CHAPTER XVIII
THE HEAD PREFECTSHIP
A warm bright September day at Deal. A golden light from the westernsun fell athwart the green fields of the school and cast great shadowsupon the beach and the tranquil bay beyond. It had rained the daybefore, after a long drought, so that the air was fresh and the foliagehad taken on a gayer green. The long white Port Road leading down thehill toward Monday Port was dotted with hacks, flies, barges, coming toand returning from the school, each one depositing at the terrace stepsa somewhat noisy and merry contingent of boys. They, after greeting theDoctor and Mrs. Forester in the great hall, scattered to their quartersto stow their belongings and compare animated notes with their friends.
From an angle of the Old School, where he was screened from view bya mass of shrubbery, Jacob Finch lay flat on his stomach, his peakedface in his hands, and his thin little legs, half hidden now by longtrousers, kicking in the air behind him. Below him, descending terraceby terrace and over the green sloping fields, stretched the wonderfulDeal country, so fresh and wind-swept, gleaming in the mellow afternoonlight; he looked out over the curving tawny beach, the great sweep ofthe greenish-brown marshes, the grayish-green of the dunes, the stillsheet of opaque water under the ledges of Lovel’s Woods; and beyond thegreat fan-shaped curves of Strathsey Neck, the rocks, the islands, andat last the boundless expanse of the ocean, blue this afternoon as anItalian lake. It was an afternoon to remember, to feel glad for from asense of its sheer beauty.
But Finch was totally unconscious of the scene before him. Insteadhis eyes were fastened with an intent gaze upon the white road andthe long driveway that divided the playing-fields. He eagerly scannedeach vehicle as it approached and deposited its load at the flight ofsteps that led up to the principal terrace. Each time an expression ofdisappointment would settle upon his face, until it was transformedagain to eager interest at the approach of another carriage.
Finch had spent the summer at Deal, so perhaps there was little reasonfor him to become enthusiastic over a prospect of beauty of which hehad had so many opportunities for growing weary. As he looked backon the spring term, he hardly knew how he had got through it. Helived during its last six weeks more than ever in his shell, studyingdesperately to pass his examinations. And in that he had succeeded.
After Deering’s departure and his own exposure before Wilson, heavoided every one, even Lawrence and Mr. Morris. And save on two orthree occasions, after a more bitter jibe than usual in the classroomwhen he revenged himself on Mr. Roylston, he gave up his secretvandalism. During the summer he stayed on at Deal. The time had gonepleasantly enough, and had he been able to recoup his health, he mighthave been restored to an equable frame of mind, but unfortunately hewas physically as miserable as ever.
By the middle of August he began to worry about the possibility ofDeering not coming back. After a letter or so, which characteristicallyhe had left unanswered, he heard nothing from Tony. In August he heard,however, from Doctor Forester, who was spending a week-end with theLawrences at Easthampfield. “You will be interested to learn,” hehad written, “that your friend Anthony Deering is here with James,and that there is now no longer any doubt of his returning to schoolin September. I look forward to great things from him as leader ofthe school.” From that time on Finch lived from day to day on theexpectation of Tony’s return. He was thrilled by the implied statementof the Head Master’s letter that Tony would be appointed Head Prefect,though he could not imagine that any other boy had for a moment beenseriously considered. Several times the first day of the term whenhe had heard the boys discussing the probability of Tony’s returnand appointment, he smiled to himself with secret glee and a strangefeeling of self-importance at his inside information. But he saidnothing. It pleased him though that almost all of the boys seemed totake it for granted.
At last, on that lovely September afternoon as Jake lay under thebushes on the Old School terrace, he was rewarded for his long vigil.In one of the last of the many carriages that drove up, he saw Lawrenceand Deering. The rays of the setting sun were shining on the topof Tony’s bare copper-colored head and made it glow like burnishedgold. To Jake’s adoring eyes it was as the halo about the head of apatron saint. He watched the two boys clamber out of their hack, paythe driver, and join a merry crowd of fellows who were unofficiallywelcoming late arrivals. “Hello Tony!” “Hello Jim!” “Well, I’m mightyglad to see you!” With such cries he heard fresh young voices ring; andwith bright eyes, he followed his hero as he entered the doors of theOld School in the midst of a happy crowd of his classmates. Through thewindow, to which he crept, he saw the cordial greeting that Tony andJimmie got from the Doctor and Mrs. Forester. A moment later Finch sawKit Wilson enter, and heartily greet every one except Tony. He sent aglance of vindictive hatred toward Wilson that it was well for him Kitdid not see.
