So they demanded of Beetle whether he had any connection with any other establishment. Beetle promptly went to his house-master, and wished to know by what right Harrison and Craye had reopened a matter already settled between him and his house-master. In injured innocence no boy excelled Beetle.
Then it occurred to Prout that he might have been unfair to the culprit, who had not striven to deny or palliate his offense. He sent for Harrison and Craye, reprehending them very gently for the tone they had adopted to a repentant sinner, and when they returned to their study, they used the language of despair. They then made headlong inquisition through the house, driving the fags to the edge of hysterics, and unearthing, with tremendous pomp and parade, the natural and inevitable system of small loans that prevails among small boys.
“You see, Harrison, Thornton minor lent me a penny last Saturday, because I was fined for breaking the window; and I spent it at Keyte’s. I didn’t know there was any harm in it. And Wray major borrowed twopence from me when my uncle sent me a post-office order — I cashed it at Keyte’s — for five bob; but he’ll pay me back before the holidays. We didn’t know there was anything wrong in it.”
They waded through hours of this kind of thing, but found no usury, or anything approaching to Beetle’s gorgeous scale of interest. The seniors — for the school had no tradition of deference to prefects outside compulsory games — told them succinctly to go about their business. They would not give evidence on any terms. Harrison was one idiot, and Craye was another; but the greatest of all, they said, was their house-master.
When a house is thoroughly upset, however good its conscience, it breaks into knots and coteries — small gatherings in the twilight, box-room committees, and groups in the corridor. And when from group to group, with an immense affectation of secrecy, three wicked boys steal, crying “Cave’” when there is no need of caution, and whispering “Don’t tell!” on the heels of trumpery confidences that instant invented, a very fine air of plot and intrigue can be woven round such a house.
At the end of a few days, it dawned on Prout that he moved in an atmosphere of perpetual ambush. Mysteries hedged him on all sides, warnings ran before his heavy feet, and countersigns were muttered behind his attentive back. McTurk and Stalky invented many absurd and idle phrases — catch-words that swept through the house as fire through stubble. It was a rare jest, and the only practical outcome of the Usury Commission, that one boy should say to a friend, with awful gravity, “Do you think there’s much of it going on in the house?” The other would reply, “Well, one can’t be too careful, you know.” The effect on a house-master of humane conscience and good intent may be imagined. Again, a man who has sincerely devoted himself to gaining the esteem of his charges does not like to hear himself described, even at a distance, as “Popularity Prout” by a dark and scowling Celt with a fluent tongue. A rumor that stories — unusual stories — are told in the form-rooms, between the lights, by a boy who does not command his confidence, agitates such a man; and even elaborate and tender politeness — for the courtesy wise-grown men offer to a bewildered child was the courtesy that Stalky wrapped round Prout — restores not his peace of mind.
“The tone of the house seems changed — changed for the worse,” said Prout to Harrison and Craye. “Have you noticed it? I don’t for an instant impute — ”
He never imputed anything; but, on the other hand, he never did anything else, and, with the best intentions in the world, he had reduced the house-prefects to a state as nearly bordering on nervous irritation as healthy boys can know. Worst of all, they began at times to wonder whether Stalky & Co. had not some truth in their often-repeated assertions that Prout was a gloomy ass.
“As you know, I am not the kind of man who puts himself out for every little thing he hears. I believe in letting the house work out their own salvation — with a light guiding hand on the reins, of course. But there is a perceptible lack of reverence — -a lower tone in matters that touch the honor of the house, a sort of hardness.”
Oh, Prout he is a nobleman, a nobleman, a nobleman!
Our Heffy is a nobleman —
He does an awful lot,
Because his popularity
Oh, pop-u-pop-u-larity —
His giddy popularity
Would suffer did he not!
The study door stood ajar; and the song, borne by twenty clear voices, came faint from a form-room. The fags rather liked the tune; the words were Beetle’s.
