Tales of St. Austin's

by P. G. Wodehouse

  [4]

  HARRISON'S SLIGHT ERROR

  The one o'clock down express was just on the point of starting. Theengine-driver, with his hand on the lever, whiled away the moments,like the watchman in _The Agamemnon_, by whistling. The guardendeavoured to talk to three people at once. Porters flitted to andfro, cleaving a path for themselves with trucks of luggage. The UsualOld Lady was asking if she was right for some place nobody had everheard of. Everybody was saying good-bye to everybody else, and last,but not least, P. St H. Harrison, of St Austin's, was strolling at aleisurely pace towards the rear of the train. There was no need for himto hurry. For had not his friend, Mace, promised to keep a corner-seatfor him while he went to the refreshment-room to lay in supplies?Undoubtedly he had, and Harrison, as he watched the struggling crowd,congratulated himself that he was not as other men. A corner seat in acarriage full of his own particular friends, with plenty of provisions,and something to read in case he got tired of talking--it would beperfect.

  So engrossed was he in these reflections, that he did not notice thatfrom the opposite end of the platform a youth of about his own age wasalso making for the compartment in question. The first intimation hehad of his presence was when the latter, arriving first at the door bya short head, hurled a bag on to the rack, and sank gracefully into theidentical corner seat which Harrison had long regarded as his ownpersonal property. And to make matters worse, there was no other vacantseat in the compartment. Harrison was about to protest, when the guardblew his whistle. There was nothing for it but to jump in and argue thematter out _en route_. Harrison jumped in, to be greeted instantlyby a chorus of nine male voices. 'Outside there! No room! Turn himout!' said the chorus. Then the chorus broke up into its componentparts, and began to address him one by one.

  'You rotter, Harrison,' said Babington, of Dacre's, 'what do you comebarging in here for? Can't you see we're five aside already?'

  'Hope you've brought a sardine-opener with you, old chap,' saidBarrett, the peerless pride of Philpott's, ''cos we shall jolly wellneed one when we get to the good old Junct-i-on. Get up into the rack,Harrison, you're stopping the ventilation.'

  The youth who had commandeered Harrison's seat so neatly took anotherunpardonable liberty at this point. He grinned. Not the timid,deprecating smile of one who wishes to ingratiate himself withstrangers, but a good, six-inch grin right across his face. Harrisonturned on him savagely.

  'Look here,' he said, 'just you get out of that. What do you mean bybagging my seat?'

  'Are you a director of this line?' enquired the youth politely. Roarsof applause from the interested audience. Harrison began to feel hotand uncomfortable.

  'Or only the Emperor of Germany?' pursued his antagonist.

  More applause, during which Harrison dropped his bag of provisions,which were instantly seized and divided on the share and share alikesystem, among the gratified Austinians.

  'Look here, none of your cheek,' was the shockingly feeble retort whichalone occurred to him. The other said nothing. Harrison returned to theattack.

  'Look here,' he said, 'are you going to get out, or have I got to makeyou?'

  Not a word did his opponent utter. To quote the bard: 'The striplingsmiled.' To tell the truth, the stripling smiled inanely.

  The other occupants of the carriage were far from imitating hisreserve. These treacherous friends, realizing that, for those who werethemselves comfortably seated, the spectacle of Harrison standing upwith aching limbs for a journey of some thirty miles would be bothgrateful and comforting, espoused the cause of the unknown with all thevigour of which they were capable.

  'Beastly bully, Harrison,' said Barrett. 'Trying to turn the kid out ofhis seat! Why can't you leave the chap alone? Don't you move, kid.'

  'Thanks,' said the unknown, 'I wasn't going to.'

  'Now you see what comes of slacking,' said Grey. 'If you'd bucked upand got here in time you might have bagged this seat I've got. By Jove,Harrison, you've no idea how comfortable it is in this corner.'

  'Punctuality,' said Babington, 'is the politeness of princes.'

  And again the unknown maddened Harrison with a 'best-on-record' grin.

  'But, I say, you chaps,' said he, determined as a last resource toappeal to their better feelings (if any), 'Mace was keeping this seatfor me, while I went to get some grub. Weren't you, Mace?' He turned toMace for corroboration. To his surprise, Mace was nowhere to be seen.

