OUT OF SCHOOL
Mark you, I am not defending James Datchett. I hold no brief for James.On the contrary, I am very decidedly of the opinion that he should nothave done it. I merely say that there were extenuating circumstances.Just that. Ext. circ. Nothing more.
Let us review the matter calmly and judicially, not condemning Jamesoff-hand, but rather probing the whole affair to its core, to see if wecan confirm my view that it is possible to find excuses for him.
We will begin at the time when the subject of the Colonies first showeda tendency to creep menacingly into the daily chit-chat of his UncleFrederick.
James's Uncle Frederick was always talking more or less about theColonies, having made a substantial fortune out in Western Australia,but it was only when James came down from Oxford that the thing becamereally menacing. Up to that time the uncle had merely spoken of theColonies _as_ Colonies. Now he began to speak of them withsinister reference to his nephew. He starred James. It became a case of'Frederick Knott presents James Datchett in "The Colonies",' and thereseemed every prospect that the production would be an early one; for ifthere was one section of the public which Mr Knott disliked more thananother, it was Young Men Who Ought To Be Out Earning Their LivingsInstead Of Idling At Home. He expressed his views on the subject withsome eloquence whenever he visited his sister's house. Mrs Datchett wasa widow, and since her husband's death had been in the habit ofaccepting every utterance of her brother Frederick as a piece ofgenuine all-wool wisdom; though, as a matter of fact, James's uncle hadjust about enough brain to make a jay-bird fly crooked, and no more. Hehad made his money through keeping sheep. And any fool can keep sheep.However, he had this reputation for wisdom, and what he said went. Itwas not long, therefore, before it was evident that the ranks of theY.M.W.O.T.B.O.E.T.L.I.O.I.A.H. were about to lose a member.
James, for his part, was all against the Colonies. As a setting for hiscareer, that is to say. He was no Little Englander. He had no earthlyobjection to Great Britain _having Colonies._ By all means haveColonies. They could rely on him for moral support. But when it came tolegging it out to West Australia to act as a sort of valet to UncleFrederick's beastly sheep--no. Not for James. For him the literarylife. Yes, that was James's dream--to have a stab at the literary life.At Oxford he had contributed to the _Isis,_ and since coming downhad been endeavouring to do the same to the papers of the Metropolis.He had had no success so far. But some inward voice seemed to tellhim--(Read on. Read on. This is no story about the young beginner'sstruggles in London. We do not get within fifty miles of Fleet Street.)
A temporary compromise was effected between the two parties by thesecuring for James of a post as assistant-master at Harrow House, theprivate school of one Blatherwick, M.A., the understanding being thatif he could hold the job he could remain in England and write, if itpleased him, in his spare time. But if he fell short in any way as ahandler of small boys he was to descend a step in the animal kingdomand be matched against the West Australian sheep. There was to be nosecond chance in the event of failure. From the way Uncle Fredericktalked James almost got the idea that he attached a spiritualimportance to a connexion with sheep. He seemed to strive with a sortof religious frenzy to convert James to West Australia. So James wentto Harrow House with much the same emotions that the Old Guard musthave felt on their way up the hill at Waterloo.
Harrow House was a grim mansion on the outskirts of Dover. It isbetter, of course, to be on the outskirts of Dover than actually init, but when you have said that you have said everything. James'simpressions of that portion of his life were made up almost entirely ofchalk. Chalk in the school-room, chalk all over the country-side, chalkin the milk. In this universe of chalk he taught bored boys therudiments of Latin, geography, and arithmetic, and in the evenings,after a stately cup of coffee with Mr Blatherwick in his study, went tohis room and wrote stories. The life had the advantage of offering fewdistractions. Except for Mr Blatherwick and a weird freak who came upfrom Dover on Tuesdays and Fridays to teach French, he saw nobody.
It was about five weeks from the beginning of term that the river oflife at Harrow House became ruffled for the new assistant-master.
I want you to follow me very closely here. As far as the excusing ofJames's conduct is concerned, it is now or never. If I fail at thispoint to touch you, I have shot my bolt.
