CHAPTER XX
FINCH’S HOUR
For our friends the incident was closed. Jimmie took his seat inthe prefect meetings on Sunday nights and solemnly assisted, withincreasing interest, in “running the school,” as the members of thoseconclaves were accustomed to term their labors. Tony acquiesced in theinevitable with a good grace, and beyond discussing the matter in itsvarious aspects, with Jimmie and to some extent with Mr. Morris, whowas handicapped in expressing his opinion by professional loyalty, hekept his mouth shut.
Others did not. Decisions of such a nature, important to the lifeof a school, are rarely long kept secret. And in this instance, theHead Master did not resent the facts being known, though he himselfof course maintained an absolute reserve. The facts were known sooneror later, and with a fair degree of accuracy. And the knowledgeincreased neither Mr. Roylston’s popularity nor his peace of mind.Indeed he found himself increasingly unable to extract comfort from thereflection that a deserved punishment had been fearlessly administeredor that in being just he was as wise as if he had also been merciful.During that term Mr. Roylston had many bad quarters of an hour.
As for Tony, as Doctor Forester had predicted, the loss of the HeadPrefectship added to rather than diminished from his strength amonghis schoolmates. He became, quite naturally and spontaneously, theunofficial adviser of the prefect body, and particularly of Clavering,who made a point of consulting him upon all important matters that cameto the prefects’ notice. The effect of this generosity on Clavering’spart was to reveal the two boys to each other and to establish a firmfriendship between them.
Clavering was a heavy, solid, serious-minded boy, of a mightyframe and muscle, but slow, patient and cautious in his thoughtand emotions. Until Tony had become fairly intimate with him, hehad never appreciated his classmate’s deep and earnest character;just as Clavering, until he got behind Tony’s light-hearted genialpleasantness of manner and speech, had not realized that there wasanything there worth while,—any seriousness of purpose, soundness offeeling, or loyalty to principle. He had taken Tony superficially, andwas surprised in the course of the term to find how much he had grownto like him; how much, too, he was depending on Tony’s judgment andfeeling in the various matters with which the Head Prefect in a largeschool may have to deal.
“I’m slow; you’re quick,” he said to Tony one night. “I’m fairly sure,I suppose, when I make up my mind,—but it takes me the deuce of a longtime to see things straight. You seem to see into a situation, to knowa fellow, right off.”
“Well, I dare say I’m quick, but I make lots of mistakes, you know,”laughed Tony, pleased with the compliment, especially coming from aboy who never paid them.
“They don’t seem to count for much then,” was Clavering’s reply. Heforgot that one of Tony’s mistakes accounted for himself rather thanTony being the Head of the School.
“That is more comforting as a general proposition than as anafterthought,” said Tony ambiguously, and turned the subject ofconversation to football.
In this field Clavering seemed an expert. And such indeed he provedhimself again on the gridiron that fall, for Deal turned out one ofthe best teams that Jack Stenton could remember, and that was payingit very high praise. They won all their games, including the onewith Boxford by a score of 24 to 0, which was the largest on record.Clavering was a tower of strength to the team, and Tony, who hadlost nothing of his fleetness, again distinguished himself by somebrilliant, if not quite such dramatic runs as twice before he had made.
Before the boys realized it the football season was over, and the SixthForm were looking forward to their last Christmas vacation of schooldays. This time Tony took Jimmie Lawrence to Low Deering with him,and had the keen pleasure of initiating his best friend into all theassociations and delights of his home and country.
The Deering fortunes were in better shape, particularly as Victor hadkept his promise, and was devoting himself with industrious zeal to theplantation. The old general took a great fancy to Jimmie, particularlyhe found a bond between him and the boy in mutual literary tastes. Theold man could not lead a very intellectual life, but he reverenced itand longed for it. The promise of Jimmie’s appreciation and powers wasto him peculiarly delightful. The boys had a capital vacation, so thatthey were sorry when it came to an end and they were back at Deal againfor the long winter term.
Since his confession Finch avoided Deering. He felt self-consciousabout his sentimental outbreak against being “thrown over.” Tonycertainly had not thrown him over, but he did not see his way to bewith Finch anything more than persistently patient and kind. Only onceafterward was the subject of their conversation of the night of thefaculty-meeting reopened.
