“But—” began Sheen.
“That’s all right,” said Dunstable soothingly. “I like it.”
The intellectual pressure of the affair was too much for Sheen. He could not recollect having invited Linton, with whom he had exchanged only about a dozen words that term, much less Dunstable, whom he merely knew by sight. Yet here they were, behaving like honoured guests. It was plain that there was a misunderstanding somewhere, but he shrank from grappling with it. He did not want to hurt their feelings. It would be awkward enough if they discovered their mistake for themselves.
So he exerted himself nervously to play the host, and the first twinge of remorse which Linton felt came when Sheen pressed upon him a bag of biscuits which, he knew, could not have cost less than one and sixpence a pound. His heart warmed to one who could do the thing in such style.
Dunstable, apparently, was worried by no scruples. He leaned back easily in his chair, and kept up a bright flow of conversation.
“You’re not looking well, Sheen,” he said. “You ought to take more exercise. Why don’t you come downtown with us one of these days and do a bit of canvassing? It’s a rag. Linton lost a tooth at it the other day. We’re going down on Saturday to do a bit more.”
“Oh!” said Sheen, politely.
“We shall get one or two more chaps to help next time. It isn’t good enough, only us two. We had four great beefy hooligans on to us when Linton got his tooth knocked out. We had to run. There’s a regular gang of them going about the town, now that the election’s on. A redheaded fellow, who looks like a butcher, seems to boss the show. They call him Albert. He’ll have to be slain one of these days, for the credit of the school. I should like to get Drummond on to him.”
“I was expecting Drummond to tea,” said Sheen.
“He’s running and passing with the fifteen,” said Linton. “He ought to be in soon. Why, here he is. Hullo, Drummond!”
“Hullo!” said the newcomer, looking at his two fellow-visitors as if he were surprised to see them there.
“How were the First?” asked Dunstable.
“Oh, rotten. Any tea left?”
Conversation flagged from this point, and shortly afterwards Dunstable and Linton went.
“Come and tea with me some time,” said Linton.
“Oh, thanks,” said Sheen. “Thanks awfully.”
“It was rather a shame,” said Linton to Dunstable, as they went back to their study, “rushing him like that. I shouldn’t wonder if he’s quite a good sort, when one gets to know him.”
“He must be a rotter to let himself be rushed. By Jove, I should like to see someone try that game on with me.”
In the study they had left, Drummond was engaged in pointing this out to Sheen.
“The First are rank bad,” he said. “The outsides were passing rottenly today. We shall have another forty points taken off us when we play Ripton. By the way, I didn’t know you were a pal of Linton’s.”
“I’m not,” said Sheen.
“Well, he seemed pretty much at home just now.”
“I can’t understand it. I’m certain I never asked him to tea. Or Dunstable either. Yet they came in as if I had. I didn’t like to hurt their feelings by telling them.”
Drummond stared.
“What, they came without being asked! Heavens! man, you must buck up a bit and keep awake, or you’ll have an awful time. Of course those two chaps were simply trying it on. I had an idea it might be that when I came in. Why did you let them? Why didn’t you scrag them?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sheen uncomfortably.
“But, look here, it’s rot. You must keep your end up in a place like this, or everybody in the house’ll be ragging you. Chaps will, naturally, play the goat if you let them. Has this ever happened before?”
Sheen admitted reluctantly that it had. He was beginning to see things. It is never pleasant to feel one has been bluffed.
“Once last term,” he said, “Smith, a chap in Day’s, came to tea like that. I couldn’t very well do anything.”
“And Dunstable is in Day’s. They compared notes. I wonder you haven’t had the whole school dropping in on you, lining up in long queues down the passage. Look here, Sheen, you really must pull yourself together. I’m not ragging. You’ll have a beastly time if you’re so feeble. I hope you won’t be sick with me for saying it, but I can’t help that. It’s all for your own good. And it’s really pure slackness that’s the cause of it all.”
“I hate hurting people’s feelings,” said Sheen.
“Oh, rot. As if anybody here had any feelings. Besides, it doesn’t hurt a chap’s feelings being told to get out, when he knows he’s no business in a place.”
“Oh, all right,” said Sheen shortly.
“Glad you see it,” said Drummond. “Well, I’m off. Wonder if there’s anybody in that bath.”
He reappeared a few moments later. During his absence Sheen overheard certain shrill protestations which were apparently being uttered in the neighbourhood of the bathroom door.
“There was,” he said, putting his head into the study and grinning cheerfully at Sheen. “There was young Renford, who had no earthly business to be there. I’ve just looked in to point the moral. Suppose you’d have let him bag all the hot water, which ought to have come to his elders and betters, for fear of hurting his feelings; and gone without your bath. I went on my theory that nobody at Wrykyn, least of all a fag, has any feelings. I turfed him out without a touch of remorse. You get much the best results my way. So long.”
And the head disappeared; and shortly afterwards there came from across the passage muffled but cheerful sounds of splashing.
IV
The Better Part of Valour
The borough of Wrykyn had been a little unfortunate—or fortunate,
