Works of E F Benson

by E. F. Benson

  “Well?” he said at length.

  “I could tell you heaps of stories like that,” said David, wiping his eyes. “Another time it was Crossley who told a fellow to write out fifty lines. So he wrote out ‘Fifty lines,’ just like that, on a sheet of paper, and showed it up. Fancy doing that to Frank, or Crookles! Why, you couldn’t! And then Crossley told him to write them out twice. So he took another bit of paper and wrote ‘Them out twice’ on it. And then Crossley said he would cane him, so Jevons — Lord, there’s another name; please forget it, sir — Jevons came and appealed. Precious lot of good that did him, for the Court were satisfied that he’d deserved his fifty lines, and so I gave him six frightful stingers myself, as I knew Crossley wasn’t fit to, for cheek to a prefect. And yet you and Manton say I’m undermining discipline, sir,” added David in a voice of outraged virtue. “Why, we ‘re enforcing it. Jev had to write out his hundred lines, and got a whacking too. Though the Court of Appeal can reverse a prefect’s decision, it also may enforce it, and then the — the appellant gets it twice as hot for having appealed. Same as in English law, sir.”

  “This is all rather news to me,” remarked Adams.

  “Well, sir, something had to be done,” said David, “or the whole house would have gone to pot. Why, the fags might have taken it into their heads to cheek fifth form next when they’d finished with the sixth, and there would have been trouble. You see, most of the big fellows in the house are in the fifth. That’s the way the Court of Appeal started.”

  “Go on, “ said Adams.

  “Well, the next thing was — oh, I must tell you this — one night a couple of juniors made an apple-pie bed for Gregson. Awful cheek! So naturally he whacked them soundly and formally, and they went to Manton, and told him that Gregson had been whacking them. So round comes Manton and tells Gregson, before the whole dormitory, and him captain of football, that he’s no right to, as he wasn’t a prefect. And of course Gregson said he’d heard that a little before Manton had caned Crossley (that was the Babbington affair) and that he hadn’t any right to cane a prefect. That’s the sort of thing that went on all the first weeks of this half, sir; there’d have been a regular revolution unless we’d done something. And so I say that the Court of Appeal is more to support authority than the other way about.”

  “Well, now we’ll take the other way about,” said Adams. “I mean I want to know about the cases in which you upset the prefect’s authority.”

  David thought for a moment.

  “Well, sir, those two, Manton and Crossley, did all sorts of things we’re not accustomed to have prefects doing,” he said. “When they went the round of the studies during preparation to see that we were working, they used to put on slippers and open the door quick to try and catch you doing nothing; and of course they often did. Well, that’s not playing the game, sir. Frank always came clumping along, and he always tapped at your door. It was just the same when they went the rounds of dormitories after lights were out. Slippers! You don’t do any good by spying, you know; you won’t stop fellows ragging or — or anything else, that sort of way. It only means that two can play at that game, and if you want to do anything of the kind that you shouldn’t, you just put a sentinel at the door. Spying just encourages fellows to break rules. Smoking, too.”

  “Well, smoking?” said Adams.

  “Crossley suspected a certain fellow of smoking, and one day, when he was out, he went and looked in his table drawer and found a pipe there. Now, sir, that sort of thing’s all rot. He wanted to whack him for it, and the fellow appealed. So naturally we gave it in his favour when it came out that Crossley had looked in his private drawer. You wouldn’t dream of doing it yourself, sir. Naturally not. So of course we reversed Crossley’s sentence, and wouldn’t let him be whacked.”

  “Did you three appoint yourself the Court!” asked Adams.

  “Yes. I suppose it was about that. We were all pals, you see, sir, and the rest of the house seemed satisfied that we’d take a fairish view of things, and so about a month ago, after we’d settled that something must be done, we just let every one know that they could appeal against any impôt or caning that those two, Manton and Crossley, proposed to give, and we would decide. But then, you see, sir, if any one appeals, as I said, and the Court upholds the prefect, he gets it twice as hot.

