Part 4 (1/2)

”He is,” replied Warwick, looking up from a newspaper.

”Just tell him I want a Squash Court this afternoon, will you?”

”I am not a District Messenger Boy,” replied Mr. Warwick coldly. Then he turned upon a colleague who was attempting to read his newspaper over his shoulder.

”Andrews,” he said, ”if you wish to read this newspaper I shall be happy to hand it over to you. If not, I shall be grateful if you will refrain from masticating your surplus breakfast in my right ear.”

Mr. Andrews, scarlet with indignation, moved huffily away, and the conversation continued.

”I doubt if you will get a court, Dumaresq,” said another voice--a mild one. ”I asked for one after breakfast, and Etherington said they were all bagged.”

”Well, I call that the limit!” bellowed that single-minded egotist, Mr.

Dumaresq.

”After all,” drawled a supercilious man sprawling across a chair, ”the courts were built for the boys, weren't they?”

”They may have been built for the boys,” retorted Dumaresq with heat, ”but they were more than half paid for by the masters. So put that in your pipe, friend Wellings, and----”

”Your trousers are beginning to smoke,” interpolated Wellings calmly.

”You had better come out of the fender for a bit and let me in.”

So the babble went on. To Arthur Robinson, still nervously perusing the time-table, it all sounded like an echo of the talk which had prevailed in the Pupil Room at his own school barely five years ago.

Presently a fresh-faced elderly man crossed the room and tapped him on the shoulder.

”You must be Robinson,” he said. ”My name is Pollard, also of St.

Crispin's. Come and dine with me to-night, and tell me how the old College is getting on.”

The ice broken, the grateful Arthur was introduced to some of his colleagues, including the Olympian Dumaresq, the sarcastic Wellings, and the peppery Warwick. Next moment a bell began to ring upon the other side of the quadrangle, as there was a general move for the door.

Outside, Arthur Robinson encountered the Head.

”Good morning, Mr. Robinson!” (It was a little affectation of the Head's to address his colleagues as 'Mr.' when in cap and gown: at other times his key-note was informal bonhomie). ”Have you your form-room key?”

”Yes, I have.”

”In that case I will introduce you to your flock.”

At the end of the Cloisters, outside the locked door of Remove B, lounged some thirty young gentlemen. At the sight of the Head these ceased to lounge, and came to an att.i.tude of uneasy attention.

The door being opened, all filed demurely in and took their seats, looking virtuously down their noses. The Head addressed the intensely respectable audience before him.

”This is Mr. Robinson,” he said gruffly. ”Do what you can for him.”

He nodded abruptly to Robinson, and left the room.

As the door closed, the angel faces of Remove B relaxed.

”A-a-a-a-a-ah!” said everybody, with a sigh of intense relief.