  His sympathetic school-fellows grasped the full humour of the situationas one man, and gave tongue once more in chorus.

  'You weed,' they yelled joyfully, 'you've got into the wrong carriage.Mace is next door.'

  And then, with the sound of unquenchable laughter ringing in his ears,Harrison gave the thing up, and relapsed into a disgusted silence. Nosingle word did he speak until the journey was done, and the carriageemptied itself of its occupants at the Junction. The local train was inreadiness to take them on to St Austin's, and this time Harrisonmanaged to find a seat without much difficulty. But it was a bittermoment when Mace, meeting him on the platform, addressed him as arotter, for that he had not come to claim the corner seat which he hadbeen reserving for him. They had had, said Mace, a rattling good timecoming down. What sort of a time had Harrison had in _his_carriage? Harrison's reply was not remarkable for its clearness.

  The unknown had also entered the local train. It was plain, therefore,that he was coming to the School as a new boy. Harrison began to wonderif, under these circumstances, something might not be done in thematter by way of levelling up things. He pondered. When St Austin'sstation was reached, and the travellers began to stream up the roadtowards the College, he discovered that the newcomer was a member ofhis own House. He was standing close beside him, and heard Babingtonexplaining to him the way to Merevale's. Merevale was Harrison'sHouse-master.

  It was two minutes after he had found out this fact that the Grand Ideacame to Harrison. He saw his way now to a revenge so artistic, sobeautifully simple, that it was with some difficulty that he restrainedhimself from bursting into song. For two pins, he felt, he could havedone a cake-walk.

  He checked his emotion. He beat it steadily back, and quenched it. Whenhe arrived at Merevale's, he went first to the matron's room. 'HasVenables come back yet?' he asked.

  Venables was the head of Merevale's House, captain of the Schoolcricket, wing three-quarter of the School Fifteen, and a great manaltogether.

  'Yes,' said the matron, 'he came back early this afternoon.'

  Harrison knew it. Venables always came back early on the last day ofthe holidays.

  'He was upstairs a short while ago,' continued the matron. 'He wasputting his study tidy.'

  Harrison knew it. Venables always put his study tidy on the last day ofthe holidays. He took a keen and perfectly justifiable pride in hisstudy, which was the most luxurious in the House.

  'Is he there now?' asked Harrison.

  'No. He has gone over to see the Headmaster.'

  'Thanks,' said Harrison, 'it doesn't matter. It wasn't anythingimportant.'

  He retired triumphant. Things were going excellently well for hisscheme.

  His next act was to go to the fags' room, where, as he had expected, hefound his friend of the train. Luck continued to be with him. Theunknown was alone.

  'Hullo!' said Harrison.

  'Hullo!' said the fellow-traveller. He had resolved to followHarrison's lead. If Harrison was bringing war, then war let it be. If,however, his intentions were friendly, he would be friendly too.

  'I didn't know you were coming to Merevale's. It's the best House inthe School.'

  'Oh!'

  'Yes, for one thing, everybody except the kids has a study.'

  'What? Not really? Why, I thought we had to keep to this room. One ofthe chaps told me so.'

  'Trying to green you, probably. You must look out for that sort ofthing. I'll show you the way to your study, if you like. Come alongupstairs.'

  'Thanks, awfully. It's awfully good of you,'
said the gratifiedunknown, and they went upstairs together.

  One of the doors which they passed on their way was open, disclosing toview a room which, though bare at present, looked as if it might bemade exceedingly comfortable.

  'That's my den,' said Harrison. It was perhaps lucky that Graham, towhom the room belonged, in fact, as opposed to fiction, did not hearthe remark. Graham and Harrison were old and tried foes. 'This isyours.' Harrison pushed open another door at the end of the passage.

  His companion stared blankly at the Oriental luxury which met his eye.'But, I say,' he said, 'are you sure? This seems to be occupiedalready.'

  'Oh, no, that's all right,' said Harrison, airily. 'The chap who usedto be here left last term. He didn't know he was going to leave till itwas too late to pack up all his things, so he left his study as it was.All you've got to do is to cart the things out into the passage andleave them there. The Moke'll take 'em away.'

