[4]
PRINGLE MAKES A SPORTING OFFER
Estimating it roughly, it takes a new boy at a public school about aweek to find his legs and shed his skin of newness. The period is, ofcourse, longer in the case of some and shorter in the case of others.Both Farnie and Wilson had made themselves at home immediately. In thecase of the latter, directly the Skinner episode had been noisedabroad, and it was discovered in addition that he was a promising bat,public opinion recognized that here was a youth out of the common runof new boys, and the Lower Fourth--the form in which he had been placedon arrival--took him to its bosom as an equal. Farnie's case wasexceptional. A career at Harrow, Clifton, and Wellington, however shortand abruptly terminated, gives one some sort of grip on the way publicschool life is conducted. At an early date, moreover, he gave signs ofwhat almost amounted to genius in the Indoor Game department. Now,success in the field is a good thing, and undoubtedly makes forpopularity. But if you desire to command the respect and admiration ofyour fellow-beings to a degree stretched almost to the point ofidolatry, make yourself proficient in the art of whiling away the hoursof afternoon school. Before Farnie's arrival, his form, the UpperFourth, with the best intentions in the world, had not been skilful'raggers'. They had ragged in an intermittent, once-a-week sort of way.When, however, he came on the scene, he introduced a welcome element ofscience into the sport. As witness the following. Mr Strudwick, theregular master of the form, happened on one occasion to be away for acouple of days, and a stop-gap was put in in his place. The name of thestop-gap was Mr Somerville Smith. He and Farnie exchanged an unspokendeclaration of war almost immediately. The first round went in MrSmith's favour. He contrived to catch Farnie in the act of performingsome ingenious breach of the peace, and, it being a Wednesday and ahalf-holiday, sent him into extra lesson. On the following morning,more by design than accident, Farnie upset an inkpot. Mr Smith observedicily that unless the stain was wiped away before the beginning ofafternoon school, there would be trouble. Farnie observed (to himself)that there would be trouble in any case, for he had hit upon thecentral idea for the most colossal 'rag' that, in his opinion, everwas. After morning school he gathered the form around him, anddisclosed his idea. The floor of the form-room, he pointed out, wassome dozen inches below the level of the door. Would it not be apleasant and profitable notion, he asked, to flood the floor with waterto the depth of those dozen inches? On the wall outside the form-roomhung a row of buckets, placed there in case of fire, and the lavatorywas not too far off for practical purposes. Mr Smith had bidden himwash the floor. It was obviously his duty to do so. The form thought sotoo. For a solid hour, thirty weary but enthusiastic reprobateslaboured without ceasing, and by the time the bell rang all wasprepared. The floor was one still, silent pool. Two caps and a fewnotebooks floated sluggishly on the surface, relieving the picture ofany tendency to monotony. The form crept silently to their places alongthe desks. As Mr Smith's footsteps were heard approaching, they beganto beat vigorously upon the desks, with the result that Mr Smith,quickening his pace, dashed into the form-room at a hard gallop. Theimmediate results were absolutely satisfactory, and if matterssubsequently (when Mr Smith, having changed his clothes, returned withthe Headmaster) did get somewhat warm for the thirty criminals, theyhad the satisfying feeling that their duty had been done, and a heartyand unanimous vote of thanks was passed to Farnie. From which it willbe seen that Master Reginald Farnie was managing to extract more orless enjoyment out of his life at Beckford.
Another person who was enjoying life was Pringle of the School House.The keynote of Pringle's character was superiority. At an early periodof his life--he was still unable to speak at the time--his grandmotherhad died. This is probably the sole reason why he had never taught thatrelative to suck eggs. Had she lived, her education in that directionmust have been taken in hand. Baffled in this, Pringle had turned hisattention to the rest of the human race. He had a rooted convictionthat he did everything a shade better than anybody else. This beliefdid not make him arrogant at all, and certainly not offensive, for hewas exceedingly popular in the School. But still there were people whothought that he might occasionally draw the line somewhere. Watson, theground-man, for example, thought so when Pringle primed him with adviceon the subject of preparing a wicket. And Langdale, who had beencaptain of the team five years before, had thought so most decidedly,and had not hesitated to say so when Pringle, then in his first termand aged twelve, had stood behind the First Eleven net and requestedhim peremptorily to 'keep 'em down, sir, keep 'em down'. Indeed, thegreat man had very nearly had a fit on that occasion, and was wontafterwards to attribute to the effects of the shock so received asequence of three 'ducks' which befell him in the next three matches.
