Part 9 (2/2)

”Certainly not,” said Granny with supreme urbanity.

It was cheek, and a t.i.tter ran round the workroom. Martin had been gifted by nature with an unfortunate capacity for blus.h.i.+ng, and he blushed now.

”Don't give me any of that lip or you'll get into trouble,” he said without conviction.

”That was not my intention,” answered Granny, urbane as ever. ”I'm very sorry.”

Again there was a t.i.tter. Martin blushed and swore inwardly: he knew that he was not beginning well.

A few minutes later one d.i.c.kinson said: ”Please can we have the window open: there's an awful frowst.”

”I suppose so,” answered Martin. ”It does seem a bit thick in here.”

Here was Granny's chance. He sneezed magnificently. ”May I go and fetch my overcoat?” he asked mildly.

”Shut up,” said Martin.

Granny turned up his collar, blew his nose with gentle persistence, and started to s.h.i.+ver. Others followed his example, and the room began to resound with the chattering of teeth.

Martin felt desperate. What exactly was the right way to deal with this kind of ragging? What would Rayner do? That was where the difficulty lay: the workroom never tried this game with Rayner, so that it was impossible to say what Rayner would have done. Swearing at them wouldn't do: he couldn't swipe the whole company. Besides, there were his ideals. Foolishly he determined to try and work in his idealism under the pretext of a joke: it was a cowardly compromise and it deserved to fail.

”I suppose,” he said, ”we might take a vote about the window.”

There was a genial roar of acclamation.

”Those in favour of keeping it open,” he went on} ”shove up your hands.”

There was much talking and throwing of paper b.a.l.l.s. Hoa.r.s.e whispers such as, 'Jones, you stinker, put your hand down or I'll kill you afterwards,' came to his ears. The counting was complicated by the necessity of disqualifying all those who held up both hands with a view to fraud. When the oppositions were being numbered there were murmurs of: 'Lowsy swine,' 'Frowsters,' and so on. The affair was soundly managed by the mob and a tie resulted, so that Martin had to give a casting vote. Imploring faces were turned towards him: the opening of the window was plainly a matter of life and death to that valetudinarian a.s.sembly.

”Keep it open,” said Martin, determined to abide by his first order.

There were subdued cheers and moans, nasal snufflings and raucous coughs. Above it all the voice of Granny was heard.

”May I borrow some quinine?” he demanded.

Martin now saw the folly of his actions. The matter had gone too far, he had lost grip, and a tremendous rag was imminent.

”Shut up,” he roared with all the authority he could command.

And just then Rayner came in to take his spell of prep. There was an immediate silence. Martin left the room in an agony of despair. What the deuce would Rayner think?

As he sat in his study pretending to read Tacitus the prospect of failure and misery became cruelly imminent. He couldn't make out why the workroom people would shut up for Rayner. Rayner wasn't noted for his severity and didn't make half as much use of the Iron Heel as some of his predecessors in Berney's or contemporaries in other houses.

Martin was faced with the eternal paradox of government, that those who can govern do not need to punish, while those who punish do not thereby govern. He had always suspected the common talk about personalities and strong men: but now he began to wonder whether there wasn't something in it after all. Anyhow it seemed that by one action of hesitation he had lost his chance: his prestige was going, and if he once gained a reputation for 'raggability' there would be no more peace. The memory of Barmy Walters and the sordid tumult of his cla.s.sroom came to him with a new piquancy.

”My G.o.d!” he said, ”it sha'n't be that.” He would have to go for Granny. But how did one go for such a creature? Granny always kept to the letter of the law and protested that he had meant nothing: was one simply to disregard his a.s.sertions, to call him a liar? How did Rayner manage? And there were the ideals. Would this method be consonant with the humanism of the new prefecture? It was all immensely difficult.

Later in the evening Rayner came to his study: he was very nice about it.

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