  The Moke was the official who combined in a single body the duties ofbutler and bootboy at Merevale's House. 'Oh, right-ho!' said theunknown, and Harrison left him.

  Harrison's idea was that when Venables returned and found an absolutestranger placidly engaged in wrecking his carefully-tidied study, hewould at once, and without making inquiries, fall upon that absolutestranger and blot him off the face of the earth. Afterwards it mightpossibly come out that he, Harrison, had been not altogetherunconnected with the business, and then, he was fain to admit, theremight be trouble. But he was a youth who never took overmuch heed forthe morrow. Sufficient unto the day was his motto. And, besides, it wasdistinctly worth risking. The main point, and the one with which alonethe House would concern itself, was that he had completely taken in,scored off, and overwhelmed the youth who had done as much by him inthe train, and his reputation as one not to be lightly trifled withwould be restored to its former brilliance. Anything that might happenbetween himself and Venables subsequently would be regarded as a purelyprivate matter between man and man, affecting the main point not atall.

  About an hour later a small Merevalian informed Harrison that Venableswished to see him in his study. He went. Experience had taught him thatwhen the Head of the House sent for him, it was as a rule as well tohumour his whim and go. He was prepared for a good deal, for he hadcome to the conclusion that it was impossible for him to preserve hisincognito in the matter, but he was certainly not prepared for what hesaw.

  Venables and the stranger were seated in two armchairs, apparently onthe very best of terms with one another. And this, in spite of the factthat these two armchairs were the only furniture left in the study. Therest, as he had noted with a grin before he had knocked at the door,was picturesquely scattered about the passage.

  'Hullo, Harrison,' said Venables, 'I wanted to see you. There seems tohave been a slight mistake somewhere. Did you tell my brother to shiftall the furniture out of the study?'

  Harrison turned a delicate shade of green.

  'Your--er--brother?' he gurgled.

  'Yes. I ought to have told you my brother was coming to the Coll. thisterm. I told the Old Man and Merevale and the rest of the authorities.Can't make out why I forgot you. Slipped my mind somehow. However, youseem to have been doing the square thing by him, showing him round andso on. Very good of you.'

  Harrison smiled feebly. Venables junior grinned. What seemed toHarrison a mystery was how the brothers had managed to arrive at theSchool at different times. The explanation of which was in reality verysimple. The elder Venables had been spending the last week of theholidays with MacArthur, the captain of the St Austin's Fifteen, thesame being a day boy, suspended within a mile of the School.

  'But what I can't make out,' went on Venables, relentlessly, 'is thisfurniture business. To the best of my knowledge I didn't leave suddenlyat the end of last term. I'll ask if you like, to make sure, but Ifancy you'll find you've been mistaken. Must have been thinking ofsomeone else. Anyhow, we thought you must know best, so we lugged allthe furniture out into the passage, and now it appears there's been amistake of sorts, and the stuff ought to be inside all the time. Sowould you mind putting it back again? We'd help you, only we're goingout to the shop to get some tea. You might have it done by the time weget back. Thanks, awfully.'

  Harrison coughed nervously, and rose to a point of order.

  'I was going out to tea, too,' he said.

  'I'm sorry, but I think you'll have to scratch the engagement,' saidVenables.

  Harrison made a last effort.

  'I'm fagging for Welch this term,' he protested.

  It was the rule at St Austin's that every fag had the right to refuseto serve two masters. Otherwise there would have been no peace for thatdown-trodden race.

  'That,' said Venables, 'ought to be awfully jolly for Welch, don't youknow, but as a matter of fact term hasn't begun yet. It doesn't starttill tomorrow. Weigh in.'

  Various feelings began to wage war beneath Harrison's Eton waistcoat. Aprofound disinclination to undertake the suggested task battled brisklywith a feeling that, if he refused the commission, things might--nay,would--happen.

  'Harrison,' said Venables gently, but with meaning, as he hesitated,'do you know what it is to wish you had never been born?'

  And Harrison, with a thoughtful expression on his face, picked up aphotograph from the floor, and hung it neatly in its place over themantelpiece.