The Longest Journey Part 30

"I liked the look of them."

"I meant rather, how did the house impress you as a house?"

"I don't think I thought," said Rickie rather nervously. "It is not easy to catch the spirit of a thing at once. I only saw a roomful of boys."

"My dear Rickie, don't be so diffident. You are perfectly right. You only did see a roomful of boys. As yet there's nothing else to see. The house, like the school, lacks tradition. Look at Winchester. Look at the traditional rivalry between Eton and Harrow. Tradition is of incalculable importance, if a school is to have any status. Why should Sawston be without?"

"Yes. Tradition is of incalculable value. And I envy those schools that have a natural connection with the past. Of course Sawston has a past, though not of the kind that you quite want. The sons of poor tradesmen went to it at first. So wouldn't its traditions be more likely to linger in the Commercial School?" he concluded nervously.

"You have a great deal to learn--a very great deal. Listen to me. Why has Sawston no traditions?" His round, rather foolish, face a.s.sumed the expression of a conspirator. Bending over the mutton, he whispered, "I can tell you why. Owing to the day-boys. How can traditions flourish in such soil? Picture the day-boy's life--at home for meals, at home for preparation, at home for sleep, running home with every fancied wrong.

There are day-boys in your cla.s.s, and, mark my words, they will give you ten times as much trouble as the boarders, late, slovenly, stopping away at the slightest pretext. And then the letters from the parents! 'Why has my boy not been moved this term?' 'Why has my boy been moved this term?' 'I am a dissenter, and do not wish my boy to subscribe to the school mission.' 'Can you let my boy off early to water the garden?'

Remember that I have been a day-boy house-master, and tried to infuse some esprit de corps into them. It is practically impossible. They come as units, and units they remain. Worse. They infect the boarders. Their pestilential, critical, discontented att.i.tude is spreading over the school. If I had my own way--"

He stopped somewhat abruptly.

"Was that why you laughed at their singing?"

"Not at all. Not at all. It is not my habit to set one section of the school against the other."

After a little they went the rounds. The boys were in bed now.

"Good-night!" called Herbert, standing in the corridor of the cubicles, and from behind each of the green curtains came the sound of a voice replying, "Good-night, sir!" "Good-night," he observed into each dormitory.

Then he went to the switch in the pa.s.sage and plunged the whole house into darkness. Rickie lingered behind him, strangely impressed. In the morning those boys had been scattered over England, leading their own lives. Now, for three months, they must change everything--see new faces, accept new ideals. They, like himself, must enter a beneficent machine, and learn the value of esprit de corps. Good luck attend them--good luck and a happy release. For his heart would have them not in these cubicles and dormitories, but each in his own dear home, amongst faces and things that he knew.

Next morning, after chapel, he made the acquaintance of his cla.s.s.

Towards that he felt very differently. Esprit de corps was not expected of it. It was simply two dozen boys who were gathered together for the purpose of learning Latin. His duties and difficulties would not lie here. He was not required to provide it with an atmosphere. The scheme of work was already mapped out, and he started gaily upon familiar words--

"Pan, ovium custos, tua si tibi Maenala curae Adsis, O Tegaee, favens."

"Do you think that beautiful?" he asked, and received the honest answer, "No, sir; I don't think I do." He met Herbert in high spirits in the quadrangle during the interval. But Herbert thought his enthusiasm rather amateurish, and cautioned him.

"You must take care they don't get out of hand. I approve of a lively teacher, but discipline must be established first."

"I felt myself a learner, not a teacher. If I'm wrong over a point, or don't know, I mean to tell them at once." Herbert shook his head.

"It's different if I was really a scholar. But I can't pose as one, can I? I know much more than the boys, but I know very little. Surely the honest thing is to be myself to them. Let them accept or refuse me as that. That's the only att.i.tude we shall any of us profit by in the end."

Mr. Pembroke was silent. Then he observed, "There is, as you say, a higher att.i.tude and a lower att.i.tude. Yet here, as so often, cannot we find a golden mean between them?"