In short, in every department of life, Pringle's advice was always (andgenerally unsought) at everybody's disposal. To round the position offneatly, it would be necessary to picture him as a total failure in thepractical side of all the subjects in which he was so brilliant atheorist. Strangely enough, however, this was not the case. There werefew better bats in the School than Pringle. Norris on his day was morestylish, and Marriott not infrequently made more runs, but forconsistency Pringle was unrivalled.
That was partly the reason why at this time he was feeling pleased withlife. The School had played three matches up to date, and had won themall. In the first, an Oxford college team, containing several OldBeckfordians, had been met and routed, Pringle contributing thirty-oneto a total of three hundred odd. But Norris had made a century, whichhad rather diverted the public eye from this performance. Then theSchool had played the Emeriti, and had won again quite comfortably.This time his score had been forty-one, useful, but still notphenomenal. Then in the third match, _versus_ Charchester, one ofthe big school matches of the season, he had found himself. He ran up ahundred and twenty-three without a chance, and felt that life hadlittle more to offer. That had been only a week ago, and the glow ofsatisfaction was still pleasantly warm.
It was while he was gloating silently in his study over the bat withwhich a grateful Field Sports Committee had presented him as a rewardfor this feat, that he became aware that Lorimer, his study companion,appeared to be in an entirely different frame of mind to his own.Lorimer was in the Upper Fifth, Pringle in the Remove. Lorimer sat atthe study table gnawing a pen in a feverish manner that told of anoverwrought soul. Twice he uttered sounds that were obviously sounds ofanguish, half groans and half grunts. Pringle laid down his bat anddecided to investigate.
'What's up?' he asked.
'This bally poem thing,' said Lorimer.
'Poem? Oh, ah, I know.' Pringle had been in the Upper Fifth himself ayear before, and he remembered that every summer term there descendedupon that form a Bad Time in the shape of a poetry prize. A certainIndian potentate, the Rajah of Seltzerpore, had paid a visit to theschool some years back, and had left behind him on his departurecertain monies in the local bank, which were to be devoted to providingthe Upper Fifth with an annual prize for the best poem on a subject tobe selected by the Headmaster. Entrance was compulsory. The wilyauthorities knew very well that if it had not been, the entries for theprize would have been somewhat small. Why the Upper Fifth were sofavoured in preference to the Sixth or Remove is doubtful. Possibly itwas felt that, what with the Jones History, the Smith Latin Verse, theRobinson Latin Prose, and the De Vere Crespigny Greek Verse, and othertrophies open only to members of the Remove and Sixth, those two formshad enough to keep them occupied as it was. At any rate, to the UpperFifth the prize was given, and every year, three weeks after thecommencement of the summer term, the Bad Time arrived.
'Can't you get on?' asked Pringle.
'No.'
'What's the subject?'
'Death of Dido.'
'Something to be got out of that, surely.'
'Wish you'd tell me what.'
'Heap of things.'
'Such as what? Can't see anything myself. I call it perfectly indecentdragging the good lady out of her we
ll-earned tomb at this time of day.I've looked her up in the Dic. of Antiquities, and it appears that shecommitted suicide some years ago. Body-snatching, I call it. What do Iwant to know about her?'
'What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba?' murmured Pringle.
'Hecuba?' said Lorimer, looking puzzled, 'What's Hecuba got to do withit?'
'I was only quoting,' said Pringle, with gentle superiority.
'Well, I wish instead of quoting rot you'd devote your energies tohelping me with these beastly verses. How on earth shall I begin?'
