knew better than they the things that were done in this -place! Something was going round in his head like a red-hot wire, but he -remembered, even at that confused moment, that scene a few days before -in the common room, when they had all been so nearly stirred to revolt -by Birkland. What if he were to break the bonds?... What rot! what rot! -what rot! He could have shouted it to the roof--"Lies! Lies! Lies!" - -There was a little stir and rustle as Moy-Thompson finished his -speech--ladies' dresses moved against the chairs, boots slipped along -the floor--and then a burst of cheering and clapping. Perrin rubbed his -hands against one another--they were hot and dry and something rather -like a bobbin on a latch went up and down in his throat--his eyes were -burning. He moved a little further from the wall and a little nearer to -the central gangway between the blocks of boys. - -And now Sir Arthur Spalding stood nervously behind the glittering copies -of "Tennyson's Poems," Sir Robert Ball's "Wonders of the Heavens," -"The Works of Spencer," and other volumes of our admirable classics. -They began with the bottom of the school, and a small fat boy with a -crimson face, boots that creaked like a badly-oiled door and were shaped -like Chinese boats, staggered up to the platform. A lady, prominent -for her size and large picture hat moved eagerly in her chair, clapped -vehemently with her white gloves and so proclaimed herself a mother. - -Sir Arthur Spalding had every intention of making a pleasant speech to -each prizewinner--"something that they could remember afterwards, you -know"--and began to say something to the small and red-faced boy, but -was startled by the sound of eager, anticipatory breathing close to -his ear. Turning round, he discovered that three more small boys were -waiting anxiously for their turn and that others were coming up the -room. He therefore hurried along with "Here you are, my boy. Remember -that prizes aren't everything in life--hope you 'll read it--delightful -book." - -Mr. Perrin watched these boys passing up and down with eager eyes. He -must wait--now was not the time, but soon there would be another speech -to thank the absurd man with the boots for giving the prizes away. To -his excited fancy it seemed to him now that the rest of the staff were -looking at him as though they knew what he was going to do. They must -have felt as indignant as he did at those lies that this man had been -telling them. But those governors should know the truth for once at any -rate and in a way that they should not forget... strangely, in the back -of his mind he wished that his mother could be present.... - -The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered -according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, -had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest -of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very -pleased with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a -flushed face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the -leading rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with -a book and a few pleasant words--fool! Mr. Perrin's breath came quicker -as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat. - -Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few -words. It had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have -so distinguished a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that -afternoon. It must have been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time -amongst so many engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. -(Cheers--Sir Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at -his shirt cuffs as though his engagements were written down there.) They -on their part were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the -room, however young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as -long as he lived, those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it -was not only for the winners of prizes that life was intended (here -Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated many of Sir Arthur Spalding's remarks and -the governors moved restlessly in their chairs), but (and here -Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a new note) it might not be, perhaps, -presumptuous of him to hope that it was not only for them that afternoon -might have pleasant memories. For Sir Arthur Spalding also, he might -hope, there would be times in the future when he would look back and -remember that he had seen, for an instant at least, one of our British -public schools in one of its happiest and most prosperous phases. He -might flatter himself-- - -"It 's all lies!" - -The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. -To the small hoys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the -over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, -there may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange -master of theirs--"that old ass Pompous"--seen his edging from the wall -into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands clenching -and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that sudden -lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his feet, -could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to the -governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively desiring -his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the staff, -the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a wind, -"What? Who?..." They rose in their places, they uttered little cries, -they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice--they were held, -paralyzed. - -And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange -figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window -upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his -gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire.... - -"It's lies, all lies!" The words came tumbling out one upon another. "I -don't care--I must speak. Ladies and gentlemen,"--he caught his throat -for a moment with his hand--"I know that this is no occasion for saying -those things, but no one else has the courage--the courage. It is not -true what he has been saying"--he pointed a vehement, trembling -finger at the white patriarch. "We are unhappy here, all of us. We are -downtrodden by that man--we are not paid enough--we are not considered -at all--never considered--everything is wrong--we all hate each -other--we hate _him_--he hates _us_--we are unhappy--it is all hell." - -He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from -head to foot. He cried once more querulously, "It is all hell here... -hell!" - -And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly -to his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by -the wide doors behind him. - -There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school: - -"It 's Perrin." