CHAPTER XXII
THE CHAPEL
On the morrow the school learned the thrilling story of the night.The boys were filled with wonder at the heroism, only to be cast intothe depths of anxiety by the news from the Infirmary. Finch, thoughliving, was in a high fever and delirious; doomed, if he ultimatelyrecovered, the physician said, to do so only after a severe illness.Deering was threatened with pneumonia. For nearly a week the issueswere not certain. Then at last came the welcome announcement that Tonywas out of danger and by another week would be about. Finch’s maladyhad developed into brain fever. It would be weeks before a crisis wasreached; months before recovery could be hoped for.
Clavering and Lawrence told the story of the rescue, and left nothingto the imagination in their assertion and account of Tony’s heroism. Inthe excitement with which the boys listened to the tale and with whichthey waited for Tony’s reappearance that they might give him a splendidovation, it was practically forgotten—and indeed few knew—why Finchhad started across the Pond that night. The scene in the Rectory studywhen Mr. Roylston had appeared, was kept a strict secret, owing to theHead Master’s explicit injunctions.
One night, shortly after the episode, the first night that anyfavorable news had come from the Infirmary, as Doctor Forester wassitting before his study fire, there came a tap on the door, and inresponse to his summons, Mr. Roylston entered.
“Ah, I am glad to see you,” said the Head, who had been waiting, alittle impatiently, for his assistant master to seek this interview.“Have a cigar?” he added.
“No, thank you,” said Mr. Roylston, seating himself in astraight-backed chair. “I have come—as soon as I could recover fromthe shock of recent events—to tell you what I know—what led meseveral nights ago, to bring Finch here.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Doctor, “I want to hear all about it. I haveforeborne to question you, though I realized there was something behindit which in good time you would explain. Fortunately now, we areassured that Deering is out of danger. The doctor holds out some smallhope for poor Finch, but it will be a tough pull.”
“Yes, I fear so. I hope, I hope deeply that he will recover. I amrelieved to know that Deering is better.” He paused for a moment,as though he could scarcely bring himself to say what was on hismind. “Doctor Forester, I have come to-night not only to give you anexplanation but to make a confession.”
“Yes,” said the Head in a sympathetic tone.
“I have always tried, sir, to do my duty in this school according to mylight.”
“Yes,” said Doctor Forester, “I believe that, my friend.”
“But my light, sir, has often,—always, I fear, been a poor one.”
“Ah,” interposed the older man, “who of us would dare say otherwise? Weall fall short, every one.”
“Possibly—but all are not too proud, as I have been, to acknowledgeit. I have never acknowledged it, sir, until to-night—not even tomyself.” He paused again, to continue presently, as he shaded hisface with his hand, “I will not go into details, but I want to put itboldly, baldly. I have been hard, hard to the degree of cruelty, onthat poor boy who is lying now in the delirium of a dangerous fever.God forgive me!... I disapproved, sir, of your taking him here, andthough, even now, I cannot say that I think you were wise in that——”
“Alas, no!” interrupted the Head Master, “not if we are to judge by theimmediate results. But I think I see deeper....”
The master thought a moment in silence. “Yes,” he said at last. “Ithink you do. It is having a wider, a deeper effect than I haverealized.... But he, poor boy, has suffered, and I have so often, souncharitably, made him suffer; while those, whom I have not liked,Morris, young Deering, and others, have been kind. It is terrible tome, sir, now to think of that suffering.”
“Yes, my friend, yes; I think it must be. You have been hard, too hard;but, thank God, righteousness comes of suffering. I can see, oh, inso many ways, how poor Finch’s suffering is teaching us all a lesson,teaching us a truer religion, a sweeter, kinder philosophy of life.”
“As I said,” Mr. Roylston resumed, “I was hard on him, hard on Deering,whom poor Finch worshiped with passionate adoration. And I accusedFinch of cheating—he had not sometimes been strictly honest—buton that occasion, I misjudged him—wounded him deeply—he may haveresisted a keen temptation. At any rate, worn-out, half-crazed, quitedesperate, he came to me that night and made a passionate attack onme. His language was ill-tempered, ill-judged, violent!—but the awfulpart of it to me is, that in substance his accusations were justified.I had been, as he told me, so terribly cruel, hard, mean. I could notend the scene, unseemly as it was; for my conscience was accusing memore bitterly, more deeply, more violently than that poor half-crazedlad.... At last, scarcely knowing what to do, I sought to bring him toyou.... At the very door of this room, he turned and fled. I feared hemeant, as he had practically threatened, to destroy himself. And butfor Deering how nearly he succeeded!”
“Yes, yes,” said the Head Master gently, “I see, I see....”
“And I have,” continued Mr. Roylston, “I have too been hard onDeering—have not acknowledged in him the qualities—manliness, honor,unselfishness—which I have known were there. He gladly sprang to thechance of laying down his life for the poor little abandoned wretch forwhom I could not find a kind word. God forgive me, Doctor, I cannotforgive myself.”