  Hundred lines instead of fifty, etcetera. We’ve written it all out in a book, ‘Constitution of the Court of Appeal,’ so as to have it regular, and in case we forgot.”

  “Good gracious, it’s a constitution, is it?” asked Adams.

  David became slightly dignified.

  “Yes, we thought it better to put it on an orderly footing, sir,” he said, “and have everything regular, so that we shouldn’t contradict ourselves, and do one thing one time and another another. Also the fellows know what to expect. And, what’s more, we see that the impots are properly done if we confirm them. Canings, too. Why, one day Crossley caned a fellow” — David began to bubble with laughter again— “and he pretended to go to sleep and snore, and when Crossley told him it was all over, he pretended to awake, and said, ‘Hullo, morning already?’ Why, it’s a farce, sir; it’s sheer childish! What’s the use of caning a fellow if you don’t jolly well hurt him? So we took that out of the prefects’ hands and the impots get properly written, and fellows get properly whacked, if it’s a whacking. I don’t say it increases the respect in which the house holds those two little fellows at the top, but surely it’s better to have some authority than none!”

  Adams thought over this for a while. The Head had apparently been given to understand by Manton that the authority of the two prefects had been wrenched out of their hands by these large, athletic upstarts of the fifth form, and that in consequence anarchy prevailed, and the house had become a sort of Medmenham Abbey. But David’s account had put a perfectly different aspect on the affair, and one that was eminently reasonable. Adams was a fair-minded man, and, putting aside altogether the fact that he delighted in David and disliked Manton, he believed that David’s version was the true one. It had always been his plan to let the house look after its own affairs as far as possible; he gave it home rule, in fact, and certainly the transfer of government to the fifth form (though highly irregular and in defiance of school-rules) he believed to have been distinctly for the good of the nation. Again (a thing which bore out this view), the first weeks of the half had been full of trouble and worry; small boys were for ever appealing to him against the prefects, and prefects were as constantly invoking his authority to endorse their own lack of it. Then, about a month ago, all these disturbances had ceased, and Adams, with his habitual optimism, had supposed that the house had shaken down together now. But in the light of all this, it seemed far more reasonable to suppose that the remedy had been brought about by this brigandage of authority. Certainly the restoration of peace and quiet was coincident with the establishment of this impertinent Court of Appeal, which would have to come to an end as a recognised institution. But during its existence it seemed to have been effective.

  “Do you reverse many of the prefects’ rulings?” asked Adams.

  “Oh no, sir, not now,” said David, anxious to do such justice as could be done to those two impotent figureheads. “You see, neither of them liked their silly rulings reversed, and they’ve become much more sensible. But you simply can’t have a prefect looking in your study when you’re out, and wanting to cane you because he finds a pipe there. Fancy Frank or Cruikshank doing a scruggish, low-down trick like that!”

  “You seem rather fond of that instance,” said Adams.

  “Yes sir, because it’s so jolly typical,” said David.

  Adams got up.

  “I’m considering what to say to the Head,” he remarked. “I shall certainly tell him there’s another side to the question, besides Manton’s.”

  “Oh, ripping!” said David cordially. “I felt sure you’d see it.”

  “I suppose you enjoyed the Court of Appea
l a good deal?” he asked.

  “Rather, sir, “ said David. “I should think we did. Wish you could have heard one of the trials, with us three on the bench, and Manton as defendant, and some junior as plaintiff. You see, sir, Manton and Crossley consented to it all; that’s another point in our favour, isn’t it? Gregson planned all the ritual, because his pater’s a real judge in Appeal Courts, and we call each other ‘My learned brother Crabtree’ or ‘Blaize,’ for of course there are no nicknames or Christian names in Court. It’s all quite serious; there’s no rag about it. We were thinking of appointing a permanent counsel to plead for plaintiffs—”

  Adams laughed.

  “David, you don’t suppose that the Court of Appeal is going to be allowed to remain in existence?” he asked.

  “That’s as you wish, sir, “ he said. “But—”

  “Well?” asked Adams.