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM - - -I. - -|HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across -the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, -nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that -his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest -in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact -was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the -rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might -hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they -might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, -ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. -Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as -though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, -the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly -something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the -table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, -worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly -and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was -surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That -morning it had meant so much, now---- - -It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, -greater, more sweeping--a system, and at the head of the system, a -tyrant. - -He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind -his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What -would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must -be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions -that had been with him during these last weeks--the illusions about -the other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill -being always in the room--had vanished suddenly. Things were as they -most certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most -solidly there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled -at their solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that -had seemed only that morning of such paramount importance were now -insignificant. That quarrel over the umbrella, for instance--really, how -absurd! When one was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why -then this ignominious quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the -question of Traill aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were -bigger things now in the world. - -What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would -the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and -thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with -his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they -would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they -would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had -hitherto despised. - -He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that -hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity.... - -The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, -but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the -world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the -darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o'clock and presently it would be -time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room -before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. -Perrin saw them gathered there, talking. - -He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course -they would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. -He felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they -had to say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden -silence, and then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their -plans; perhaps they had already prepared a written protest supporting -his own outburst. - -He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes -and a beating heart to the Upper School. - -He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of voices, and he entered -the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire--all of them, -he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they -seemed to be all talking at once, West's voice above the others. - -"Oh, but of course he 's dotty. It's been coming on for years." - -And the other voices came together: - -"Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It's a disgrace, a -thing like that happening." - -"Moy-Thompson's face! I wouldn't have missed it for all the holidays in -the world!" - -"No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have got -started before anyone saw him." - -"Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of -him." - -But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these -speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a -smile and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him. - -They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the -fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no -movement. They watched him. - -He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were -watching him, he thought, curiously. - -His confidence began to leave him. - -"It's nearly chapel time," he said uneasily. "Hum! ha!" - -There was no answer. - -"Well, Birkland, I 've put your words into deeds, haven't I? Yes, -indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity." He stopped -again. - -Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were -looking at the papers. - -Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him -any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of -course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; -had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he -had seized his--well! - -"Yes," he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; "I flatter myself that -something will come of it. It will be difficult for them, I think, to -disregard that altogether--hum--yes." - -There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly: - -"Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?" - -"Chapel?" sharply. "Yes, of course." - -Again silence. Then Comber said pompously: - -"Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I should -go to bed now if I were you. It 's a good holiday that you 're wanting. -Take my advice. Bed's the place--shouldn't go to chapel if I were -you--hem." - -"No, shouldn't go to chapel," repeated Dormer slowly. - -Perrin began to breathe qnickly. "What do you mean?" he cried. "Why -shouldn't I go to chapel? What do you mean about a holiday?" - -"You 're tired," Birkland said qnickly. "That's what it is. We're all -tired--overdone. We've all been feeling it for weeks. It's a good thing -term's come to an end. I knew something would happen. You 're tired, -Perrin." - -"Tired!" He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. "Tired! -It's