Chapter Seven.
The Session of Masters and an Outrage.
It is to be feared that Mark Railsford, Moral Science man though he was, had yet to learn the art of applying his philosophy to his own circumstances, or he would never have committed the serious error, on the day following the event recorded in the last chapter, of writing the following foolish note to Mr Bickers:—
“February 1.
“Sir,—Referring to the unpleasant topic of our conversation last night, I have since consulted my prefects on the matter, and made other inquiries as to what took place here during my temporary absence at the athletic meeting. The report I have received, and which I am disposed to credit, differs materially from your own version. In any case, allow me to say that I require no assistance in the management of my house. When I do, I shall ask for it. Meanwhile I shall continue to consider the interference of anyone, whatever his motives, as an impertinence which I, although the junior master at Grandcourt, shall have no hesitation in resenting to the utmost of my power. I trust these few lines may obviate any future misunderstanding on a point about which I feel very strongly.
“Yours, etcetera,
“M. Railsford.”
Mr Bickers was hardly the man to neglect the opportunity afforded by this letter for a crushing reply; and accordingly he spend a pleasant hour that same afternoon in concocting the following polite rejoinder:—
“February 1.
“Dear Railsford,—Many thanks for your note just to hand. I can quite believe that the version of yesterday’s proceedings which you are disposed to credit, given by your prefects (two of whom were absent, and the other two participators in the disturbance), differs materially from my own. Such diversities of opinion are not uncommon in my experience. As to the management of your house, I assure you in what I did yesterday I had no intention of assisting you. In fact, you were not there to assist. It was because you were not, that my duty to the school suggested that I should attempt to do what you would have done infinitely better, I am aware, had you been on the spot. Under similar circumstances I should do the same again, in face of the uncomfortable knowledge that thereby I should be guilty of an impertinence to the junior master at Grandcourt. It is kind of you to take steps to make your meaning quite clear on this matter.
May I suggest that we refer the matter to the session of masters, or, if you prefer it, to Dr Ponsford? I believe the masters meet to-night. Unless I hear from you, I shall conclude you are as anxious as I am to have the matter thoroughly gone into by a competent tribunal, to obviate any future misunderstanding on a point on which you naturally feel strongly.
“Believe me, my dear Railsford,
“Yours, very truly,
“T. Bickers.”
Mark was entertaining company when this uncomfortable letter arrived, in the person of Monsieur Lablache, the French master. It would be difficult to say what there was in the unpopular foreigner which attracted the Master of the Shell. It may have been a touch of Quixotic chivalry which led him to defy all the traditions of the place and offer his friendship to the best-hated person in Grandcourt; or it may have been a feeling that monsieur was hardly judged by his colleagues and pupils. However it was, during the short time the term had run, the two men had struck up an acquaintance which perplexed a great many spectators and displeased a great many more.
“I think you should be careful with Lablache,” said Grover to his friend. “Not that I know anything against him, but his reputation in the school is rather doubtful.”
“I suppose the reputation of all detention masters is doubtful,” said Railsford, laughing; “yours or mine would be if we had his work to do. But a man is innocent till he is proved guilty in England, isn’t he?”
“Quite so,” said Grover. “I don’t want to set you against him, for, as I say, I know nothing of him. All I mean, is, that you must be prepared to share a little of his unpopularity if you take up with him. That’s all.”
“I’ll take my chance of that,” said Railsford.
The first time Monsieur Lablache appeared in Railsford’s house, in response to an invitation from the new master to come and take coffee, there was considerable excitement in the house. The juniors considered their liberty was at stake, and hissed their master’s guest down the corridors. The Shell boys presumed still further, and raised a cry of “Turn him out!” and some even attempted to hustle him and trip him upon the stairs.
But the most curious incident of that untriumphal progress was when Munger, the cad of the Fifth, confronted monsieur in the lobby outside Railsford’s room with the shout, “He’s going to raise money on his old clothes at last!” The brutal words (for monsieur was very shabbily attired) were scarcely uttered when Railsford’s door suddenly opened and Munger was sent reeling across the lobby under a blow which echoed through the house. The Master of the Shell, white with rage, stood there with a look on his face which sent the few loiterers packing to their dens, and made Munger only sorry the wall against which he staggered did not open and let him through.