“Of course, Jake,” Tony said, “you see, just as well as I do, howabsolutely wrong your actions were. I am going to leave it entirely toyou to set yourself right with Wilson—right to the extent, at least,of letting him know that you are sorry. He has been mighty decent tokeep quiet.”
“Oh, he hasn’t kept quiet,” Finch rejoined sullenly. “Most of yourcrowd—of his crowd, anyway, know more or less about it. I have seenthat all along.”
“Well, perhaps they do; I have not heard them speak of it anyway. Kitcan’t have told it very generally, or I would have heard.”
“Oh, I don’t know—not after the row you had with him about me. Theyall like you too much, except Wilson, to give you a chance to get soreagain. They don’t think me worth bothering about.”
“Well, even so—you have given some cause for that attitude now. ButI tell you what, I want to get right with Kit again. Not, old chap, atthe price of throwing you over—don’t think that!—but, on the otherhand, I don’t want to make keeping on good terms with you the price ofKit’s friendship. There isn’t need. And can’t you see that I cannot bethe one to tell Kit the—to tell Kit about you?”
Finch did not see, but he kept silent. He appreciated neither Tony’sdeep feeling for his friend nor Tony’s delicate consideration forhim. He was thinking dolefully of just how miserable and unfortunateand unlovable he was. Yet, with all the ardor of his intense famishedlittle soul, he clung to Deering’s patient tolerance, and mutelyresolved to give him no chance of “flinging him off.” But as for goingto Kit with the truth, that was an act of which he was incapable, anact of which he was even incapable of perceiving the point.
“I’m just worthless, Deering,” he said at last miserably, “I’ll bethankful when it’s all over.”
“Now, cut that out, Jake. Get out and play with somebody. Don’t moperound all the time; and come in often and see us. Jimmie is glad tohave you.”
“Thanks,” said Finch. He longed to open again the conversation aboutthe Head Prefectship, and learn from Tony what he really felt aboutthat, but with dull shame for his baseness, he did not dare. And as forTony that was a subject that he felt he never could discuss with Finchagain.
Time drifted on. Finch continued to worship Deering, but he avoidedhim more than he had done before, and lived his own lonely, unhappylife, as many a boy had done before him at school, with all that youngworld around him, gay, spirited, uncaring. Morris cared, but to hisadvances Finch proved adamant. As the term advanced, in the inevitabledistraction to other interests and pleasures, it was only natural thatthe attention Tony had concentrated on Finch at the opening of theterm, should have slacked. After a time, growing used to seeing less ofhim, even Tony began to feel that Finch was getting on well enough, andceased for the most part to worry about him.
Finch had not forgotten his grudge against Mr. Roylston, but rathernursed it with the tenacity of such a nature, and took a gloomypleasure in planning from time to time impossible schemes of revenge.For a long time Deering’s tranquillity with regard to the HeadPrefectship disarmed Jacob. It was hard to resent for your hero what hehimself did not resent. But he nursed his grudge.
It happened along in January that the prefects had occasion to dealwith some disciplinary irregularities. Being governed by Clavering’sad
vice, they frankly mismanaged the case and involved two or threeboys in a somewhat unfair predicament. Clavering, realizing that hisjudgment had been at fault, appealed to Deering, who had the good luckto make a suggestion that speedily set matters straight and savedthe school from rather a mess. The boys talked over the affair quitegenerally, and as often happens, they criticised Clavering somewhatsharply, spoke indeed more harshly, most of them, than they reallyfelt. Finch overheard a discussion of the incident in the common-roomswhich was concluded by Teddy Lansing affirming rather loudly andtactlessly, “Well, it was a rotten roast when Deering did not get theHead Prefectship in the first place. Clavering is a blundering old cow.”
“That it was—a rotten roast!” came in a sharp staccato from a near-bycorner. Finch had spoken, impulsively, and quite unusually drawingattention to himself.
“Yeaaaaa! Yeaaaa!” was returned in full chorus which half jeered at theboy, half applauded his sentiments.
“Bully for you, Pinch!” shouted Teddy. “You stick up for your friend,don’t you?”
“Friend or no friend,” answered Finch, with unwonted boldness, “it wasa roast. He was cheated out of it.”