jealousy, that's what it is! You don't like to see me taking the -lead--you hate my coming to the front. You've always hated me, the lot -of you. You 're jealous, that's what it is. You 're cruel"--his voice -suddenly broke--"I was helping you all. That's why I spoke--and now--" - -And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room. - -II. - -Back to his room again, muttering, "Jealous, that's what they -are--beasts! Jealous! My God, they 're beasts!" - -He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a -note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus: - -_'Sir:_ - -_Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible -to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel...._ - -So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of -the window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes--the boys from -the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy -chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night--the dark-swelling -trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells -stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that -his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the -evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of -his feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior -common room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them -rot! He might have known that that would be the way that they would take -it--he was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to -the future. He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. -He must brace himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because -this was to be the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown -him how determined he was, when he had made it evident that he would -withdraw no jot or tittle of his accusation, then indeed he would -have the place at his feet. To-morrow, when they had all heard of this -interview, they would sound a very different note. - -He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were -cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it -was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, -and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again. - -His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought -of Traill---Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one -thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection -somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public -outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he -confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had -been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it -was that he was going to do. - -He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it -was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn--"Lord, -dismiss us with Thy Blessing"--and singing it too with vigor that, -exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching freedom. -He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the window. -Then he sat down again and considered the matter. - -Moy-Thompson's reception of him offered two possible alternatives. He -could be humble or he could he arrogant--he could plead for mercy or -he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two -possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as -possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There -would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must -make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions -were made he would promise to say no more to the governors. - -On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped -the sides of his chair--well, he would find that he had made a mistake. -The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body trembled--in -half an hour there would be this battle! - -In half an hour!--in less than half an hour! Already the opening of the -chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the evening -breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and singing. -On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed into -preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was -the last night of the term--there was to be a concert--and by this time -to-morrow-- - -They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once -more there was silence--the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were -closed. - -Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the -very heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his -enemy had been Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the -ingenuity of the devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin -had thought that it was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, -with extraordinary clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. -That spider with that dark study for his web was spinning, always -spinning--more effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with -its dim light, surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other -room into which he was going frightened him against his will. He was -determined that he would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the -back of his mind was an undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, -Moy-Thompson would get the better of him. - -He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not -beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson's -study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table -by the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical -busts on the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white -beard at the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with -flashes of golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet. - -Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not -raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen -down slowly, looked up and smiled. - -"Ah, Mr. Perrin--do come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you -coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?" - -Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed -haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to -collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. - -"But you must be tired--you must indeed. Really, I insist--this -easy-chair by the fire." Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his -hands, sat down. - -"I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this letter--hum, -yes--only a minute." A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked -solemnly in the distance: "Of course, he 'll wait--of course, he 'll -wait--of course, he 'll wait." - -At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. -His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his -clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. - -"Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long--really, only a few -moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a long day. But come, -Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've got to discuss this -matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I -have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter." - -Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. "No, please, Mr. Perrin, I -beg of you--please be seated--hum--I really am most anxious to prove to -you that I am nothing but friendly in this matter." Moy-Thompson paused -and tapped his nails, with sharp little rattling noises, one against -the other. "Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm sure you must agree with me that a -disturbance like that of this afternoon is exceedingly unusual and I may -say with very considerable truth that no one who was present was more -completely and remarkably surprised than myself. I do not pretend," he -went on with a smile and lifting a deprecating hand towards the fire, -"that I am so pleasantly self-assured as to believe that there is no -unsound plank in this good ship of ours; there are many things, I am -sure, that would be the better for a newer and a younger hand, but I -had supposed--and naturally supposed, I think--that any complaints that -there were would be brought to the committee or myself privately. From -time to time complaints _have_ been brought to me and I may say that -I have always dealt with them to the best of my ability, but--" here -Moy-Thompson paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently--"do -you know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to -have come to me with any complaint of any kind?" - -Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long -speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular -and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was -bent towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he -would reply and half started from his chair. - -Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand. - -"No--please, a moment--may I not explain myself? although it needs -surely no explanations. I mean the admirable relationship that has -always, I believe, existed between us. I must confess that if I had -yesterday been questioned as to which of my staff I could most securely -trust and honor I should have named yourself." He paused and then slowly -added, "I need scarcely remind you that it is only a fortnight since -there passed between us, in this very room, an interview of the most -friendly and confidential description." - -There was no word from the chair. - -"You must remember that, during the many years that have passed since -you have been with me here you have made no kind of complaint. You have -had many, very many opportunities, for voicing things freely to me. I -have always been frank with you--you 've seized none of them. All the -more amazing, the more compelling my surprise then, at what occurred -to-day." - -At last there was a pause that demanded a reply. The room was filled -with silence and neither man moved. Perrin was striving to clear his -brain. What was he to say? What had he come to say? Where were all the -things that he had thought out so carefully in his study? Moreover, -it was true; it was all amazingly true. They had been friends, he and -Moy-Thompson, all these years, great friends. Other members of the -staff may have rebelled and quarreled and disputed, but he had always -supported authority. He remembered now with a kind of dazed surprise the -pleasure that he had taken in those little quarter-of-an-hour interviews -in that very room. This momentous and horrible fact rose now before -him and froze any reply that he might make. He had been Moy-Thompson's -devoted henchman for twenty years--was he the right man to head a -rebellion now? - -In spite of the long silence he made no reply. - -"Well," said Mr. Moy-Thompson, rubbing one hand against another, "I see -that you admit, Mr. Perrin, that there is justice in some of my remarks. -These things are facts--that you have been twenty years without a -complaint, and that until this afternoon you and I (here more rubbing -of the hands) were working shoulder to shoulder at a hard task that -demanded our friendly cooperation. Then suddenly there is this outbreak; -an outbreak unprecedented in the annals of our school; an outbreak for -which there is no obvious reason; an outbreak that is in its nature, I -should imagine, extremely foreign to your own character and habits--" -Mr. Moy-Thompson paused an instant and then suddenly, "Well, what is the -only explanation? What can be the only explanation?" - -Still no word from Mr. Perrin. - -"Well," continued Mr. Moy-Thompson genially, "overwork, of course. -Overwork. We have perhaps all noticed that, during these last weeks, -things were being a little too much for you--hum--yes--natural enough, -natural enough. We 're all tired at times and it's a long time since you -were out of harness--yes, indeed." - -"I 'm not tired." - -"Ah, well, perhaps the onlookers, in some cases, see the most of the -game. But you must admit that it affords an admirable and sufficient -excuse for to-day's little episode--the only excuse indeed (this a -little more sharply)--but an excuse that we all of us--I speak for -others as well as myself--are only too ready to seize. A holiday, my -friend, a holiday--there we have our doctor's medicine." - -Out of the waters of misery that were closing about him the man raised -his head. Of all the many things that had come upon him this was the -worst. He faced it with despair--he knew as he heard the other man's -words pour along like a river that he had nothing to say. How could he -make a fine rebel when the day before yesterday he had been assisting -and abetting? How could he make a fine rebel when they all thought that -he was merely overdone? How could he make a fine rebel when instead of -the terror that he thought that he had brought he found only a gentle -contempt and the opinion that he was tired and needed a holiday? - -Somewhere, in the back attics of his brain, something was telling him -that this was not quite so simple as it appeared--that this old man in -his dark room was playing as elaborate a game as did ever Philip II in -the dark recesses of his palace at Madrid. And he saw, \ although his -head was buzzing, that there was, in that plan, good wisdom of a kind. -To have Perrin back again, in the chains of the old familiar authority, -was to have Perrin silenced, humbled--finally quieted. But how was he to -battle with these things? They were too clever for him; he knew that the -accumulated years of tradition behind him, the heaping together of those -many, many times when he had knocked on that study door, the solemn -consciousness of the obsequious attentions that he had so often paid -to that white beard, these things rose and defeated him--defeated him on -the last occasion that the chances of battle were to be offered him. - -Yet he tried to say something. - -He spoke in a tired, passionless voice. - -"I had reason," he said slowly, "for what I did. I meant what I said -and I mean it now. You have made this place hateful to all of us and I -want to hand in my resignation now. I had hoped that what I did this -afternoon might have brought matters to a head, might have helped us all -to act together as a body. But they 're jealous of me--if anyone else -had done it--" - -His head dropped--his voice ceased. Then he repeated, drearily, "I want -to hand in my resignation." - -The clock ticked on solemnly. At last Moy-Thompson spoke, very gently -and a little sadly: - -"I am sorry, extremely sorry, if, after all these years you feel that I -have acted unjustly towards you, but I hope that you will not think me -unfriendly--my last wish is to appear in any way unfriendly--if I say -that this opinion of yours--a little hurriedly assumed, perhaps--owes -something to the mental fatigue to which I have already alluded. All I -beg of you is to wait before you hand in your resignation, to wait -until you are stronger both in mind and body. I think I may say that -the governors will only too readily allow you a holiday during next -term--when the summertime is with us you will return alert and fresh in -body and mind." - -Tick--tick--tick went the clock--"Here's a good offer--Here's a good -offer." - -"I wish to hand in my resignation," said Mr. Perrin. - -"Of course if you will, you will. I can only say that we shall all be -genuinely sorry. Let me, at any rate, implore you to wait before making -your decision. In a few weeks' time perhaps--" - -"I meant every word that I said this afternoon. This place is -scandalous--scandalous--" - -"I regret that you feel that. I'm extremely sorry that you feel about it -as you do. But at least let me beg you to wait for a few weeks. Write to -me. Write to the governors--write to anyone you please. But wait--let me -urge you to wait." - -Mr. Moy-Thompson's hand was laid upon Perrin's knee. Again there was -silence. Then at last: - -"Very well. What does it matter? I will wait. I haven't the strength to -break with anything. I'm no use--no good." He got to his feet and then -suddenly broke out: - -"But I tell you, I'm right. You 're too clever for me, but I'm right. -What I've said is true, it's all true. You 're a devil. You've had us -all at your mercy for years and years. You've worked us against one -another until you've rubbed all our courage and finer pieces off us and -you 're pleased--you 're pleased. You've had a fine life of it--you, a -God's parson--and you've made money and you've broken hearts and you've -eaten and drunk--and you 're too clever for us, but there's hell for you -somewhere. I see it and I know it." - -He broke away and burst stumbling from the room. - -It may be that for once the man whom he left heard the sound of some -judgment in his ears, for he stood, long after every stir in the world -about him had passed away, staring, without movement and afraid. - -III. - -But Perrin had no exultation in him; it was not of Moy-Thompson he was -thinking. The last stones of his fortress had been removed from his -defenses and he stood utterly naked to the world. - -He did not attempt now to gather his resources about him. He cared no -more for any face that he might present to the world. He had reached the -heart of his kingdom and he saw that he was no good--no good at all--an -utterly useless man. - -He had not even the pluck to defy Moy-Thompson, to fling his resignation -in his face. He was no good. - -He was very cold when he reached his room, and as he pushed back the -door he saw Traill. Traill was standing in the middle of the room, -looking very shy. - -Perrin was not glad or sorry to see him. He had no feeling about him at -all. - -"Good evening." - -"Good evening." - -"Won't you sit down?" - -"No, thank you. I only came in for a moment." - -"Oh, all right. What is it?" - -"Oh! Only I wanted to tell you--that--well--oh, that I thought you were -awfully plucky this afternoon." - -"Oh! Thank you. It wasn't plucky really--it was a very foolish thing to -do." - -"No--really--the other fellows did n't understand--" - -"Oh, yes! They understood very well." - -Traill paused. He obviously hated the whole affair but was determined to -go through with it. - -"Well, I say, I'm leaving to-morrow, you know--not coming back--and -I thought that it would be a pity if we parted--well, sick with each -other. What do you say? We've had one or two turn-ups, but we 're -friends, are n't we?" - -"Of course." - -"Shake hands, will you?" - -They shook hands. - -"Right you are. Look Isabel and me up in town one day, won't you? Always -awfully pleased. Well, I must be going." - -And, with a sigh of relief, Traill moved away. - -But what did the boy know, what could the boy know, of the man's utter -despair as he sat there through the night? Traill went out to his life. -"He had made it up with the chap," but Perrin, in the dark, was looking, -with staring eyes, at Himself. At last, that gray figure that had -haunted him so closely during these weeks was with him face to face. - -And, with the coming dawn, he knew what it was that he would do. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--THE GOLDEN VIEW - - -I. - -|WITH the coming dawn he knew what it was that he would do. He waited, -sitting in his chair without moving and watching, with unseeing eyes, -the gray cold pane of his window and the last faint glow of the sinking -coals that lingered in the grate. He did not know what he could have -said to Moy-Thompson, what he ought to have said. He thought that he -might have faced it out better had the interview been in some other -place. There were so many things that hung about that room and made it -impossible for him to speak. He had not known that it would be so hard. - -But he did not care, he really did not care. He saw vaguely that all -these many years the growing suspicion that he was really no good had -been coming upon him but he had never confessed it--now it stared him in -the face. If he had been any good he would have defied Moy-Thompson. -He knew that he had not the courage, at his time in life, to go out and -face the world again and get some other work to do. Also he had not the -courage to come back another term and go on with the work here. He had -not even had the pluck to hate Traill properly, as any other man would -do. - -And yet he did not feel that it was all his fault. He was a pleasant -enough man if only someone had tried to like him--and then these -headaches--and then those days when his brain was so strangely -confused--no, it was not entirely his fault. And, last of all, if -Isabel Desart.