The first thunder-burst of a revolution had come to Harley as a vast excitement, and those who had no real part to play in it had stood at their windows watching the threatening majesty5 of its power unfold. But days had passed, and with them had departed much of a schoolboy’s first intense delight in bold rebellion, so that when the time of cheering and singing had gone, and only grey days empty and wearisome remained, a sulky discontent slowly wrapped Harley in its mantle6. All days were grey days. There had been no school Rugger and each week was devoid7 of interest. Saturdays were not holidays but hollow days. The only interest that had helped to keep Harleyans awake out of school hours had been house friendlies. Now these had gone from their ken4. The Head had hit straight and hard.
Directly Coles heard the news he smiled again, for he knew that this blow would provide a first step towards the school’s collapse8. For a minute their 153pride would steady them. Members of the Fifteen who were suffering most would set the example, but by degrees fellows would be found in favour of giving in. The call of Rugger in their blood would be too strong. He and his friends would move quietly amongst these wobblers and encourage them in their notions. In this way a reactionary9 party would begin to grow, snowball fashion, each newcomer persuading some crony of his own to think with him. Then would come Coles’ chance. Fellows would look round for a leader, some bright spirit who could show them a way out of their dilemma10 that would be in keeping with their dignity. That bright spark would be forthcoming without delay. Coles would be the man of the hour. He was the best drop-kick in the school. He was an old colour. He would be their philosopher.
“Let the Head have his way to this extent,” he would say. “Let Roe11 be the official captain. It will be too late to print cards with his name on this season, and many outside the school will never know. And I will be secretary. I will guide his hand. I will choose the teams. I will award the colours. We will end the term gloriously. The Head will think he has won, and he will be affable and amenable12 to reason, but in reality we shall be laughing up our sleeves, for the captain of footer will have to do just what his secretary tells him.”
Coles was very cautious. He did not allow the fact that time for these plans to mature was short to interfere13 with him. It was not yet half-term and he knew that the school’s collapse once started would come suddenly. When it came he would be ready. But he must not arouse suspicion by attempting to hurry things on their way. He watched from afar, and he kept Roe quiet. Only his friends were subtly busying themselves with intrigue14. And whilst Coles watched and waited, that terrible 154listlessness that is the forerunner15 of a dry-rot was spreading over Harley. Only Morley’s kept up their heads. In Mainwright’s Smythe tried to lead his men in the proud path, but it was too much for one man. Presently, to stand about at corners and kick one’s heels became a habit. Boredom16 became a plague and the infection spread.
Carr felt it more, perhaps, than any other boy in Seymour’s because he was constantly in Coles’ society and was borne down by the shadow of it. Football would have been his one great relaxation17. Rugger would have helped him to throw off the yoke18. It would have brought him more into touch with fellows like Rouse and Terence Nicholson, whose very presence filled a room with optimism.
Henry Hope did not desert him, but he clearly considered him a perplexing and unsatisfactory young man, and he seemed to regret his silence over the thing that mattered most; nevertheless, he persevered19 daily. The fact that he had at least some kind of hold over Coles, if he could only get the opportunity to use it, was, moreover, a considerable comfort to him.
These grey days had their effect too upon Saville, and on one of them he wandered wretchedly into Rouse’s study and stood like a man with a hump on his back before the trio whom he found there.
“Don’t stand there with that weight on your shoulders,” said Rouse. “Take it off and put it down in a corner.”
Saville straightened his back bravely.
“It’s the hump,” said he. “It’s enough to give anyone the hump. Things are rotten bad.”
He paused as if to let this information sink in. The others did not deny it.
Saville sighed. “It’s not so bad for me, or chaps like me. What is so frightful20 is having to stand by and watch this dry-rot setting in amongst all the 155middle school chaps. It’s like watching a lot of strikers being starved into submission21.”
Rouse glanced at him significantly.
“You think they’ll give in?”
The other hesitated. “No. At the moment I can’t think of any particular fellow who’s specially22 likely to give in, and of course it’s no use just one or two giving in, anyway. But you see what I mean. At this very moment we’re losing. We asked for this fight and it’s going against us. We’re getting more than we’re giving. And that weighs on the chaps’ minds. They’re just crazy to hit back. It was different before. House friendlies were a sort of safety valve. Fellows who were longing23 for a school match could at least put their hearts and souls into a house game. You saw how they turned out in the hope of seeing Seymour’s play Morley’s. It was pretty nearly pathetic. And in a sense I feel that mine is the responsibility. It was because Betteridge and I wouldn’t play under that yahoo’s captaincy that house Rugger was stopped. And I can tell you I’m precious sorry about it all. We’re being absolutely sat on, and the chaps can see it. Isn’t there any way at all of getting a bit of our own back? Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Rouse made no answer. He had been listening to Saville attentively24, and once he had nodded his head in total agreement. Otherwise he had made no move. Now he turned to the two young men who were sitting with him, one upon the table and one upon the window-sill, and looked at them inquiringly. Saville was at a loss. He stared first at Smythe and then at Terence Nicholson, and finally at Rouse. On the face of each he perceived the same significant expression.
“I know it is, old horse,” said Rouse.
156“Then, dash it all,” repeated Saville, “isn’t there anything we can do?”
“There is,” said he. “And Smythe has done it. Take a seat!”
“Where?” demanded Saville, looking mournfully round the study.
“Sit on that box. There’s something we want you to know. The safety valve of which you spoke27 has, as you say, gone bust28. Let there be no panic. Smythe has another up his sleeve. As soon as there are sufficient pennies in the hat he will produce it.” He paused. “We told Smythe to scratch our fixtures30 for the season. He obeyed except in one respect. He did not scratch the Rainhurst match.”
The effect of these words was remarkable31.
Saville rose from his box in the stiff, unnatural32 manner of a man under the influence of hypnotism. Then he lifted his hand and pointed33 at Smythe with an extended forefinger34:
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
Saville sat back, and for a little while he leaned against the wall with a distant smile, seeming to be recalling some memory of the long ago. At last his lips parted and he spoke in a half whisper:
“The Rainhurst match!”
He leaned forward. The other three were looking at him in appreciation35.
Smythe began to explain. “I looked ahead and I saw what things would be like if the worst came true. My idea was that if, in the end, it had to be done, we could scratch that match last of all, but I decided36 to hang on to the fixture29. I said nothing to anyone until a fortnight or so ago, when the Rainhurst secretary wrote and said that he’d heard we’d been scratching a lot of matches, and 157did our fixture with them still stand. Then I consulted Nicholson. And he wanted to ask Rouse. So we all three discussed it and I wrote back.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said,” admitted Smythe, “that we should be there.”
The silence was acute. At last Rouse broke it.
“We realised what you are realising now, old sportsman—the danger of a rot and the value of a safety valve. You ask what we can do to hit back. Well, we voluntarily scratched our fixture list. The Head has gone one better and forbidden house games. We shall go one better still. Our defiant37 answer will be the playing of the match of the season. The Rainhurst match will come off.”
“How can we do it?”
“It’s not very difficult,” said Terence. “Rainhurst is within cycling distance. There is also quite a good service of trains. On the afternoon of the second Saturday in the second half of term the First Fifteen will simply go to Rainhurst by various secret ways and meet there. The Rainhurst team will be on the field and the game will be played. Then we shall all find separate ways home. The Head will probably never know. Who’s going to miss us?”
“But how about the Rainhurst Head? He’s bound to know what’s the matter here. Won’t he smell a rat?”
“Not,” said Smythe, “unless Roe is on the field, and then we should all smell one. And we can do that without going to Rainhurst.”
Saville considered the matter from every side. At last he looked up again.
“What I mean is, he must know that we’ve scratched all our matches. Won’t he wonder a bit? Supposing he writes to the Head and mentions it?”
“Why should he? When their secretary wrote 158to me the other week he just said he’d heard that we’d scratched some of our matches. Was the Rainhurst match to stand good? He didn’t say anything about the Head asking.”
So at last Saville emitted a hoarse38 chuckle39 of delight: “Glory be! What a terrific rag! But it can be improved on. Why not form up in a body outside the school and march there?”
“So soon as there’s any procession,” put in Rouse, “I always cease to take any interest in things. Nothing causes me more suffering than to be called upon to process.”
“Besides,” said Terence, “that would only be asking for trouble. Someone would be expelled.”
“Also it is too far,” observed Smythe. “The idea is to get there in a fit state to play football. We don’t want to reach Rainhurst on our hands and knees.”
“It had never occurred to me that this was going to be possible,” said Saville. “In my wildest dreams I never imagined anything like this. Have you chaps been keeping this to yourselves all this time?”
“A short while ago,” said Rouse, “I was beginning to brood, and so they told me. Now it’s you who are beginning to brood, so we’ve told you. We’ve been keeping it as a kind of tonic40 for those who get downhearted. The fewer people who know, the safer the secret.”
“Only,” said Terence, “it’s getting near the time now when we ought to tell some of the chaps. There ought not to be any harm now in letting the news filter through to some of the young ’uns. If they’re getting restless it’s just the kind of thing to steady them and keep them solid.”
“It’ll be our saving,” said Saville. “If this gets known, the Head’s idea of wearing them down hasn’t got an earthly.”
Smythe leaned forward.
159“There is one other point. We’ve got to consider what the Head will do if he finds out, and I think we can take it he will. The best part of the school will go to Rainhurst to see the match and that will give the show away.... Then what will he do? Whom will he drop on?”
“Precisely. It will be you, and we’ve got to guard against that. We must stand together. If he blames you, every man jack42 must step forward and take his share of the blame. I shall say that the idea was mine. Terence will declare that he made the plans, so on and thusly. We shall all agree that the only part you took in the affair was to captain the side. And if he tries to expel you——”
“We’ll cut his throat,” said Saville.
Then he rose to his feet and stretched himself.
“I feel a different man. I should very much like to burst into song. Tell me, is there any objection to my repeating this to anyone else?—Betteridge, for example? I should absolutely love to. There’s a touch of the dramatic about it, and I should just enjoy laying myself out to break this news to him in my best style. He’s decidedly broody too, if that’s the chief qualification for admission to the secret circle.”
“Yes, I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell Betteridge,” said Rouse, and hesitated. “But I shouldn’t tell anyone else in Seymour’s just for the moment.” He looked at Saville shrewdly, and Saville caught his meaning and nodded his head. Then Rouse rose and stood dreamily with one hand extended as if to indicate the beauty of the distant landscape.
“I seem to see a certain Saturday afternoon. There will be an unwonted calm about the old school. The Head—God bless him!—will be sleeping by the fire. His carpet slippers43 will be dangling44 160from his toes. His waistcoat will be comfortably loosened.... Suddenly he will wake with a start and he will be struck by the eerie45 stillness everywhere about him. He will rise and look out of the window. At first he will see nothing. He will climb to a window on the top floor, and then with a kind of telescopic eye he will see everything at once. He will look along every road that leads towards Rainhurst and he will see several small clouds of dust. Dimly he will make out the figures of all kinds and conditions of Harley fellows footing it along at a good pace, some even riding bicycles or getting lifts in carts. He will see the railway station crowded with the chaps who can afford to buy railway tickets. He will see trains on the move with our chaps leaning out and waving coloured handkerchiefs at him. It will be like a Derby day. At last he will send for the bursar. ‘Look here,’ he will say, ‘What is all that commotion46? What’s on?’ The bursar will look at him wisely. ‘Didn’t you know?’ he’ll say. ‘There’s a very big match on to-day. The school are playing Rainhurst.’ The only thing I regret,” he added, “is that by going to Rainhurst to play I shall not be able to be present in the Head’s room at that moment.”
Saville jumped suddenly forward and flung out his hand.
“Look!... Betteridge! He’s walking by the window. I must go and——”
He never finished. He just made a delighted gesture of farewell, and was gone.
At last Rouse turned again to his companions.
“The safety valve is open,” said he. “By to-morrow the welcome whisper should be passing from lip to lip.”
A careful onlooker47 casting back his mind in after years to the ten days that intervened between the 161greatest depth of the school’s dejection and its complete recovery has said that the countenance48 of the average Harleyan of that day was to him the face of a good barometer49 showing a steady rise from storm to set-fair by regular upward moves from day to day.
From the moment when Rouse, by breaking the news to Saville, had, as it were, thrown that message like a pebble50 into the pool of Harley’s dejection, the rippling51 circles of water that showed just where it had sunk spread with almost mathematical precision until the outermost52 circle had reached the outermost boys in the school. The countenance of the school was, therefore, more than a barometer. It was a graph, showing exactly how far the whisper reached each day.
The manner in which the quickly passing word somehow avoided masters was enigmatical. It may be that some few of them knew without seeming to know. If so, there was not one enemy amongst them. For all the groups of boys that the Head might have seen any day standing53 about school deep in some earnest discussion, their eyes newly bright, all symptoms of their depression vanished, he never guessed the truth, so that each little band of friends were able to make their own arrangements for the journey to Rainhurst on that great day that was surely coming without one single obstructing54 order from the Head.
