That evening Smythe recounted this incident to Rouse.
“I also have seen the man,” was the answer. “I made a point of it. I went up to him and I said: ‘Bless me, I seem to know your face. Yet you haven’t been at this school so long, surely?’ He said: ‘I came to-day. My name is Roe.’ I pounced upon him. ‘Roe!’ said I. ‘Go on! Not,’ I said, ‘young Roe, the son of old Roe? Why, I know your father as well as anything. Your father and I are the best of friends. Many a time have I discussed your future with him in his private sanctum over a bowl of tea. “The boy,” we have always said, breaking a muffin between us—“the boy, now, what will he become?”’ He said: ‘I’ve become captain of football,’ but he didn’t seem very pleased about it. So I patted him kindly on the shoulder. ‘Ah,’ said I, ‘come now. Not captain of football—surely.... Why, this school doesn’t play football.’ ‘What does it play, then?’ said he. ‘Spillikins,’ said I. ‘I expect you’re captain of that.’”
In accordance with his instructions, Roe reported to his father next morning and explained things as well as he could.
“The most decent fellow I’ve met so far,” said he, “is a chap called Coles. He’s in the First Fifteen, he tells me, and he does seem to have the best interests of the school at heart. He told me a good deal of what’s in the wind, too. The fellows were pretty near an open rebellion at one time, but it seems that Mr Nicholson, the games master, spoke to the chief boys in each house at a meeting, and he’s persuaded them that the reputation of the school comes first, and now it seems they’re going to try what they call passive resistance. Smythe, who you told me was secretary to the team, has resigned, and his last act was to scratch the school fixtures for the season. The only football they’re going to play is inter-house friendlies. The games master persuaded them that as long as they kept up practice for the younger chaps the school wouldn’t suffer so much. So the whole school are standing on their dignity, and Coles says that the next move’s with us.”
He stopped. So far he had spoken in a sing-song voice that was significant of blind obedience to his father; he seemed to have told the Head not so much what he as schoolboy thought, as just what he believed his father would most like to hear.
Dr Roe clasped his hands and leaned forward over the table.
“Certainly the next move is with us. And for this reason. There can be no question of warfare between boys and their Headmaster. They must be made to yield to discipline. They may not like my views, but those views, right or wrong, whichever they be, will be forced upon them.”
His son ventured to speak again.