  “Nothing sir. I was only thinking that there’ll be rather rows again.”

  “I hope not,” said Adams. “That’s exactly what you and fellows like you have got to prevent.”

  “But how can we if you’re going to stop it!” asked David.

  “In hundreds of ways: by backing the prefects up without over-riding them. You’re sensible enough to know that.”

  David considered this.

  “Is the Head sick about it, sir?” he asked. “He’s never sick about anything till he’s in full possession of the facts. He was prepared to be uncommonly sick, when he had only heard the other side. In fact, he said something about giving you another lesson with regard to obeying authorities. But after what you’ve told me I don’t think you need be alarmed.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” said David. “Of course he’ll see there’s another side to it, same as you’ve done. Something had to happen when we got Manton and Crossley instead of Frank and Cruikshank.” At this moment a small and completely soaked boy burst into the room, not seeing Adams, who was sitting behind the door, but only David.

  “Letter for you, Blaize,” he said. “Oh, and I want to appeal. Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you.”

  “You do now, Jevons,” said Adams. “So go on, tell Blaize what the appeal’s about.”

  “Well, sir, somebody put my sponge on the top of Manton’s door, made a booby-trap, and because it’s my sponge he says I’m responsible unless I find out who put it there.”

  Adams nodded to David.

  “Go on, learned brother Blaize,” he said. “Notice in writing, Jev,” he said.

  He had seen the handwriting of his letter, and tore it open.

  “Oh, I say, how ripping!” he said. “Frank’s mother’s ill, and is ordered out of England for Christmas — at least, it’s beastly that she’s ill — but Frank wants to know if he can stay with us for a week. I say, Jev, you’re awfully wet, aren’t you? I mean, you couldn’t get much wetter, so I wonder if you’d take a tellywag just down to the office.”

  “Rather. And I’ll put my appeal in your study, shall I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. I’ll be back in a second if you’ll have your tellywag ready.”

  “Is the telegram to Frank saying he can come? “ asked Adams.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then hadn’t you better write to your father first? It might not be convenient.”

  The impulsive David had already written “Ripping: stay as long as you can, “ but he paused.

  “Oh well, I suppose it would be best, sir,” he said; “I wish you hadn’t thought of it.”

  David got up to go to his study, and write the note which was so far outstripped by his desire.

  “And may I talk to Bags and Plugs about the Court of Appeal, sir?” he said.

  “Certainly. You can talk it over with Manton, too, if you like. In fact, I rather recommend it.”

  Adams’s recommendation seemed to be rather sensible when David thought over it, though not perhaps strictly in accordance with Adams’s idea in suggesting it. It would give the Court an opportunity perhaps of finding out what Manton had said to the Head, and, should Manton not choose to tell them, it was easy to threaten, as a counter-move, that the Court, when called upon, as it undoubtedly would be, to appear before the Head, would give a highly coloured account, strictly based upon facts, of what had led to its formation. Also they could put before Manton and Crossley a very depressing picture of what their position would be if the Court was dissolved, and, privately, chose not to back up their restored authority. It required but small imagination to picture the status of those two unfortunate prefects if they had to enforce discipline in the house without the support of what had been the Court.

  Bags and Gregson had just come in from their run, and Gregson, being in his bath and in the superior position of having no clothes on, could take reprisals by water on David’s having refused to go out. David, in fact, had to dodge a soaking sponge thrown at him, before he had time to begin to explain.

  “Oh, pax a minute,” he said. “There’s a damned — an awful serious thing happened, Plugs. The Head knows all about the Court of Appeal, and it’s goin’ to be gone into.”

  “Rot,” said Gregson, filling his sponge again. “Now who wouldn’t go out for a sweat, David?”

  “’Tisn’t rot,” shrieked David, snatching up a towel to shield himself. “I swear it isn’t. While you brutes have been having an innocent happy sweat along the road this nice weather, I’ve been jawed by Adams. It’s a solid fact. We’re all going to be hauled up before the Head, and he was disposed to be uncommonly sick about it, so Adams said. