It was the first afternoon of the Easter term, and from his position beside the window of his study Rouse was staring steadfastly towards the distant boundaries of Harley. Presently he turned and looked towards Terence, who sat buried to the chin in a basket chair, with his feet upon the mantelpiece. “I find myself to-day,” said he, “in a mood of the most blissful content. You, sir, can you tell me why that is?”
“No,” said Terence. “Unless somebody has mended that hole in your trouser pocket for you during the holidays and your locker key doesn’t fall through into your sock any longer. That used to irritate you a good deal last term, I remember.”
“That is not the correct answer,” responded Rouse. “And you will, moreover, be awarded one bad mark for your stupidity. If you are going to have another shot, I think you had better stand half-way, with the ladies and the little boys.”
Terence turned away and snuggled deeper into the recesses of his chair.
“It leaves me cold,” said he.
“Then I will speak with more warmth,” snapped Rouse, “you poor frozen piece of fish. Let me tell you that you are what our American cousins would term a boob or bone-head. If you were to unhook your heels from my mantelpiece and come and balance yourself beside me for a minute, you would perhaps understand what I mean. Just now the Grey Man 262passed along the top road going towards Mainwright’s. When he had gone I found myself casting my eye around the old estate, and I may assure you, young Nicholson, the place did not seem the same.”
“You were looking at it from a different angle,” explained Terence. “It’s that squint of yours. You never know where you’re looking half the time.” A brief silence followed. At last Rouse came over to the fire and, standing beside Terence, placed his hands on his hips and began to explain.
“The Grey Man has come back and the good sun is shining once more over the old homeside. That’s what I mean, you flat,” said he. “When I look back,” he added after a moment, “it seems to me that two things stand out from amongst the events of last term. Passing over those bad times when we heard that Toby was to go and that house footer was to stop, and such good times as the Rainhurst match, the two things that I always remember first are the moment when I first knew that I was not to be captain of Rugger, and the moment when I realised that Coles was giving me a licking.”
“It is of some interest to me to know,” said Terence, “that you are actually able to think of two things at once. I was not previously aware that you could.”
Rouse took no notice.
“The fact that I am responsible for the dud year Harley has had at Rugger,” said he, “worried me a good deal until I had a chow-chow with your brother, and then I began to look forward to this term as I have never looked forward to any term before. Now I am really back again, and the Grey Man has returned. I tell you, Nick, my son, I feel good. In other words, I am chock full of beans.”
“That must be what I heard rattling about inside your head just now,” answered Terence, “though it sounded to me more like dried peas.”
263“The days which I have spent with Mr Carr have been some of the happiest of my life,” insisted Rouse, “and they have done me such a power of good that I am half inclined to catch you a severe clip on the head in token.”
Terence rose and stretched himself.
“Mr Carr,” said he, “is a white man. What do you make the time? I’ve an idea we ought to be getting down to the meeting.”
Rouse consulted his watch, moved to the window and looked out.
“Yes,” said he, “they’re beginning to show up. Foster and Pointon are coming down the road and Smythe is just going by. Give me your hand and we will tag along.”
As they left the house and started across towards the hall where the general meeting was to be held Rouse became peculiarly quiet. Once Terence turned to him and noted the brightness of his eyes, and Rouse looked up and spoke.
“I wish I hadn’t talked so much about my blissful content,” he observed. “I’m beginning to feel a bit different. It’s perfectly true that nobody who knows Coles wants him to be captain of boxing, and it would be a jolly good lesson to him if he missed it, particularly during a term when we’re going all out to smash the record, but it isn’t everybody who does know Coles.”
“Well?”
“And,” demanded Rouse, “why should they want me anyhow? I’m not the only fellow in the school who goes in for games. I had my innings last term, and I played it about as cleverly as a fellow who goes into a nursery to amuse a kid and promptly treads on his balloon. If anybody does mention my name at the meeting as a possible captain, the probability is that chaps will get up one by one and go out groaning. I should say that most of the fellows 264are sick to death of my name. That’s how I feel about it anyway.”
“You feel like that about it,” said Terence gently, “because you’re batty. It isn’t your fault. We must learn not to laugh at you for it. You just can’t help it. You’re batty, that’s all.”
“Not at all. I was as keen as mustard to learn to box, especially from a man like Mr Carr, but I’d just as soon box for the school like an ordinary chap as be stuck on top and made captain.”
“They want you as captain,” said Terence, “because the whole school will follow you and do whatever you say, and they want the whole school to go boxing mad. It may interest you to know that I intend to don the gloves and clout a few people myself in due course.”
Rouse shook his head.
“Everybody who’s spoken to me,” concluded Terence, “everybody who is anybody——”
“Nobody’s anybody very much,” observed Rouse, “after they’ve once been seen speaking to you.”
“Everybody who is anybody,” repeated the other indifferently, “has been enthusiastic about it beyond all expectations. They reckon——”
He stopped. They had come to the entrance to the hall, and Rouse made his way in and hurriedly deposited himself upon a convenient chair.
“Sit down,” he commanded. “Don’t stand up there staring. I don’t want any attention called to me at all. I feel about the most congenital idiot any human being could feel.”
Terence sat down.
“Are you quite sure you can see all right from there,” he inquired. “Shall I ask that pretty gentleman in front to take his hat off?”
“That isn’t a hat,” said Rouse, casting dull care aside in the swiftly changing manner that was his wont, “that’s the gentleman’s hair. He has it 265like that because he’s in the wool-gathering business. It isn’t quite the same colour as it used to be last term though, is it? There seems a faint suspicion of early autumn about it. He’s been reading that advertisement, ‘All handsome men are bronzed,’ I expect, and he thinks it refers to the hair.”
