As they walked back Caruth, who was secretly pleased with his conversational display, said loftily: "Thank the Lord that's over."
Martin answered: "I should think so. Ghastly show." In reality he was thinking, 'Ripping grub.' He was not a particularly greedy person, but Elfrey air is keen and any growing boy can appreciate a solid meal about half-past six. Martin was quite prepared, for his part, to change his clothes and undergo the ordeal of any company, even Mrs Foskett's, for the sake of a meal which included sausages and trifle.
III
Elfrey was one of the numerous public schools brought into existence by the sudden growth of the middle class during the nineteenth century. Consequently it had neither money nor traditions. The lack of the former was a severe handicap and could only result in the scandalous underpayment of the masters and the abominable necessity of sending round the hat, which of course returned half empty, whenever the school needed a new building or playing-field. The absence of the latter was more wholesome. Everyone had a hearty contempt for Eton and Harrow and Winchester and considered that the fuss made about them was ridiculous. "We could have damped the lot at cricket last summer" was the general opinion, and it may have been correct, so great had Fermor been. How far this attitude was based on mere jealousy, and how far it represented a sound distrust of top-hats, side, and antiquated customs, it would be difficult to decide. As a result of their abhorrence for tradition, Elfrey had no organised system of fagging, and each house had established its own regime.
At Berney's any prefect or member of the Sixth could, theoretically, command the services of anyone who had not a study; but this right was little used, and it was generally felt that too great assumption on the part of a Sixth would lead to unpopularity.
Prefects, however, as opposed to Sixths, were accustomed to take unto themselves a small boy and give him the use of their study on the condition that he dusted it, cleaned their cups and plates, and made himself generally useful. Although this office received the derogatory title of 'being study-slut,' it was, on the whole, rather sought after, as only the more attractive and popular members of the workroom were chosen for the position.
Martin was therefore considerably surprised when one of the prefects, called Leopard, adopted him in the fourth week of term. Leopard was a genuine Olympian. He had played with distinction in the historic Elfreyan eleven of last summer: he was school sports champion: he had played rackets for Elfrey at Queen's Club: and now he was being tried as wing three-quarter in the rugger team. By specialising in science he had scraped into a Sixth, and he was intending to continue his athletic, if not his scientific, career at Cambridge. This ambition, however, necessitated the study of Greek, and the study of Greek necessitated for a scientist laborious days. Leopard had discovered that Martin was in the Lower Fifth and could write Greek prose without howlers. He seemed also to be quite an attractive individual, and neither law nor custom forbade the acquisition of a second menial. So Martin became, to his own great satisfaction, the junior study-slut of Leopard.
Pearson, his senior in that office, naturally attempted to make him do all the work of tidying, but Leopard put an end to that, and it was soon understood that Martin's function was the composition of correct Greek prose. This he fulfilled efficiently and Leopard, who had recently been harried by his instructor in Greek in a way quite revolting to his dignity and self-respect, found life at once more easy and more honourable. He became very intimate with Martin and would talk to him at great length in a patronising but amusing way: he would even allow Martin to rag him and call him by his nickname, Spots.
Inevitably Martin worshipped Spots. The study became to him a temple, a very awful and a sacred place. On its walls were scores of photographs, signed pictures of school bloods past and present, photographs of elevens, photographs of fifteens, photographs of the Racket Pair, and photographs of a girl, who was usually on horseback. These last were carefully framed and signed in round, sprawling letters, 'Kiddie.' Martin, as he gazed upon them, began to form conceptions of the perfect life. There was a bookcase, too, with a fine collection of shilling novels whose paper covers bore lurid pictures of Life and Love. In spite of a certain monotony of theme and a devastating dullness in its elaboration, Spots seemed to derive considerable pleasure from those works, which he always read while Martin was doing his Greek prose. Martin was kept too busy to do much reading, but he appreciated the pictures on the covers and was impressed by the dark-eyed women in red who accepted on divans the passionate kisses of blond young men in faultless evening dress. The room also contained some old swords (bought from a predecessor), a number of rackets, a bag of golf-clubs, and a fine array of cushions with humorous designs. The culinary outfit and china were complete to the verge of opulence. The Leopard's Den, as the study was commonly called, had achieved a certain reputation for magnificence, a reputation in which Martin gloried. He even enjoyed the dusting and cleaning and despised Pearson for his laziness and lack of proper pride. But it was not mere priggishness that animated him.