see what he did. He asked Stone to come for a walk with him after chapel, and again Stone was engaged to Mullins. But all the time Bags was waiting like a dog to divert and console his master if only his master would allow him, eagerly braving the unpleasantness of alliance with the unpopular side, and though, twenty-four hours ago, David would have scouted the idea of Bags consoling him, he turned to him eagerly now, and even allowed him to have the Monarch’s travelling-carriage in his pocket at dinner. And though all the slights and sneers which surrounded them were of the general nature of chaff, they were of the species of chaff which is meant to hurt. As Bags had once acutely remarked, you can hit a fellow over the head just to show you like him, but you can do the very same thing in an opposite spirit, and it was this spirit just now that animated these small boys. It was “a rag,” no doubt, but a rag with a sting in it, for David was paying the penalty of having been popular, as well as of having disappointed his admirers.
But an eye, wholly unsuspected, was watching the situation. The Head was perfectly aware that David had lost the match against Eagles (though he had so nearly won it); he was aware also what manner of impression David’s father would make on his irreverent school, and when all day he saw David no longer the centre of groups that were making rather more noise than was necessary, but either alone, or with Bags, he took counsel with himself and stroked his grey beard for several minutes. Then he went across to the museum, where the first form were sitting under Mr. Dutton, about the time that the Catechism would be finished and the third missionary journey embarked on. There, having excused Mr. Dutton, he suddenly addressed David.
“Blaize,” he said, “though it is Sunday, and we are in school, I must just congratulate you on your bowling performance yesterday. I have watched a good deal of cricket at Helmsworth for the last twenty years, and it was by far the finest piece of bowling I can remember. The school ought to be proud of you. Now, for our work. Antioch! Stone, where is Antioch?”
There was no getting round this. Stone, Ferrers, David, and Bags walked arm-in-arm to chapel together. And Mullins’s nose suddenly became the subject of unkind and universal comment.
Chapter V
David returned from the station on Monday morning, where he had been permitted to go, in order to see his father off, in extremely good spirits, with his straw hat, trimmed with the school eleven colours, well back on his head, his hands in his pockets, where one caressed five distinct shillings, the other the travelling-carriage of the Monarch, while fragments of cheerful tunes came piercingly forth from the aperture caused by his broken tooth. The shape of this orifice no doubt had something to do with the deafening quality of his whistle, which went through the head of the hearer like the chirping of a canary in a circumscribed room, and when deeds of infamy, such as illicit feasts, were going on in the bushes at the far end of the second-club field, he was often suitably bribed to keep watch at the railings nearest the school buildings, for his whistle carried that distance quite easily. There was therefore, when his melodies were heard, time to remove all traces of debauch before Dubs or any other incarnation of danger could arrive. So desirable, indeed, was the gift of a really resonant whistle that Ferrers had at one time begun operations on one of his own front teeth with the file on his nail-scissors in order to get a similar configuration, but increasing tenderness had made him desist before he had got far.
David was conscious of a great many things that made for cheerfulness. His father, to begin with, had put himself gloriously right with the school, and had, very wisely, left in the hour of supreme popularity, so that there was no fear of his forfeiting, by gaiters or Christian names or flat headers at the bathing-place, or any such tragic follies, the esteem he had won. For, greatly daring, as it seemed to the boys, he had asked the Head to grant an extra half-holiday, and the announcement that it would be given this afternoon, “in honour of his visit,” had duly appeared on the school notice-board. It was supposed by some one who had seen his flat header that the phrase “in honour of his visit” must mark a sarcastic intention on the part of the Head, but whether that was so or not there was no doubt about the half-holiday, which was all that mattered. Even David, when quite respectfully appealed to, had no clear idea as to why his father’s visit was an honour, but supposed it must have something to do with the books he wrote, which were printed by the Clarendon Press at Oxford. In any case, he felt quite certain now that all the errors of which his father had been guilty would be pardoned and forgotten, and that he would never hear any more of his hat or his gaiters, of his excruciating performance at the cricket-nets, of his belly-floppers into the bathing-place, of his betrayal of his own son’s Christian name, or finally of the disastrous discourse he had unfortunately delivered at school-chapel on Sunday evening. For the moment, as he remembered that, David’s whistle ceased, and he clutched at the five shillings and the Monarch’s travelling-carriage for comfort. It had been too awful: not only had he talked the most dreadful rot about the joy and peace of the chapel services (same as last year, only worse) under the influence of which all troubles and anxiety melted away, but he had gone on and on and on in a manner quite unparalleled. For forty stricken minutes he had detained them (Stone said forty-two), which beat all known records by at least nine minutes, and it was no wonder that the boy next David had written “AND NOW” in capital letters on the fly-leaf of his hymn-book and passed it to him. . . . But that was all over; he had made the most honourable amends, and David knew that his father would be considered a credit to him. Indeed that “he was a first-rate old buffer” was quite a moderate estimate of him, and one given by the most critical.
There were other satisfactory points about him also. He had asked that David should be allowed to see him off at the station, so that he could have a further talk with him. This meant missing half an hour (or more, if he lingered on his way back, as he was doing) of repetition of Latin prose. David had not been certain, at starting, that he would not sooner do prose repetition than have more “jaw”; but the “jaw,” when it came, was of the most delightful kind. Not only was he certainly to go to Marchester in September, but, after consultation with the Head, it had been settled that he was to go there next week to try for one of the scholarships, a wholly lovely adventure. Apparently—this was news to David—his work had shown great improvement during this last term; it showed signs of perception and taste, and, though greatly wanting in accuracy, which, the Archdeacon reminded him, could always be attained by the industrious and painstaking, it might prove up to scholarship-level. David did not attend much to these generalities: the point was that he would go to Marchester for a three-days’ examination next week.
Finally, as a cause of happiness, his father had on the platform presented him with the five shillings that now he clutched in his pocket, to commemorate his having got into the school eleven. That presentation had been so sheer a surprise that David could have fallen flat on his face with astonishment. He would have expected, if the fatal topic of cricket was to occur again, to be reminded that it was only a game, and to be bidden to take thought of it just as such and no more; but to be tipped on such a scale had not entered into his most sanguine calculations. Then the train had come in, and David submitted to be kissed publicly without shying, even though a small vendor of papers, with whom he had slight differences before this, ceased shouting “Dily Mile,” and squeaked “Kiss me, ducky,” in perfectly audible tones. He could be dealt with after the train had gone. . . .
So his father waved his shovel-hat from the window and David his straw hat from the platform, after which he twitched off the paper vendor’s cap and rubbed his face upwards with it, and hit him on the hands so that he dropped all his papers and strolled back to school again in the highest spirits. And not only were his spirits high, but, for the first time in his life, he was conscious of how happy he was, instead of just being happy. This morning he seemed to stand away from himself and envy the boy (only it was himself) who was going to try for a Marchester scholarship next week, and was certainly going there in September, and had five shillings and two stag-beetles in his pocket, and was in the school eleven. Child though he was, consciousness
