THE COMPLETE DAVID BLAIZE TRILOGY (Illustrated Edition). Эдвард Бенсон

      Chapter V

       Table of Contents

      David returned from the station on Monday morning, where he had been permitted to go, in order to see his father off, in extremely good spirits, with his straw hat, trimmed with the school eleven colours, well back on his head, his hands in his pockets, where one caressed five distinct shillings, the other the travelling-carriage of the Monarch, while fragments of cheerful tunes came piercingly forth from the aperture caused by his broken tooth. The shape of this orifice no doubt had something to do with the deafening quality of his whistle, which went through the head of the hearer like the chirping of a canary in a circumscribed room, and when deeds of infamy, such as illicit feasts, were going on in the bushes at the far end of the second-club field, he was often suitably bribed to keep watch at the railings nearest the school buildings, for his whistle carried that distance quite easily. There was therefore, when his melodies were heard, time to remove all traces of debauch before Dubs or any other incarnation of danger could arrive. So desirable, indeed, was the gift of a really resonant whistle that Ferrers had at one time begun operations on one of his own front teeth with the file on his nail-scissors in order to get a similar configuration, but increasing tenderness had made him desist before he had got far.

      David was conscious of a great many things that made for cheerfulness. His father, to begin with, had put himself gloriously right with the school, and had, very wisely, left in the hour of supreme popularity, so that there was no fear of his forfeiting, by gaiters or Christian names or flat headers at the bathing-place, or any such tragic follies, the esteem he had won. For, greatly daring, as it seemed to the boys, he had asked the Head to grant an extra half-holiday, and the announcement that it would be given this afternoon, “in honour of his visit,” had duly appeared on the school notice-board. It was supposed by some one who had seen his flat header that the phrase “in honour of his visit” must mark a sarcastic intention on the part of the Head, but whether that was so or not there was no doubt about the half-holiday, which was all that mattered. Even David, when quite respectfully appealed to, had no clear idea as to why his father’s visit was an honour, but supposed it must have something to do with the books he wrote, which were printed by the Clarendon Press at Oxford. In any case, he felt quite certain now that all the errors of which his father had been guilty would be pardoned and forgotten, and that he would never hear any more of his hat or his gaiters, of his excruciating performance at the cricket-nets, of his belly-floppers into the bathing-place, of his betrayal of his own son’s Christian name, or finally of the disastrous discourse he had unfortunately delivered at school-chapel on Sunday evening. For the moment, as he remembered that, David’s whistle ceased, and he clutched at the five shillings and the Monarch’s travelling-carriage for comfort. It had been too awful: not only had he talked the most dreadful rot about the joy and peace of the chapel services (same as last year, only worse) under the influence of which all troubles and anxiety melted away, but he had gone on and on and on in a manner quite unparalleled. For forty stricken minutes he had detained them (Stone said forty-two), which beat all known records by at least nine minutes, and it was no wonder that the boy next David had written “AND NOW” in capital letters on the fly-leaf of his hymn-book and passed it to him. . . . But that was all over; he had made the most honourable amends, and David knew that his father would be considered a credit to him. Indeed that “he was a first-rate old buffer” was quite a moderate estimate of him, and one given by the most critical.

      There were other satisfactory points about him also. He had asked that David should be allowed to see him off at the station, so that he could have a further talk with him. This meant missing half an hour (or more, if he lingered on his way back, as he was doing) of repetition of Latin prose. David had not been certain, at starting, that he would not sooner do prose repetition than have more “jaw”; but the “jaw,” when it came, was of the most delightful kind. Not only was he certainly to go to Marchester in September, but, after consultation with the Head, it had been settled that he was to go there next week to try for one of the scholarships, a wholly lovely adventure. Apparently—this was news to David—his work had shown great improvement during this last term; it showed signs of perception and taste, and, though greatly wanting in accuracy, which, the Archdeacon reminded him, could always be attained by the industrious and painstaking, it might prove up to scholarship-level. David did not attend much to these generalities: the point was that he would go to Marchester for a three-days’ examination next week.

      Finally, as a cause of happiness, his father had on the platform presented him with the five shillings that now he clutched in his pocket, to commemorate his having got into the school eleven. That presentation had been so sheer a surprise that David could have fallen flat on his face with astonishment. He would have expected, if the fatal topic of cricket was to occur again, to be reminded that it was only a game, and to be bidden to take thought of it just as such and no more; but to be tipped on such a scale had not entered into his most sanguine calculations. Then the train had come in, and David submitted to be kissed publicly without shying, even though a small vendor of papers, with whom he had slight differences before this, ceased shouting “Dily Mile,” and squeaked “Kiss me, ducky,” in perfectly audible tones. He could be dealt with after the train had gone. . . .

      So his father waved his shovel-hat from the window and David his straw hat from the platform, after which he twitched off the paper vendor’s cap and rubbed his face upwards with it, and hit him on the hands so that he dropped all his papers and strolled back to school again in the highest spirits. And not only were his spirits high, but, for the first time in his life, he was conscious of how happy he was, instead of just being happy. This morning he seemed to stand away from himself and envy the boy (only it was himself) who was going to try for a Marchester scholarship next week, and was certainly going there in September, and had five shillings and two stag-beetles in his pocket, and was in the school eleven. Child though he was, consciousness of self had come to him: he knew that his head was full of delightful plans, that his limbs were taut and strong, that he was set in the enchanted garden of the world. He said, “By Gosh!” and saluted the discovery by kicking an empty tobacco-tin that lay in the road with such firm accuracy that it flew with a whirring, gong-like sound over the fence of the house where the assistant masters of the school lodged, and David thought it wise to go swiftly away, and not look behind.

      He dropped to a sober pace again after putting a corner between himself and the masters’ house into the garden of which the empty tin had so pleasantly flown, and from mere happiness made a quantity of good resolutions, one of which he immediately put into effect by not going into the tobacco-shop where he had originally intended to buy a packet of cigarettes as a present for the Smoking Club. Just now the solid satisfaction of life rendered unnecessary such minor adjuncts, and, since he did not like smoking, it was convenient that it happened to be contrary to school rules. There were such hosts of things pleasant and not against school rules, that he wished, by way of a thank-offering for them, to resolve on a virtuous life. He really would get up at the sound of the first bell in the morning for the future, he would not smoke any more, he would not look up the answers to sums before he wrestled with them, nor copy out on his shirt-cuff the principal rivers of Russia. They were there now in fact, and in this sudden access of being good because he was happy, he stopped then and there, and, with a piece of india-rubber, expunged the Volga and the Vistula and the Don and the Dnieper. And, as if to reward him, just as he got to the school-gate eleven o’clock sounded, which meant that Latin prose repetition was over, and since to-day was a half-holiday, there was only one more hour of school, and that was English literature, the one lesson of the week which he actively enjoyed, and, though the Head usually took it, was not in the least terrifying. He asked but few questions, or sometimes there were no questions at all, but he would read to them a poem, with explanations of difficult words or sentences, so that any one could understand it, and then perhaps shut the book and repeat it very slowly in his deep, smooth voice, so that the magic of beautiful words wove its spell round David’s wondering mind.

      To-day, on his way to the museum, just as David passed the long French windows of the Head’s