Let us marshal the facts.
In the first place it was a perfectly ripping morning.
Moreover he had received at breakfast a letter from the editor of amonthly magazine accepting a short story.
This had never happened to him before.
He was twenty-two.
And, just as he rounded the angle of the house, he came upon Violet,taking the air like himself.
Violet was one of the housemaids, a trim, energetic little person withround blue eyes and a friendly smile. She smiled at James now. Jameshalted.
'Good morning, sir,' said Violet.
From my list of contributory causes I find that I have omitted oneitem--viz., that there did not appear to be anybody else about.
James looked meditatively at Violet. Violet looked smilingly at James.The morning was just as ripping as it had been a moment before. Jameswas still twenty-two. And the editor's letter had not ceased to cracklein his breast-pocket.
Consequently James stooped, and--in a purely brotherly way--kissedViolet.
This, of course, was wrong. It was no part of James's duties asassistant-master at Harrow House to wander about bestowing brotherlykisses on housemaids. On the other hand, there was no great harm done.In the circles in which Violet moved the kiss was equivalent to thehand-shake of loftier society. Everybody who came to the back doorkissed Violet. The carrier did; so did the grocer, the baker, thebutcher, the gardener, the postman, the policeman, and the fishmonger.They were men of widely differing views on most points. On religion,politics, and the prospects of the entrants for the three o'clock racetheir opinions clashed. But in one respect they were unanimous.Whenever they came to the back door of Harrow House they all kissedViolet.
'I've had a story accepted by the _Universal Magazine_,' saidJames, casually.
'Have you, sir?' said Violet.
'It's a pretty good magazine. I shall probably do a great deal for itfrom time to time. The editor seems a decent chap.'
'Does he, sir?'
'I shan't tie myself up in any way, of course, unless I get very goodterms. But I shall certainly let him see a good lot of my stuff. Jollymorning, isn't it?'
He strolled on; and Violet, having sniffed the air for a few moreminutes with her tip-tilted nose, went indoors to attend to her work.
Five minutes later James, back in the atmosphere of chalk, was writingon the blackboard certain sentences for his class to turn into Latinprose. A somewhat topical note ran through them. As thus:
'The uncle of Balbus wished him to tend sheep in the Colonies(_Provincia_).'
'Balbus said that England was good enough for him (_placeo_).'
'Balbus sent a story (versus) to Maecenas, who replied that he hoped touse it in due course.'
His mind floated away from the classroom when a shrill voice broughthim back.
'Sir, please, sir, what does "due course" mean?'
James reflected. 'Alter it to "immediately,"' he said.
'Balbus is a great man,' he wrote on the blackboard.
Two minutes later he was in the office of an important magazine, andthere was a look of relief on the editor's face, for James hadpractically promised to do a series of twelve short stories for him.
* * * * *
It has been well observed that when a writer has a story rejected heshould send that story to another editor, but that when he has oneaccepted he should send another story to that editor. Acting on thisexcellent plan, James, being off duty for an hour after tea, smoked apipe in his bedroom and settled down to work on a second effort for theUniversal.
He was getting on rather well when his f
low of ideas was broken by aknock on the door.
'Come in,' yelled James. (Your author is notoriously irritable.)
The new-comer was Adolf. Adolf was one of that numerous band of Swissand German youths who come to this country prepared to give theirservices ridiculously cheap in exchange for the opportunity of learningthe English language. Mr Blatherwick held the view that for a privateschool a male front-door opener was superior to a female, arguing thatthe parents of prospective pupils would be impressed by the sight of aman in livery. He would have liked something a bit more imposing thanAdolf, but the latter was the showiest thing that could be got for themoney, so he made the best of it, and engaged him. After all, anastigmatic parent, seeing Adolf in a dim light, might be impressed byhim. You never could tell.
'Well?' said James, glaring.
'Anysing vrom dze fillage, sare?'
