A Prefect's Uncle

by P. G. Wodehouse

  [10]

  IN WHICH A CASE IS FULLY DISCUSSED

  Gethryn was right in thinking that the interviews would be unpleasant.They increased in unpleasantness in arithmetical progression, untilthey culminated finally in a terrific encounter with the justlyoutraged Norris.

  Reece was the first person to institute inquiries, and if everybody hadresembled him, matters would not have been so bad for Gethryn. Reecepossessed a perfect genius for minding his own business. The dialoguewhen they met was brief.

  'Hullo,' said Reece.

  'Hullo,' said the Bishop.

  'Where did you get to yesterday?' said Reece.

  'Oh, I had to go somewhere,' said the Bishop vaguely.

  'Oh? Pity. Wasn't a bad match.' And that was all the comment Reece madeon the situation.

  Gethryn went over to the chapel that morning with an empty sinkingfeeling inside him. He was quite determined to offer no single word ofexplanation, and he felt that that made the prospect all the worse.There was a vast uncertainty in his mind as to what was going tohappen. Nobody could actually do anything to him, of course. It wouldhave been a decided relief to him if anybody had tried that line ofaction, for moments occur when the only thing that can adequatelysoothe the wounded spirit, is to hit straight from the shoulder atsomeone. The punching-ball is often found useful under thesecircumstances. As he was passing Jephson's House he nearly ran intosomebody who was coming out.

  'Be firm, my moral pecker,' thought Gethryn, and braced himself up forconflict.

  'Well, Gethryn?' said Mr Jephson.

  The question 'Well?' especially when addressed by a master to a boy, isone of the few questions to which there is literally no answer. You canlook sheepish, you can look defiant, or you can look surprisedaccording to the state of your conscience. But anything in the way ofverbal response is impossible.

  Gethryn attempted no verbal response.

  'Well, Gethryn,' went on Mr Jephson, 'was it pleasant up the riveryesterday?'

  Mr Jephson always preferred the rapier of sarcasm to the bludgeon ofabuse.

  'Yes, sir,' said Gethryn, 'very pleasant.' He did not mean to bemassacred without a struggle.

  'What!' cried Mr Jephson. 'You actually mean to say that you did go upthe river?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Then what do you mean?'

  'It is always pleasant up the river on a fine day,' said Gethryn.

  His opponent, to use a metaphor suitable to a cricket master, changedhis action. He abandoned sarcasm and condescended to direct inquiry.

  'Where were you yesterday afternoon?' he said.

  The Bishop, like Mr Hurry Bungsho Jabberjee, B.A., became at once thesilent tomb.

  'Did you hear what I said, Gethryn?' (icily). 'Where were you yesterdayafternoon?'

  'I can't say, sir.'

  These words may convey two meanings. They may imply ignorance, in whichcase the speaker should be led gently off to the nearest asylum. Orthey may imply obstinacy. Mr Jephson decided that in the present caseobstinacy lay at the root of the matter. He became icier than ever.

  'Very well, Gethryn,' he said, 'I shall report this to the Headmaster.'

  And Gethryn, feeling that the conference was at an end, proceeded onhis way.

  After chapel there was Norris to be handled. Norris had been ratherlate for chapel that morning, and had no opportunity of speaking to theBishop. But after the service was over, and the School streamed out ofthe building towards their respective houses, he waylaid him at thedoor, and demanded an explanation. The Bishop refused to give one.Norris, whose temper never had a chance of reaching its accustomedtranquillity until he had consumed some breakfast--he hated earlymorning chapel--raved. The Bishop was worried, but firm.

  'Then you mean to say--you don't mean to say--I mean, you don't intendto explain?' said Norris finally, working round for the twentieth timeto his original text.

  'I can't explain.'

  'You won't, you mean.'

  'Yes. I'll apologize if you like, but I won't explain.'

  Norris felt the strain was becoming too much for him.

  'Apologize!' he moaned, addressing circumambient space. 'Apologize! Aman cuts off in the middle of the M.C.C. match, loses us the game, andthen comes back and offers to apologize.'

  'The offer's withdrawn,' put in Gethryn. 'Apologies and explanationsare both off.' It was hopeless to try and be conciliatory under thecircumstances. They did not admit of it.

  Norris glared.

  'I suppose,' he said, 'you don't expect to go on playing for the Firstafter this? We can't keep a place open for you in the team on the offchance of your not having a previous engagement, you know.'

  'That's your affair,' said the Bishop, 'you're captain. Have youfinished your address? Is there anything else you'd like to say?'

  Norris considered, and, as he went in at Jephson's gate, wound up withthis Parthian shaft--

  'All I can say is that you're not fit to be at a public school. Theyought to sack a chap for doing that sort of thing. If you'll take myadvice, you'll leave.'

  About two hours afterwards Gethryn discovered a suitable retort, but,coming to the conclusion that better late than never does not apply torepartees, refrained from speaking it.

  It was Mr Jephson's usual custom to sally out after supper on Sundayevenings to smoke a pipe (or several pipes) with one of the otherHouse-masters. On this particular evening he made for Robertson's,which was one of the four Houses on the opposite side of the Schoolgrounds. He could hardly have selected a better man to take hisgrievance to. Mr Robertson was a long, silent man with grizzled hair,and an eye that pierced like a gimlet. He had the enviable reputationof keeping the best order of any master in the School. He was also oneof the most popular of the staff. This was all the more remarkable fromthe fact that he played no games.

  To him came Mr Jephson, primed to bursting point with his grievance.