“Come here, you—you boy!”
Munger advanced, scarcely less pale than his master.
“Apologise to Monsieur Lablache—here, down on your knees—for behaving like a blackguard, and saying what you did!”
“No, it is no matter,” began monsieur, with a shrug, when Mark checked him by a gesture almost as intimidating as that by which he had just summoned the offender.
“You hear me?” he said to the boy.
Munger went down on his knees and repeated whatever he was told; and would have called himself by still worse names, had he been requested. It didn’t matter much to Munger!
“Now tell me your name?”
“Munger.”
“Your form?”
“Fifth.”
The master turned on his heel and ushered his guest into the room, leaving Munger to rub his cheek, and wonder to himself how he ever came to stand being knocked about in the way he had been that afternoon.
This had happened a day or two ago. Since then, whatever the house thought, no one was bold enough to molest the French master publicly in Railsford’s, unless it was perfectly certain Mr Railsford was out of the way.
It would be a mistake to say the two masters had become devoted friends. Monsieur Lablache’s chief attraction in Railsford’s eyes was that he was looked down upon by the other masters, and persecuted by the boys; while the French master was so unused to notice of any kind, that he felt a trifle suspicious that the kindness of his new acquaintance might be in some way a snare. However, a little mutual mistrust sometimes paves the way to a good deal of mutual confidence; and after a few days the two men had risen considerably in one another’s esteem. When Railsford, on the evening in question, crushed Mr Bickers’s note up in his hand, with an angry exclamation, monsieur said—
“Voilà, mon cher Railsford, you do not get always billets-doux?”
Monsieur had heard, of course, as everyone else had, of the new master’s matrimonial prospects.
“No,” said Railsford, gloomily; “not always,” and he pitched Mr Bickers’s letter into the grate as he spoke.
“Perhaps,” said monsieur, “you do not always write them. I advise you to not answer that letter.”
“Why?” said Railsford, “how do you know what that letter is?”
“I do not know; but I think that it does need no answer.”
Railsford laughed. “You are setting up as a soothsayer, monsieur. Suppose I tell you that letter does need an answer, quickly?”
“Then, I say, somebody else will answer it better than you will.”
Railsford picked the crushed-up letter off the coals just in time to save it from the flames.
“How should you answer it, monsieur?”
Monsieur slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.
“Meester Beekaire!” said he, with a twist of his moustache, as he recognised the writing. “You mean that I read it?”
“Certainly, if you like.”
The Frenchman read the document through, and then pitched it back into the fire.
“Well?” said Railsford.
“Well, my good friend, it seems you do not know Meester Beekaire as well as others.”
“Is that all?” said Railsford, a little nettled.
“The masters’ meeting is to-night, is it not?”
“So he says.”
“You shall go?”
“Of course.”
“It will not be pleasant times for you, for you will need to make speeches, my good friend.”
“Look here,” said Railsford, who was getting a little impatient of these enigmatical utterances, “I fancied you could give me some advice; if you can’t, let us talk about something more pleasant.”
“I do give you advice. I say to you, go to the meeting, and say you did wrong, and will not do it again—”
“What!” thundered Mark, in a voice which made Arthur and the baronet in the room overhead jump out of their chairs.
“My kind Railsford, it is only my advice. You have been in the wrong. I say to you, as a brave man, do not make yourself more wrong. Meester Beekaire would help you very much to make yourself more wrong. Do not let him help you, I say.”
Unpalatable as it was, there was some force in his visitor’s advice, which Railsford was bound to admit. Poor monsieur was not a shining example of successful dealing with his fellow-masters. Still, out of the mouth of the simple one may sometimes hear a home truth.
