[16]
A DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP
'One moment,' said Mr Lawrie, 'might I ask what is the subject of thepoem?'
'Death of Dido,' said the Headmaster. 'Good, hackneyed, evergreensubject, mellow with years. Go on, Wells.'
Mr Wells began.
Queen of Tyre, ancient Tyre, Whilom mistress of the wave.
Mr Lawrie, who had sunk back into the recesses of his chair in anattitude of attentive repose, sat up suddenly with a start.
'What!' he cried.
'Hullo,' said Mr Wells, 'has the beauty of the work come home to youalready?'
'You notice,' he said, as he repeated the couplet, 'that flaws begin toappear in the gem right from the start. It was rash of Master Lorimerto attempt such a difficult metre. Plucky, but rash. He should havestuck to blank verse. Tyre, you notice, two syllables to rhyme with"deny her" in line three. "What did fortune e'er deny her? Were not allher warriors brave?" That last line seems to me distinctly weak. Idon't know how it strikes you.'
'You're hypercritical, Wells,' said the Head. 'Now, for a boy Iconsider that a very good beginning. What do you say, Lawrie?'
'I--er. Oh, I think I am hardly a judge.'
'To resume,' said Mr Mortimer Wells. He resumed, and ran through theremaining verses of the poem with comments. When he had finished, heremarked that, in his opinion a whiff of fresh air would not hurt him.If the Headmaster would excuse him, he would select another of thoseexcellent cigars, and smoke it out of doors.
'By all means,' said the Head; 'I think I won't join you myself, butperhaps Lawrie will.'
'No, thank you. I think I will remain. Yes, I think I will remain.'
Mr Wells walked jauntily out of the room. When the door had shut, MrLawrie coughed nervously.
'Another cigar, Lawrie?'
'I--er--no, thank you. I want to ask you a question. What is yourcandid opinion of those verses Mr Wells was reading just now?'
The Headmaster laughed.
'I don't think Wells treated them quite fairly. In my opinion they weredistinctly promising. For a boy in the Upper Fifth, you understand.Yes, on the whole they showed distinct promise.'
'They were mine,' said Mr Lawrie.
'Yours! I don't understand. How were they yours?'
'I wrote them. Every word of them.'
'You wrote them! But, my dear Lawrie--'
'I don't wonder that you are surprised. For my own part I am amazed,simply amazed. How the boy--I don't even remember his name--contrivedto get hold of them, I have not the slightest conception. But that hedid so contrive is certain. The poem is word for word, literally wordfor word, the same as one which I wrote when I was at Cambridge.'
'Youdon't say so!'
'Yes. It can hardly be a coincidence.'
'Hardly,' said the Head. 'Are you certain of this?'
'Perfectly certain. I am not eager to claim the authorship, I canassure you, especially after Mr Wells's very outspoken criticisms, butthere is nothing else to be done. The poem appeared more than a dozenyears ago, in a small book called _The Dark Horse_.'
'Ah! Something in the Whyte Melville style, I suppose?'
'No,' said Mr Lawrie sharply. 'No. Certainly not. They were seriouspoems, tragical most of them. I had them collected, and published themat my own expense. Very much at my own expense. I used a pseudonym, Iam thankful to say. As far as I could ascertain, the total saleamounted to eight copies. I have never felt the very slightestinclination to repeat the performance. But how this boy managed to seethe book is more than I can explain. He can hardly have bought it. Theprice was half-a-guinea. And there is certainly no copy in the Schoollibrary. The thing is a mystery.'
'A mystery that must be solved,' said the Headmaster. 'The fact remainsthat he did see the book, and it is very serious. Wholesale plagiarismof this description should be kept for the School magazine. It shouldnot be allowed to spread to poetry prizes. I must see Lorimer aboutthis tomorrow. Perhaps he can throw some light upon the matter.'