“Guess he was,” agreed another boy. “How’d it come about, d’ye know?”
“Yes, I know,” Finch answered, “but I’m not saying.”
“Oh, inside information, eh?”
“If you want to call it that.”
“Who from—Tony Deering?”
Finch turned to his questioner with a vicious snarl. “No, it wasn’tfrom Tony Deering. He don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference tohim, but it makes a lot of difference to the school.”
“Well, who cooked his goose?”
“Who cooks everybody’s goose?” demanded Finch.
“Well, I guess, Pinch my boy, it don’t need a prophet to answer thatquestion,” Teddy responded. “Very likely it was the mild and gentleEbenezer Gumshoe Roylston. You’re right, I guess. But let me tell you,”he added, as he pulled Finch aside, “Tony’s the last person in theworld who would thank you for discussing his affairs in a crowd.”
Finch suddenly realized the truth of this remark, hung his head,and sidled away. But this outbreak on Tony’s behalf had excitedhim. It brought back all the old hopes and fears, the old pangs ofdisappointment and chagrin, and renewed his rage against Mr. Roylston.
Not long after the conversation which has just been reported, themid-year examinations were held. Finch, who still had difficulty withhis Latin, had studied particularly hard, and had practically crammedby heart the translation of several difficult passages from Cicero’s_Orations_ upon which the Sixth Form were to be examined. As soon as heentered the examination room, over which Mr. Roylston was presiding,and had looked over his paper, noting that two of the passages he hadso poled up were on it, he quickly wrote them out on a separate pieceof paper, intending to write them into his examination book at hisleisure; then he bent laboriously to his task of working out the paper.
Mr. Roylston, an argus-eyed examiner, eventually observed from hisdesk that Finch was copying something into his examination book froma detached slip of paper. He strolled leisurely and softly about theroom and advanced down the aisle where Finch was sitting from behind.As he reached the boy, he glanced down over his shoulder, and saw whathe was doing. He suspected, not without reason, that Finch was notstrictly honest in his work, and the present circumstance, it must beconfessed, had all the appearance of cheating.
Without warning he reached over Finch’s shoulder, and took theexamination book and the sheet of paper on which the translatedpassages of Cicero were written from the hands of the astonished andfrightened boy. “You may leave the room,” he said, “and report to me inmy study to-night at eight o’clock.”
Finch looked up at him wildly. “What’s the matter? What are you doingthat for?” he exclaimed excitedly.
“You understand perfectly well,” the master replied sharply. “You areexcused from this examination. Leave the room! Do you understand me?”
“No—!” began Finch, flushing crimson.
“Go!” repeated Mr. Roylston, pointing to the door, heedless of theexcited attention of the boys around.
The color fled from Finch’s face as swiftly as it had come. He rose,threw down his pencil, and dashed out of the room. Mr. Roylston foldedthe papers, and then composed the schoolroom with a glance.
Finch was not seen about the school again that day. At nightfall hereturned from the Woods where he had taken refuge, bought himself a bunor so at the Pie-house, for he was nearly famished, and having thusmade a frugal supper, at eight o’clock he presented himself at the doorof Mr. Roylston’s study in Howard House.
The master had no doubt in his mind that he had detected a flagrantcase of cheating, a crime that was above all others abominable in hiseyes. He bade Finch enter, when he heard his soft knock at his door,and then let him stand awkwardly a moment or so while he examined himcritically. The haggard face, the hunted look, seemed to him those of acriminal.
“Ah!” he said at last, “you are here.”
“Yes—I am here,” Finch answered sullenly. “What do you want with me!”
“Don’t forget yourself. Incidentally, I may say, that you have involvedyourself in an excessive number of late marks, if not in more serioustrouble, by your prolonged absence to-day.”
“I’ll attend to that. What do you want with me?”
“In the first place, and instantly,” said Mr. Roylston in acid tones,“I want a respectful demeanor.”
Finch bit his lips. “I’m sorry.... But I’ll take what’s coming to mefor being away to-day. You told me to report to you at eight o’clock. Iam here.”
“Yes,” observed the master, “you are here. To come to the point——”
“Yes, yes,—why did you take my examination book?”
