“That’s the sort of Young England I like!” said he. “It will be like a canter on a breezy moor to come in contact with fresh life and spirit like this, after wasting my time here for three years.”
“I expect you will find it breezy,” said Daisy, recovering her smiles. “Arthur is a dreadful boy; it will be so good for him to have you.”
At the end of a fortnight came a summons to Railsford, as one of six selected candidates, to appear and show himself to the governors. He had expected thus much of success, but the thought of the other five rendered him uncomfortable as he leaned back in the railway carriage and hardened himself for the ordeal before him. Grover had deemed it prudent not to display any particular interest in his arrival, but he contrived to pay a flying visit to his hotel that evening.
“There’s only one fellow likely to run you close—an Oxford man, first-class in classics, and a good running-man in his day. I think when they see you they’ll prefer you. They will have the six up in alphabetical order, so you’ll come last. That’s a mercy. Take a tip from me, and don’t seem too anxious for the place, it doesn’t pay; and keep in with Ponsford.”
“Will he be there? Oh, of course. What sort of men are the governors?”
“Very harmless. They’ll want to know your character and your creed, and that sort of thing, and will leave all the rest to Ponsford.”
Next morning at 11.30 Railsford sat with his five fellow-martyrs in the ante-room of the governors’ hall at Grandcourt. They talked to one another, these six unfortunates, about the weather, about the Midland Railway, about the picture on the wall. They watched one another as, in obedience to the summons from within, they disappeared one by one through the green baize door, and emerged a quarter or half an hour later with tinged cheeks, and taking up their hats, vanished into the open-air. Railsford was the only one left to witness the exit of the fifth candidate. Then the voice from within called, “Come in, Mr Railsford,” and he knew his turn was come. It was less terrible than he expected. Half a score of middle-aged gentlemen round a table, some looking at him, some reading his testimonials, and one or two putting questions. Most of them indulgent to his embarrassment and even sharing it. Dr Ponsford, however, massive, stern, with his shaggy eyebrows and pursed mouth, was above any such weakness.
“What have you been doing since you left college?” demanded he, presently fixing the candidate with his eyes.
It was a home question. Railsford answered it honestly, if hesitatingly.
“I was unfortunately not under the necessity of working,” he added, after going through the catalogue of his abortive studies, “that is, not for my livelihood.” Some of the governors nodded their heads a little, as though they recognised the misfortune of such a position.