  'Anything wrong, Jephson?' said Mr Robertson.

  'Wrong? I should just think there was. Did you happen to be looking atthe match yesterday, Robertson?'

  Mr Robertson nodded.

  'I always watch School matches. Good match. Norris missed a bad catchin the slips. He was asleep.'

  Mr Jephson conceded the point. It was trivial.

  'Yes,' he said, 'he should certainly have held it. But that's a meredetail. I want to talk about Gethryn. Do you know what he didyesterday? I never heard of such a thing in my life, never. Went offduring the luncheon interval without a word, and never appeared againtill lock-up. And now he refuses to offer any explanation whatever. Ishall report the whole thing to Beckett. I told Gethryn so thismorning.'

  'I shouldn't,' said Mr Robertson; 'I really think I shouldn't. Beckettfinds the ordinary duties of a Headmaster quite sufficient for hisneeds. This business is not in his province at all.'

  'Not in his province? My dear sir, what is a headmaster for, if not tomanage affairs of this sort?'

  Mr Robertson smiled in a sphinx-like manner, and answered, after thefashion of Socrates, with a question.

  'Let me ask you two things, Jephson. You must proceed gingerly. Now,firstly, it is a headmaster's business to punish any breach of schoolrules, is it not?'

  'Well?'

  'And school prefects do not attend roll-call, and have no restrictionsplaced upon them in the matter of bounds?'

  'No. Well?'

  'Then perhaps you'll tell me what School rule Gethryn has broken?' saidMr Robertson.

  'You see you can't,' he went on. 'Of course you can't. He has notbroken any School rule. He is a prefect, and may do anything he likeswith his spare time. He chooses to play cricket. Then he changes hismind and goes off to some unknown locality for some reason at presentunexplained. It is all perfectly legal. Extremely quaint behaviour onhis part, I admit, but thoroughly legal.'

  'Then nothing can be done,' exclaimed Mr Jephson blankly. 'But it'sabsurd. Something must be done. The thing can't be left as it is. It'spreposterous!'

  'I should ima
gine,' said Mr Robertson, 'from what small knowledge Ipossess of the Human Boy, that matters will be made decidedlyunpleasant for the criminal.'

  'Well, I know one thing; he won't play for the team again.'

  'There is something very refreshing about your logic, Jephson. Becausea boy does not play in one match, you will not let him play in any ofthe others, though you admit his absence weakens the team. However, Isuppose that is unavoidable. Mind you, I think it is a pity. Of courseGethryn has some explanation, if he would only favour us with it.Personally I think rather highly of Gethryn. So does poor oldLeicester. He is the only Head-prefect Leicester has had for the lasthalf-dozen years who knows even the rudiments of his business. But it'sno use my preaching his virtues to you. You wouldn't listen. Takeanother cigar, and let's talk about the weather.'

  Mr Jephson took the proffered weed, and the conversation, though it didnot turn upon the suggested topic, ceased to have anything to do withGethryn.

  The general opinion of the School was dead against the Bishop. One ortwo of his friends still clung to a hope that explanations might comeout, while there were also a few who always made a point of thinkingdifferently from everybody else. Of this class was Pringle. On theMonday after the match he spent the best part of an hour of hisvaluable time reasoning on the subject with Lorimer. Lorimer's votewent with the majority. Although he had fielded for the Bishop, he wasnot, of course, being merely a substitute, allowed to bowl, as theBishop had had his innings, and it had been particularly galling to himto feel that he might have saved the match, if it had only beenpossible for him to have played a larger part.

  'It's no good jawing about it,' he said, 'there isn't a word to say forthe man. He hasn't a leg to stand on. Why, it would be bad enough in aHouse or form match even, but when it comes to first matches--!' Herewords failed Lorimer.

  'Not at all,' said Pringle, unmoved. 'There are heaps of reasons, jollygood reasons, why he might have gone away.'

  'Such as?' said Lorimer.

  'Well, he might have been called away by a telegram, for instance.'

  'What rot! Why should he make such a mystery of it if that was all?'

  'He'd have explained all right if somebody had asked him properly. Youget a chap like Norris, who, when he loses his hair, has got just aboutas much tact as a rhinoceros, going and ballyragging the man, and nowonder he won't say anything. I shouldn't myself.'

  'Well, go and talk to him decently, then. Let's see you do it, and I'llbet it won't make a bit of difference. What the chap has done is to goand get himself mixed up in some shady business somewhere. That's theonly thing it can be.'

  'Rot,' said Pringle, 'the Bishop isn't that sort of chap.'

  'You can't tell. I say,' he broke off suddenly, 'have you done thatpoem yet?'

  Pringle started. He had not so much as begun that promised epic.

  'I--er--haven't quite finished it yet. I'm thinking it out, you know.Getting a sort of general grip of the thing.'

  'Oh. Well, I wish you'd buck up with it. It's got to go in tomorrowweek.'

  'Tomorrow week. Tuesday the what? Twenty-second, isn't it? Right. I'llremember. Two days after the O.B.s' match. That'll fix it in my mind.By the way, your people are going to come down all right, aren't they?I mean, we shall have to be getting in supplies and so on.'

  'Yes. They'll be coming. There's plenty of time, though, to think ofthat. What you've got to do for the present is to keep your mind gluedon the death of Dido.'

  'Rather,' said Pringle, 'I won't forget.'

  This was at six twenty-two p.m. By the time six-thirty boomed from theCollege clock-tower, Pringle was absorbing a thrilling work of fiction,and Dido, her death, and everything connected with her, had faded fromhis mind like a beautiful dream.