by James Hilton
Once he heard them talking about him in the room.
Cartwright was whispering to Merivale.
“Poor old chap—must have lived a lonely sort of life, all by himself.”
Merivale answered: “Not always by himself. He married, you know.”
“Oh, did he? I never knew about that.”
“She died. It must have been—oh, quite thirty years ago. More, possibly.”
“Pity. Pity he never had any children.”
And at that, Chips opened his eyes as wide as he could and sought to attract their attention. It was hard for him to speak out loud, but he managed to murmur something, and they all looked round and came nearer to him.
He struggled, slowly, with his words. “What—was that—um—you were saying—about me—just now?”
Old Buffles smiled and said: “Nothing at all, old chap—nothing at all—we were just wondering when you were going to wake out of your beauty sleep.”
“But—umph—I heard you—you were talking about me—”
“Absolutely nothing of any consequence, my dear fellow—really, I give you my word….”
“I thought I heard you—one of you—saying it was a pity—umph—a pity I never had—any children … eh? … But I have, you know … I have …”
The others smiled without answering, and after a pause Chips began a faint and palpitating chuckle.
“Yes—umph—I have,” he added, with quavering merriment. “Thousands of ’em … thousands of ’em… and all boys.”
And then the chorus sang in his ears in final harmony, more grandly and sweetly than he had ever heard it before, and more comfortingly too…. Pettifer, Pollett, Porson, Potts, Pullman, Purvis, Pym-Wilson, Radlett, Rapson, Reade, Reaper, Reddy Primus … come round me now, all of you, for a last word and a joke…. Harper, Haslett, Hatfield, Hatherley … my last joke … did you hear it? … Did it make you laugh? … Bone, Boston, Bovey, Bradford, Bradley, Bramhall-Anderson … wherever you are, whatever has happened, give me this moment with you .,. this last moment … my boys …
And soon Chips was asleep.
He seemed so peaceful that they did not disturb him to say good-night; but in the morning, as the School bell sounded for breakfast, Brookfield had the news. “Brookfield will, never forget his lovableness,” said Cartwright, in a speech to the School. Which was absurd, because all things are forgotten in the end. But Linford, at any rate, will remember and tell the tale: “I said good-bye to Chips the night before he died….”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1935 by James Hilton, 1962 by Alice Hilton
cover design by Connie Gabbert
978-1-4532-4046-5
This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media
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