Part 28 (1/2)
Rain fell in torrents. The Colts game was scratched.
On a pile of cus.h.i.+ons laid on the floor Gordon slept away the whole afternoon. From four to six he had to write a Greek Prose in his study.
The tea bell scattered his dreams. He rose languidly, with the unpleasant sensation of work unfinished.
The row of faces at tea seemed to frighten him. He felt as if he had awakened out of a nightmare, that still held on to him with cold, clammy hands, and was trying to draw him back once more into its web. Visions rose before him of shrieking showmen's booths, blinking with tawdry yellow eyes. Emmie's hoa.r.s.e laugh grated on his ears; he was overwrought and wanted to shout, to shriek, to give some vent to his feelings. But he seemed chained to the long bench, and his tongue was tied so that he could only mouth out silly plat.i.tudes about the weather and the Fifteen's chances.
On his way back to the studies he felt an arm laid in his. He s.h.i.+vered and turned round, half expecting to see Emmie's flushed, exciting face peering up at him. He almost sighed with relief when he found it was Tester.
”Look here, just come for a stroll round the courts. The rain's stopped.
I want to talk to you.”
They wandered out under the lindens.
”I suppose you did go out last night, didn't you?”
”Yes.”
”What on earth did you do it for?”
”I am sick of the whole affair,” Gordon said petulantly. ”Rudd called the lot of us funks, so----”
”I know that tale quite well,” Tester broke in. ”I want to know why you went out. At least I don't mean that. I mean to tell you why you went out, because I don't think you know yourself. You have made an awful fool of yourself. You have run the risk of getting sacked, merely because you wanted to be talked about.”
”I didn't. I went because I was jolly well not going to have Rudd calling me a funk.”
”Comes to the same thing in the end, doesn't it? You did not want to play second fiddle; you didn't want Rudd to appear to have scored. You wanted to be the central figure. Much the same, isn't it? The love of notoriety.”
Gordon murmured something inaudible.
”And it is all so d.a.m.ned silly. You are running the risk of getting the sack, and for nothing at all. I can understand quite well anyone being drawn into anything dangerous by a strong emotion or feeling. It is natural. Masters say we should curb our natures. I don't know if they are right. That's neither here nor there. There was nothing natural in what you did. It was merely rotten imbecility--your self-consciousness, your fear of not seeming to have done the right thing. You can't go on like this. I own that this term you have been more or less sane. The last two terms I have often wondered what was going to happen to you.
You had no balance; you kept on doing silly little things so as to hold the attention of a more stupid audience. This term you have stopped that sort of rot. But what is the use of it going to be, if you go and do things like this on the impulse of the moment, merely because you don't want to look silly? You can't think how much more silly you look by playing the ruddy a.s.s during the small hours inside a stinking booth!
You can't afford to do that sort of thing. Your ambition is to be captain of the House, and not a bad ambition either. But do you realise that if you are going to be a real power in the House, if you are going to fight the masters, as you say you will, you can't afford to fling away points? You must appear impregnable. Don't be an a.s.s. A master holds all the high cards. If you play into his hand, he has you done to the world. Suppose you were caught going out at night your last year, what would happen? You might get the sack at once; and all your rebellion would be wasted. And, mark you, a rebellion is wanted. There is real need of a man who has the strength of his opinions and sticks out. What's the use of it if you go and get sacked? Of course, they might keep you on, and ask you to go at the end of the term to save your face. What would your position be then? You would be bound hand and foot, powerless to do anything. Life would slip past you. You have got to be above suspicion. Think, however much you may want to do a thing now, however much praise you may think an action of yours would get, stop and consider how it will appear two years hence. A really serious row might knock you out for the rest of your time here: a bad name sticks. Remember that. Think of the day when you are going to be a real power, and stand up for the independence of the individual to think as he likes, not as Buller likes; for the independence of the House to run itself. 'The Bull' runs our house to-day. You hear men say, 'We can't do that, Buller would be sick!' You have to free them of Buller's tyranny, if you are going to be a man; and if you do, you can't fight in rusty armour. These masters may be fools, but they have the cards.”