---Well, why think about it? They all mocked him--even -Moy-Thompson did not think him important enough to be angry with. He was -very sick and tired of life. - -II. - -The dawn came late in those winter mornings but the house was very -silent as the heavy black behind the window lifted to a lighter gray. -Some clock downstairs chimed and Perrin raised his eyes from the black -cold grate and saw that soon it would be sunrise. - -The things in his room were ghostly shapes, but he knew where everything -was and he moved about, himself the greatest ghost of all, making -everything tidy. He put the books back into their places, he tore up the -pile of papers on the table, he laid a note that he had written on the -middle of the cloth where it could easily be seen. - -At last he stood for a moment and looked at it all in silence, then with -a little sigh he took his greatcoat from the back of the door where it -was hanging, put it on and went out. He passed very softly through the -solemnly-dark corridors, down the cold stone stairs, and along the dark -hall that presented such odd shapes and figures to him in the half-light. - -He swung back the bolts and bars of the hall-door and stepped out into -the mysterious garden. He drew a deep breath at the sweetness of it; -its beauty crowded upon him as though with eager fingers, taking hold of -him, almost as though it were pleading with him to stay and take pause -before he made any decision. It was an ordinary enough garden in the -daytime, but now was the most strangely moving moment in all the cycle -of the hours when the sun had sent word of his gorgeous coming and when -the brown earth and the seeds and roots held by it stirred to share in -the pageant. The breeze in Perrin's face was pure with all the freshness -of the first moments of the day and all about him he seemed to hear the -movement and stirring of countless things. Afterwards in the cold winter -day bare branches would rattle against the hard light of the frozen -sun--now everything was wrapt in curtains of silver mist. - -He left the garden and went down the Brown Hill towards the sea. In -front of him a great sheet of sky was slowly catching light into the -threads and fibers of it. From its foundations where the dark band of -the land hid it great fountains of color were held behind the cloud -and the suggestion of their richness was passing already into the -thickly-curtained gray. - -Mr. Perrin turned aside towards the bottom of the hill and struck off -across a frozen field into a bare and leafless wood. The light was -growing with every moment, the bare outlines of the country stood out -sharp and black against the surrounding gray and the great bank of cloud -was slowly filling with golden light. The wood was very still; through -the heart of it a little avenue of trees ran--now they were gaunt and -stiff in two lines with the road cold and gray between. At the end -of the little avenue there is suddenly a break, a sharp cliff running -sharply to the white road beneath, and then below the road again there -is the sea. It is a wonderful view from here, for the sea curves like a -silver bowl into infinite distance. Through the country-side it is known -as "The Golden View," not golden now, however, but mysteriously moving -and heaving beneath its gray veil with the faintest threads of color -beginning to interlace the fabric of it. - -Mr. Perrin stood, a curiously tiny figure, at the end of the avenue and -looked at the gray cliff at his feet. Behind him was the dark wood; in -front of him a vast and swiftly-changing world. Very soon, as the sun -rose above the sea, the world would be, once again, undisturbed. "To -fling oneself down on to that cold white road" was a very easy death to -die, but even now as he faced it he wondered whether he had the courage. -He shivered in the cold and drew his coat closer about him. - -He thought that he would walk about a little. He turned round and saw -coming towards him, through the leafless trees, Isabel Desart. - -III. - -He did not know what to do or say; at the first sight of her he thought -that his eyes had deceived him and, because at this supreme moment of -his life he was thinking of her, he had imagined that he saw her. She -was dressed also in gray, with a gray cloak and a little round gray hat. - -And then in the hearty ring of her voice he knew that it was no ghost. -"Oh!" he said faintly, taking a step towards her, and his voice was full -of pain. - -"Good morning, Mr. Perrin," she said very easily; "I could not sleep and -I had thought that I would come down here to see the sun rise--and then -I saw you pass through the school gates and I was impertinent enough to -follow you. I want to talk to you." - -"To talk to me?" - -He noticed suddenly that he was cold and that his teeth were chattering. - -"Yes. Let us walk on to Rayner's Point. We ought to get there just as -the sun rises." - -He followed her as she turned down the path. His mind had been so full -of what he had intended to do that he felt that she must have known. -He glanced at her almost guiltily as he followed her. How beautiful she -was! He pulled his coat closer about his ears. - -"I hope you didn't very much want to be alone," she said smiling at him; -"but really, I couldn't miss my opportunity. I have been wanting--very -badly--ever since yesterday afternoon--to speak to you." - -"Since yesterday afternoon," he repeated bitterly. "You must feel as -they all do, about that." - -"I don't know how the others feel," she answered almost fiercely. "That -is no business of mine. But I understood, I sympathized, a great deal -more than you would believe--and I wanted to tell you so." - -"You couldn't understand--you couldn't sympathize. It doesn't touch -you anywhere. You 're going to-day and you won't come back. Well, don't -think of any of us again. Don't try and help us--it only makes it worse -for us." - -"No, please; that is unkind and untrue. If you would let me I would -understand--and even if I am going away it would be something for both -of us if we knew that we had parted friends, that--" - -But suddenly he interrupted her, standing in her path, his face working -most strangely, muttering words that she could not catch. She wondered -what he was going to do, he looked so odd and wild against the breaking -dawn. Then he seemed to turn from her with a gesture that had some -strange greatness in it; he faced the sea, his hands clenched behind his -back and in the still hush of the morning she heard his sobs. - -"Oh, please--don't," and then she stayed in infinite distress waiting -for him to turn. His figure was so desolate, so thin and ragged, in the -cold morning air, and her heart was full of the deepest aching pity. - -At last he turned round to her. "Let us go on," he said roughly; "I -am all in pieces--don't mind me--you shouldn't have spoken to me like -that--it's more than I can stand." Then after a pause he went on, "You -mustn't talk of our being friends. A man like myself cannot be a friend -of yours." - -"That is for me to say," she answered gently. "I have been so wrong all -this term. I have only made things worse instead of better and I did so -want to help. It's been awful this term and yesterday afternoon was the -worst of all. Oh! If you only knew how I had agreed with the things you -said!" - -"It is n't any use," he answered. "It's too late." - -"It isn't too late. It's never too late. If you won't let me help you, -why then perhaps you 'll help me." - -"Help you?" - -"Yes--if you knew how miserable it will always make me if we part like -this--I shall never cease my regret. Please, tell me a little of what -you've felt, of what you 're going to do. It isn't kind to me to leave -it like this." - -There was a long silence. She had never before realized how young she -was; her inexperience faced her most desperately, so that she felt -bitterly that she could not touch even the fringe of his troubles. Every -word that she uttered seemed an impertinence and yet she knew that if -she went away without speaking she would regret it all her life. - -At last he turned round to her; he seemed to have gained absolute -control of himself and his voice was quite steady. - -"No--I hadn't meant to be rude like that--only you took me by surprise. -I've made a wretched muddle of things and, since yesterday afternoon, -I 've seen that I'm a complete failure in every possible sense of the -word. You are so splendid in all ways--and you are going to have such -a splendid life--that we are at the opposite ends of the world, you and -I." - -She noticed, whilst he was speaking, that his speech was clear of all -its little affectations and pomposities. He seemed another man from the -strange creature whom she had known before. - -"No, we are not at the opposite ends of the world. I have felt so -miserable all this term. I have felt that in some way I ought to have -made things better between you and Archie--Mr. Traill--all that wretched -quarreling--and yet I felt so helpless." - -"No. That would have been inevitable without you. An older man feeling -that he was being jockeyed out of his place by a younger man and the -younger man resenting the older man's interference--and neither Traill -nor I were, I suppose, very tactful. And there we were pressed up -against one another with the whole place working on our nerves. No, you -had n't very much to do with it." - -But it showed how young she was that she did not see the half-tender, -half-ironical look that he flung upon her. In his heart he was wondering -whether he would tell her, but something, perhaps her very absence of -all self-consciousness, held him back-- - -He went on, softly, almost as though he were talking to himself. "And -then, these last weeks it all got on my nerves to such an extent that I -was nearly off my head. I wanted to kill Traill. I might have killed him -if I had been a stronger man. I felt that it was all so unfair -that he should have everything--youth, health, prospects, -popularity--everything--and I nothing. I had never been a likable man, -perhaps, but there seemed to be no reason. I had it in me, I thought, to -do things--" - -He stopped for a moment and looked at the sea; its gray was being shot -with blue and gold and the banks of mist on the horizon were rolling -back like gates before the sun. - -"--And then, yesterday afternoon, when Moy-Thompson was making his -speech, I seemed to see suddenly that it was the place--the system--that -I had been up against all this time, and not any one person--and -suddenly I burst out, scarcely knowing, you know--and I thought I'd done -rather a big thing. I thought the other men would be glad that I had led -the way. I thought Moy-Thompson would be furious and frightened, but the -other men were amused and Moy-Thompson laughed--and suddenly everything -cleared and I saw what this place had made of me. They say that it takes -a man all a lifetime to know himself--well, I 've got that knowledge -early. I know what I am." - -She suddenly put out her hand and he caught it fiercely in his. "You 're -going to have a fine life," he said; "there are so many people that you -will do good to--but you have been everything to one useless creature." - -"I shall always be proud to be your friend." Curiously, in the growing -light, with that strange, uncouth figure holding her hand, she felt more -strongly moved than she had ever been before--yes, even Archie Traill's -wooing had not touched her as this did. - -"I'm too young to know all that it has meant to you," at last she said -brokenly, "but I shall never, all my life through, forget you. I shall -want, please, always to hear--" - -"To hear?" His lips twisted into a strange smile. "Ah, you must n 't -want that." - -"Why not? What are you going to do--now?" - -"To do?" He was still strangely smiling. "What is there for me to do? -I am too old to struggle outside for a living. I have no means and I am -fit for nothing but schoolmastering--" - -"Cannot you come back here--in spite of it all?" - -"Come back?" - -"Yes." - -"Moy-Thompson wants me to come back. He thinks that I am so unimportant -that--it does n't matter." - -"You will--promise that you will!" - -"Ah, it is all so useless," he said, shaking his head. "Before, when I -had built up a kind of opinion of myself it was hard enough, but now, -when that is all gone--" - -"Oh! I wonder if I can make you understand"--her eyes were flaming--"you -_must_--you _must_. Don't you see that you 're being given such a -chance! Think of the pluck of it--after all that has happened--to -come back, knowing what they think of you, knowing what you think of -yourself. Oh! I envy you. I believe the only thing we 're in the world -for is to have courage--that answers everything--and some of us have -such fat, easy lives that we've no chance at all. But you to come back -with your teeth set, to build it all up again, to will it all back! -Oh! it's splendid! And Archie and I will have our happy, ordinary -existences--just going along--and you 'll be here doing the finest thing -in the world. I'd change places with you to-morrow," she magnificently -ended up. - -"You see it like that?" he said slowly almost to himself. - -"Of course I see it like that. Why, I believe that's what all this -term's been for--to bring to a head--to show you your great chance. That -'s life--everything leading up to the one big thing--and now this is -yours." - -"My God!" he whispered, "If I could!" - -"You must," she answered, "I believe in you--come back--fight it--win." - -But he shook his head very slowly, very sadly. - -"No; I'm not the kind of man to do a thing like that. I 've had my -spirit broken--this place has broken it." - -"No; it is not. I know it is not. Here's your chance--take it." - -"All these years," he answered grimly, "twenty years--it's a long time -for a man. I can't begin all over again." - -"Twenty years are nothing. You 've never seen things straight as you see -things now--It 's never been the same before." - -He turned round and stared fiercely into her eyes. - -"Do you believe I could do it?" he said. - -"Of course I do." - -"Win back respect--make them forget yesterday--go on with the old -torture--" he shuddered and buried his face in his hands. - -"I believe in you," she answered steadfastly. - -He drew a deep breath. "At last!" - -"I believe in you." - -"You are not saying that only to comfort met" - -"No; you know that I am not." - -"To come back--to go on--to face it all." - -"It's the hardest thing and the finest thing--I shall know--I shall -always remember." - -As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would -not have drawn back--but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief -moment--all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery--the hell that -Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some way a -new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he do -anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? - -There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the sea -swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly -blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded -the brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through -the brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a -white gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out -to sea. - -Perrin drew a deep breath. "If you will help me, I 'll come back," he -said. - -The new day shone about their heads. - -IV. - -Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. Comber -was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only for -a few weeks, but her "Freddie" was more genial and pleasant than he had -been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys were returning that -afternoon. - -"Freddie--another sausage--Oh! My dear Isabel, here's a bill from that -dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't leave one -alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you--and I told her only -a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk until Easter--well, -some marmalade, then, if you won't have another--what train did you say -you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm so glad it's a sunny day--you were -up quite early weren't you, dear?--and I meant to go in and see -what Mrs. Dormer had to say about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. -Perrin--and now I shan't have a minute because Jane's been so silly -about Freddie's shirts and his pyjamas--she missed them when they came -from the wash, so that really it--but what did you think of it all, -Isabel dear?" - -"Of what all?" asked Isabel. - -"Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been queer all -this time--anyone could see, but really--I wonder what he 'll do now?" - -"I expect that he 'll come back," said Isabel. - -"Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if he -can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors -that it was simply nerves--which it was mostly, I should think. I'm sure -we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been most queer all -this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie and everything. -Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can--under his thumb." - -Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone. - -Mrs. Comber was sitting at the table, with her mouth wide open, like a -fish, counting on the cloth with her fingers in order to remember the -things that she ought to do. - -"Dear?" said Isabel. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Comber, smiling. - -"I want you to do something for me." - -"Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's hill for -that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit--" - -"No, dear, please--just for a minute I want you to listen altogether to -me." - -"Yes, dear." Mrs. Comber stopped her counting. - -"Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin _is_ coming back. I saw him this morning--" - -"You saw him this morning! Isabel!" - -"Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise--to the Golden View. He -talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before--things or people. -There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside and so -dull outside." - -"I don't want to be unkind, dear," Mrs. Comber answered slowly, "but I -cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside--I can't really." - -"Oh, but he is, he is! He's coming back like a hero. Why, when I think -of Archie and myself and our lives--and all the other people with lives -like them--and then when I think of all the awkward, bad-mannered, -stiff, jolty people who are heroes every day they live, I'm ashamed!" - -Mrs. Comber was astonished. "Well, my dear," she said, "it does seem -to have affected you--really. Of course I want to be kind to -everybody--even Mrs. Dormer--and of course I 'll believe what you say, -and I'm sure I'm very sorry for him, and it won't be pleasant for him -coming back." - -"No," said Isabel. "It won't--no one ought ever to come back here -again--but if only you 'll be a friend to him-- - -"You see," she went on again, "he's the kind of man whom those things -matter to so frightfully. And no one's ever taken any interest in him or -any trouble--and now if you and I--" - -"Anything," said Mrs. Comber, "that you want me to do." - -"I sometimes think," said Isabel, "that the world's topsy-turvy. People -seem to put so much value on all the outside things, and if someone's -ugly and awkward--" - -Her gaze through the window was arrested by the sight of a cab at -the door of the Lower School. The porter came out with a brown -portmanteau--a very old brown portmanteau--and he put it on the cab. It -was a very old cab, and a very old horse and a very old driver. - -Mr. Perrin, wearing a bowler that was too small for him and in his old -shabby overcoat, got into the cab. - -The bag bounced about on the roof as the old horse stumbled away. - -Would he come back and fight it out? She knew, with certain faith, that -he would. - -Would he win through? She did not know, but in the sun and glorious -beauty of that day she seemed to get her answer. - -Meanwhile the old cab rumbled down the Brown Hill. - -"It _shall_ be all right, next term," said Mr. Perrin. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods and Mr. Perrin, by Hugh Walpole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS AND MR. 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