The bulk of Adolf's perquisites consisted of the tips he received forgoing to the general store down the road for tobacco, stamps, and soon. 'No. Get out,' growled James, turning to his work.
He was surprised to find that Adolf, so far from getting out, came inand shut the door.
'Zst!' said Adolf, with a finger on his lips.
James stared.
'In dze garten zis morning,' proceeded his visitor, grinning like agargoyle, 'I did zee you giss Violed. Zo!'
James's heart missed a beat. Considered purely as a situation, hispresent position was not ideal. He had to work hard, and there was notmuch money attached to the job. But it was what the situation stood forthat counted. It was his little rock of safety in the midst of asurging ocean of West Australian sheep. Once let him lose his grip onit, and there was no chance for him. He would be swept away beyond hopeof return.
'What do you mean?' he said hoarsely.
'In dze garten. I you vrom a window did zee. You und Violed. Zo!' AndAdolf, in the worst taste, gave a realistic imitation of the scene,himself sustaining the role of James.
James said nothing. The whole world seemed to be filled with a vastbaa-ing, as of countless flocks.
'Lizzun!' said Adolf. 'Berhaps I Herr Blazzervig dell. Berhaps not Ido. Zo!'
James roused himself. At all costs he must placate this worm. MrBlatherwick was an austere man. He would not overlook such a crime.
He appealed to the other's chivalry.
'What about Violet?' he said. 'Surely you don't want to lose the poorgirl her job? They'd be bound to sack her, too.'
Adolf's eyes gleamed.
'Zo? Lizzun! When I do gom virst here, I myself do to giss Violed vuncevish. But she do push dze zide of my face, and my lof is durned tohate.'
James listened attentively to this tabloid tragedy, but made nocomment.
'Anysing vrom dze fillage, sare?'
Adolf's voice was meaning. James produced a half-crown.
'Here you are, then. Get me half a dozen stamps and keep the change.'
'Zdamps? Yes, sare. At vunce.'
James's last impression of the departing one was of a vast and greasygrin, stretching most of the way across his face.
* * * * *
Adolf, as blackmailer, in which role he now showed himself, differed insome respects from the conventional blackmailer of fiction. It may bethat he was doubtful as to how much James would stand, or it may bethat his soul as a general rule was above money. At any rate, in actualspecie he took very little from his victim. He seemed to wish to besent to the village oftener than before, but that was all. Half a crowna week would have covered James's financial loss.
But he asserted himself in another way. In his most light-heartedmoments Adolf never forgot the reason which had brought him to England.He had come to the country to learn the language, and he meant to doit. The difficulty which had always handicapped him hitherto--namely,the poverty of the vocabularies of those in the servants' quarters--wasnow removed. He appointed James tutor-in-chief of the English languageto himself, and saw that he entered upon his duties at once.
The first time that he accosted James in the passage outside theclassroom, and desired him to explain certain difficult words in aleading article of yesterday's paper, James was pleased. Adolf, hethought, regarded the painful episode as closed. He had accepted thehalf-crown as the full price of silence, and was now endeavouring to befriendly in order to make amends.
This right-minded conduct gratified James. He felt genially disposedtoward Adolf. He read the leading article, and proceeded to give a fulland kindly explanation of the hard words. He took trouble over it. Hewent into the derivations of the words. He touched on certain rathertricky sub-meanings of the same. Adolf went away with any doubts hemight have had of James's capabilities as a teacher of Englishdefinitely scattered. He felt that he had got hold of the right man.
There was a shade less geniality in James's manner when the same thinghappened on the following morning. But he did not refuse to help theuntutored foreigner. The lecture was less exhaustive than that of theprevious morning, but we must suppose that it satisfied Adolf, for hecame again next day, his faith in his teacher undiminished.
James was trying to write a story. He turned on the student.
'Get out!' he howled. 'And take that beastly paper away. Can't you seeI'm busy? Do you think I can spend all my time teaching you to read?Get out!'
'Dere some hard vord vos,' said Adolf, patiently, 'of which I gannotdze meaning.'
James briefly cursed the hard word.