“God does forgive you, my friend,” said the Head, without looking up.He had been gazing into the fire, thinking deeply.
Mr. Roylston did not reply to this remark, and for a few moments bothmen sat in silence, staring into the fire, absorbed in their thoughts.
It was Doctor Forester at last who spoke again. “It would be easy,my friend, to assure you that you exaggerate, that you do yourselfinjustice; and, in truth, I think you do. But I have no wish to urgethat view upon you; for I believe, to be quite frank, that there is apoor weaker side to all of us that we never have a chance of conqueringaltogether unless we recognize it, and if for a long time we have notrecognized it or have deceived ourselves, nothing is so good for us asa frank confession. As for the details of the incidents to which yourefer, of course I am in ignorance, and I prefer to be. So far as Ihave observed your treatment toward Finch, it merited no criticism; andas for your attitude toward Deering, I have nothing to say that I didnot say the night we discussed his appointment to the Head Prefectship.I thought you severe but not unjust. As a matter of fact, if you feelnow that you could wish you had taken another course, I may tell youthat I do not think the fact that Deering is not Head Prefect has inthe least interfered with his popularity or his influence with theboys. Clavering has made him his right hand man.”
“I am glad of that,” said Mr. Roylston.
“And now, after this rescue of Finch at the risk of his ownlife,—undoubtedly he will be the strongest boy in school.”
“I think that I should like to tell him that I do fully forgivehim—that I regret my stand with regard to his appointment.”
“Well,” said the Head Master, “I think that he would like to hear.”
With that Mr. Roylston said good-night. He walked over to the Infirmaryat once and enquired about the two boys. Finch’s condition was stillunsatisfactory, but Deering was very much better—and, yes, he wasquite able to see Mr. Roylston if the master desired.
Tony was still in bed, but he looked splendidly well and bright as helay in the cool white cot, which had been pushed near the open logfire. A nurse had been reading to him. He had had a close call, but nowhe was practically himself again and would be going down in a few days.
He was surprised to see Mr. Roylston, but not in the least embarrassed.He shook hands cordially. The master enquired about his health, madesome perfunctory remarks about the rescue and about the school,fidgeting and ill at ease, until the nurse took the hint and slippedaway.
“I came,” he said then, as he drew up the chair near the bedside andtook a seat, “not only to enquire about
you, as I have been doingdaily, but to have a little talk with you, since I know you arepractically all right again.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tony.
“Do you know, Anthony,” asked Mr. Roylston suddenly, “why it was thatJacob Finch tried to run away that night?”
“Why, no, sir—I don’t—not altogether, that is. Poor Jake was in abad way; things had been getting pretty hard for him for one reasonor another, and he was making them still harder for himself. I didhear that you caught him cheating in your Latin examination, and Ijust supposed that that was the last straw. He’s always been ratherfriendly with me, but he was so vicious that night down by the pond,refusing altogether to tell me why he was cutting out, that I thoughthim a little out of his head. But I supposed the cheating was reallyresponsible.”
“Well,” rejoined Mr. Roylston, after a moment’s reflection, “as amatter of fact I was altogether mistaken about his cheating in thatparticular examination. I believe what he afterwards told me, that hehad not cheated at all; though, as he also acknowledged he had cheatedso often before that I can hardly blame myself for suspecting him.”
“Yes, I know,” said Tony; “I am afraid poor Jake lost all holdof himself. He was not naturally a cheat or a story-teller,but—but—well, I try to think he wasn’t altogether responsible.”
“Perhaps not—that night in my room, at all events, he quite lostcontrol of himself as a result of my accusation, and he told me in avery bitter language that my attitude toward him had been one of thechief causes of his unhappiness here at Deal.”
Tony scarcely knew what to say to this, for of course he remembered howbitterly Finch had always hated Mr. Roylston. The master, however, didnot expect a reply. “I think,” he went on, “that there was a good dealof justice in what the boy said, though I did not mean to go into thatwith you to-night. Among other things he told me that night that heintensely resented my attitude toward you.”
Tony laughed a little. “Jake showed equally bad judgment whether hegreatly liked or disliked a person.”
“Well,” continued Mr. Roylston, “right or wrong, his remarks havecaused me to think things over very seriously the last few days, and Ihave come to the conclusion that in this also Finch was right. I washard on you—too hard.”
Tony lay still for a moment, thinking; finally he raised himself alittle and looked at the master intently. “Mr. Roylston,” he said,“it’s mighty white of you to come and say this to me. In return I wantto tell you just one thing—the one thing I have against you—the resthas been give and take, and none of it, it seems to me, very serious.I know I have annoyed you a great many times and that occasionally inLower School days I was more or less impertinent, but I did one thingthat I was thoroughly ashamed of and thoroughly sorry for. As for yoursoaking me a lot in the old days, as for your preventing me from beingHead Prefect, I’ve borne no grudge. I think you were pretty stiff—Ithink honestly you are too stiff as to discipline most of the time—butI never thought you were unfair or unjust, and I have but one grudgeagainst you. And that is that when I apologized to you for writing thatthing a year ago you wouldn’t accept my apology really; you wouldn’tbelieve I was sorry.”
