“I hear you have been appointed to my house,” he said, by way of explanation, “and I thought it would be only friendly to call and tell you the sort of thing you are to expect when you go there.”
“Thanks, very much,” said Railsford, with a smile of the corner of his mouth.
“You may be made of cast iron, or be possessed of the patience of a Job,” began this cheery adviser. “If so, you’re all right. I wasn’t either.”
“Did you find the boys unmanageable?”
“No—not more than other boys—all boys, of course, are the sworn foes of law and order, and nobody imagines anything else. No, your difficulties, if you have anything like my luck, will be more with your colleagues than your subjects.”
“And how do they make themselves objectionable?” asked the new master, rather contemptuously.
Mr Moss did not miss the tone of this question, and fired up himself.
“Of course, if you don’t mind being systematically snubbed at head-quarters—thwarted and slandered by your fellow-masters—baulked in every attempt to improve the condition either of your house or the school—and misrepresented and undermined in your influence among your boys, you may go up and enjoy it. I didn’t. That’s why I left.”
“At any rate, I have one friend among the masters—Grover.”
“Oh, poor Grover. He is the only master who can get on at all, and he does so by effacing himself on every possible occasion, and agreeing with everybody.”