‘Did you hear what I said, Gethryn?’ (icily). ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon?’
‘I can’t say, sir.’
These words may convey two meanings. They may imply ignorance, in which case the speaker should be led gently off to the nearest asylum. Or they may imply obstinacy. Mr Jephson decided that in the present case obstinacy lay at the root of the matter. He became icier than ever.
‘Very well, Gethryn,’ he said, ‘I shall report this to the Headmaster.’
And Gethryn, feeling that the conference was at an end, proceeded on his way.
After chapel there was Norris to be handled. Norris had been rather late for chapel that morning, and had no opportunity of speaking to the Bishop. But after the service was over, and the School streamed out of the building towards their respective houses, he waylaid him at the door, and demanded an explanation. The Bishop refused to give one. Norris, whose temper never had a chance of reaching its accustomed tranquillity until he had consumed some breakfast—he hated early morning chapel—raved. The Bishop was worried, but firm.
‘Then you mean to say—you don’t mean to say—I mean, you don’t intend to explain?’ said Norris finally, working round for the twentieth time to his original text.
‘I can’t explain.’
‘You won’t, you mean.’
‘Yes. I’ll apologize if you like, but I won’t explain.’
Norris felt the strain was becoming too much for him.
‘Apologize!’ he moaned, addressing circumambient space. ‘Apologize! A man cuts off in the middle of the M.C.C. match, loses us the game, and then comes back and offers to apologize.’
‘The offer’s withdrawn,’ put in Gethryn. ‘Apologies and explanations are both off.’ It was hopeless to try and be conciliatory under the circumstances. They did not admit of it.
Norris glared.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you don’t expect to go on playing for the First after this? We can’t keep a place open for you in the team on the off chance of your not having a previous engagement, you know.’
‘That’s your affair,’ said the Bishop, ‘you’re captain. Have you finished your address? Is there anything else you’d like to say?’
Norris considered, and, as he went in at Jephson’s gate, wound up with this Parthian shaft—
‘All I can say is that you’re not fit to be at a public school. They ought to sack a chap for doing that sort of thing. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave.’
About two hours afterwards Gethryn discovered a suitable retort, but, coming to the conclusion that better late than never does not apply to repartees, refrained from speaking it.
It was Mr Jephson’s usual custom to sally out after supper on Sunday evenings to smoke a pipe (or several pipes) with one of the other House-masters. On this particular evening he made for Robertson’s, which was one of the four Houses on the opposite side of the School grounds. He could hardly have selected a better man to take his grievance to. Mr Robertson was a long, silent man with grizzled hair, and an eye that pierced like a gimlet. He had the enviable reputation of keeping the best order of any master in the School. He was also one of the most popular of the staff. This was all the more remarkable from the fact that he played no games.
To him came Mr Jephson, primed to bursting point with his grievance.
‘Anything wrong, Jephson?’ said Mr Robertson.
‘Wrong? I should just think there was. Did you happen to be looking at the match yesterday, Robertson?’
Mr Robertson nodded.
‘I always watch School matches. Good match. Norris missed a bad catch in the slips. He was asleep.’
Mr Jephson conceded the point. It was trivial.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he should certainly have held it. But that’s a mere detail. I want to talk about Gethryn. Do you know what he did yesterday? I never heard of such a thing in my life, never. Went off during the luncheon interval without a word, and never appeared again till lock-up. And now he refuses to offer any explanation whatever. I shall report the whole thing to Beckett. I told Gethryn so this morning.’
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Mr Robertson; ‘I really think I shouldn’t. Beckett finds the ordinary duties of a Headmaster quite sufficient for his needs. This business is not in his province at all.’
‘Not in his province? My dear sir, what is a headmaster for, if not to manage affairs of this sort?’
Mr Robertson smiled in a sphinx-like manner, and answered, after the fashion of Socrates, with a question.
‘Let me ask you two things, Jephson. You must proceed gingerly. Now, firstly, it is a headmaster’s business to punish any breach of school rules, is it not?’
‘Well?’
‘And school prefects do not attend roll-call, and have no restrictions placed upon them in the matter of bounds?’
‘No. Well?’
‘Then perhaps you’ll tell me what School rule Gethryn has broken?’ said Mr Robertson.
‘You see you can’t,’ he went on. ‘Of course you can’t. He has not broken any School rule. He is a prefect, and may do anything he likes with his spare time. He chooses to play cricket. Then he changes his mind and goes off to some unknown locality for some reason at present unexplained. It is all perfectly legal. Extremely quaint behaviour on his part, I admit, but thoroughly legal.’