'But,' proceeded Adolf, 'of one vord, of dze vord "giss", I dze meaningknow. Zo!'
James looked at him. There was a pause.
Two minutes later the English lesson was in full swing.
* * * * *
All that James had ever heard or read about the wonderful devotion tostudy of the modern German young man came home to him during the nexttwo weeks. Our English youth fritters away its time in idleness andpleasure-seeking. The German concentrates. Adolf concentrated like aporous plaster. Every day after breakfast, just when the success ofJames's literary career depended on absolute seclusion, he would cometrotting up for his lesson. James's writing practically ceased.
This sort of thing cannot last. There is a limit, and Adolf reached itwhen he attempted to add night-classes to the existing curriculum.
James, as had been said, was in the habit of taking coffee with MrBlatherwick in his study after seeing the boys into bed. It was whilehe was on his way to keep this appointment, a fortnight after his firstinterview with Adolf, that the young student waylaid him with theevening paper.
Something should have warned Adolf that the moment was not well chosen.To begin with, James had a headache, the result of a hard day with theboys. Then that morning's English lesson had caused him to forgetentirely an idea which had promised to be the nucleus of an excellentplot. And, lastly, passing through the hall but an instant before, hehad met Violet, carrying the coffee and the evening post to the study,and she had given him two long envelopes addressed in his ownhandwriting. He was brooding over these, preparatory to opening them,at the very moment when Adolf addressed him.
'Eggscuse,' said Adolf, opening the paper.
James's eyes gleamed ominously.
'Zere are here,' continued Adolf, unseeing, 'some beyond-gombarison hardvords vich I do nod onderstand. For eggsample--'
It was at this point that James kicked him.
Adolf leaped like a stricken chamois.
'Vot iss?' he cried.
With these long envelopes in his hand James cared for nothing. Hekicked Adolf again.
'Zo!' said the student, having bounded away. He added a few words inhis native tongue, and proceeded. 'Vait! Lizzun! I zay to you, vait!Brezendly, ven I haf dze zilver bolished und my odder dudies zonumerous berformed, I do Herr Blazzervig vil vith von liddle szdoryvich you do know go. Zo!'
He shot off to his lair.
James turned away and went down the passage to restore his nervoustissues with coffee.
Meanwhile,
in the study, leaning against the mantelpiece in moodyreflection, Mr Blatherwick was musing sadly on the hardships of theschoolmaster's life. The proprietor of Harrow House was a long, graveman, one of the last to hold out against the anti-whisker crusade. Hehad expressionless hazel eyes, and a general air of being present inbody but absent in spirit. Mothers who visited the school to introducetheir sons put his vagueness down to activity of mind. 'That busybrain,' they thought, 'is never at rest. Even while he is talking tous some abstruse point in the classics is occupying his mind.'
What was occupying his mind at the present moment was the thoroughlyunsatisfactory conduct of his wife's brother, Bertie Baxter. The moretensely he brooded over the salient points in the life-history of hiswife's brother, Bertie Baxter, the deeper did the iron become embeddedin his soul. Bertie was one of Nature's touchers. This is the age ofthe specialist, Bertie's speciality was borrowing money. He was a manof almost eerie versatility in this direction. Time could not withernor custom stale his infinite variety. He could borrow with a breezybluffness which made the thing practically a hold-up. And anon, whenhis victim had steeled himself against this method, he could extractanother five-pound note from his little hoard with the delicacy of oneplaying spillikins. Mr Blatherwick had been a gold-mine to him foryears. As a rule, the proprietor of Harrow House unbelted withoutcomplaint, for Bertie, as every good borrower should, had that knack ofmaking his victim feel during the actual moment of paying over, as ifhe had just made a rather good investment. But released from the spellof his brother-in-law's personal magnetism, Mr Blatherwick was apt tobrood. He was brooding now. Why, he was asking himself morosely, shouldhe be harassed by this Bertie? It was not as if Bertie was penniless.He had a little income of his own. No, it was pure lack ofconsideration. Who was Bertie that he--
At this point in his meditations Violet entered with the after-dinnercoffee and the evening post.
