Gerald Eversley's Friendship: A Study in Real Life

by J. E. C. Welldon

Gerald, then, was different from most other boys and knew more than they did, but neither his father nor he had as yet thought of the time when his education could not be carried on at Kestercham. Thus it was that the casual remark of the Rural Dean came upon them as a revelation. Rural Deans are important personages in places like Kestercham; their words are as weighty (and sometimes perhaps as ambiguous) as oracles, and the compliment paid by the Rural Dean to Gerald’s ability opened a vista of splendid possibilities before the eyes of Mr. Eversley. He set about cultivating his son’s powers with a new zest. They read together for some hours every day the old classics, Cæsar, Virgil, Herodotus, Sophocles, which gained for Mr. Eversley himself a new and living interest by the rapid interchange of question and answer, and above all Homer, the unfailing well of delight to youthful minds. It was no less a surprise than a happiness to Mr. Eversley to observe with what keenness of appreciative sympathy Gerald entered into the wonderful story of the Odyssey, that story which is to the intellect of every schoolboy what the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ is or should be to his spirit. Mr. Eversley was a believer in Latin versification, not on any theoretical ground, but as somehow creating the indefinable distinction of a ‘gentleman.’ So Gerald, like many another boy, wrote Latin verses, and wrote them better than most boys. Mr. Eversley was a good scholar, but in mathematics he was not proficient, though he succeeded in teaching his son arithmetic and a good part of algebra, and three books of Euclid. Modern languages were not taught in Kestercham vicarage. It came to be understood that Gerald was to compete, in his fourteenth year, for a scholarship at some public school. What the school should be was long debated, as Mr. Eversley, who had not been at any public school, discovered some pecuniary, or social, or theological objection to nearly all of them; but at last the rich relation of Mr. Eversley’s first wife, who has been already mentioned, not only recommended St. Anselm’s, his own old school, but generously offered, if Gerald was successful there, to defray the necessary expenses of his education, having unfortunately no son of his own. Mr. Eversley took this offer as a providential leading. He accepted it gratefully. It was decided that Gerald should aspire to become a scholar of St. Anselm’s. But how many doubts arose in Mr. Eversley’s mind, as soon as the decision was made, and kept him awake during long hours of the night! Would Gerald succeed in winning a scholarship? and would the success, if it were given him, afford him happiness—the divine happiness which alone in Mr. Eversley’s eyes was worth possessing? Would he learn extravagant ways, above his proper station in life? Above all, would he lose the simplicity, the uprightness, the pure and cloudless faith of his old days at Kestercham? These were not light questions to Mr. Eversley. He debated them anxiously, prayerfully. Eager as he was for the scholarship, it is but just to say that he would unhesitatingly have cast away the hope or thought of it could he have foreseen that it would create a coldness or severance of heart between the son who was so dear to him and himself.

At the time of the examination Mr. Eversley himself took Gerald to St. Anselm’s. The occasion was so special that it seemed to demand a breaking up of Mr. Eversley’s established way of life. They could not get rooms in the little hotel at St. Anselm’s, but were quartered in the village over a saddler’s shop. Gerald had never seen so many boys before, he was bewildered by the sight of them; he had not thought there could be so many boys of his own age in the world. The examination papers frightened him. The examiners, dressed in cap and gown, astonished him. He did his best but the other boys looked so clever and talked so knowingly that he felt sure he should be nowhere.

How slowly the two days passed after the examination was over before the result was known! It was to be announced on Friday evening at seven o’clock. Gerald spent the days at home. So great was Mr. Eversley’s own excitement, as the fateful hour drew near, that he had arranged for a telegram to be sent at once to Wickeston, the postal town nearest to Kestercham, and a special messenger to be despatched with it from Wickeston—a distance of four miles—to Kestercham. He did not tell Gerald of the expected telegram, fearing it might not arrive owing to some mistake. It arrived between nine and ten o’clock. Gerald had gone to bed. Mr. Eversley went up to his room, the telegram in his hand, and opened the door gently. Gerald was asleep. The expression on his face was a little anxious, even in sleep. Mr. Eversley stood over him for several minutes, uncertain whether to wake him or not. At last he resolved to leave him in his peaceful slumber, and turning away he retired to his study and humbly rendered thanks to God. Nor did he omit to pray that the event which seemed so happy might in its issue prove a blessing for his son and for himself.

Early next morning Gerald awoke. He became conscious that a face was bending over him. He muttered wearily, ‘Oh! this dreadful day! When shall we hear?’

‘It is all well, my dear boy,’ said his father’s voice. ‘You are elected; you are third.’

And the father and son embraced each other.

Kestercham vicarage was a scene of rejoicing that day, and for many days afterwards. Even Mrs. Eversley’s heart warmed towards the boy who had conferred distinction upon her name and household, and she caused a large birthday cake to be made for tea-time. The neighbours, lay and clerical, who had never taken much notice of Gerald before, called to congratulate Mr. Eversley, not a few of them, especially the ladies, declaring that they had always discerned conspicuous classical ability in his son, and predicted his success. Gerald’s scholarship was the topic of general conversation in the porch of the church before the morning service on the following Sunday, not that the farmers and labourers who forgathered there knew anything—good honest souls!—about scholarships, but they had a vague idea that the vicar’s clever son had somehow passed into a higher sphere than their own; and two or three, as a sort of delegation, went behind the curtain after the service to wish Mr. Eversley (who was just taking off his black gown) joy of the event.

‘Oh! Master Gerald,’ said Mr. Seaford, who, when Gerald was very small, had often let him put his little legs astride of the big cart-horses as they drew the heavily laden wains into the stackyard under the bright harvest moon, ‘ye’ll be too great a man to sit astride o’ my Captain any more; it’s ye who’ll have to give us a lift now!’ and with that he laughed a hearty laugh, and put out his hand to Mr. Eversley who clasped it warmly.

Everyone was glad, everyone admitted that no such honour had been done to Kestercham since the First Lord of the Admiralty, who was staying at Wickeston Manor, had walked over some eight years ago to the afternoon service in Kestercham church; everyone felt himself or herself to be somehow involved in the halo of glory surrounding the name of Kestercham.

At family prayers that night Mr. Eversley gave thanks in grave tones, his voice trembling with emotion, for ‘the light which has to-day shone upon this household,’ imploring that it might be a light which should ‘shine more and more unto the perfect day.’