“I should think, by the look of them, they were exceedingly cheap cigars,” added Mr. Prendergast sadly. “They were a pale yellow colour.”
“That makes it worse,” said the Doctor. “To think of any boy under my charge smoking pale yellow cigars in a boiler-room! It is not a gentlemanly fault.”
The masters went upstairs.
“That’s your little mob in there,” said Grimes; “you let them out at eleven.”
“But what am I to teach them?” said Paul in sudden panic.
“Oh, I shouldn’t try to teach them anything, not just yet, anyway. Just keep them quiet.”
“Now that’s a thing I’ve never learned to do,” sighed Mr. Prendergast.
Paul watched him amble into his classroom at the end of the passage, where a burst of applause greeted his arrival. Dumb with terror, he went into his own classroom.
Ten boys sat before him, their hands folded, their eyes bright with expectation.
“Good morning, sir,” said the one nearest him.
“Good morning,” said Paul.
“Good morning, sir,” said the next.
“Good morning,” said Paul.
“Good morning, sir,” said the next.
“Oh, shut up,” said Paul.
At this the boy took out a handkerchief and began to cry quietly.
“Oh, sir,” came a chorus of reproach, “you’ve hurt his feelings. He’s very sensitive; it’s his Welsh blood, you know; it makes people very emotional. Say ‘Good morning’ to him, sir, or he won’t be happy all day. After all, it is a good morning, isn’t it, sir?”
“Silence!” shouted Paul above the uproar, and for a few moments things were quieter.
“Please, sir,” said a small voice—Paul turned and saw a grave-looking youth holding up his hand—“please, sir, perhaps he’s been smoking cigars and doesn’t feel well.”
“Silence!” said Paul again.
The ten boys stopped talking and sat perfectly still, staring at him. He felt himself getting hot and red under their scrutiny.
“I suppose the first thing I ought to do is to get your names clear. What is your name?” he asked, turning to the first boy.
“Tangent, sir.”
“And yours?”
“Tangent, sir,” said the next boy. Paul’s heart sank.
“But you can’t both be called Tangent.”
“No, sir, I’m Tangent. He’s just trying to be funny.”
“I like that. Me trying to be funny! Please, sir, I’m Tangent, sir; really I am.”
“If it comes to that,” said Clutterbuck from the back of the room, “there is only one Tangent here, and that is me. Anyone else can jolly well go to blazes.”
Paul felt desperate.
“Well, is there anyone who isn’t Tangent?”
Four or five voices instantly arose.
“I’m not, sir; I’m not Tangent. I wouldn’t be called Tangent, not on the end of a barge pole.”
In a few seconds the room had become divided into two parties: those who were Tangent and those who were not. Blows were already being exchanged, when the door opened and Grimes came in. There was a slight hush.
“I thought you might want this,” he said, handing Paul a walking stick. “And if you take my advice, you’ll set them something to do.”
He went out; and Paul, firmly grasping the walking stick, faced his form.
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t care a damn what any of you are called, but if there’s another word from anyone I shall keep you all in this afternoon.”
“You can’t keep me in,” said Clutterbuck; “I’m going for a walk with Captain Grimes.”
“Then I shall very nearly kill you with this stick. Meanwhile you will all write an essay on ‘Self-indulgence.’ There will be a prize of half a crown for the longest essay, irrespective of any possible merit.”
From then onwards all was silence until break. Paul, still holding the stick, gazed despondently out of the window. Now and then there rose from below the shrill voices of the servants scolding each other in Welsh. By the time the bell rang Clutterbuck had covered sixteen pages, and was awarded the half-crown.
“Did you find those boys difficult to manage?” asked Mr. Prendergast, filling his pipe.
“Not at all,” said Paul.
“Ah, you’re lucky. I find all boys utterly intractable. I don’t know why it is. Of course my wig has a lot to do with it. Have you noticed that I wear a wig?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Well, the boys did as soon as they saw it. It was a great mistake my ever getting one. I thought when I left Worthing that I looked too old to get a job easily. I was only forty-one. It was very expensive, even though I chose the cheapest quality. Perhaps that’s why it looks so like a wig. I don’t know. I knew from the first that it was a mistake, but once they had seen it, it was too late to go back. They make all sorts of jokes about it.”
“I expect they’d laugh at something else if it wasn’t that.”
“Yes, no doubt they would. I daresay it’s a good thing to localize their ridicule as far as possible. Oh dear! oh dear! If it wasn’t for my pipes, I don’t know how I should manage to keep on. What made you come here?”
“I was sent down from Scone for indecent behaviour.”
“Oh, yes, like Grimes?”
“No,” said Paul firmly, “not like Grimes.”
“Oh, well, it’s all much the same really. And there’s the bell. Oh dear! oh dear! I believe that loathsome little man’s taken my gown.”
Two days later Beste-Chetwynde pulled out the vox humana and played “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
“D’you know, sir, you’ve made rather a hit with the fifth form?”
He and Paul were seated in the organ-loft of the village church. It was their second music lesson.
“For goodness’ sake, leave the organ alone. How d’you mean ‘hit’?”
“Well, Clutterbuck was in the matron’s room this morning. He’d just got a tin of pineapple chunks. Tangent said, ‘Are you going to take that into Hall?’ and he said, ‘No, I’m going to eat them in Mr. Pennyfeather’s hour.’ ‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ said Tangent. ‘Sweets and biscuits are one thing, but pineapple chunks are going too far. It’s little stinkers like you,’ he said, ‘who turn decent masters savage.’ ”
“Do you think that’s so very complimentary?”
“I think it’s one of the most complimentary things