Mr Blatherwick took the letters. There were two of them, and one hesaw, with a rush of indignation, was in the handwriting of hisbrother-in-law. Mr Blatherwick's blood simmered. So the fellow thoughthe could borrow by post, did he? Not even trouble to pay a visit, eh?He tore the letter open, and the first thing he saw was a cheque forfive pounds.
Mr Blatherwick was astounded. That a letter from his brother-in-lawshould not contain a request for money was surprising; that it shouldcontain a cheque, even for five pounds, was miraculous.
He opened the second letter. It was short, but full of the finest,noblest sentiments; to wit, that the writer, Charles J. Pickersgill,having heard the school so highly spoken of by his friend, Mr HerbertBaxter, would be glad if Mr Blatherwick could take in his three sons,aged seven, nine, and eleven respectively, at the earliest convenientdate.
Mr Blatherwick's first feeling was one of remorse that even in thoughthe should have been harsh to the golden-hearted Bertie. His next wasone of elation.
Violet, meanwhile, stood patiently before him with the coffee. MrBlatherwick helped himself. His eye fell on Violet.
Violet was a friendly, warm-hearted little thing. She saw that MrBlatherwick had had good news; and, as the bearer of the letters whichhad contained it, she felt almost responsible. She smiled kindly up atMr Blatherwick.
Mr Blatherwick's dreamy hazel eye rested pensively upon her. The majorportion of his mind was far away in the future, dealing with visions ofa school grown to colossal proportions, and patronized by millionaires.The section of it which still worked in the present was just largeenough to enable him to understand that he felt kindly, and even almostgrateful, to Violet. Unfortunately it was too small to make him see howwrong it was to kiss her in a vague, fatherly way across the coffeetray just as James Datchett walked into the room.
James paused. Mr Blatherwick coughed. Violet, absolutely unmoved,supplied James with coffee, and bustled out of the room.
She left behind her a somewhat massive silence.
Mr Blatherwick coughed again.
'It looks like rain,' said James, carelessly.
'Ah?' said Mr Blatherwick.
'Very like rain,' said James.
'Indeed!' said Mr Blatherwick.
A pause.
'Pity if it rains,' said James.
'True,' said Mr Blatherwick.
Another pause.
'Er--Datchett,' said Mr Blatherwick.
'Yes,' said James.
'I--er--feel that perhaps--'
James waited attentively.
'Have you sugar?'
'Plenty, thanks,' said James.
'I shall be sorry if it rains,' said Mr Blatherwick.
Conversation languished.
James laid his cup down.
'I have some writing to do,' he said. 'I think I'll be going upstairsnow.'
'Er--just so,' said Mr Blatherwick, with relief. 'Just so. An excellentidea.'
* * * * *
'Er--Datchett,' said Mr Blatherwick next day, after breakfast.
'Yes?' said James.
A feeling of content was over him this morning. The sun had brokenthrough the clouds. One of the long envelopes which he had received onthe previous night had turned out, on examination, to contain a letterfrom the editor accepting the story if he would reconstruct certainpassages indicated in the margin.
'I have--ah--unfortunately been compelled to dismiss Adolf,' said MrBlatherwick.
'Yes?' said James. He had missed Adolf's shining morning face.
'Yes. After you had left me last night he came to my study with amalicious--er--fabrication respecting yourself which I neednot--ah--particularize.'
James looked pained. Awful thing it is, this nourishing vipers in one'sbosom.
'Why, I've been giving Adolf English lessons nearly every day lately.No sense of gratitude, these foreigners,' he said, sadly.
'So I was compelled,' proceeded Mr Blatherwick, 'to--in fact, just so.'
James nodded sympathetically.
'Do you know anything about West Australia?' he asked, changing thesubject. 'It's a fine country, I believe. I had thought of going thereat one time.'
'Indeed?' said Mr Blatherwick.
'But I've given up the idea now,' said James.
The Man Upstairs and Other Stories Page 13