About half-an-hour after supper Jake tapped timidly at the door ofNumber Five study. In response there came a hearty “Come in.”
“Why, hello, Finch,” cried Tony, grasping his visitor’s hand with astrong grip, “I declare, you’re getting fat.”
Finch laughed ruefully. “Not very, I guess.”
“Well, old chap, how have you been? Why the deuce haven’t you everwritten to me?”
“I dunno; I’m no hand at writing, I guess. I was glad to hear from youthough.”
“How goes it? Where have you been all summer?”
“Here,” answered Finch laconically.
“Here! what on earth were you doing here?”
“Didn’t have money enough to go any place else. The Head gave me somework in the library, cataloguing books.”
“Good for him! I ought to have been working myself, I reckon. Money’sbeen pretty scarce down our way too. By Jove, old boy, it’s good to beback, you know. You don’t know how much you care for the old shop tillyou leave it.”
“No, I guess you don’t,” was Finch’s ambiguous reply.
“Well, Jake, we’re going to have a good year this time anyway. I’mgoing to pull you out of the dumps instanter. Jimmie says you’ve beencutting Number Five since I’ve been away. That won’t do.” He lookedabout him with undisguised pride and pleasure. “Things do look prettynice and comfy in the old camp-ground, don’t they?”
“They certainly do look good for you, Deering. You’ll be Head Prefect.”
“Stop your kidding, Jake.”
“Oh, you know you’ll get it,” said Jake. “I guess it would have beenannounced all right last spring if you hadn’t been so sure you mightn’tcome back. But it’s all right now.”
“Well, to tell the truth,” rejoined Tony with a laugh, “of course Ihope it’s all right. It’s a sort of a turn-down when a President of theDealonian doesn’t get it. But there are other chaps that deserve iton other accounts much more than I do. There’s Ned Clavering and DocThorn. They are the right sort. We’ve never been very thick but therearen’t two fellows in the school that I have more respect for. I reckonif I hadn’t made that lucky run in the Boxford game and been electedPresident of the Dealonian soon after, that Ned would have had a betterchance than I. Fact is, I really never thought of being Head Prefecttill I had that election thrust upon me.”
“Clavering and Thorn are prefects all right. But you are to be head.The Doctor told me so himself.”
“The deuce he did!”
“Honest. He wrote me a letter about my being here last summer while hewas at Easthampfield, staying with Mr. Lawrence. He said you were therewith Lawrence, and then told me that you were to be Head Prefect.”
“That’s funny. But if it’s so, why of course I’m mighty glad. As farback as I know anything about the school there have only been threePresidents of Dealonian who were not Head Prefect in their Sixth Formyear. However, it means a lot of responsibility and knocks out chancesof a heap of fun.”
“I guess you’re up to it,” said Finch with conviction.
“If I get it, I’ll certainly try to make good. But as a matter of
factI haven’t got it yet. Tell me how things went last year? How’s the dearold Gumshoe?”
“Same as ever. I hate him.”
“Tut, tut, my child; there’s mighty few people worth hating.”
“He is,” said Jake without a smile. “He’s a sneak.”
“Now, as a matter of fact, Jake, I don’t think he is. The Gumshoe, asI have reason to know, can be uncommonly mean, but I don’t believefor a minute that he’s a sneak. I am coming by degrees, reflectionbein’ aided by merciful separation, to understand the Gumshoe’s pointof view: it’s pinched and peaked, but it isn’t sneaky—he is just asdisagreeable to your face as he possibly can be behind your back. He’shad a hard row to hoe, and I don’t blame him now and then for beingcrabbed and sour. But I reckon he takes it out in that.”
“I don’t think he does,” said Finch quite unconvinced by Tony’s moregenerous reasoning. “I don’t think so at all. He’d strike in the dark.I don’t trust him.”
“Reggie never would either,” Tony mused for the moment; then morecheerfully, “But come, let’s talk of something pleasant. How——Why,hello, Ted.” This last exclamation was directed at a drab comical faceand ruffled head of mouse-colored hair that thrust itself through thehalf-open doorway. “Come in, you duffer.”
“Didn’t know you were busy,” said Teddy Lansing, entering.
“Well, I ain’t,” said Tony.
Finch rose from his seat on the window-sill and sidled toward the door.“I guess I’ll be going,” he said to Deering, and bolted.
“Now, what the deuce is the matter with him?” exclaimed Tony. “He shiesat his shadow.”
“Pah—Pinch!” Teddy spat with emphasis at the waste paper basket.