Gordon listened to Tester's flow of words. He was furious. But when at last lights were put out and he lay back in bed and watched the stars steadfast in love and splendour, and the moon immutable, enigmatic, smiling quietly, he appreciated the truth of Tester's argument. A great battle was before him; he would have to go into it strong and prepared at every point. There must be no c.h.i.n.k in his coat of mail.
Some day his hour would come; till then he had to wait in patience, and during the long vigil he would keep his s.h.i.+eld clean of rust. He would have to think, to weigh his decisions, to keep before his eyes the goal towards which his ambition was set.
CHAPTER III: BROADENING OUTLOOK
Like a huge reel of thread the long winter term unrolled itself.
November drifted by with its gusty winds that shrieked in the empty cloisters. December came with its dark mornings and steadily falling rains. The First Fifteen matches were over. Dulbridge and Tonford had both been beaten handsomely; Mansell had got his Firsts. The Colts drew at Limborne, and finished their season with an overwhelming victory over Weybridge. House games began again, and the Thirds and Two c.o.c.k became the only possible topics of conversation. During the first half of the term Hazelton, as was inevitable, had had to spend nearly all his time in First Fifteen puntabouts and upper ground games. The House had seen little of him. But now, with all the big matches over, and only the old Fernhurstians' match to come on the last Sat.u.r.day of the term, he had time to devote all his energies to the training of house sides. If he had not talked so much he would have been one of the strong, silent Englishmen. For to all outward appearances he was taciturn, unimaginative, self-willed. But he had a very nasty tongue, and never hesitated to use it at the expense of his enemies. As a house captain he was a distinct success. He knew the game well, and was able to inspire a keenness that was not jingoistic. He also had the rare virtue of knowing where to stop. He never made sides play on till they were speechless with fatigue, as some over-enthusiastic house captains had been known to do. He was very popular with his sides.
Every evening before hall there congregated in Gordon's study all the old faces of his first year, with one or two new ones. Nowhere so easily as at a Public School does one find oneself drifting apart from an old acquaintance; not for any real reason, not for any quarrel, but merely because circ.u.mstances seem to will it so. But when the thought of House matches returned, the old lot came back together to fight their battles over again, and to dream of the silver cups glittering below the statue of Edward VI. They were all there: Hunter, who had seemed to pa.s.s almost out of Gordon's life since he had begun to play in the Fifteen; Mansell, who now spent much of his time with Hazelton; Betteridge, who was more often than not with Harding. No. 1 Study was very convenient.
Roll was held just outside, and when the prefect's voice was heard calling the first name the door would be flung open, and still reclining in arm-chairs they shouted out the immemorial ”sum.” About five minutes before the hour of roll-call juniors from the day-room and the farther studies would begin to collect round the hot pipes in the pa.s.sage, fearful of being late. Then in No. 1 Lovelace would wind up the gramophone, and the strains of _When the Midnight Choo-choo leaves for Alabama_ broke out with deafening violence. The concert lasted till the first strokes of the hour had boomed out. Roll over, they all separated to their various studies. Lovelace took out his _Sportsman_ and began to total up his winnings; Gordon either lay full length in the hammock, a new and much envied acquisition which was slung across from door to window, and read for the hundredth time the haunting melodies of _Rococo_, or else, as was more usual, wandered round the studies with the magnificent air of indifference that marked all members of the Sixth.
Then came prayers; after which Gordon and Davenport made for the seclusion of their double dormitory. Lights were out at nine-fifteen for the big upper dormitories, and till then they used to wander down the pa.s.sage for the ostensible reason of getting hot water, but in reality to watch, with the superior air of Olympians, the life of lesser breeds.
They imagined themselves great bloods during these few minutes after prayers. Sometimes when the House tutor was supposed to be out they would join in a game of football in the pa.s.sage; but as they were caught once and each got a Georgic, this pastime lost its charm. Usually they lolled in the doorway with a perfect superiority, and talked of the old ”rags” and discomfitures of two years back, for the benefit of admiring listeners.