When, in the course of morning school next day, the School porterentered the Upper Fifth form-room and informed Mr Sims, who was engagedin trying to drive the beauties of Plautus' colloquial style into theUpper Fifth brain, that the Headmaster wished to see Lorimer, Lorimer'sconscience was so abnormally good that for the life of him he could notthink why he had been sent for. As far as he could remember, there wasno possible way in which the authorities could get at him. If he hadbeen in the habit of smoking out of bounds in lonely fields anddeserted barns, he might have felt uneasy. But whatever his failings,that was not one of them. It could not be anything about bounds,because he had been so busy with cricket that he had had no time tobreak them this term. He walked into the presence, glowing withconscious rectitude. And no sooner was he inside than the Headmaster,with three simple words, took every particle of starch out of hisanatomy.
'Sit down, Lorimer,' he said.
There are many ways of inviting a person to seat himself. The genial'take a pew' of one's equal inspires confidence. The raucous 'sit downin front' of the frenzied pit, when you stand up to get a better viewof the stage, is not so pleasant. But worst of all is the icy 'sitdown' of the annoyed headmaster. In his mouth the words take tothemselves new and sinister meanings. They seem to accuse you ofnameless crimes, and to warn you that anything you may say will be usedagainst you as evidence.
'Why have I sent for you, Lorimer?'
A nasty question that, and a very favourite one of the Rev. Mr Beckett,Headmaster of Beckford. In nine cases out of ten, the person addressed,paralysed with nervousness, would give himself away upon the instant,and confess everything. Lorimer, however, was saved by the fact that hehad nothing to confess. He stifled an inclination to reply 'because thewoodpecker would peck her', or words to that effect, and maintained apallid silence.
'Have you ever heard of a book called _The Dark Horse_, Lorimer?'
Lorimer began to feel that the conversation was too deep for him. Afteropening in the conventional 'judge-then-placed-the-black-cap-on-his-head'manner, his assailant had suddenly begun to babble lightly of sportingliterature. He began to entertain doubts of the Headmaster's sanity. Itwould not have added greatly to his mystification if the Head had goneon to insist that he was the Emperor of Peru, and worked solely byelectricity.
The Headmaster, for his part, was also surprised. He had worked fordismay, conscious guilt, confessions, and the like, instead of blankamazement. He, too, began to have his doubts. Had Mr Lawrie beenmistaken? It was not likely, but it was barely possible. In which casethe interview had better be brought to an abrupt stop until he had madeinquiries. The situation was at a deadlock.
Fortunately at this point half-past twelve struck, and the bell rangfor the end of morning school. The situation was saved, and the tensionrelaxed.
'You may go, Lorimer,' said the Head, 'I will send for you later.'
He swept out of the room, and Lorimer raced over to the House to informPringle that the Headmaster had run suddenly mad, and should by rightsbe equipped with a strait-waistcoat.
'You never saw such a man,' he said, 'hauled me out of school in themiddle of a Plautus lesson, dumps me down in a chair, and then asks meif I've read some weird sporting novel or other.'
'Sporting novel! My dear man!'
'Well, it sounded like it from the title.'
'The title. Oh!'
'What's up?'
Pringle had leaped to his feet as if he had suddenly discovered that hewas sitting on something red-hot. His normal air of superior calm hadvanished. He was breathless with excitement. A sudden idea had struckhim with the force of a bullet.
'What was the title he asked you if you'd read the book of?' hedemanded incoherently.
'_The Derby Winner_.'
Pringle sat down again, relieved.
'Oh. Are you certain?'
'No, of course it wasn't that. I was only ragging. The real title was_The Dark Horse_. Hullo, what's up now? Have you got 'em too?'
'What's up? I'll tell you. We're done for. Absolutely pipped. That'swhat's the matter.'
'Hang it, man, do give us a chance. Why can't you explain, instead ofsitting there talking like that? Why are we done? What have we done,anyway?'
'The poem, of course, the prize poem. I forgot, I never told you. Ihadn't time to write anything of my own, so I cribbed it straight outof a book called _The Dark Horse_. Now do you see?'
Lorimer saw. He grasped the whole unpainted beauty of the situation ina flash, and for some moments it rendered him totally unfit forintellectual conversation. When he did speak his observation was brief,but it teemed with condensed meaning. It was the conversationalparallel to the ox in the tea-cup.
'My aunt!' he said.
'There'll be a row about this,' said Pringle.
