On the afternoon following the Oxford A match, Sheen, of Seymour's, wassitting over the gas-stove in his study with a Thucydides. He had beenstaying in that day with a cold. He was always staying in. Everyone hashis hobby. That was Sheen's.
Nobody at Wrykyn, even at Seymour's, seemed to know Sheen very well,with the exception of Drummond; and those who troubled to think aboutthe matter at all rather wondered what Drummond saw in him. To thesuperficial observer the two had nothing in common. Drummond was goodat games--he was in the first fifteen and the second eleven, and hadwon the Feather Weights at Aldershot--and seemed to have no interestsoutside them. Sheen, on the other hand, played fives for the house, andthat was all. He was bad at cricket, and had given up football byspecial arrangement with Allardyce, on the plea that he wanted all histime for work. He was in for an in-school scholarship, the Gotford.
Allardyce, though professing small sympathy with such a degradedambition, had given him a special dispensation, and since then Sheenhad retired from public life even more than he had done hitherto. Theexamination for the Gotford was to come off towards the end of theterm.
The only other Wrykinians with whom Sheen was known to be friendly wereStanning and Attell, of Appleby's. And here those who troubled to thinkabout it wondered still more, for Sheen, whatever his other demerits,was not of the type of Stanning and Attell. There are certain membersof every public school, just as there are certain members of everycollege at the universities, who are "marked men". They have never beendetected in any glaring breach of the rules, and their manner towardsthe powers that be is, as a rule, suave, even deferential. Yet it isone of the things which everybody knows, that they are in the blackbooks of the authorities, and that sooner or later, in the picturesquephrase of the New Yorker, they will "get it in the neck". To this classStanning and Attell belonged. It was plain to all that the former wasthe leading member of the firm. A glance at the latter was enough toshow that, whatever ambitions he may have had in the direction ofvillainy, he had not the brains necessary for really satisfactoryevildoing. As for Stanning, he pursued an even course of life, alwaysrigidly obeying the eleventh commandment, "thou shalt not be foundout". This kept him from collisions with the authorities; while a readytongue and an excellent knowledge of the art of boxing--he was, afterDrummond, the best Light-Weight in the place--secured him at leasttolerance at the hand of the school: and, as a matter of fact, thoughmost of those who knew him disliked him, and particularly those who,like Drummond, were what Clowes had called the Old Brigade, he had,nevertheless, a tolerably large following. A first fifteen man, even ina bad year, can generally find boys anxious to be seen about with him.
That Sheen should have been amongst these surprised one or two people,notably Mr Seymour, who, being games' master had come a good deal intocontact with Stanning, and had not been favourably impressed. The factwas that the keynote of Sheen's character was a fear of giving offence.
Within limits this is not a reprehensible trait in a person'scharacter, but Sheen overdid it, and it frequently complicated hisaffairs. There come times when one has to choose which of two peopleone shall offend. By acting in one way, we offend A. By acting in theopposite way, we annoy B. Sheen had found himself faced by this problemwhen he began to be friendly with Drummond. Their acquaintance, begunover a game of fives, had progressed. Sheen admired Drummond, as thetype of what he would have liked to have been, if he could have managedit. And Drummond felt interested in Sheen because nobody knew muchabout him. He was, in a way, mysterious. Also, he played the pianoreally well; and Drummond at that time would have courted anybody whocould play for his benefit "Mumblin' Mose", and didn't mind obligingwith unlimited encores.
So the two struck up an alliance, and as Drummond hated Stanning only ashade less than Stanning hated him, Sheen was under the painfulnecessity of choosing between them. He chose Drummond. Whereby heundoubtedly did wisely.
Sheen sat with his Thucydides over the gas-stove, and tried to interesthimself in the doings of the Athenian expedition at Syracuse. His brainfelt heavy and flabby. He realised dimly that this was because he tooktoo little exercise, and he made a resolution to diminish his hours ofwork per diem by one, and to devote that one to fives. He would mentionit to Drummond when he came in. He would probably come in to tea. Theboard was spread in anticipation of a visit from him. Herbert, theboot-boy, had been despatched to the town earlier in the afternoon, andhad returned with certain food-stuffs which were now stacked in anappetising heap on the table.
Sheen was just making something more or less like sense out of aninvolved passage of Nikias' speech, in which that eminent generalhimself seemed to have only a hazy idea of what he was talking about,when the door opened.