“That’s a thing no sensible man objects to,” said Prout with a lop-sided smile; “but you know straws show which way the wind blows. Can you trace it to any direct influence? I am speaking to you now as heads of the house.”
“There isn’t the least doubt of it,” said Harrison angrily. “I know what you mean, sir. It all began when Number Five study came to the form-rooms. There’s no use blinkin’ it, Craye. You know that, too.”
“They make things rather difficult for us, sometimes,” said Craye. “It’s more their manner than anything else, that Harrison means.”
“Do they hamper you in the discharge of your duties, then?”
“Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin — and turn up their noses generally.”
“Ah,” said Prout sympathetically.
“I think, sir,” said Craye, plunging into the business boldly, “it would be a great deal better if they wore sent back to their study — better for the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form-rooms.”
“They are younger than Orrin, or Flint, and a dozen others that I can think of.”
“Yes, sir; but that’s different, somehow. They’re rather influential. They have a knack of upsettin’ things in a quiet way that one can’t take hold of. At least, if one does — ”
“And you think they would be better in their own study again?”
Emphatically Harrison and Craye were of that opinion. As Harrison said to Craye, afterwards, “They’ve weakened our authority. They’re too big to lick; they’ve made an exhibition of us over this usury business, and we’re a laughing-stock to the rest of the school. I’m going up (for Sandhurst, understood) next term. They’ve managed to knock me out of half my work already with their — their lunacy. If they go back to their study we may have a little peace.”
“Hullo, Harrison.” McTurk ambled round the corner, with a roving eye on all possible horizons. “Bearin’ up, old man? That’s right. Live it down! Live it down!”
“What d’you mean?”
“You look a little pensive,” said McTurk. “Exhaustin’ job superintendin’ the honor of the house, ain’t it? By the way, how are you off for mares’-nests?”
“Look here,” said Harrison, hoping for instant reward. “We’ve recommended Prout to let you go back to your study.”
“The dooce you have! And who under the sun are you to interfere between us and our house-master? Upon my Sam, you two try us very hard — you do, indeed. Of course we don’t know how far you abuse your position to prejudice us with Mr. Prout; but when you deliberately stop me to tell me you’ve been makin’ arrangements behind our back — in secret — with Prout — I — I don’t know really what we ought to do.”
“That’s beastly unfair!” cried Craye.
“It is.” McTurk had adopted a ghastly solemnity that sat well on his
long, lean face. “Hang it all! A prefect’s one thing and an usher’s
another; but you seem to combine ‘em. You recommend this — you recommend
that! You say how and when we go back to our study!”
“But — but — we thought you’d like it, Turkey. We did, indeed. You know you’ll be ever so much more comfortable there.” Harrison’s voice was almost tearful.
McTurk turned away as though to hide his emotions.
“They’re broke!” He hunted up Stalky and Beetle in a box-room. “They’re sick! They’ve been beggin’ Heffy to let us go back to Number Five. Poor devils! Poor little devils!”
“It
’s the olive branch,” was Stalky’s comment. “It’s the giddy white flag, by gum! Come to think of it, we have metagrobolized ‘em.”
Just after tea that day, Mr. Prout sent for them to say that if they chose to ruin their future by neglecting their work, it was entirely their own affair. He wished them, however, to understand that their presence in the form-rooms could not be tolerated one hour longer. He personally did not care to think of the time he must spend in eliminating the traces of their evil influences. How far Beetle had pandered to the baser side of youthful imagination he would ascertain later; and Beetle might be sure that if Mr. Prout came across any soul-corrupting consequences —
“Consequences of what, sir?” said Beetle, genuinely bewildered this time; and McTurk quietly kicked him on the ankle for being “fetched” by Prout. Beetle, the house-master continued, knew very well what was intended. Evil and brief had been their careers under his eye; and as one standing in loco parentis to their yet uncontaminated associates, he was bound to take his precautions. The return of the study key closed the sermon.