Tony looked up quickly, but restrained the impulse of annoyance.“What’s the matter with Finch?”
“Oh, nothing particular. I just don’t like him. He’s a sneak. Butthere, I beg your pardon, Tony,” Teddy caught himself, rememberingthe cause of Deering’s quarrel with Wilson. “I suppose you will standup for him. I don’t know much about him; but he got on my nerves lastspring to a degree. Guess he’s bug-house.”
“He has had a blamed hard time here—that accounts for it. But I don’tthink he is a sneak. If we had given him half a chance——.”
“I know, I know, old chap; you’ve certainly given him more than halfa chance, and if you think it pays, all right all right. I think, youknow, that Pinch isn’t worth the trouble you’ve taken with him. ButI’ll admit that I had no right to call him a sneak. However he hasn’tmade good here.”
“Perhaps not,” said Tony. “But I wish he could. Where’s the crowd?”
“Unpacking, I guess. What sort of a summer have you had, old man? Wemissed you a lot here last spring.”
“Bully—I was down in the mountains, North Carolina. Where were you?”
“Oh, home mostly. Confound! there’s the bell for Chapel. Come on, let’swander down.”
The two boys made their way, arm in arm, through Standerland corridors,across a moonlight-flooded campus to the Chapel. At the entrance theycame face to face with Mr. Roylston; he gave them a short greeting andpassed rapidly within. Tony was in high spirits, and waited outsideuntil the last moment, greeting boys he had not seen and an occasionalmaster. He could not help wondering, as he took his seat with a feelingof pride in the Sixth Form rows, if the Doctor would announce who wasto be Head Prefect that evening.
But he did not. After the customary short service, an adaptation ofEvening Prayer from the Prayer-book, the Head made a few generalannouncements, including a faculty meeting that evening, and then gavethe boys a talk. Doctor Forester was at his best in Chapel. There was asimplicity in his sermons and addresses, a rugged kindly earnestness,lit up by occasional flashes of insight and vision, that made him fromthe Chapel pulpit a genuine moral and religious force amongst hisboys. His theme that evening was the Power of Kindness as a source ofhappiness and goodness in the life of the school. Tony, as he listened,felt a pang of remorse for his jibes at Mr. Roylston and a keen stingof regret for his difference with Kit; otherwise, on the whole, hethought, he did try to be kind. And he liked what the Doctor saidbecause it put his own views into much better, clearer terms than hecould have given them.
Tony, though he had absorbed much of the best that the school and thestrong men who made the school could give him, had not consciouslybeen deeply touched or drawn to the religious life of the place. Hesaid his prayers at night; once in a long, long time he read hisBible; he tried to do his duty mostly, he wanted usually to be kind;indeed he usually was kind; and, thought little more about it. Hisfamily were all churchmen and he supposed that some time he would beconfirmed, but he had not yet been, and indeed had never understoodwhat it was that drew people, especially boys of his age, toward amore personal religion. But to-night, the old familiar hymns, sungwith such hearty good will; the gracious cadences of the well-knownprayers and psalms; the sense of dependence upon and communion witha Higher Power that breathed in the Doctor’s talk to them: andparticularly the soft singing in Latin of an old monastic hymn, set toa Gregorian rhythm which the boys always sang at evening services inthe Chapel:—to-night, it all touched him more intimately and deeplythan it ever had done before.
“I think I will be confirmed this year, Jimmie,” he said to hisroom-mate, as they strolled across the campus in the soft night, withtheir arms about each other’s necks.
“I wish you would,” Jimmie replied, somewhat to his surprise. “I wasconfirmed last spring, and I’m mighty glad I was.”
They fell then into intimate talk—of themselves, of the summer, oftheir plans for the year....
While the boys of the school were busy that evening with theirunpacking and the setting of their rooms to order, under thesupervision of the younger masters, the senior members of the facultywere gathering for their first meeting of the term in the Masters’common-room. This room was directly back of the library. Its windowsopened eastward on to the terrace, and commanded a superb view of themoonlight-flooded sea and shore. The windows were opened to the nightair, and the fragrance of the late honeysuckle drifted in on the softbreeze.
Doctor Forester was the last to enter. He had stopped a moment in thelibrary to speak with Finch, who was reading there.
“Oh, Jacob,” he said, pausing as if he suddenly recollected something,“do you chance to remember a letter I wrote you last summer fromEasthampfield when I was staying with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I just wish to caution you not to repeat any remark I seem torecall having made there about this year’s Head Prefect. I want it tocome as a surprise to all the boys, as well as to the boy I think Imentioned. But the appointment is not made yet—it is always done inconjunction with the masters.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Doctor passed on into the common-room.