The gentleman addressed turned haughtily and addressed himself to Terence.
“Would you mind asking your little boy to be quiet,” he said courteously. “I find his remarks a trifle distracting, and I’ve paid for my seat the same as what you ’ave.”
“One of the curls is missing,” commented Rouse. “Is some lady the proud possessor, or has his little brother been playing with the shears? It gives the head a rather mothy appearance anyhow. Reminds me of a part-worn doormat more than anything else.”
“Oh, rub his face in a bun,” retorted the gentleman with the golden locks.
Rouse opened his mouth to reply but his final comment was cut short. Toby Nicholson had risen and there had come a respectful hush. Then, because it was his first official appearance on his return to Harley, cheering broke out. He coloured awkwardly and stood for a minute waiting the chance to speak, and eventually he began. He spoke just long enough to explain the position to them, and to remind those who might not have realised the fact that the school must certainly have suffered in reputation by the leanness of the term just past.
“The way to win back our name as one of the first sporting schools in England,” said Toby, “is not to attempt a late cut at a football season, but to put the whole of our heart and soul into boxing and the sports. For that reason you need a captain who can really lead the school into a record year. Boxing has always counted for more at Harley than at many other schools, and this term it must count as the only 266game worth while. We want every fellow in the school who’s capable to try his hand at it. Only so can we find the very best talent in the school.” He stopped. “Who is proposed?” he said after a moment.
Without delay a peculiarly villainous-looking youth rose from his seat and stood for a moment waiting.
Rouse nodded towards him.
“That lad has a nice open face,” he observed gravely.
“Open?” whispered Terence. “You wait till he laughs. It opens from ear to ear.”
There came the muffled sound of a suffocated guffaw, and at the same moment the terrible young man spoke.
“I propose Coles,” said he, “the senior old colour.”
“I second that,” declared another, rising swiftly from a corner seat.
There was a moment’s hesitation, then a totally different type of fellow bobbed up from a position close to Rouse. It was Smythe, and he spoke with vigour.
“Mainwright’s house have held a meeting to-day, and on their behalf I wish to propose that Rouse be elected captain of boxing.”
He offered no explanation. He just waited a moment and then sat down.
Forthwith Saville rose from beside Coles.
“Seconded,” said he.
There was a sweeping murmur partly of surprise and partly of assent, and then Toby looked round them quickly.
“Is anyone else proposed?”
It was evident that there was not. But the villainous young man who had spoken first rose in his seat defiantly and faced Toby.
“It is quite natural, sir,” said he, “that after 267last year’s disappointment some of the fellows should want to pay Rouse this compliment, but it is an unwritten law that the captain of any game shall always be the senior old colour of the game and, if possible, the best man at it.”
Next Pointon rose.
“Is it not a fact, sir,” he inquired, “that when one selects a captain one chooses a man with certain definite capabilities as a leader, and not necessarily the best man at the game? Sometimes the two go together, but this year we require above anything else the man who can get the very most out of the school. Is there any unwritten law which prevents Rouse being proposed in that capacity?”
Toby seemed about to answer, but there came instead a sharp surprise. Coles himself was upon his feet, just as when he had once before been frivolously nominated as captain of Rugger, and he was looking round them brazenly, as if by making a bold show he could effectually hide the fear that was in him. And this was the fear. Towards the end of last term it had become common knowledge in Seymour’s not only that he was sending a fag to get whisky for him from the town, but that, although he had been the prime instigator in the affair that had brought Roe expulsion, he had made no attempt whatever to help Roe or to alleviate his heavy share of punishment. In point of fact, he had slunk off. The school had begun to realise this and Coles knew it. The fear that it might possibly prevent his unanimous election as captain had troubled him during the holidays, but at such times he had found comfort in the fact that he could not see any suitable rival who could be sent up against him. He knew now the limit of their search for a man. The best they could find was Rouse, a fellow whom he had thrashed in his study. A scornful smile was playing about his lips. He began to speak.
268“Look here,” he said, “I wanted to keep out of this.”
That was how one might have expected Coles to begin. They listened to him listlessly. For a while he seemed to be idly chattering, as if seeking to make clear his own great modesty, but at last he came to the point. He was suggesting a fight. They listened now with pricked ears. A look of surprised delight had flashed into Toby’s eyes. Rouse was peering at Coles incredulously. But it was true. He was claiming the rights of an old colour.
“Before a man who has never shown any interest in boxing treads on all precedent and makes himself a dummy captain,” Coles had said, “other fellows ought to be given a chance to see what he can do. Let Rouse come into the ring. If he can beat me I shall be delighted to vote for him myself.”
He was rambling on pleadingly in this strain when it was suddenly noticed that Rouse too was upon his feet.
“I’m perfectly ready to fight you,” said he, “to-day.”
To the Grey Man Toby explained it in another light.
“It was what I had hoped might happen,” he said. “Because if we left it to an election they would elect Rouse, and that would leave Coles with a virtual grievance. But as it is, he himself has chosen this means of ballot, and if he is beaten now he can have no cause for complaint at all, and Harley will be the healthier for seeing a fellow whom they have at last summed up thoroughly well outed.”
The school gymnasium was packed from end to end. Wherever one looked boys of all shapes and sizes seemed to be piled one on top of the other to the level of the roof. Whoever had not properly understood the truth about Coles knew it now. 269The position was very clear indeed. All that had been whispered about him in the last days of the Christmas term had been true. The fellows in Seymour’s had admitted it. Coles had turned spy. He had palled up to the school’s worst enemy. He had bullied his fag. He had got whisky into the house and through him Roe had been expe............