“But what was the baser-side-of-imagination business?” said Beetle on the stairs.
“I never knew such an ass as you are for justifyin’ yourself,” said McTurk. “I hope I jolly well skinned your ankle. Why do you let yourself be drawn by everybody?”
“Draws be blowed! I must have tickled him up in some way I didn’t know about. If I’d had a notion of that before, of course I could have rubbed it in better. It’s too late now. What a pity! ‘Baser side.’ What was he drivin’ at?”
“Never mind,” said Stalky. “I knew we could make it a happy little house. I said so, remember — but I swear I didn’t think we’d do it so soon.”
“No,” said Prout most firmly in Common-room. “I maintain that Gillett is wrong. True, I let them return to their study.”
“With your known views on cribbing, too?” purred little Hartopp. “What an immoral compromise!”
“One moment,” said the Reverend John. “I — we — all of us have exercised an absolutely heart-breaking discretion for the last ten days. Now we want to know. Confess — have you known a happy minute since — ”
“As regards my house, I have not,” said Prout. “But you are entirely wrong in your estimate of those boys. In justice to the others — in self-defence — ”
“Ha! I said it would come to that,” murmured the Reverend John.
“ — I was forced to send them back. Their moral influence was unspeakable — simply unspeakable.”
And bit by bit he told his tale, beginning with Beetle’s usury, and
ending with the house-prefects’ appeal.
“Beetle in the ro’le of Shylock is new to me,” said King, with
twitching lips. “I heard rumors of it — ”
“Before?” said Prout.
“No, after you had dealt with them; but I was careful not to inquire. I never interfere with — ”
“I myself,” said Hartopp, “would cheerfully give him five shillings if he could work out one simple sum in compound interest without three gross errors.”
“Why — why — why!” Mason, the mathematical master, stuttered, a fierce joy on his face, “you’ve been had — precisely the same as me!”
“And so you held an inquiry?” Little Hartopp’s voice drowned Mason’s ere Prout caught the import of the sentence.
“The boy himself hinted at the existence of a deal of it in the house,” said Prout.
“He is past master in that line,” said the chaplain. “But, as regards the honor of the house — ”
“They lowered it in a week. I have striven to build it up for years. My own house-prefects — and boys do not willingly complain of each other — besought me to get rid of them. You say you have their confidence, Gillett: they may tell you another tale. As far as I am concerned, they may go to the devil in their own way. I’m sick and tired of them,” said Prout bitterly.
But it was the Reverend John, with a smiling countenance, who went to the devil just after Number Five had cleared away a very pleasant little brew (it cost them two and fourpence) and was settling down to prep.
“Come in, Padre, come in,” said Stalky, thrusting forward the best chair. “We’ve only met you official-like these last ten days.”
“You were under sentence,” said the Reverend John. “I do not consort with malefactors.”
“Ah, but we’re restored again,” said McTurk. “Mr. Prout has relented.”
“Without a stain on our characters,” said Beetle. “It was a painful
episode, Padre, most painful.”
“Now, consider for a while, and perpend, mes enfants. It is about
your characters that I’ve called to-night. In the language of the
schools, what the dooce have you been up to in Mr. Prout’s house? It
isn’t anything to laugh over. He says that you so lowered the tone of
the house he had to pack you back to your studies. Is that true?”
“Every word of it, Padre.”
“Don’t be flippant, Turkey. Listen to me. I’ve told you very often that no boys in the school have a greater influence for good or evil than you have. You know I don’t talk about ethics and moral codes, because I don’t believe that the young of the human animal realizes what they mean for some years to come. All the same, I don’t want to think you’ve been perverting the juniors. Don’t interrupt, Beetle. Listen to me. Mr. Prout has a notion that you have been corrupting your associates somehow or other.”
“Mr. Prout has so many notions, Padre,” said Beetle wearily. “Which one is this?”