In a few moments he had settled himself behind the big table, andglanced about over his glasses at his colleagues, to see who waspresent. About thirty members of the faculty were there, including allof the senior masters. Morris was standing with a little group by thefireplace. Mr. Roylston was sitting by the window looking out upon themoonlit sea.
“Gentlemen, will you please come to order.” The Doctor paused for amoment while they settled into various attitudes of attention. “I havecalled you together to-night to settle with your advice the question ofthe Head Prefectship. I have seldom postponed this appointment untilafter the Long Vacation, but last June the boy who seemed to have mostclaim to the place left school and it was doubtful for the time if hewould return. I may say, that I should have appointed him even withthat doubt unsettled, had not one of the senior masters particularlyrequested me to postpone the appointment until this fall.”
He paused again, and looked about him. “There is no reason for furtherdelay. The obvious candidate for the position is, of course, AnthonyDeering. He was, as you all know, not only the president of theDealonian Society, which according
to tradition registers the boys’choice of their leader, but he was unanimously nominated to me by theretiring prefects of last year’s Sixth Form. I may say at once, thatunless there is strong reason to the contrary, that I am disposed toconfirm that nomination this evening. He is a boy who has been keenlyinterested in most of the school activities and he has shown abilityand capacity for leadership in most of them. Personally, as we allfeel I imagine, he is a charming lad, high bred, coming of one of thebest old southern families; and, as on several occasions I have hadthe opportunity for judging, he has always displayed a sense of honorand an attitude of unselfishness and kindness that is as rare as it isdelightful. I should be glad, however, to hear your comments on thenomination, or to have the merits of any other boy discussed whom youmay feel is entitled to consideration.”
After a moment’s silence, Stenton addressed the masters. “DoctorForester,” he said, “I should like to say that I thoroughly agree withall that you say about Deering. I have observed him at close quarterson the athletic field, and I never knew a squarer, more plucky lad. Asyou know, other things being equal, I believe that an athlete shouldhave preference for the Head Prefectship. Two years ago I doubted ifDeering would fulfill his athletic promise, but his exploit in theBoxford game of last year, thoroughly re-established his athleticreputation. I think he is, simply because of his genial character andgeneral popularity, better adapted to the position than Ned Clavering,the football captain, who would be my next choice. He too is a finechap, and though he lacks Deering’s attractiveness, he is not so quickand impulsive.”
“His impulses,” asked the Head, “are usually generous, are they not?”
“Yes, I think they are,” Stenton replied. “He is decidedly my choice.”
“And you, Mr. Morris?”
“Why, yes, sir; I fancy my opinion of Deering is well known. He hasfaults. He is impulsive, as Stenton says; he is quick and he has asharp temper. But granting that, I am frank to say that he is a boywhom it has been a privilege as well as a pleasure to know. I think notmerely that we would make no mistake in selecting him for Head Prefect,but that we could not possibly find another boy who would do so well.”
“That is very much my impression,” said the Doctor. “Unless—yes, Mr.Roylston.”
“I am sorry to say,” interrupted Mr. Roylston, from his seat on thewindow-bench, in low distinct tones in which there was discernible buta trace of feeling, “I am sorry to say there is an ‘unless.’ I regretvery much to utter a discordant note to the chorus of praise that hasbeen sounding for the boy whose name is under our consideration, but asense of duty as well as deep personal feeling impels me to say that Ishould regard it as a calamity of injustice if he should receive thisappointment.”
The men turned with amazement and curiosity in the direction of theLatin master. “My experience of him,” that gentleman continued,“though it has scarcely been as intimate as that of Mr. Stenton or Mr.Morris,—both of whom, I understand, believe in as well as practice,cultivating intimacies with boys,—but it has been as extended. Andnever, I desire to say, in my long experience have I had as muchtrouble or been subjected to such impertinence and insult as by Deeringand his satellites.”
Doctor Forester interrupted his assistant master a little impatiently.“I should be obliged if you will specify some of his delinquencies, Mr.Roylston.”
“I fear I should exhaust your patience,” replied the master, “if Iattempted to detail the difficulties to which I have been subjected. Ishall content myself with but one instance which was the culminationlast spring of a long series of annoyances.”
