by E. F. Benson
Manton still felt in a very superior position. All he had told the Head was quite true, namely, that these three fifth-form boys put themselves in a position above the prefects, so that any order or punishment by the two sixth-form boys in the house could be appealed against, and if they thought proper could be reversed. The Head had been extremely grave about it, and at present there was no doubt in Manton’s mind that he was going to uphold the authority of the prefects in a summary manner, and probably make it very hot for those who had set themselves above it. He felt quite secure and comfortable, and smiled in rather a lofty manner.
“I dare say the Head will tell you as much of what I said as he thinks good for you,” he observed. “But I really don’t see why I should. You see he takes the view that prefects are not to be dictated to by two or three members of the fifth form. Bad precedent, you know; it might lead to a couple of fellows out of the fourth form dictating to you. Jevons and a friend might make a super-Court of Appeal. Rather funny that would be.”
David passed the ghost of a wink to Gregson. He wanted to draw Manton on a little further, before he unmasked his batteries. It required some control to assume an attitude of humility, when delicious sentences were beginning to seethe in his brain. But it was heavenly to see Manton’s malicious little eyes beaming at him through his spectacles, and notice what an awful scug he looked with his hair, rather long behind, lying outside his collar. He gave a sigh.
“I say, I’m afraid we’re in for it,” he said disconsolately.
Manton let his mouth expand into an odious smile.
“Yes, I should say you were,” he observed. “You see the Head’s view is that the authority of prefects is an institution which has his support, and he doesn’t quite see why it should be taken away by three fellows in the fifth. He asked me all sorts of questions, and so I had to give him a pretty full account. I should make a clean breast of it, I think, if I were you.”
David could stand this no longer. He felt that he must burst if he had to listen to any more of Manton’s advice.
“You say you gave him a pretty full account,” he said, “though you have not chosen to tell us what it was. Well, I shouldn’t wonder if we made it a bit fuller for you. I beg your pardon, brother Crabtree—”
Bags was leaning back, looking dreamily at Manton.
“Learned brother Gregson,” he observed, “do you remember one day how Mr. Manton wanted to whack a little boy called Babbington, and how he had to call in Mr. Crossley to help?”
Plugs assumed a portentous air.
“Yes, brother Crabtree,” he said, “and how soap-bubbles came out of Mr. Manton’s kettle, though he had not meant to wash.”
David chimed in.
“And we all remember, my learned brother,” he said, “how the house was a perfect bear-garden for the first month of this term before we started our worshipful Court, and how—”
David turned to Manton.
“Perhaps you didn’t tell the Head that,” he said. “We shall. We shall tell him how you couldn’t get lines done for you, till we enforced the authority you hadn’t got. We shall say how you walk round the house in slippers, and when you get back to your own fuggy studies you daren’t walk straight in for fear of finding a booby-trap come down on your mangy heads. Jolly wise precaution, too, on your part. We shall tell the Head all that.”
David licked his lips, as he warmed to his work. He took Jevons’s appeal off the table in front of him.
“I shall take this to the Head, and read it him,” he said. “Just listen: pretty dignified position for you, isn’t it? ‘To the Court of Appeal. Please Blaize, Manton got an awful soaker because somebody else put my sponge on the top of his door, which soused him; and because it was my sponge he says he’ll whack me unless I find out who did it and tell him, which isn’t fair, because it’s not my business. So I appeal. M. C. Jevons.’”
Manton was getting a little rattled. Otherwise he would not have done anything so foolish as try to grab this paper. David whisked it away.
“I shall say, too, that you tried to get hold of this, “ he said. “Better sit down, Manton. That’s right. And I shall tell him that your notion of authority is to look in a fellow’s private drawer when he’s out, to see if you can nail a pipe.”
“I never did, “ said Manton wildly. “That was Crossley.”
