Part 19 (1/2)

It was during the end of the Easter and the whole of the summer term that Gordon earned a reputation for reckless bravado and disregard of all authority that stuck to him through his whole career. Up till now he had done things merely because he had wanted to. He followed the inclination of the moment, but now it was different. It is pleasant to be talked of as a mixture between Don Juan and Puck; and Gordon was sufficiently good at games to make himself an attractive and not a repulsive figure. The Public School boy admires the Meredith type; he despises the man who is no good at games, and who plays fast and loose in his house. Gordon was not unpopular, and indeed some of his escapades were really funny, as, for instance, when he cut through the string of the chapel organ on which a weight is attached to show whether the organ is full of air or not. The next morning in chapel the choir began but the organ was mute. The hymn broke off into a miserable wail. The whole service was one silent ripple of merriment. Rogers was taking the service, and was quite at sea without the help of music. Gordon earned a considerable measure of notoriety for the performance. On his way to the tuck shop, Ben, the captain of the Fifteen, came up and spoke to him.

”Caruthers, I say, are you the man who made the organ mute?”

”Yes.”

”By Jove, you are a sportsman.”

Gordon was thus encouraged to continue on his road to buffoonery, and when the summer term came, he found no reason to pursue any other course. On the cricket field he could not get a run; first he hit wildly, then he began to poke; but all without the least success. After a few weeks he almost ceased to try, except in House matches. ”The Bull”

got furious.

”Look here, Caruthers,” he said, ”I don't know if you are slack, or merely incompetent. But when I see you make fifty against my house in a Junior House match, and then play inside half-volleys on the upper, I begin to think all you care about is your house. Don't you care for Fernhurst, boy?”

Gordon was genuinely worried about this. He admired ”the Bull”

immensely: indeed, ”the Bull” was about the only person at Fernhurst whose opinion he valued at all. He made strenuous efforts to get runs, but it was no use. He was clean out of form. His fifty _v._ Buller's was his only score during the season, but ”the Bull” did not know this. He thought Caruthers tried for his house and slacked with the Colts. The climax was reached during the Milton Match. Gordon went in first with Foster. In five minutes he and Lovelace and a man from Claremont's were out for four runs. ”The Bull” chewed gra.s.s in a far corner of the field.

And then, to crown everything, Gordon missed the easiest of catches. He caught Lovelace's eye. It was really rather funny. The two of them burst into sudden laughter. Lovelace was nearly doubled up. ”The Bull” thought they were laughing at him.

”I can't think what's gone wrong with Caruthers this term,” he said to Fry, the captain of the School House. ”He was so promising once; he doesn't seem to be trying this term.”

Next day Gordon was left out of the Colts' side. The day after the chair in Trundle's cla.s.s-room suddenly collapsed. The leg had been sawn half through, and Trundle fell over on the floor.

Gordon was riding for a fall, and two days before Commemoration, to use his own phrase, he ”fairly put his foot in it.” This term he had a double dormitory with one Davenport, a scholar who was a year junior to Gordon; but was in the same form. The Chief had thought Gordon a bit big for the Nursery, but there was no room for him down below; so he and Davenport lived at the end of the pa.s.sage in glorious isolation. It was a great luxury; they were allowed several privileges; they could keep their light on till ten; they could go to bed when they liked, and it was here that they usually did their preparation. Davenport, however, suddenly contracted measles; and Gordon, who had grown too slack to do his work alone, used to get leave for Sydenham, a rather insignificant, self-righteous member of V. A, who had come a term before him, to come and prepare his work in the double room. Leave was always granted, and when Davenport returned, the scheme was still continued. On this particular night, Davenport had got a headache. He said he was going to stop out next day, and refused to prepare Thucydides. It also happened that the House tutor was away that night, and so the Chief went round the dormitories, putting out the lights. He did not know of the custom by which Sydenham came up to do the con. He was not very pleased, but after a little hesitation gave leave. The door was shut. Sydenham perched himself on the chest of drawers, Gordon produced an aid to quick translation, Davenport turned over the pages of _Nash's_. The Abbey bells also happened to be ringing that night. It was quite impossible to hear any normal sound down the pa.s.sage; and so Gordon was quite unaware of the Chief's intention to revisit them and see if they were really working, till the door opened and the Chief walked in. Gordon lost his head; he sat up in bed and gaped. Thucydides lay on one side of the bed, the crib on the other.

The Chief picked up the book.

”Ah, does Mr Macdonald allow you to use this?”

In the really dramatic moments of our lives it is always the inane that first suggests itself. It was so likely that Macdonald would have given them permission.

”No, sir.”

”Er, Davenport, are you preparing--er yes, Thucydides with Caruthers, too?”

”No, sir.” Davenport thanked heaven that he had a headache. He had helped in the work of deceit every night the whole term. The Chief thought he must be a boy of strong moral courage; and in many ways he was, but cribbing, after all, was part of the daily routine.

The Chief took up the book.

”Sydenham, go back to your study.”

He turned down the light and went out. His footsteps died out down the pa.s.sage.

”d.a.m.n!” said Gordon.

”_In excelsis gloria_,” said Davenport.

”And it was a rotten crib, too,” said Gordon.

By next morning the story was all round the school.

”You will be birched for certain,” was Tester's cheerful comment, ”and serve you right for getting caught.”