All of the men in the room were now giving Mr. Roylston an undividedattention. All were surprised except Beverly; even Morris looked athim with open-eyed amazement. They knew, of course, that he had hadwhat they regarded trifling disciplinary troubles with Deering and hisfriends,—a lively crowd, especially in their Lower School days,—butthey had no reason to suspect that the master would take such adefinitely hostile attitude in a matter that seriously affected a boy’sschool life. Doctor Forester had had some slight intimation, as it hadbeen Mr. Roylston who urged the postponement of the appointment.
“Some time last year,” continued Mr. Roylston,—“in March, to bemore exact,—I had some difficulty with Deering and Wilson, who werethen chums, though I believe that Wilson has since formed otherassociations. They broke a gating that I had imposed upon them, andwhen the matter was referred to the Head Master,—unwisely, I thought,as I trust I may be pardoned for saying,—their disobedience was notpunished. From that time on I do not think that I am mistaken in sayingthat I marked a bravado in their attitude toward me that was justshort of impertinence. I did not relax my vigilance, so there were nomore overt acts of disobedience. However, they had what I suppose theyconsidered their revenge. One day in first study I confiscated from theboy Finch a composition entitled ‘The Spectacle.’ Upon examination itproved to be a somewhat coarse imitation of Addison’s Spectator.” Mr.Roylston drew a copy of Tony’s unfortunate composition from his pocket.“The particular number that fell into my hands was entitled ‘Soft-toedSamuel.’ With your permission, sir, I should like to read it to thefaculty.”
“Certainly,” assented Doctor Forester, “if you think best. If youprefer——”
“I do prefer, sir.”
“Very good—read it, by all means.”
Mr. Roylston slowly unfolded the paper, adjusted his spectacles, andread to his colleagues Tony’s effusion. He read it well, did fulljustice to the sarcasm, the animus that had been in the writer’smind at the moment of composition. Some of the men, conscious of theinvasion it made upon magisterial dignity, were plainly in sympathywith Roylston’s indignation; others found difficulty in concealingtheir enjoyment of its wit, and a little perhaps, in hiding theirsatisfaction in seeing a colleague, none too popular with themselves,held up to ridicule.
As Mr. Roylston concluded, he folded the paper and handed it to theHead Master. “That, sir,” he said, “is a copy of the original whichwas in Anthony Deering’s handwriting, and the authorship of which heacknowledged.”
Doctor Forester took the poor _Spectacle_ into his hands and glanced atit. “This is, of course, very distressing; very unfortunate; a _most_unfortunate occurrence.”
Morris spoke up quickly. “May I ask, Mr. Roylston, if Deering did notapologize for this thing and show genuine regret?”
“For its discovery, yes,” answered Mr. Roylston dryly, as he metMorris’s keen glance with a stare of scarcely concealed dislike.
“No, not for the discovery; for the thing itself, I mean,” said Morris.
“He apologized, of course. There was nothing else he could do as theevidence was perfect. As for contrition, you, perhaps, are a betterjudge of that than I.”
Morris flushed. “Deering has never mentioned the matter to me, Mr.Roylston. I agree with you that it is a flagrant impropriety and thatit must have seemed to you a gratuitous insult. But, of course, itwas not intended for your eyes, and I dare say, is no worse than manyanother such squib as might be directed at any of us by almost any boy.Their sense of fun is doubtless often misdirected, but it is only asense of fun, I believe, and usually quite devoid of malice.”
“My acquaintance with Deering, Mr. Morris, has not been of so happy anature as yours. I am not able to believe that he is devoid of malice.”
“Gentlemen,” interrupted the Head, “I should be glad to hear anythingyou have to say on the subject. I appreciate Mr. Roylston’s verynatural feeling. I hope very much, however, that he may see with methat it is one of those unfortunate incidents which——.”
“Pardon me, sir,” exclaimed the master, “if I define my attitudeprecisely. It will prevent misunderstanding. I have reflected on thismatter for six months. I can only say that should the Head Master andthe faculty of this school reward with the highest honors a boy whoso deeply has insulted a member of the faculty, thus seeming to stampwith their approval a quite intolerable attitude of disrespect, thatI
should be under the painful necessity of severing my connectionwith the institution.” With that he rose, bowed slightly, and excusedhimself.
Doctor Forester rose quickly. “Gentlemen, this is evidently a moreserious question than I had supposed. I shall speak with Mr. Roylstonalone, and with your permission I will take the responsibility of adecision entirely upon myself. I think we may consider the meetingadjourned.”
Had the masters that evening been less intent upon what was going onwithin, sharp eyes, directed to the clump of bushes immediately beneaththe windows, might have detected an eavesdropper on their proceedings.But they did not, and when the meeting had adjourned, he slunk,unobserved, away.