'You might adapt my quotation. "What's Dido got to do with me, or I todo with Dido?" I rather like that. Jam it down. Then you go on in asort of rag-time metre. In the "Coon Drum-Major" style. Besides, yousee, the beauty of it is that you administer a wholesome snub to theexaminer right away. Makes him sit up at once. Put it down.'
Lorimer bit off another quarter of an inch of his pen. 'You needn't bean ass,' he said shortly.
'My dear chap,' said Pringle, enjoying himself immensely, 'what onearth is the good of my offering you suggestions if you won't takethem?'
Lorimer said nothing. He bit off another mouthful of penholder.
'Well, anyway,' resumed Pringle. 'I can't see why you're so keen on thebusiness. Put down anything. The beaks never make a fuss about thesespecial exams.'
'It isn't the beaks I care about,' said Lorimer in an injured tone ofvoice, as if someone had been insinuating that he had committed somecrime, 'only my people are rather keen on my doing well in this exam.'
'Why this exam, particularly?'
'Oh, I don't know. My grandfather or someone was a bit of a pro atverse in his day, I believe, and they think it ought to run in thefamily.'
Pringle examined the situation in all its aspects. 'Can't you getalong?' he enquired at length.
'Not an inch.'
'Pity. I wish we could swop places.'
'So do I for some things. To start with, I shouldn't mind having madethat century of yours against Charchester.'
Pringle beamed. The least hint that his fellow-man was taking him athis own valuation always made him happy.
'Thanks,' he said. 'No, but what I meant was that I wished I was in forthis poetry prize. I bet I could turn out a rattling good screed. Why,last year I almost got the prize. I sent in fearfully hot stuff.'
'Think so?' said Lorimer doubtfully, in answer to the 'rattling goodscreed' passage of Pringle's speech. 'Well, I wish you'd have a shot.You might as well.'
'What, really? How about the prize?'
'Oh, hang the prize. We'll have to chance that.'
'I thought you were keen on getting it.'
'Oh, no. Second or third will do me all right, and satisfy my people.They only want to know for certain that I've got the poetic afflatusall right. Will you take it on?'
'All right.'
'Thanks, awfully.'
'I say, Lorimer,' said Pringle after a pause.
'Yes?'
'Are your people coming down for the O.B.s' match?'
The Old Beckfordians' match was the great function of the Beckfordcricket season. The Headmaster gave a garden-party. The School bandplayed; the School choir sang; and sisters, cousins, aunts, and parentsflocked to the School in platoons.
'Yes, I think so,' said Lorimer. 'Why?'
'Is your sister coming?'
'Oh, I don't know.' A brother's utter lack of interest in his sister'sactions is a weird and wonderful thing for an outsider to behold.
'Well, look here, I wish you'd get her to come. We could give them teain here, and have rather a good time, don't you think?'
'All right. I'll make her come. Look here, Pringle, I believe you'rerather gone on Mabel.'
This was Lorimer's vulgar way.
'Don't be an ass,' said Pringle, with a laugh which should have beencareless, but was in reality merely feeble. 'She's quite a kid.'
Miss Mabel Lorimer's exact age was fifteen. She had brown hair, blueeyes, and a smile which disclosed to view a dimple. There are worsethings than a dimple. Distinctly so, indeed. When ladies of fifteenpossess dimples, mere man becomes but as a piece of dampblotting-paper. Pringle was seventeen and a half, and consequently tooold to take note of such frivolous attributes; but all the same he hada sort of vague, sketchy impression that it would be pleasanter to runup a lively century against the O.B.s with Miss Lorimer as a spectatorthan in her absence. He felt pleased that she was coming.
'I say, about this poem,' said Lorimer, dismissing a subject whichmanifestly bored him, and returning to one which was of vital interest,'you're sure you can write fairly decent stuff? It's no good sending instuff that'll turn the examiner's hair grey. Can you turn out somethingreally decent?'
Pringle said nothing. He smiled gently as who should observe, 'I andShakespeare.'