'What am I to say when he has me in this afternoon? He said he would.'
'Let the whole thing out. No good trying to hush it up. He may let usdown easy if you're honest about it.'
It relieved Lorimer to hear Pringle talk about 'us'. It meant that hewas not to be left to bear the assault alone. Which, considering thatthe whole trouble was, strictly speaking, Pringle's fault, was onlyjust.
'But how am I to explain? I can't reel off a long yarn all about howyou did it all, and so on. It would be too low.'
'I know,' said Pringle, 'I've got it. Look here, on your way to the OldMan's room you pass the Remove door. Well, when you pass, drop somemoney. I'll be certain to hear it, as I sit next the door. And thenI'll ask to leave the room, and we'll go up together.'
'Good man, Pringle, you're a genius. Thanks, awfully.'
But as it happened, this crafty scheme was not found necessary. Theblow did not fall till after lock-up.
Lorimer being in the Headmaster's House, it was possible to interviewhim without the fuss and advertisement inseparable from a 'sending forduring school'. Just as he was beginning his night-work, the butlercame with a message that he was wanted in the Headmaster's part of theHouse.
'It was only Mr Lorimer as the master wished to see,' said the butler,as Pringle rose to accompany his companion in crime.
'That's all right,' said Pringle, 'the Headmaster's always glad to seeme. I've got a standing invitation. He'll understand.'
At first, when he saw two where he had only sent for one, theHeadmaster did not understand at all, and said so. He had prepared toannihilate Lorimer hip and thigh, for he was now convinced that hisblank astonishment at the mention of _The Dark Horse_ during theirprevious interview had been, in the words of the bard, a mere veneer, awile of guile. Since the morning he had seen Mr Lawrie again, and hadwith his own eyes compared the two poems, the printed and the written,the author by special request having hunted up a copy of that valuablework, _The Dark Horse_, from the depths of a cupboard in hisrooms.
His astonishment melted before Pringle's explanation, which was briefand clear, and gave way to righteous wrath. In well-chosen terms heharangued the two criminals. Finally he perorated.
'There is only one point which tells in your favour. You have notattempted concealment.' (Pringle nudged Lorimer surreptitiously atthis.) 'And I may add that I believe that, as you say, you did notdesire actually to win the prize by underhand means. But I cannotoverlook such an offence. It is serious. Most serious. You will, bothof you, go into extra lesson for the remaining Saturdays of the term.'
Extra lesson meant that instead of taking a half-holiday on Saturdaylike an ordinary law-abiding individual, you treated the day as if itwere a full-school day, and worked from two till four under the eye ofthe Headmaster. Taking into consideration everything, the punishmentwas not an extraordinarily severe one, for there were only two moreSaturdays to the end of term, and the sentence made no mention of theWednesday half-holidays.
But in effect it was serious indeed. It meant that neither Pringle norLorimer would be able to play in the final House match againstLeicester's, which was fixed to begin on the next Saturday at twoo'clock. Among the rules governing the House matches was one to theeffect that no House might start a match with less than eleven men, normight the Eleven be changed during the progress of the match--a ruleframed by the Headmaster, not wholly without an eye to emergencies likethe present.
'Thank goodness,' said Pringle, 'that there aren't any more Firstmatches. It's bad enough, though, by Jove, as it is. I suppose it'soccurred to you that this cuts us out of playing in the final?'
Lorimer said the point had not escaped his notice.
'I wish,' he observed, with simple pathos, 'that I'd got the Rajah ofSeltzerpore here now. I'd strangle him. I wonder if the Old Manrealizes that he's done his own House out of the cup?'
'Wouldn't care if he did. Still, it's a sickening nuisance. Leicester'sare a cert now.'
'Absolute cert,' said Lorimer; 'Baynes can't do all the bowling,especially on a hard wicket, and there's nobody else. As for ourbatting and fielding--'
'Don't,' said-Pringle gloomily, 'it's too awful.'
On the following Saturday, Leicester's ran up a total in their firstinnings which put the issue out of doubt, and finished off the game onthe Monday by beating the School House by six wickets.
A Prefect's Uncle Page 16