“Well, he tells me that he heard you telling a story in the twilight in the form-room, in a whisper. And Orrin said, just as he opened the door, ‘Shut up, Beetle; it’s too beastly.’ Now then?”
“You remember Mrs. Oliphant’s ‘Beleaguered City’ that you lent me last term?” said. Beetle.
The Padre nodded.
“I got the notion out of that. Only, instead of a city, I made it the Coll. in a fog — besieged by ghosts of dead boys, who hauled chaps out of their beds in the dormitory. All the names are quite real. You tell it in a whisper, you know with the names. Orrin didn’t like it one little bit. None of ‘em have ever let me finish it. It gets just awful at the end part.”
“But why in the world didn’t you explain to Mr. Prout, instead of leaving him under the impression — ?”
“Padre Sahib,” said McTurk, “it isn’t the least good explainin’ to Mr. Prout. If he hasn’t one impression, he’s bound to have another.”
“He’d do it with the best o’ motives. He’s in loco parentis,” purred Stalky.
“You young demons!” the Reverend John replied. “And am I to understand that the — -the usury business was another of your house-master’s impressions?”
“Well — we helped a little in that,” said Stalky. “I did owe Beetle two and fourpence at least, Beetle says I did, but I never intended to pay him. Then we started a bit of an argument on the stairs, and — and Mr. Prout dropped into it accidental. That was how it was, Padre. He paid me cash down like a giddy Dook (stopped it out of my pocket-money just the same), and Beetle gave him my note-of-hand all correct. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“I was too truthful,” said Beetle. “I always am. You see, he was under an impression, Padre, and I suppose I ought to have corrected that impression; but of course I couldn’t be quite certain that his house wasn’t given over to money-lendin’, could I? I thought the house-prefects might know more about it than I did. They ought to. They’re giddy palladiums of public schools.”
“They did, too — by the time they’d finished,” said McTurk. “As nice a pair of conscientious, well-meanin’, upright, pure-souled boys as you’d ever want to meet, Padre. They turned the house upside down — Harrison and Craye — -with the best motives in the world.”
“They said so. ‘They said it very loud and clear. They went and shou
ted in our ear,’” said Stalky.
“My own private impression is that all three of you will infallibly be hanged,” said the Reverend John.
“Why, we didn’t do anything,” McTurk replied. “It was all Mr. Prout. Did you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle — -he’s in the Navy — gave me a beauty once.”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Turkey.”
“I’m not, sir. I’m givin’ an illustration — same as a sermon. These wrestler-chaps have got sort sort of trick that lets the other chap do all the work. Than they give a little wriggle, and he upsets himself. It’s called shibbuwichee or tokonoma, or somethin’. Mr. Prout’s a shibbuwicher. It isn’t our fault.”
“Did you suppose we went round corruptin’ the minds of the fags?” said Beetle. “They haven’t any, to begin with; and if they had, they’re corrupted long ago. I’ve been a fag, Padre.”
“Well, I fancied I knew the normal range of your iniquities; but if you take so much trouble to pile up circumstantial evidence against yourselves, you can’t blame any one if — ”
“We don’t blame any one, Padre. We haven’t said a word against Mr. Prout, have we?” Stalky looked at the others. “We love him. He hasn’t a notion how we love him.”
“H’m! You dissemble your love very well. Have you ever thought who got you turned out of your study in the first place?”
“It was Mr. Prout turned us out,” said Stalky, with significance.
“Well, I was that man. I didn’t mean it; but some words of mine, I’m afraid, gave Mr. Prout the impression — ”
Number Five laughed aloud.
“You see it’s just the same thing with you, Padre,” said McTurk. “He is quick to get an impression, ain’t he? But you mustn’t think we don’t love him, ‘cause we do. There isn’t an ounce of vice about him.”
A double knock fell on the door.
“The Head to see Number Five study in his study at once,” said the voice of Foxy, the school sergeant.
“Whew!” said the Reverend John. “It seems to me that there is a great deal of trouble coming for some people.”
Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) Page 343