""Noticed anything wrong with Winton lately?" said Mullins.
""Notice anything wrong with my beak?" Stalky replied. "Pater went Berserk after call-over, and fell on a lot of us for jesting with him about his impot. You ought to see Malpa.s.s"s eye."
"You mean that Pater fought?" said Mullins.
"Like a devil. Then he nearly went to sleep in our study just now. I expect he"ll be all right when he wakes up. Rummy business!
Conscientious old bargee. You ought to have heard his apologies."
"But Pater can"t fight one little bit," Mullins repeated.
""Twasn"t fighting. He just tried to murder every one." Stalky described the affair, and when he left Mullins went off to take counsel with the Head, who, out of a cloud of blue smoke, told him that all would yet be well.
"Winton," said he, "is a little stiff in his moral joints. He"ll get over that. If he asks you whether to-day"s doings will count against him in his--"
"But you know it"s important to him, sir. His people aren"t--very well off," said Mullins.
"That"s why I"m taking all this trouble. You must rea.s.sure him, Pot. I have overcrowded him with new experiences. Oh, by the way, has his Cap come?"
"It came at dinner, sir." Mullins laughed.
Sure enough, when he waked at tea-time, Winton proposed to take Mullins all through every one of his day"s lapses from grace, and "Do you think it will count against me?" said he.
"Don"t you fuss so much about yourself and your silly career," said Mullins. "You"re all right. And oh--here"s your First Cap at last. Shove it up on the bracket and come on to tea."
They met King on their way, stepping statelily and rubbing his hands. "I have applied," said he, "for the services of an additional sub-prefect in Carton"s unlamented absence. Your name, Winton, seems to have found favour with the powers that be, and--and all things considered--I am disposed to give my support to the nomination. You are therefore a quasi-lictor."
"Then it didn"t count against me," Winton gasped as soon as they were out of hearing.
A Captain of Games can jest with a sub-prefect publicly.
"You utter a.s.s!" said Mullins, and caught him by the back of his stiff neck and ran him down to the hall where the sub-prefects, who sit below the salt, made him welcome with the economical bloater-paste of mid-term.
King and little Hartopp were sparring in the Reverend John Gillett"s study at 10 P.M.--cla.s.sical _versus_ modern as usual.
"Character--proportion--background," snarled King. "That is the essence of the Humanities."
"a.n.a.lects of Confucius," little Hartopp answered.
"Time," said the Reverend John behind the soda-water. "You men oppress me. Hartopp, what did you say to Paddy in your dormitories to-night?
Even _you_ couldn"t have overlooked his face."
"But I did," said Hartopp calmly. "I wasn"t even humorous about it as some clerics might have been. I went straight through and said naught."
"Poor Paddy! Now, for my part," said King, "and you know I am not lavish in my praises, I consider Winton a first-cla.s.s type; absolutely first-cla.s.s."
"Ha-ardly," said the Reverend John. "First-cla.s.s of the second cla.s.s, I admit. The very best type of second cla.s.s but"--he shook his head--"it should have been a rat. Pater"ll never be anything more than a Colonel of Engineers."
"What do you base that verdict on?" said King stiffly.
"He came to me after prayers--with all his conscience."
"Poor old Pater. Was it the mouse?" said little Hartopp.
"That, and what he called his uncontrollable temper, and his responsibilities as sub-prefect."
"And you?"
"If we had had what is vulgarly called a pi-jaw he"d have had hysterics. So I recommended a dose of Epsom salts. He"ll take it, too--conscientiously. Don"t eat me, King. Perhaps, he"ll be a K.C.B."
Ten o"clock struck and the Army cla.s.s boys in the further studies coming to their houses after an hour"s extra work pa.s.sed along the gravel path below. Some one was chanting, to the tune of "White sand and grey sand,"
_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_. He stopped outside Mullins" study.
They heard Mullins" window slide up and then Stalky"s voice:
"Ah! Good-evening, Mullins, my _barbarus tortor_. We"re the waits. We have come to inquire after the local Berserk. Is he doin" as well as can be expected in his new caree-ah?"
"Better than you will, in a sec, Stalky," Mullins grunted.
"Glad of that. We thought he"d like to know that Paddy has been carried to the sick-house in ravin" delirium. They think it"s concussion of the brain."
"Why, he was all right at prayers," Winton began earnestly, and they heard a laugh in the background as Mullins slammed down the window.
""Night, Regulus," Stalky sang out, and the light footsteps went on.
"You see. It sticks. A little of it sticks among the barbarians," said King.
"Amen," said the Reverend John. "Go to bed."
A TRANSLATION
HORACE, Bk. V. _Ode 3_
There are whose study is of smells, And to attentive schools rehea.r.s.e How something mixed with something else Makes something worse.
Some cultivate in broths impure The clients of our body--these, Increasing without Venus, cure, Or cause, disease.
Others the heated wheel extol, And all its offspring, whose concern Is how to make it farthest roll And fastest turn.
Me, much incurious if the hour Present, or to be paid for, brings Me to Brundusium by the power Of wheels or wings;
Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned Life-long, save that by Pindar lit, Such lore leaves cold: I am not turned Aside to it
More than when, sunk in thought profound Of what the unaltering G.o.ds require, My steward (friend but slave) brings round Logs for my fire.