George made a gesture of scorn, of satisfaction, of dismissal. “Then the Pope is clear;” he said. “Now I will try to tell you, as briefly as possible, what you want to know about the other person.” He produced a sheaf of newspaper-cuts. He was in such a white rage at having to do what he was about to do, that he wreaked his anger on those who listened to him, piercingly eyeing them, speaking with swift fury as one would speak to foes. “The Catholic Hour states that in 1886 I was under an under-master at Grandholme School: that I had to leave my mastership because I became Catholic. That is true in substance and absolutely false in connotation. I was an under-master: but as I also had charge of the schoolhouse, I was called the housemaster. You also perhaps may be aware that there is only one headmaster in a school; and that all the rest are under-masters. But, when slander is your object, ‘under-master’ is a nice disgraceful dab of mud to sling at your victim for a beginning. Well: I resigned my housemastership of my own free and unaided will for the reason alleged; and I have yet to learn that the becoming Catholic is an extraordinarily slimy deed. Further, note this, far from my resignation being the dishonourable affair which the Catholic Hour implies, the headmaster of Grandholme School remained my dear and intimate and honoured friend through thick and thin, for more than twenty years, and is my only dear and intimate friend at this moment.”
Semphill and Carvale looked up, and then down. Sterling looked down, down. Van Kristen looked up. The others, anywhere. Talacryn looked annoyed. The taunt was flung out; and the flying voice went-on. “The Catholic Hour thus casts its diatribe in a key of depreciation. Next, I am said to have gone to a school for outcasts, to have quarrelled with the two priest-chaplains; and presently to have been ‘again out.’ The idea being to infer evil, it is rather cleverly done in that statement of the case. But here are the facts. The school perhaps might be called a school for outcasts. But I, a young inexperienced Catholic of six months, was lured by innumerable false pretences, on the part of the eccentric party who offered me the post, to accept what he called the Headmastership of a Cathedral Choir School. He did not tell me that he was forcing the establishment on the bishop of the diocese, nor that the Headmastership had been refused by several distinguished priests simply on account of the impossible conditions. I bought my experience. That I quarrelled with the chaplains is quite true. I did not quarrel effectually though. They were a Belgian and a Frenchman. They drank themselves drunk on beer, out of decanters, chased each other round the refectory tables in a tipsy fight, defied my authority and compelled the ragamuffins of the school to do the same. I naturally resigned that post as quickly as possible. Then follows a pseudo-history of the beginning of my ecclesiastical career at Maryvale. Talacryn knows all about that; and can tell you at your leisure. Afterwards, I came across, (I am quoting), ‘came across a certain Pictish lairdie, and was maintained by him for three or four months—’ ”
“And I know all about that,” Semphill interrupted: “You gave a great deal more than you got.”
“The fallacies connected with my career at and expulsion from St. Andrew’s College are known?”
“Thoroughly,” assented Semphill, Talacryn, and Carvale in a breath.
“The statement that I contracted large debts there—”
“What about those debts?” Ragna asked.
Carvale told him. “They all were contracted under the personal supervision of the Vice-Rector. They were quite insignificant. Besides that, they would not have been contracted but for the promise of Archbishop Smithson and the advice of Canon Dugdale—”
“And the advice of me,” Semphill added in a low tone.
“Oh, you at length acknowledge it?” George fiercely thrust at him.
“Yes, I acknowledge it.”
“Well then, we’re quits now:” George quietly and mysteriously mewed.
“One confesses that the question of the pseudonym interests one,” Sterling judicially said.
“I had half-a-dozen. You see when I was kicked out from college, without a farthing or a friend at hand, I literally became an adventurer. Thank God Who gave me the pluck to face my adventures. I was obliged to live by my wits. Thank God again Who gave me wits to live by.”
Cardinal Leighton was standing-up, blinking and blushing with indignation which distorted his honest placid features. “Holy Father, don’t say another word.” He twitched round towards his fellow-collegians. “How can you torture the man so!” he cried. “Can’t you see what you’re doing, wracking the poor soul like this, pulling him in little pieces all over again? Shame on ye!—Holy Father don’t say another word.”
“Oh if I had only known!” cried Van Kristen.
“You did! I told you myself; and you didn’t believe me!” George fulminated.
The youngest cardinal wept into his handkerchief, shaking with sobs. George neither saw nor noted anyone. He was glaring like a python. Demurrers to Leighton’s remarks arose. No one wanted to wrack anybody. Questions had been invited. Of course no one believed. But it would be so much more satisfactory—Ragna added. George sat violently still in his chair while they talked: let them talk; and prepared to resume.
“If Your Holiness would condescend—” Carvale began.
“There is no Holiness here,” George interrupted, in that cold white candent voice which was more caustic than silver nitrate and more thrilling than a scream.
“If you would do us the favour of just noticing a few heads.”
“As you please,” George chucked at him: “agree among yourselves as to those heads; and you shall have bodies and limbs and fingernails and teeth to fit them.”
Their Eminencies began agreeing. George meanwhile went into the secret chamber for ten minutes or so: and returned with his cat on his neck, and his own tobacco-pouch. He was beginning a cigarette; and his