He looked up, expecting to see Drummond, but it was Stanning. He feltinstantly that "warm shooting" sensation from which David Copperfieldsuffered in moments of embarrassment. Since the advent of Drummond hehad avoided Stanning, and he could not see him without feelinguncomfortable. As they were both in the sixth form, and sat within acouple of yards of one another every day, it will be realised that hewas frequently uncomfortable.
"Great Scott!" said Stanning, "swotting?"Sheen glanced almost guiltily at his Thucydides. Still, it wassomething of a relief that the other had not opened the conversationwith an indictment of Drummond.
"You see," he said apologetically, "I'm in for the Gotford.""So am _I_. What's the good of swotting, though? I'm not going todo a stroke."As Stanning was the only one of his rivals of whom he had any realfear, Sheen might have replied with justice that, if that was the case,the more he swotted the better. But he said nothing. He looked at thestove, and dog's-eared the Thucydides.
"What a worm you are, always staying in!" said Stanning.
"I caught a cold watching the match yesterday.""You're as flabby as--" Stanning looked round for a simile, "as adough-nut. Why don't you take some exercise?""I'm going to play fives, I think. I do need some exercise.""Fives? Why don't you play footer?""I haven't time. I want to work.""What rot. I'm not doing a stroke."Stanning seemed to derive a spiritual pride from this admission.
"Tell you what, then," said Stanning, "I'll play you tomorrow afterschool."Sheen looked a shade more uncomfortable, but he made an effort, anddeclined the invitation.
"I shall probably be playing Drummond," he said.
"Oh, all right," said Stanning. "_I_ don't care. Play whom youlike."There was a pause.
"As a matter of fact," resumed Stanning, "what I came here for was totell you about last night. I got out, and went to Mitchell's. Whydidn't you come? Didn't you get my note? I sent a kid with it."Mitchell was a young gentleman of rich but honest parents, who had leftthe school at Christmas. He was in his father's office, and lived inhis father's house on the outskirts of the town. From time to time hisfather went up to London on matters connected with business, leavinghim alone in the house. On these occasions Mitchell the younger wouldwrite to Stanning, with whom when at school he had been on friendlyterms; and Stanning, breaking out of his house after everybody had goneto bed, would make his way to the Mitchell residence, and spend apleasant hour or so there. Mitchell senior owned Turkish cigarettes anda billiard table. Stanning appreciated both. There was also a piano,and Stanning had brought Sheen with him one night to play it. Thegetting-out and the subsequent getting-in had nearly whitened Sheen'shair, and it was only by a series of miracles that he had escapeddetection. Once, he felt, was more than enough; and when a fag fromAppleby's had brought him Stanning's note, containing an invitation toa second jaunt of the kind, he had refused to be lured into thebusiness again.
"Yes, I got the note," he said.
"Then why didn't you come? Mitchell was asking where you were.""It's so beastly risky.""Risky! Rot.""We should get sacked if we were caught.""Well, don't get caught, then."Sheen registered an internal vow that he would not.
"He wanted us to go again on Monday. Will you come?""I--don't think I will, Stanning," said Sheen. "It isn't worth it.""You mean you funk it. That's what's the matter with you.""Yes, I do," admitted Sheen.
As a rule--in stories--the person who owns that he is afraid getsunlimited applause and adulation, and feels a glow of conscious merit.
But with Sheen it was otherwise. The admission made him if possible,more uncomfortable than he had been before.
"Mitchell will be sick," said Stanning.
Sheen said nothing.
Stanning changed the subject.
"Well, at anyrate," he said, "give us some tea. You seem to have beenvictualling for a siege.""I'm awfully sorry," said Sheen, turning a deeper shade of red andexperiencing a redoubled attack of the warm shooting, "but the fact is,I'm waiting for Drummond."Stanning got up, and expressed his candid opinion of Drummond in a fewwords.
He said more. He described Sheen, too in unflattering terms.
"Look here," he said, "you may think it jolly fine to drop me justbecause you've got to know Drummond a bit, but you'll be sick enoughthat you've done it before you've finished.""It isn't that--" began Sheen.
"I don't care what it is. You slink about trying to avoid me all day,and you won't do a thing I ask you to do.""But you see--""Oh, shut up," said Stanning.
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