‘Rather. I should think so. We ought to have a most fearfully sporting time. It’s got to be done. The Old Man talked to me like several fathers.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, heaps of things.’
‘I know. Did he mention amongst other things that Reynolds was the worst idiot on the face of this so-called world?’
‘Something of the sort.’
‘So I should think. The late Reynolds was a perfect specimen of the gelatine-backboned worm. That’s not my own, but it’s the only description of him that really suits. Monk and Danvers and the mob in general used to do what they liked with him. Talking of Monk, when you embark on your tour of moral agitation, I should advise you to start with him.’
‘Yes. And Danvers. There isn’t much to choose between them. It’s a pity they’re both such good bats. When you see a chap putting them through the slips like Monk does, you can’t help thinking there must be something in him.’
‘So there is,’ said Marriott, ‘and it’s all bad. I bar the man. He’s slimy. It’s the only word for him. And he uses scent by the gallon. Thank goodness this is his last term.’
‘Is it really? I never heard that.’
‘Yes. He and Danvers are both leaving. Monk’s going to Heidelberg to study German, and Danvers is going into his pater’s business in the City. I got that from Waterford.’
‘Waterford is another beast,’ said Gethryn thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he’s not leaving by any chance?’
‘Not that I know of. But he’ll be nothing without Monk and Danvers. He’s simply a sort of bottle-washer to the firm. When they go he’ll collapse. Let’s be strolling towards the House now, shall we? Hullo! Our only Reece! Hullo, Reece!’
‘Hullo!’ said the new arrival. Reece was a weird, silent individual, whom everybody in the School knew up to a certain point, but very few beyond that point. His manner was exactly the same when talking to the smallest fag as when addressing the Headmaster. He rather gave one the impression that he was thinking of something a fortnight ahead, or trying to solve a chess problem without the aid of the board. In appearance he was on the short side, and thin. He was in the Sixth, and a conscientious worker. Indeed, he was only saved from being considered a swot, to use the vernacular, by the fact that from childhood’s earliest hour he had been in the habit of keeping wicket like an angel. To a good wicket-keeper much may be forgiven.
He handed Gethryn an envelope.
‘Letter, Bishop,’ he said. Gethryn was commonly known as the Bishop, owing to a certain sermon preached in the College chapel some five years before, in aid of the Church Missionary Society, in which the preacher had alluded at frequent intervals to another Gethryn, a bishop, who, it appeared, had a see, and did much excellent work among the heathen at the back of beyond. Gethryn’s friends and acquaintances, who had been alternating between ‘Ginger’—Gethryn’s hair being inclined to redness—and ‘Sneg’, a name which utterly baffles the philologist, had welcomed the new name warmly, and it had stuck ever since. And, after all, there are considerably worse names by which one might be called.
‘What the dickens!’ he said, as he finished reading the letter.
‘Tell us the worst,’ said Marriott. ‘You must read it out now out of common decency, after rousing our expectations like that.’
‘All right! It isn’t private. It’s from an aunt of mine.’
‘Seems to be a perfect glut of aunts,’ said Marriott. ‘What views has your representative got to air? Is
‘No, it’s not that. It’s only an uncle of mine who’s coming down here. He’s coming tomorrow, and I’m to meet him. The uncanny part of it is that I’ve never heard of him before in my life.’
‘That reminds me of a story I heard—’ began Reece slowly. Reece’s observations were not frequent, but when they came, did so for the most part in anecdotal shape. Somebody was constantly doing something which reminded him of something he had heard somewhere from somebody. The unfortunate part of it was that he exuded these reminiscences at such a leisurely rate of speed that he was rarely known to succeed in finishing any of them. He resembled those serial stories which appear in papers destined at a moderate price to fill an obvious void, and which break off abruptly at the third chapter, owing to the premature decease of the said periodicals. On this occasion Marriott cut in with a few sage remarks on the subject of uncles as a class. ‘Uncles,’ he said, ‘are tricky. You never know where you’ve got ‘em. You think they’re going to come out strong with a sovereign, and they make it a shilling without a blush. An uncle of mine once gave me a threepenny bit. If it hadn’t been that I didn’t wish to hurt his feelings, I should have flung it at his feet. Also I particularly wanted threepence at the moment. Is your uncle likely to do his duty, Bishop?’
‘I tell you I don’t know the man. Never heard of him. I thought I knew every uncle on the list, but I can’t place this one. However, I suppose I shall have to meet him.’
‘Rather,’ said Marriott, as they went into the House; ‘we should always strive to be kind, even to the very humblest. On the off chance, you know. The unknown may have struck it rich in sheep or something out in Australia. Most uncles come from Australia. Or he may be the boss of some trust, and wallowing in dollars. He may be anything. Let’s go and brew, Bishop. Come on, Reece.’
‘I don’t mind watching you two chaps eat,’ said Gethryn, ‘but I can’t join in myself. I have assimilated three pounds odd of the Headmagisterial muffins already this afternoon. Don’t mind me, though.’
They went upstairs to Marriott’s study, which was also Gethryn’s. Two in a study was the rule at Beckford, though there were recluses who lived alone, and seemed to enjoy it.
When the festive board had ceased to groan, and the cake, which Marriott’s mother had expected to last a fortnight, had been reduced to a mere wreck of its former self, the thought of his aunt’s friend’s friend’s son returned to Marriott, and he went down to investigate, returning shortly afterwards unaccompanied, but evidently full of news.
‘Well?’ said Gethryn. ‘Hasn’t he come?’
