“Yes,” said Paul. “I’m called Pennyfeather.”
The little boy gave a shrill laugh. “I think that’s terribly funny,” he said, and went away.
Presently the door opened again, and two more boys looked in. They stood and giggled for a time and then made off.
In the course of the next half hour six or seven boys appeared on various pretexts and stared at Paul.
Then a bell rang, and there was a terrific noise of whistling and scampering. The door opened, and a very short man of about thirty came into the Common Room. He had made a great deal of noise in coming because he had an artificial leg. He had a short red moustache, and was slightly bald.
“Hullo!” he said.
“Hullo!” said Paul.
“I’m Captain Grimes,” said the newcomer, and “Come in, you,” he added to someone outside.
Another boy came in.
“What do you mean,” said Grimes, “by whistling when I told you to stop?”
“Everyone else was whistling,” said the boy.
“What’s that got to do with it?” Grimes said.
“I should think it had a lot to do with it,” said the boy.
“Well, just you do a hundred lines, and next time, remember, I shall beat you,” said Grimes, “with this,” waving the walking stick.
“That wouldn’t hurt much,” said the boy, and went out.
“There’s no discipline in the place,” said Grimes, and then he went out too.
“I wonder whether I’m going to enjoy being a schoolmaster,” thought Paul.
Quite soon another and older man came into the room.
“Hullo!” he said to Paul.
“Hullo!” said Paul.
“I’m Prendergast,” said the newcomer. “Have some port?”
“Thank you, I’d love to.”
“Well, there’s only one glass.”
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, then.”
“You might get your tooth-glass from your bedroom.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“Oh, well, never mind; we’ll have some another night. I suppose you’re the new master?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll hate it here. I know. I’ve been here ten years. Grimes only came this term. He hates it already. Have you seen Grimes?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“He isn’t a gentleman. Do you smoke?”
“Yes.”
“A pipe, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Those are my pipes. Remind me to show them to you after dinner.”
At this moment the butler appeared with a message that Dr. Fagan wished to see Mr. Pennyfeather.
Dr. Fagan’s part of the Castle was more palatial. He stood at the end of a long room with his back to a rococo marble chimneypiece; he wore a velvet dinner-jacket.
“Settling in?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Paul.
Sitting before the fire, with a glass bottle of sweets in her lap, was a brightly dressed woman in early middle age.
“That,” said Dr. Fagan with some disgust, “is my daughter.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Miss Fagan. “Now what I always tell the young chaps as comes here is, ‘Don’t let the dad overwork you.’ He’s a regular Tartar, is Dad, but then you know what scholars are—inhuman. Ain’t you,” said Miss Fagan, turning on her father with sudden ferocity—“ain’t you inhuman?”
“At times, my dear, I am grateful for what little detachment I have achieved. But here,” he added, “is my other daughter.”
Silently, except for a scarcely perceptible jingling of keys, another woman had entered the room. She was younger than her sister, but far less gay.
“How do you do?” she said. “I do hope you have brought some soap with you. I asked my father to tell you, but he so often forgets these things. Masters are not supplied with soap or with boot polish or with washing over two shillings and sixpence weekly. Do you take sugar in your tea?”
“Yes, usually.”
“I will make a note of that and have two extra lumps put out for you. Don’t let the boys get them, though.”
“I have put you in charge of the fifth form for the rest of this term,” said Dr. Fagan. “You will find them delightful boys, quite delightful. Clutterbuck wants watching, by the way, a very delicate little chap. I have also put you in charge of the games, the carpentering class and the fire drill. And I forget, do you teach music?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Unfortunate, most unfortunate. I understood from Mr. Levy that you did. I have arranged for you to take Beste-Chetwynde in organ lessons twice a week. Well, you must do the best you can. There goes the bell for dinner. I won’t detain you. Oh, one other thing. Not a word to the boys, please, about the reasons for your leaving Oxford! We schoolmasters must temper discretion with deceit. There, I fancy I have said something for you to think about. Good night.”
“Tootle-oo,” said the elder Miss Fagan.
III
Captain Grimes
Paul had very little difficulty in finding the dining-hall. He was guided there by the smell of cooking and the sound of voices. It was a large, panelled room, far from disagreeable, with fifty or sixty boys of ages ranging from ten to eighteen settled along four long tables. The smaller ones wore Eton suits, the elder ones dinner-jackets.
He was led to a place at the head of one of the tables. The boys on either side of him stood up very politely until he sat down. One of them was the boy who had whistled at Captain Grimes. Paul thought he rather liked him.
“I’m called Beste-Chetwynde,” he said.
“I’ve got to teach you the organ, I believe.”
“Yes, it’s great fun: we play in the village church. Do you play terribly well?”
Paul felt this was not a moment for candour, and so, “tempering discretion with deceit,” he said, “Yes, remarkably well.”
“I say, do you really, or are you rotting?”
“Indeed, I’m not. I used to give lessons to the Master of Scone.”
“Well, you won’t be able to teach me much,” said Beste-Chetwynde cheerfully. “I only do it to get off gym. I say, they haven’t given you a napkin. These servants are too awful. Philbrick,” he shouted to the butler, “why haven’t you given Mr. Pennyfeather a napkin?”
“Forgot,” said Philbrick, “and it’s too late now because Miss Fagan’s locked the linen up.”
“Nonsense!” said Beste-Chetwynde, “go and get one at once. That man’s all right, really,”
