Tom Brown at Rugby Part 53

"The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appreciates it," said the master, dogmatically;[49] "but I hope East will get a good colonel. He won't do if he can't respect those above him. How long it took him, even here, to learn the lesson of obeying."

[49] #Dogmatically#: positively.

"Well, I wish I were alongside of him," said Tom. "If I can't be at Rugby, I want to be at work in the world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford."

WORK IN THE WORLD.

"What do you mean by 'at work in the world'?" said the master, pausing, with his lips close to the saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it.

"Well, I mean real work; one's profession; whatever one will have really to do, and make one's living by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not only at play in the world," answered Tom, rather puzzled to find out himself what he really did mean.

"You are mixing up two very different things in your head, I think, Brown," said the master, putting down the empty saucer, "and you ought to get clear about them. You talk of 'working to get your living,' and 'doing some real good in the world,' in the same breath. Now, you may be getting a very good living in a profession, and yet doing no good at all in the world, but quite the contrary at the same time. Keep the latter before you as your one object, and you will be right, whether you make a living or not; but if you dwell on the other, you'll very likely drop into mere money-making, and let the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don't be in a hurry about finding your work in the world for yourself; you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet, but just look about you in the place you find yourself in, and try to make things a little better and honester there. You'll find plenty to keep your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go.

And don't be led away to think this part of the world important, and that unimportant. Every corner of the world is important. No man knows whether this part or that is most so, but every man may do some honest work in his own corner." And then the good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of work which he might take up as an undergraduate, and warned him of the prevalent University sins, and explained to him the many and great differences between University and School life; till the twilight changed into darkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing in by the back entrance.

THE DOCTOR'S WORK.

"I wonder where Arthur can be," said Tom, at last, looking at his watch; "why, it's nearly half-past nine already."

"Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, forgetful of his oldest friends," said his master. "Nothing has given me greater pleasure," he went on, "than your friendship for him; it has been the making of you both."

"Of me, at any rate," answered Tom; "I should never have been here now but for him. 'Twas the luckiest chance in the world that sent him to Rugby, and made him my chum."

"Why do you talk of lucky chances?" said the master. "I don't know that there are any such things in the world; at any rate there was neither luck nor chance in that matter."

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on: "Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you and East at the end of one half-year, when you were in the sh.e.l.l, and had been getting into all sorts of sc.r.a.pes?"

"Yes, well enough," said Tom: "it was the half-year before Arthur came."

"Exactly so," answered the master. "Now I was with him a few minutes afterward, and he was in great distress about you two. And, after some talk, we both agreed that you in particular wanted some object in the School beyond games and mischief; for it was quite clear that you never would make the regular school-work your first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of the next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys, and separated you and East, and put the young boy into your study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean on you, you would begin to stand a little steadier yourself, and get manliness and thoughtfulness. And I can a.s.sure you he has watched the experiment ever since with great satisfaction. Ah! not one of you boys will ever know the anxiety you have given him, or the care with which he has watched over every step in your school lives."

A NEW LIGHT.

Up to this time, Tom had never wholly given in to or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly feared him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he had learned to regard him with love and respect, and to think him a very great, and wise, and good man. But as regarded his own position in the School, of which he was no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one credit for it but himself; and the truth to tell, was a very self-conceited young gentleman on the subject. He was wont to boast that he had fought his own way fairly up the School, and had never made up to, or been taken up by any big fellow or master, and that it was now quite a different place from what it was when he first came. And, indeed, though he didn't actually boast of it, yet in his secret soul he did to a great extent believe that the great reform in the School had been owing quite as much to himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, had done him good, and taught him a good deal, so had other boys in different ways, but they had not had the same means of influence on the School in general; and as for the Doctor, why he was a splendid master, but every one knew that masters could do very little out of school hours.

In short, he felt on terms of equality with his chief, so far as the social state of the School was concerned, and thought that the Doctor would find it no easy matter to get on without him. Moreover, his School Toryism[50] was still strong, and he looked still with some jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the matter of change; and thought it very desirable for the School that he should have some wise person (such as himself) to look sharply after vested[51] School rights, and see that nothing was done to the injury of the republic without due protest.