Directly the school had reassembled after half-term Rouse sent for Henry Hope.
“Henry,” said he to Terence, “can always indicate to a man the temper of the school in a few well-chosen words. Henry knows everybody. In short, what Henry thinks to-day Harley will think to-morrow.”
Henry appeared before him without delay, and was interrogated55.
162“As far as I know,” said he, “there’s nobody now who hasn’t heard.”
“Has there been upraised,” demanded Rouse, “one single dissentient voice?”
“There has not,” responded Henry; “except in places where it doesn’t matter.”
Rouse nodded his head thoughtfully.
“As far as you know, after moving about amongst all classes, you can safely say that the plan has the whole-hearted support of the school? Anyone who split now would most likely be lynched?”
“Why, sure,” said Henry.
“There is one other point. Do you think that amongst the rank and file who had been hit hardest by the great staleness of life up to half-term there is a general convalescence56? Has the fever passed? In other words, are those sad eyes of which you spoke to me a while back now shining with the light of a great enthusiasm?”
Rouse nodded once again, and this time with an air of finality.
“Thank you very much for the very thorough manner in which you have carried out your investigations58, Detective Hope,” said he. “You have been of the utmost service to Harley. It is only by keeping one’s finger continuously upon the pulse of the school that one can really hope to save them from their melancholia.” He turned. “That being so, Nick,” he observed, “we will go visit Smythe and he can commence operations forthwith.”
It was late that evening that Smythe, on his round of selected studies, reached the little room that Coles called his own. Coles did not seem surprised to see him. He rose hospitably59 and produced a chair from a dark corner, turned to the fire and poked60 at it lustily.
163Smythe, however, proceeded to the business of the day without hesitation61.
“You’ve heard about the scheme that I’ve come about already, of course. All I’m doing now is interviewing the team that Rouse has picked. It’s a novel way of acting62 secretary. I’ll just show you this.”
He produced from his pocket a piece of paper. It bore the names of fifteen Harleyans, who had been selected to play in the great match of the year, and the name of Coles was included. Smythe drew his attention to the fact.
“I just want to know,” said he, “that you’re quite willing to turn out, and I want your word of honour that in the event of there being a big row about this when it’s found out you’ll stand with the team and take a fair share of any blame that may be going. I ask this because the probability is that the Head may try to drop on Rouse and make him the scapegoat63. I also want your word of honour that you will say nothing and do nothing that could lead to this secret being discovered by the Head or any beak64 at all.”
Coles looked at him oddly.
“You want my word of honour? Why mine?”
“We’re asking for everybody’s,” said Smythe coldly. “You needn’t be alarmed.”
“But why? What makes that necessary? Who do you suppose might give it away?”
“We’re asking this of each fellow who’s going to play, purely65 to avoid giving offence to any one man. The temper of the school at present doesn’t permit of taking risks. That’s all. Do you mind giving what we ask?”
“No,” said Coles at last. “Why should I? What’s all the suspicion about?” He paused, glancing at Smythe resentfully. “What is it you want me to promise?”
164Smythe repeated it.
He jerked his head.
“All right. I’ll give my word.”
Smythe solemnly put a little tick against his name on the list, stayed a few moments talking over arrangements, and finally took his departure.
In the corridor outside he came upon two boys. One he identified without difficulty as Henry Hope, but as he passed Henry drew his companion into the shadow of the wall behind him. For Henry had just made a regrettable discovery. He had reported that nobody of importance existed in Harley who was not delighted at the prospect66 of the Rainhurst match, and he had overlooked one case, a case that had only just come properly to his notice. There was a young man in Harley who showed no pleasure at the arrangements made, who seemed, on the contrary, smitten67 with some foreboding. The young man would give no explanation. He would offer no definite opinion. It was merely a case in which the symptoms of depression had increased rather than decreased, and were it not for one outstanding fact the matter might have been exceptional, and therefore of no real importance. But Henry could not lose sight of that one fact. The young man concerned was Coles’ fag. Henry would have to watch out.
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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45
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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onlooker
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| n.旁观者，观众 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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outermost
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| adj.最外面的，远离中心的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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obstructing
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| 阻塞( obstruct的现在分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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58
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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