“What a terrible thing!” he said.
“Yes, I’ve not known an hour’s real happiness since. You see, it wasn’t the ordinary sort of Doubt about Cain’s wife or the Old Testament miracles or the consecration of Archbishop Parker. I’d been taught how to explain all those while I was at college. No, it was something deeper than all that. I couldn’t understand why God had made the world at all. There was my mother and the Bundles and Mrs. Crump talking away quite unconcernedly while I sat there wrestling with this sudden assault of doubt. You see how fundamental that is. Once granted the first step, I can see that everything else follows—Tower of Babel, Babylonian captivity, Incarnation, Church, bishops, incense, everything—but what I couldn’t see, and what I can’t see now, is, why did it all begin?
“I asked my bishop; he didn’t know. He said that he didn’t think the point really arose as far as my practical duties as a parish priest were concerned. I discussed it with my mother. At first she was inclined to regard it as a passing phase. But it didn’t pass, so finally she agreed with me that the only honourable thing to do was to resign my living; she never really recovered from the shock, poor old lady. It was a great blow after she had bought the chintz and got so friendly with the Bundles.”
A bell began ringing down a distant passage.
“Well, well, we must go to prayers, and I haven’t finished my pipes.” He took his gown from the peg behind the door and slipped it over his shoulders.
“Perhaps one day I shall see Light,” he said, “and then I shall go back to the ministry. Meanwhile—”
Clutterbuck ran past the door, whistling hideously.
“That’s a nasty little boy,” said Mr. Prendergast, “if ever there was one.”
V
Discipline
Prayers were held downstairs in the main hall of the Castle. The boys stood ranged along the panelled walls, each holding in his hands a little pile of books. Grimes sat on one of the chairs beside the baronial chimneypiece.
“ ’Morning,” he said to Paul; “only just down, I’m afraid. Do I smell of drink?”
“Yes,” said Paul.
“Comes of missing breakfast. Prendy been telling you about his Doubts?”
“Yes,” said Paul.
“Funny thing,” said Grimes, “but I’ve never been worried in that way. I don’t pretend to be a particularly pious sort of chap, but I’ve never had any Doubts. When you’ve been in the soup as often as I have, it gives you a sort of feeling that everything’s for the best, really. You know, God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world. I can’t quite explain it, but I don’t believe one can ever be unhappy for long provided one does just exactly what one wants to and when one wants to. The last chap who put me on my feet said I was ‘singularly in harmony with the primitive promptings of humanity.’ I’ve remembered that phrase because somehow it seemed to fit me. Here comes the old man. This is where we stand up.”
As the bell stopped ringing Dr. Fagan swept into the hall, the robes of a Doctor of Philosophy swelling and billowing about him. He wore an orchid in his buttonhole.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said.
“Good morning, sir,” chorused the boys.
The Doctor advanced to the table at the end of the room, picked up a Bible, and opening it at random, read a chapter of bloodcurdling military history without any evident relish. From that he plunged into the Lord’s prayer, which the boys took up in a quiet chatter. Mr. Prendergast’s voice led them in tones that testified to his ecclesiastical past.
Then the Doctor glanced at a sheet of notes he held in his hand. “Boys,” he said, “I have some announcements to make. The Fagan cross-country running challenge cup will not be competed for this year on account of the floods.”
“I expect the old boy has popped it,” said Grimes in Paul’s ear.
“Nor will the Llanabba Essay Prize.”
“On account of the floods,” said Grimes.
“I have received my account for the telephone,” proceeded Dr. Fagan, “and I find that during the past quarter there have been no less than twenty-three trunk calls to London, none of which was sent by me or by members of my family. I look to the prefects to stop this, unless of course they are themselves responsible, in which case I must urge them in my own interests to make use of the village post-office, to which they have access.
“I think that is everything, isn’t it, Mr. Prendergast?”
“Cigars,” said Mr. Prendergast in a stage whisper.
“Ah, yes, cigars. Boys, I have been deeply distressed to learn that several cigar ends have been found—where have they been found?”
“Boiler-room.”
“In the boiler-room. I regard this as reprehensible. What boy has been smoking cigars in the boiler-room?”
There was a prolonged silence, during which the Doctor’s eye travelled down the line of boys.
“I will give the culprit until luncheon to give himself up. If I do not hear from him by then the whole school will be heavily punished.”
“Damn!” said Grimes. “I gave those cigars to Clutterbuck. I hope the little beast has the sense to keep quiet.”
“Go to your classes,” said the Doctor.
The boys
