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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> - |