“Oh then, I suppose Crossley will explain that,” said David. “Of course it may all be stale news to the Head, since you gave him a pretty full account, but I’ll just see if the Head happened to listen to that part. You see, we don’t in the least mind telling you what we’re going to say to the Head, though you’re too superior to tell us what you said. I’ve told Adams about it already, and he thinks you’re an awfully good prefect, of course. And then, you see,” concluded David cheerfully, “when we’ve told him all that really happened, why shouldn’t we make up a lot that didn’t? Probably you did the same. Gosh, the Head will have a wonderful high opinion of you before I’ve done. I shouldn’t wonder if it isn’t more than he can bear, and jolly well breaks down and sobs and kneels and gives thanks that he has such a ripping couple of prefects in this house, to keep us all in order.”
“Well, you needn’t be sarcastic about it,” said Manton.
“Yes, I need, because you began about having a fourth-form Court of Appeal to override us. You think that it’s only you who can be so damned sarcastic and superior, and give any garbled account you like to the Head—”
“It wasn’t garbled.”
“It must have been, or do you suppose that a sensible chap like the Head could have taken your side? Perhaps you didn’t invent things, but I swear you left out some jolly important ones, like your not being able to cane a cheeky junior without getting Crossley to help you, and then whacking him on the shin instead. You should have seen Adams shaking when I told him about it. And I bet you said we set ourselves in opposition to you. That’s a lie. We backed your authority up except when you made such utter squirts of yourselves that we couldn’t. We helped you, you goat! We did for you what you couldn’t do for yourselves! Lord, it makes me hot to talk to a chap like you. Go on, Bags — I mean, Brother Crabtree.”
Manton was beginning to present so ludicrous an appearance that learned brother Blaize could hardly prevent bubbling with laughter, which would have spoiled the forcibleness of the situation. His finger no longer kept his place in his book; his tight little mouth no longer complacently smiled, but had fallen open in dismay at David’s surprising remarks. And learned Brother Crabtree, with his suave style and slow sentences, did not reassure him.
“You see, there’s nothing like fair play, Manton,” said Bags. “I take it that you agree. And, as you’ve had an uninterrupted innings with the Head, and have run up a good score against us, I’m sure it is only proper that we should have our turn. Now, you were not wise in refusing to tell us what you had said to the Head; but the time for that is past now, and even if you wanted to, I don’t suppose we should listen to you. It was foolish of you, because you make us guess what it was, and naturally we guess that you made up a lot of lies, since we think that is the sort of thing you would do. So when you leave us now, which will be very soon, we shall make up some rippers about you and Crossley — really awful things, you know. I began making some up when Brother Blaize was addressing you. They are beauties.” Gregson took up the tale with a wink at David in the eye away from Manton.
“And yet I don’t know that we need bother to make things up, Brother Crabtree,” he said. “It’s easier to say just a few of the things that really happened. We will tell the Head the sort of thing that goes on in Manton’s study when he thinks all the house are at preparation.”
Now Manton, for all his feebleness and ineffectiveness as a prefect, was as blameless as the Ethiopian.
“But I don’t know what you mean,” he said. Gregson gave a little laugh which he transformed into a cough.
“Oh really?” he said. “But the Head will soon
know what we mean. David — I mean Brother Blaize knows.”
David had caught the wink correctly. He put on a scornful face.
“Oh, that!” he said. “Yes, disgusting. You should he more careful about shutting your door, Manton. I and Gregson were walking about the house in slippers, following the example of the sixth form.”
“But I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Manton.
“Right oh. We won’t talk about it any more — to you.”
It was in vain that Manton assured himself that, as was perfectly true, his conscience was as clear as noon-day, for this wicked and subtly-acted fraud on the part of those fifth-form devils made him uncomfortable in spite of himself. And though he had not told the Head anything false about this beastly Court of Appeal, he certainly had not put their side of the case before him with the directness that it now appeared they were going to do on their own behalf. He had not, for instance, said that the Court of Appeal propped up, endorsed, supported the authority of himself and Crossley far more than they overrode it, though it was perfectly true (as he had told the Head) that they arrogated the supreme authority to themselves, Nor had it occurred to him to tell the Head that he and Crossley were quite incompetent to maintain discipline, that they got ragged to the point of having soap put in their kettles, that they toured the house in slippers. Truly the supplement to his tale was likely to be as voluminous as the tale itself.