Mr. Roylston had not gauged the boy’s attitude as yet. He supposedhe would lie—that kind of a boy usually did. He sought Finch’s weaktroubled eyes with a piercing glance. “I took it,” he said, in a coldjudicial voice, “because you were cheating.”
“I was not cheating!” Finch exclaimed passionately.
Mr. Roylston smiled patiently. “The evidence is sufficiently strong asscarcely to admit of mistake. You may affect to deny it; but I tellyou candidly, young man, I have suspected you before; and further, youwill scarcely be surprised to hear that I have very little confidencein your word.”
Finch gulped. “I was not cheating!” he repeated, but in tremblingtones. For the moment despair got the better of the determination inwhich he had come to keep that appointment. He had cheated before. Awave of emotion swept over him, and he swayed for a moment from sheerphysical weakness. What difference did it make? he felt. He did notcare. A wild impulse seized him to tell the truth boldly. He wouldtell everything, confess everything, but about that one thing he wouldbe believed. It was the end, he knew; but he would not have the endcome and himself be involved, convicted, of what was not true. Therewas enough that was. The master was looking at him coldly, but for themoment was saying nothing. Finch put his hand out to a near-by table tosteady himself.
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Roylston, a gleam of triumph in his sharp blackeyes, “I see that you do not mean to dispute me.”
“Do you want the truth?” cried Finch, meeting the master’s eye againwith a fierce look.
“Naturally.”
“Then you shall have it!”
Finch threw back his head; he expanded in body and soul; and kept hiseyes fastened on Mr. Roylston’s countenance in which he was to see avariety of emotions depicted in the next few moments. He felt his hourwas come.
“You shall have it!” he repeated, moistening his parched lips.
To Mr. Roylston’s fascinated gaze, the boy seemed transformed; a soul,misshaped, distorted, hitherto utterly abased, had risen in thatdespised body, and was leaping forth from the boy’s eyes to grapplewith his own soul. He had a sickening sense that he was about to passthrough an u
nseemly scene, the most unseemly and disagreeable scene ofhis life, and that he was powerless to avert it.
“You shall have it,” repeated Finch again. “I havecheated—cheated—cheated—day after day—day after day. And I’ll tellyou why. Because, slave as I would, work as I could for you, I nevergot one mark of credit, one word of praise, one syllable of recognitionfrom your cold hateful mouth. I tried like a dog to do my best foryou—it was poor, but it was my best! but it was no use. From the dayI got to this place you have hated and despised me. Oh, I have seenit, and knew it, and cursed you, cursed you for it. You wouldn’t letyourself be fair. Do you know, I’ve lived in hell in this school. Andat last, I determined to cheat you, to pay you back in the only dirtyway I knew how. But to-day, something—I don’t know what—it wasn’tfear of you—_something_ made me honest. The paper you took from me Ihad written out from memory after I got into the room.”
“Stick to facts,” said the master.
“I am sticking to facts. Believe it or not—it’s true. That’s true,though I who tell it am a cheat and a liar and a sneak. I have been allthat—not because I was made that way or wanted to be, I don’t think,but because I couldn’t get a chance to be myself, couldn’t get a show.And you—you kept me from being decent as much as anybody else, as muchas the biggest bully in the school. You want me to stick to facts. Allright, I’ll stick to ‘em. I have hated you. I have hated you so thatmany a time I’ve wanted to kill you. And because I couldn’t think ofany way to fight you in the open, I have been low and vile, and foughtyou in the dark. You thought Kit Wilson rough-housed your rooms lastyear, didn’t you? That’s the way you suspect people without evidence,and act on your suspicions and can’t hide ‘em when you don’t dare toact. I hate Wilson too, so I was glad when you thought he was theguilty one. But I did it, I tell you. I rough-housed your rooms and hidyour papers and messed up your desk drawers and books. I couldn’t standit. I can’t stand it any longer. You’ll have me fired, I know that—andI don’t care. But for once in your life you are hearing what is thoughtof you. You’re hated, hated, hated!”
The boy paused for a moment, out of breath, still clutching the tabledesperately. Mr. Roylston tried but could not speak. A thousandemotions stung him to the quick; and deep within, there was a sense,outrageous as was this attack, that he was at the bar of an avengingjustice, paying with bitter humiliation for the lack of charity ofwhich the boy’s wild words convicted him. At last he found his voice,but he was still under the spell of the strange situation.
