“You are paradoxical,” snapped Mr. Plummer.
“And you are illogical,” panted Mr. Bent.
CHAPTER VII
THE AFFAIR OF LE WILLOW
While Mr. Chowdler was lamenting that discipline was going to the dogs, the boys were beginning to complain that liberty was being destroyed. Some of them went so far as to maintain that Chiltern was becoming a regular preparatory school. For not only were motor-bicycles forbidden (they had always been that), but it was becoming positively dangerous to ride them. Moreover, detection entailed consequences. In the palmy days of Dr. Gussy it had been the ambition of every boy, caught in a misdemeanour, to be reported to the headmaster; and the appeal from summary justice to Cæsar had been one of the most cherished privileges of Chiltern whilst Dr. Gussy was Cæsar. For Dr. Gussy believed in talking—earnest, practical, confidential talking. As the boys said, “Gus treated you like a gentleman”; whereas Flaggon—there was no pleasure, nothing morally bracing, about an interview with Flaggon.
And other offences besides motor-biking were being detected with alarming frequency. Masters, who had hitherto been regarded as quite inoffensive, seemed to take a pleasure in appearing where they were least expected. The truth is that, having less belief in Dr. Gussy’s talks than Dr. Gussy himself, they had got into the habit of purposely avoiding knowledge which they knew would lead to no result; but, finding that Mr. Flaggon was prepared to act as well as talk, they resumed their normal activities.
No inconsiderable factor in the growing absence of security was the disappearance of “Whisky Toddler,” the college porter. When he paid his surprise visit to Chiltern in the holidays, Mr. Flaggon had been conscious of a subtle aroma about the place, which ceased suddenly when he took leave of the porter; and the suddenness of the change had set him wondering whether the extreme solemnity of Mr. Todd was due solely to wisdom or was partly induced by alcohol. The wonder did not diminish on closer acquaintance, and an unexpected visit to the Lodge, one evening, settled all doubts. Mr. Todd was found in a state of hilarious incoherence. It was, of course, an accident—a toothache, and an old-fashioned remedy, recommended by a friend, which had produced unforeseen results in one unused to spirituous liquors. Mr. Todd refused with quiet dignity to purchase the chance of reinstatement by taking the pledge and spending a month in a home for inebriates. He preferred to retire, at once, on a quarter’s salary and a small pension.
The boys, of course, had always known that “Whisky Toddler” drank like a fish; but opinion on the staff was acutely divided. There is no question that has so many sides to it as drink, nor one about which it is so hard to arrive at any convincing conclusion. The very fact that Mr. Todd’s nose was red and his eyes were watery was, to some, a proof of his innocence. For people are sure to say that a man with a red nose and watery eyes drinks; whereas anyone may have a red nose and weak eyes without drinking, and it is horribly unfair that a man should be treated as a moral leper because of some physical infirmity. There were many, therefore, besides Mr. Plummer who believed, and still believe, that poor Todd was “hardly treated”; and poor Todd said nothing to discourage their belief.
His place was taken by a man of unprepossessing manners and abrupt activity—Pigeon was his name. There was a certain mystery about his past. Some said that he had once been a spy in the pay of the Russian police; others, that he had been a proctor’s bulldog at Oxford; others, that he had been a Scotland Yard detective. At all events, there could be no doubt that it was as a detective that he was brought by the “New Gus” to Chiltern. A porter is assumed to possess tact; but Pigeon had none—no gift of shutting his eyes on occasions when eyes are better shut. And so it came to pass that he discovered Mr. Chowdler’s Prætor smoking among the rhododendrons in Colonus, and reported him to the headmaster.
At Chiltern the captain of every house was called its “Prætor” and wielded vast authority. In a post for which character was the prime consideration, position in the school was only of secondary importance. Hence it happened that, though le Willow had with difficulty fought his way into the senior Fifth, he was Prætor of Mr. Chowdler’s house. But, though not distinguished intellectually, he was captain designate of the eleven for the succeeding year, a very fair change bowler, and a bat with a most taking style. He enjoyed the entire confidence of his housemaster and the respect of his fellows. It was regrettable, therefore, from every point of view, that he should have been smoking behind the rhododendrons in Colonus; and still more regrettable that, having been smoking, he should have been discovered.
Enough has been said already of Mr. Chowdler to make it clear that he was adamantine on the question of discipline. But it was a matter of common observation amongst his colleagues that his attitude towards offences underwent a considerable change when the offender was one of his own boys. This is a species of infirmity to which parents and housemasters are peculiarly liable. In Mr. Chowdler’s case it took the form of a conviction that, though “his lads” might be technically in the wrong, they were morally quite sound; and he always held that punishment ought to take account of the character of the offender. He was really pained by le Willow’s “thoughtlessness”; but there were extenuating circumstances. The boy was encouraged to smoke at home, and he had one of those muddled old heads that find it so difficult to draw the distinction between home and school; especially when the home is a good one. The poor old fellow had admitted to him (Chowdler), with a shake of his poor old head and a look in his poor old eyes which was really pathetic, that he knew he was a “blighted ass.” He was, in fact, just the kind of boy for whom justice should be tempered with mercy.