Then David rose.
“Well, I don’t think we need detain you,” he said politely, “in fact, we’ve got a good deal to talk over among ourselves. Thanks awfully for coming. I expect we shall all meet again at the Head’s. That’s all then.”
But Manton was not quite sure that this was all. Various remarks by one or other of the members of the Court were beginning to cause him somewhat acute internal questionings. In especial he disliked the fact that Adams was in possession of the Court’s side of the case, and as like as not would give the Head the benefit of it.
“Perhaps we might discuss it all a little more,” he said, with a faint air of condescension still lingering about him. “I can — well, go to the Head, because he told me that if I had anything more to tell him, I was to. I might say — I really should be quite glad to — that Crossley and I didn’t want to get you into trouble.”
“Oh that’s all right,” said David cheerfully. “Don’t bother about that; you’ve got us into no trouble at all. I expect we shall come out perfectly right.”
“But the Head was awfully sick about it, “ said Manton. “He laid a good deal of stress on the fact that you did set yourselves up as an authority superior to the prefects.”
“I expect I’ll make that all square,” said David. “I dare say I shall put our case as strongly as you put yours. Adams will have done the same too, I’m pretty sure. Of course we thought we might let you down more easily if you told us what you told the Head, and, after all, we gave you an opportunity of doing so. But you didn’t take it, so that’s finished.”
“Well, I think perhaps I was wrong not to tell you,” said Manton.
“I’m sure you were,” assented Bags warmly. “Isn’t it an awful pity one doesn’t think of that sort of thing sooner?”
“And so, if you like, I’ll tell you now,” said Manton, finishing his sentence.
“Oh, we don’t care a hang either way,” said David. “If you wish you may tell us, but it’ll be because you ask us if you may. We don’t want to hear it.”
“But I thought you asked me to,” said this dismal prefect.
“We did, but it’s no use to us now. We’ve made up our minds what to do.”
“Well, shall I tell the Head that you did often support the authority of the sixth? It might make him less sick with you.”
“Rubbish! “said Gregson. “You’re proposing these things now simply because you want us not to tell the Head our side of it. Is that the reason, or not?”
“I think it would—”
“‘Yes’ or ‘no,’” said Brother Blaize in a terrible voice.
“Yes.”
“Why not have asked for mercy sooner then, instead of giving yourself all these airs? Get on!” It was a very unstuffed Manton who was left at the end of this recital, for though he had not told the Head anything palpably false, yet the picture the Head must have drawn of the whole affair was about as erroneous as it could possibly be. He had left the Head assume that the authority of the prefects over the house was complete and satisfactory until the Court of Appeal set itself up, and he had certainly not said that the Court in most cases endorsed their authority, and saw that their orders were obeyed. All this was drawn from him by cool and ruthless questioning.
At the end David gave a long whistle.
“Well, ‘pon my word, you are in a mess,” he said. “I’m not at all sure that I shouldn’t resign my prefectship if I were you before the Head kicked me out. You are the deuce of a hand at suppressio veri — ain’t that it, Brother Gregson? Why there isn’t an ounce of truth that you haven’t suppressed. And it’s all as full of suggestio — er—”
“Falsi,” said Bags.
“Yes, suggestio falsi, as it can stick. The best thing you can do is to go and talk it over with Crossley, and then come back and tell us what you propose to tell the Head. If you don’t make a clean breast of it to him, and let him see that he’s only got a garbled — yes, I said garbled — version of it at present, you may be sure we shall. And when you’ve made up your minds, come back and tell us. Tap at the door first. “ The unstuffed Manton rose.