[50] #Toryism#: here, adherence to the established customs of the School.

[51] #Vested#: long established; fixed.

It was a new light to him to find that, besides teaching the sixth, and governing and guiding the whole School, editing cla.s.sics, and writing histories, the great Headmaster had found time in those busy years to watch over the career, even of him, Tom Brown, and his particular friends--and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the same time; and all this without taking the least credit to himself, or seeming to know, or let any one else know, he ever thought particularly of any boy at all.

HERO-WORSHIP.

However, the Doctor's victory was complete from that moment, over Tom Brown, at any rate. He gave way, at all points, and the enemy marched right over him,--cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and the land transport corps, and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years to do it, but now it was done thoroughly, and there wasn't a corner of him left which didn't believe in the Doctor. Had he returned to school again, and the Doctor began in the half-year by abolishing f.a.gging, and foot-ball, and the Sat.u.r.day half-holiday, or all or any of the most cherished School inst.i.tutions, Tom would have supported him with the blindest faith. And so, after a half confession of his previous short-comings, and sorrowful adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beautifully bound volumes of the Doctor's sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the School-house, a hero-worshipper who would have satisfied the soul of Thomas Carlyle[52] himself.

[52] #Thomas Carlyle#: a distinguished British author, died 1881. One of his best-known books is "Heroes and Hero Worship."

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, Jack Raggles shouting comic songs, and performing feats of strength; and was greeted by a chorus of mingled remonstrances at his desertion and joy at his reappearance.

And falling in with the humor of the evening was soon as great a boy as all the rest; and at ten o'clock was chaired[53] round the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, "For he's a jolly good fellow," while old Thomas, in a melting mood, and the other School-house servants stood looking on.

[53] #Chaired#: here, carried.

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen and other acquaintances, and said his hearty good-byes; and by twelve o'clock was in the train, and away for London, no longer a school-boy, and divided his thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the long stage of his life which was now slipping out of sight behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next stage, upon which he was entering, with all the confidence of a young traveller.

CHAPTER IX.

FINIS.

"Strange friend, past, present, and to be; Loved deeplier, darklier understood; Behold, I dream a dream of good, And mingle all the world with thee."--_Tennyson._

In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again at the well-known station; and, leaving his bag and fishing-rod with the porter, walked slowly and sadly up towards the town. It was now July. He had rushed away from Oxford the moment the term was over, for a fishing ramble in Scotland with two college friends, and had been for three weeks living on oat-cake and mutton-hams, in the wildest parts of Skye.[1] They had descended one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea ferry, and, while Tom and another of the party put their tackle together and began exploring the stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into the house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently, he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his hand, and threw himself on the heathery scrub[2] which met the shingle,[3] within easy hail of the fishermen.

There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth young England, "improving his mind," as he shouted to them, by the perusal of the fortnight-old weekly paper, soiled with the marks of toddy-gla.s.ses and tobacco-ashes, the legacy of the last traveller, which he had hunted out from the kitchen of the little hostelry,[4]

and, being a youth of a communicative turn of mind, began imparting the contents to the fishermen as he went on.

[1] #Skye#: an island off the west coast of Scotland.

[2] #Scrub#: stunted shrubs.

[3] #Shingle#: a pebbly beach.

[4] #Hostelry#: inn.

"What a bother they are making about these wretched Corn-laws![5]

Here's three or four columns full of nothing but sliding-scales and fixed duties.[6] Hang this tobacco, it's always going out! Ah, here's something better,--a splendid match between Kent and England, Brown!

Kent winning by three wickets. Felix fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out!"

[5] #Corn-laws#: laws imposing a heavy tax on imported grain.

They made bread dear, and caused great distress among the laboring cla.s.ses in England.

[6] #Sliding-scales and fixed duties#: different kinds of revenue tax.

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, answered only with a grunt.

"Anything about the Goodwood?"[7] called out the third man.

[7] #Goodwood#: a famous annual horse-race.

"Rory O'More drawn. b.u.t.terfly colt amiss," shouted the student.

"Just my luck," grumbled the inquirer, jerking his flies[8] off the water, and throwing again with a heavy sullen splash, and frightening Tom's fish.