The masters’ session was a periodical conference of the Grandcourt masters, half social, half business, for the purpose of talking over matters of common school interest, discussing points of management, and generally exchanging ideas on what was passing in the little world of which they were the controllers. Dr Ponsford rarely, if ever, put in an appearance on such occasions; he had the greatest faith in holding himself aloof from detail, and not making himself too accessible either to master or boy. Only when the boys could not settle a matter for themselves, or the masters could not settle it for them, he interfered and settled it without argument and without appeal. It was never pleasant when the doctor had to be called in, and the feeling against such a step contributed very largely to the success of the school’s self-government.
Railsford by this time knew most of his fellow-masters to speak to, but this was the first occasion on which he had met them in their corporate capacity, and had he not been personally interested in the proceedings he would felt a pleasant curiosity in the deliberations of this august body.
Mr Bickers was already there, and nodded in a most friendly way to the Master of the Shell on his arrival. Grover and Mr Roe welcomed their new colleague warmly, and began at once to compare notes as to school-work. A few minutes later Monsieur Lablache, a little smarter than usual, came in, and having bowed to the company generally—a salute which no one seemed to observe—subsided on a retired seat. Railsford, to the regret perhaps of some of his friends, presently walked across and took a seat beside him, and the meeting began.
“Before we come to business,” began Mr Roe, who by virtue of his seniority occupied the chair, “I am sure the meeting would wish me to express their pleasure at seeing Mr Railsford among us for the first time, and to offer him a hearty welcome to Grandcourt.”
“Hear, hear,” said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers’s voice was conspicuous.
Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice, and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman.
“They do not know of your scrape,” said monsieur, cheerfully. “I would tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his little speech.”
Railsford glared round at his companion, and felt his heart thumping at the prospect of the task before him.
“There are one or two matters,” began Mr Roe, “to bring before—”
Railsford rose to his feet and said, “Mr Roe, and gentlemen—”
There was a dead silence at this unexpected interruption, broken only by an encouraging cheer from Mr Bickers.
Supposing the new master was about to acknowledge the compliment just paid him by a set speech, Mr Roe put down his agenda paper and said, “Mr Railsford.”
“If you will allow me,” began Mark, rather breathlessly, “I would like to refer to a matter which personally concerns myself. I should not venture to do it in this way, immediately after your kind welcome, if I did not feel it to be my duty. Yesterday, gentlemen, an unfortunate incident occurred in my house—(‘Hear, hear,’ and a smile from Mr Bickers). I went—”
“Excuse me,” said the chairman, “may I explain to Mr Railsford, as he is a new member here, that our practice is invariably to take up any questions in order of the seniority of the masters present. Mr Smith, I believe, has a motion on the paper—”
Poor Railsford subsided, full of confusion, stripped of his good resolutions, abusing himself for his folly, and wishing Monsieur Lablache and his advice at the bottom of the sea.
What Mr Smith and the other masters who followed had to say he neither heard nor cared. His determination to admit his own error had oozed away, and he resolved that if his story was to be kept waiting, it should be none the sweeter, when it did come, for the delay.
Several topics were discussed pleasantly, with a view to elicit the opinion of the meeting on small questions of policy and discipline.
Presently Mr Roe turned to Bickers. “I think you said you had some question to ask, Mr Bickers?”
“Oh, well, yes. Mine’s quite a hypothetical point, though,” began Mr Bickers, airily. “I just wanted to ask, supposing one of us becomes aware of a riot in a neighbouring house, during the absence of the master of that house, and ascertains, moreover, that the prefects on duty, so far from making any attempt to control the disorder, are participating in it, I presume there can be no question that it would be the duty of anyone of us to interfere in such a case? It’s quite a hypothetical case, mind, but it might occur.”
“Certainly, I should say, if you were quite sure the proper house authorities were not there to enforce order,” said Mr Roe.
“Of course,” said Grover; “but it’s rather an unlikely case, isn’t it?”
“It occurred in my house last night,” broke in Railsford, hotly. “I was at the Athletic Union, and two of my prefects; the other two were left in charge. Mr Bickers took upon himself to interfere in my absence, and I have written to tell him that I consider his action impertinent, and resent it. In reply, he writes—”
“A private letter,” interposed Mr Bickers hurriedly, evidently not relishing the prospect of having his effusion read.