“Yes, I’ll do that,” he said. “Er — thanks.” The door closed behind him, and David, who was growing extremely red in the face with suppressio risus, turned over and buried his face in the sofa-cushions, kicking wildly in the air. The other learned brethren stifled themselves lest Manton should hear them, and for a few minutes the Court of Appeal writhed in the agonies of silent mirth.
“O Lord,” said David at length, “I didn’t know there was such richness in the world! To think that half an hour ago that little squirt thought he had us on toast. Toast’s there all right, but ’tisn’t we who are on it. And now he’s making up another version which is ours, and wanting to know if that’ll satisfy us for him to go to the Head with. O Lord!”
“Too much mercy to let him,” said Bags.
“Not a bit of it. It’s much more effective if Manton puts our side of it to the Head.”
“But what if he doesn’t tell the Head all he says he’s going to?” asked Plugs.
“He must. The only way he can save his face is by going to him at once, before Adams can. Oh, there’s toast enough! Besides, when the Head sees us, we can soon tell if Manton’s given him the correct version.”
David, as President of the Court, was summoned to the Supreme Presence next day.
“I’ve been into the question of the Court of Appeal,” said the Head, “and what Manton told me last night puts a different complexion on it from what I had heard before. Of course the court must be dissolved at once, Blaize, you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
A faint smile spread over the Head’s face as he looked at the big, jolly boy.
“And tell your — your learned brethren,” he said, “what I say. The authorities in your house are Mr. Adams and the prefects, and there are no other authorities. But I believe now that on the whole the court meant well, and I am quite certain it enjoyed itself immensely. That particular enjoyment, I am afraid, must cease; but I want it — the court, that is — to continue meaning well in a private capacity, and to support the prefects’ authority, though it may no longer enforce or reverse their orders. And, Blaize, this is for your private ear alone: I think the Court probably did very useful work. But we mustn’t have any more courts. That’s all, then. How are you getting on? Well, I hope, and Mr. Adams seems to think so. Heard anything from your friend Maddox lately?”
“Gosh, what a brick!” said David to himself, as he went out....
CHAPTER XV
DAVID was lying on his back under the big elm-tree near the cricket pavilion one Sunday afternoon in mid-June. By him, upright and attentive, sat the faithful Bags, listening and occasionally playing the part of Greek chorus) that is to say, putting in short, appropriate reflections) to a quantity of surprising information. Both boys wore the white tie characteristic of prefects on Sunday, for both had got their promotion into the lower sixth at Easter, and were colleagues of the inefficient Manton and Crossley. Those two young gentlemen, it may be remarked, were vastly relieved to have the burden of authority taken off their somewhat feeble shoulders, and David and Bags (particularly David) ruled the house with genial exuberance, and, when necessary, a rod of iron.
Just now both the iron and the exuberance were relaxed, and David lay there in an abandonment of physical laziness. His straw hat, with cricket eleven colours, was tilted over the top part of his face, so as to shield his eyes from the speckles and sparkles of sun that filtered through the canopy of leaves above him, and his mouth and chin alone were visible. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, showing a white hiatus between a despondent sock and the end of his trousers, and a persistent fly kept settling there, an attention which he acknowledged by dabbing at it with the other ankle.
“’Tisn’t as if I was a little boy any longer,” he said. “When a fellow is close on seventeen, as you and I are, it’s time he began to realise that he’s grown up. Why, my mother was only seventeen when she married.”
“But do you propose to marry at seventeen!” asked Bags with sarcastic allusion to the conversation that had gone before. “Where’ll she live? She can’t very well sleep in dormitory.”
David gave a little spurt of laughter, and the sun shone on his white teeth, and down his red throat. But he quickly became grave again.
“Is that funny?” he said. “If so, I suppose I’d better laugh, though I wish I saw the point. Who said I was going to marry? O gosh, what a clipper she is!”