§ 12
No further questions were asked Peter about his father, but on Sunday night, when home-letter time came round, any doubt about the soundness of his social position was set at rest by Mr. Mainwearing himself. Home-letters from High Cross School involved so many delicate considerations that the proprietor made it his custom to supervise them himself. He distributed sheets of paper with the school heading, and afterwards he collected them and addressed them himself in his study. “You, Stubland, must write a letter to your aunt,” he said loudly across the room, “and tell her how you are getting on.”
“Aunt Phyllis?” said Peter.
“No, no!” Mr. Mainwearing answered in clear tones. “Your aunt, Lady Charlotte Sydenham.”
Respectful glances at Peter, and a stare of admiration from Probyn.
After a season of reflection Peter held up his hand. “Please, Sir, I don’t write letters to Lady Charlotte.”
“You must begin.”
Still further reflection. “I want to write to my Aunt Phyllis.”
“Nonsense! Do as I tell you.”
Peter reflected again for some minutes. He was deeply moved. He controlled a disposition to weep. (No one was going to see Peter blub in this school—ever.) Then Mr. Mainwearing saw him begin to write, with intervals of deep thought. But the letter was an unsatisfactory one.
“Dear Aunt Phyllis,” it began—in spite of instructions.
“This is a very nice school and I like it very much. I have no pocket-money. We eat Toke. Please come and take me away now. Your affectionate nephew
“Peter.”
Then Peter rubbed his eyes and it made his finger wet, and there was a drop of eye wet fell on the paper, but he did not blub. He did not blub, he knew, because he had made up his mind not to blub, but his face was flushed almost like that of a boy who has been blubbing.
Mr. Mainwearing came and read the letter. “Come, come,” he said, “this won’t do,” which was just what Peter had expected. “This is obstinacy,” said Mr. Mainwearing.
He got Peter a fresh sheet of paper and stood over him. “Write as I tell you,” said Mr. Mainwearing.
The other boys listened as this letter was dictated to a quiet but obedient Peter:
“Dear Lady Charlotte,
“I arrived safely on Wednesday at High Cross School, which I like very much. I had a long ride in an automobile. Mr. Grimes bought me a splendid bat. Mr. Mainwearing has examined me upon my attainments, and believes that with effort I shall make satisfactory progress here. We play cricket here and do modern science as well as our classical studies. I hope you may never be disappointed by my efforts after all your kindness to me.
“Your affectionate nephew,
“Peter Stubland.”
In the night Peter woke up out of an ugly and miserable dream, and his eyes were wet with tears. He believed he was caught at High Cross School for good and all. He believed that all the things he hated and dreaded were about him now for ever.