“I will tolerate this extraordinary conversation a moment longer. Whyhave you so viciously hated me?”
“Why—because you are cruel,” cried Finch, recovering himself, “becauseyou are pitiless, because you do wicked, unkind things in the nameof justice. Yes, yes, you shall have it all. You have never given meone chance, and you were glad—_glad_ to-day when you thought you hadcaught me at last. You are always suspecting, suspecting evil—until atlast your suspicions find it or create it. You have scared me, hurt me,hounded me—I don’t know how you do it, but you do do it—and, thankGod, you’ll never do it again. Of course, you’ll have me fired now, Iknow that, and I don’t care. And I deserve to be. I ain’t fit to behere. But it’s you as much as anyone else that’s kept me from beingfit. I am just full of hate and malice. Don’t I know it? Don’t I sufferfrom it?”
“Aside from my severity—or my cruelty, as you are pleased to callit,—for what else do you blame me?”
“Above all,” cried Finch, and a note of exultation rang in his voice,“above all for the way you’ve treated Anthony Deering. I know him,and he is the soul of honor, he has a heart. You or I aren’t fit tounlace his boots. You kept him from getting what he deserved—the HeadPrefectship.”
“Deering told you that?”
“No, Deering didn’t tell me that. Deering’s not that sort, don’t youknow it, can’t you believe it? He isn’t a sneak; but I am; and Ilistened under the windows of the faculty room the night you spokeagainst him, the first night of this year. And what had he done againstyou except what half the fellows do to most of the masters more orless all the time? But you wouldn’t forgive him, though he was foolenough to be sorry for what he had done, for making fun of you. But youcouldn’t be kind. I listened—I heard it all. You saved that paper,and bided your time, that’s what you did—waited your chance to geteven. Do you know that many a night I’ve laid in bed and prayed forcourage to get up and come over and do some terrible thing to you. I’veactually wanted to kill you. But I don’t want to now. The bitterestmedicine you can take is to have, for once in your life, some one else,though it’s only a worthless rotten chap like me, tell you to your facethat you are cruel and unkind and that he despises you.”
At last Finch stopped. He was trembling violently, his cheeks wereblazing, his eyes feverish and wild, but his soul was filled with asense of triumph.
For a moment Mr. Roylston covered his face with his hand. Then he roseup quickly, master of himself again.
“You are excited and irresponsible.”
“I’m excited,” said Finch, “but I know perfectly well what I’m saying.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Roylston, “if you are not suddenly gone insane,you must leave this school at once. You will come with me instantly toDoctor Forester.”
“Oh, I’m ready to be fired.”
Mr. Roylston made no reply, but opened the study door, and motionedto the boy to follow him. They left Howard House and walked rapidlyacross the quadrangle to the Rectory. It was a warm humid night, aftera week of intense cold. There was a pale young moon in the western sky.
As they reached the foot of the Rectory steps, Finch turned. “I’m notgoing in,” he exclaimed.
“Pardon me, you are, and at once.”
“I’m not. This is the end. I am done with it. I’m going to chuck itall. Say what you please, the time for browbeating, scaring me is gone.I’m off.”
“Where are you going?” cried the master in alarm.
“It doesn’t matter. You will never see me again.” With that he turned,and ran rapidly across the campus down the hill.
Mr. Roylston strained his eyes for a moment after the fleeing figure,then ran hastily up the steps, and knocked at the door of the Doctor’sstudy.
Doctor Forester himself opened the door, and drew the agitated masterwithin. Deering, Lawrence and Clavering were sitting before the studyfire. They had risen and were standing.
“What is the matter?” asked the Head quickly.
Mr. Roylston forgot the boys’ presence. “A serious thing—a veryserious thing. Finch, just now, in my study, attacked me with the mostwanton, intemperate abuse. I brought him to you—but here—at the verydoor he turned and fled....”
“Yes—fled—why—where?”
“It is very serious, I think. I think it would be better if these boyswent after him at once. I fear something terrible may happen. I willexplain later.” He sank exhausted into a chair.
“Which way has he gone, sir?” asked Tony.
“Across the campus—down the hill. Hurry, Deering, hurry! elsesomething terrible may happen.”