"What's that?" said a dreamy voice. They turned and saw a tall, spectacled man, who greeted the newcomer kindly, and took hold of his arm. "What's that about the golden mean?"

"Mr. Jackson--Mr. Elliot: Mr. Elliot--Mr. Jackson," said Herbert, who did not seem quite pleased. "Rickie, have you a moment to spare me?"

But the humanist spoke to the young man about the golden mean and the pinchbeck mean, adding, "You know the Greeks aren't broad church clergymen. They really aren't, in spite of much conflicting evidence.

Boys will regard Sophocles as a kind of enlightened bishop, and something tells me that they are wrong."

"Mr. Jackson is a cla.s.sical enthusiast," said Herbert. "He makes the past live. I want to talk to you about the humdrum present."

"And I am warning him against the humdrum past. That's another point, Mr. Elliot. Impress on your cla.s.s that many Greeks and most Romans were frightfully stupid, and if they disbelieve you, read Ctesiphon with them, or Valerius Flaccus. Whatever is that noise?"

"It comes from your cla.s.s-room, I think," snapped the other master.

"So it does. Ah, yes. I expect they are putting your little Tewson into the waste-paper basket."

"I always lock my cla.s.s-room in the interval--"

"Yes?"

"--and carry the key in my pocket."

"Ah. But, Mr. Elliot, I am a cousin of Widdrington's. He wrote to me about you. I am so glad. Will you, first of all, come to supper next Sunday?"

"I am afraid," put in Herbert, "that we poor housemasters must deny ourselves festivities in term time."

"But mayn't he come once, just once?"

"May, my dear Jackson! My brother-in-law is not a baby. He decides for himself."

Rickie naturally refused. As soon as they were out of hearing, Herbert said, "This is a little unfortunate. Who is Mr. Widdrington?"

"I knew him at Cambridge."

"Let me explain how we stand," he continued, after a pause.

"Jackson is the worst of the reactionaries here, while I--why should I conceal it?--have thrown in my lot with the party of progress. You will see how we suffer from him at the masters' meetings. He has no talent for organization, and yet he is always inflicting his ideas on others.

It was like his impertinence to dictate to you what authors you should read, and meanwhile the sixth-form room like a bear-garden, and a school prefect being put into the waste-paper basket. My good Rickie, there's nothing to smile at. How is the school to go on with a man like that?

It would be a case of 'quick march,' if it was not for his brilliant intellect. That's why I say it's a little unfortunate. You will have very little in common, you and he."

Rickie did not answer. He was very fond of Widdrington, who was a quaint, sensitive person. And he could not help being attracted by Mr. Jackson, whose welcome contrasted pleasantly with the official breeziness of his other colleagues. He wondered, too, whether it is so very reactionary to contemplate the antique.

"It is true that I vote Conservative," pursued Mr. Pembroke, apparently confronting some objector. "But why? Because the Conservatives, rather than the Liberals, stand for progress. One must not be misled by catch-words."

"Didn't you want to ask me something?"

"Ah, yes. You found a boy in your form called Varden?"

"Varden? Yes; there is."

"Drop on him heavily. He has broken the statutes of the school. He is attending as a day-boy. The statutes provide that a boy must reside with his parents or guardians. He does neither. It must be stopped. You must tell the headmaster."

"Where does the boy live?"

"At a certain Mrs. Orr's, who has no connection with the school of any kind. It must be stopped. He must either enter a boarding-house or go."

"But why should I tell?" said Rickie. He remembered the boy, an unattractive person with protruding ears, "It is the business of his house-master."

"House-master--exactly. Here we come back again. Who is now the day-boys' house-master? Jackson once again--as if anything was Jackson's business! I handed the house back last term in a most flourishing condition. It has already gone to rack and ruin for the second time. To return to Varden. I have unearthed a put-up job. Mrs. Jackson and Mrs.

Orr are friends. Do you see? It all works round."