“Well, I believe so now,” said Mr. Roylston, “and it is to tell youthat particularly that I have come here to-night.”
“I’m mighty glad, sir. That’s all I ever blamed you for, sir,—really.I have often complained of you in a noisy careless kind of way, as Ihave of other masters, but that was all guff. I didn’t any more reallymean those things than I supposed you meant things when you would lookat us sometimes as if we were actually beneath contempt.”
Mr. Roylston reflected a moment. “I am afraid,” he continued, “that onmy side, I do regret a great many things. I have been genuinely lackingin sympathy more than once. I have often been unnecessarily hard. Ithas not been right; and, as you see, I regret it. The more keenly, Ifancy, as my lack of sympathy in this particular case of Finch counteda great deal in what so nearly meant a tragedy.”
“Well, fortunately, it wasn’t one, sir. The nurse tells me that theythink poor Jake will pull through.”
“Yes, but he will not get back to work again this term; there is nochance of that.”
“What do you think, sir, will happen to him? what will he do next year?”
“Well, I am beginning to feel as I have never felt before that afterall this the situation will clear itself, will be changed. I fancy hewill stay on at Deal next year, and I begin to think that we will knowhow then to help him make good.”
“Really?—well, I wish he could. I’d feel pretty good to know that poorJake had made good here. I’m afraid I haven’t helped him very much.”
“Haven’t helped him very much!” exclaimed Mr. Roylston. “Though whatyou have done for him may seem not to have counted just now, I feelvery certain that it will appear to count tremendously later.”
“Why, sir—I really didn’t do anything.”
Mr. Roylston smiled. “Well, I must not talk with you any longer.Good-night, Anthony. I hope you will get down very soon, and I trustthat in the future we will understand one another a little better.”
“I am sure we will, sir. And thank you ever so much for coming up.”
“I fancy,” Mr. Roylston murmured to himself, as he left the room, “Ifancy that hereafter I shall understand all boys a little better.”
On the Sunday of the week that Tony was in the Infirmary, the Doctortook the opportunity to make some remarks about the boy’s act ofheroism in the course of his sermon in the Chapel.
“Fortunately,” he said, “one of the boys about whom we have been soanxious the past few days is now quite out of danger and will soon beamongst us once more, and though the other must still undergo a longand severe illness the physicians hold out strong hope of his ultimaterecovery.
“Naturally,” he continued, “such a dramatic incident as the rescue ofone boy by another at the risk of his life has brought vividly beforeour minds the characters of the two boys principally involved, theirsituation and relation to the school. One of these boys as we knowhas had the advantages of a normal, happy, healthy boyhood, the otherthrough misfortune has been deprived of almost all that the firstboy has enjoyed. But the self-forgetful service of the one for theother, a service that culminated in heroism when he freely risked hislife to save the other’s, has set us all an example of kindliness andconsideration, an example of true religion, of unselfish Christianservice, that we should take to heart....
“There have been criticisms in connection with this affair that DealSchool is only adapted to dealing with and caring for the happy,healthy, lucky type of boy. I do not think so. Despite much that hasbeen unfortunate, despite much suffering that has been involved andstill may be involved, despite even the lives that have been risked,it has been a thing tremendously worth while to the school to have hadthat less fortunate, less happy boy amongst us.
“It is a noble and a fine thing to risk one’s life to save the life ofanother, and I do not doubt that most, if not all, of our boys wouldgladly seize such an opportunity in the same spirit as it was seized byAnthony Deering and his companions a few nights since. That gladnessto risk life should be a symbol of what is infinitely harder, andinfinitely more needed, I may say, but of which also our friends setus the example,—the good will and unselfishness to live for others.A school altogether fails, just as a human life altogether fails, ifat heart and in spirit, it is not dedicated, so far as opportunitypermits, to the service of men. The lesson of this incident is thelesson that I would we might all learn from the school.”
The Doctor’s sermon was not the kind of a sermon to be much discussed,but it made a deep impression on the school. For one or two mastersand for several boys it was the inspiration as they knelt later of asearnest prayer as they had ever offered.
Doctor Forester had been going frequently to the Infirmary to seeTony, and after the first few days he had continued his confirmationinstructions so that Deering could keep up wit
h the class.
Tony’s first appearance amongst the boys after his convalescencewas in the Chapel at the preparatory service the night before theconfirmation. It was a quiet little service, conducted by the Bishopand the Head. Again the theme of the address was service—a theme thatin some fashion or other seemed to have flashed in and out of allTony’s consciousness and experience for the past year.
As he knelt that night in the dim Chapel and offered up a gratefulthanksgiving that life and health had been spared to him, he resolvedmore definitely and consciously than ever before that whatever he didin the world thereafter he would never live wholly or selfishly forhimself.
And in after years he was to look back on that night, as he lookedback on the night on the beach when he had walked with Mr. Morris, asanother important moment in the process of his coming to himself.
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School Page 25