“It was not marked ‘private,’ but I can quite understand the writer would not like to hear it read aloud here. All I wish to say is that his hypothetical case is no more hypothetical than his interference was in the affairs of my house; and that if he asks my opinion on the matter, I shall tell him he would do better to mind his own business!”
Railsford sat down, very hot, and painfully conscious that he had not exhibited the moderation and temper which he had promised himself to observe.
An embarrassed silence ensued. Mr Roe, a man of peace, frowned, and turned inquiringly to Bickers.
Bickers stroked his beard and smiled, and said nothing.
“Do you wish to say anything?” asked the chairman.
“By no means. Mr Railsford has said all I could wish said far more eloquently than I could. Shall we go on to the next business, Mr Chairman?”
As for Railsford, the further proceeding had no interest for him, and he vanished the moment the meeting was over, without speaking to anyone.
As Mr Bickers walked off towards his house, he really felt a little sorry for his fellow-master, who had let himself down by so paltry an exhibition of temper thus early in his career. However, no doubt he would take to heart to-night’s lesson, and do himself more justice in future. Mr Bickers, in the fulness of his heart, took a little round of the big square on his way home, with the double intent of giving himself the air, and perchance intercepting, for the good of the school, one or more youthful night-birds in their truant excursions. This was a kind of sport in which Mr Bickers was particularly successful, and which, therefore (as became a successful sportsman), he rather enjoyed. To his credit be it said, he was strictly impartial in his dealings; whether the culprit belonged to his own house (as often happened) or to another’s, he was equally down upon him, and was never known to relax his penalties for the most plausible excuse set up by his ingenious victims.
To-night it seemed as if he would return without a “bag” at all, and he was about to resign himself to his disappointment, when his quick eyes detected in the darkness a hovering shadow moving ahead of him in the direction of Railsford’s house. It vanished almost immediately, but not before the master had caught a faintly uttered “Hist!” which betrayed that he had to deal with more than one truant. He quickened his pace a little, and came once more in view of the phantom slinking along by the wall at a pace which was not quite a run. Rather to Mr Bickers’s surprise the fugitive passed the door of Railsford’s, and made straight on towards the chapel, slackening pace as he did so.
“A decoy,” said the knowing master to himself. “Employed to draw me on while the rest make good their retreat. There is a touch of generosity in the decoy which one is bound to admire; but on this occasion, my young friend, you are dealing with rather too aged a bird to be caught—”
At this moment he had come up to the door of Railsford’s, and before his soliloquy had been able to advance by another word he seemed to see sparks before his eyes, while at the same moment his feet went from under him, and something was drawn over his head. The bag, or whatever it was, was capacious; for the neck of it descended to his waist, and closed by the magic of a slip-knot round his mouth and elbows before he had the presence of mind to shout or throw out his arms. To complete his misfortune, as he tried to raise himself, another noose was snugly cast around his feet, and thus gagged and pinioned, silently, rapidly, and dexterously, Mr Bickers found himself in a situation in which, he could positively aver, he had never stood—or lain—before.
The thought did flash through his sack-enveloped head, that his assailants, whoever they were, must have rehearsed this little comedy carefully and diligently for a day or two, in order to arrive at the perfection displayed in the present performance. He also made a mental calculation that three, possibly four, fellow-beings were engaged on the job, of whom two were strong, and two were small; one of the latter possibly being the decoy whom he had so lately apostrophised.
Not a syllable was uttered during the ceremony; and the victim recognising his position, had the good sense to remain cool and not waste his time and dignity in a fruitless struggle.
The pinioning being complete, and a small hole being considerately opened in the sack in the region of the nose for purposes of respiration, he was hauled up one or two steps, dragged one or two feet, deposited on the board floor of the shoe-cupboard, and, after a few mild and irresolute kicks, left to his own meditations, the last sound which penetrated into the sack being the sharp turning of a key on the outside of his dungeon door.
“So,” soliloquised Mr Bickers, after discovering that he was unhurt, though uncomfortably cramped, “our friend Railsford is having one lodger more than the regulation number to-night. This will make another hypothetical case for the next session of masters!”