Part 7 (2/2)

Jackson s.h.i.+fts his feet uneasily, after the immemorial fas.h.i.+on of schoolboys undergoing a ”jaw.”

”But I want to warn you of one or two things,” continues the wise old Housemaster.

Jackson looks up quickly. This part of the exhortation is new. At least, he has never heard it quoted.

”You will have certain privileges: don't abuse them. You will have certain responsibilities: don't s.h.i.+rk them. And above all, don't endeavour to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. You will be strongly tempted to do so. Your old a.s.sociates will regard you with suspicion--even distrust; and that will sting. In your anxiety to show to them that your promotion has not impaired your capacity for friends.h.i.+p, you may be inclined to stretch the Law in their favour from time to time, or even ignore it altogether. On the other hand, you must beware of over-officiousness towards those who are not your friends. A little authority is a dangerous thing. So walk warily at first. That's all. Good night, old man.”

They shook hands again, and Jackson returned soberly to his study, which he shared with his friend Blake. The two had entered the School the same day: they had fought their way up side by side from its lowest walks to a position of comparative eminence; and their friends.h.i.+p, though it contained no David and Jonathan elements--very few schoolboy friends.h.i.+ps do--had survived the severe test of two years of study-companions.h.i.+p.

Jackson was the better scholar, Blake the better athlete of the two.

Now, one was taken and the other left.

Blake, cramming miscellaneous possessions into his grub-box in view of the early departure on the morrow, looked up.

”Hallo!” he remarked. ”You've been a long time getting your journey-money. Did the old Man try to cut you down?”

”No.... He says I'm to be a prefect next term.”

”Oh! Congratters!” said Blake awkwardly.

”Thanks. Has he made you one too?” asked Jackson.

”No.”

”Oh. What rot!”

Presently Jackson's oldest friend, after an unhappy silence, rose and went out. He had gone to join the proletariat round the Hall fire. The worst of getting up in the world is that you have to leave so many old comrades behind you. And worse still, the comrades frequently persist in believing that you are glad to do so.

Such is the cloak of Authority, as it feels to a thoughtful and sensitive boy who a.s.sumes it for the first time.

Of course there are others. Hulkins, for instance. In his eyes the prefectorial system was created for his express convenience and glorification. He opens his study door and bawls:

”Fa-a-a-ag!”

A dozen come running. The last to arrive is bidden to remove Hulkins'

boots from his feet and bring slippers. The residue have barely returned to their noisy fireside when Hulkins' voice is uplifted again. This time he requires blotting-paper, and the last comer in the panting crowd is sent into the next study to purloin some. The rest have hardly regained their fastness when there is a third disturbance, and there is Hulkins howling like a lost soul for matches. And so, with infinite uproar and waste of labour, the great man's wants are supplied. It does the f.a.gs no harm, but it is very, very bad for Hulkins.

Frisby is another type. He is not afraid of a.s.suming responsibility. He is a typical new broom. He dots the i's and crosses the t's of all the tiresome little regulations in the House. He sets impositions to small boys with great profusion, and sees to it that they are shown up punctually. If it is his turn to take roll-call, he descends to the unsportsmanlike device of waiting upon the very threshold of the Hall until the clock strikes, and then coming in and shutting the door with a triumphant bang in the faces of those who had reckoned on the usual thirty seconds' grace. He ferrets out the misdemeanours of criminals of fourteen, and gibbets them. He is terribly efficient--but his vigilance and zeal stop suddenly short at the prospect of a collision with any malefactor more than five feet high.

Then there is Meakin. He receives his prefects.h.i.+p with a sigh of relief.

For four years he has led a hunted and precarious existence in the lower walks of the House. His high-spirited playmates have made him a target for missiles, derided his style of running, broken his spectacles, raided his study, wrecked his collection of beetles, and derived unfailing joy from his fluent but impotent imprecations. Now, at last, he sees peace ahead. He will be left to himself, at any rate. They will not dare to rag a prefect unless the prefect endeavours to exert his authority unduly, and Meakin has no intention whatever of doing that. To Frisby, Office is a sharp two-edged sword; to Meakin, it is merely a s.h.i.+eld and buckler.

<script>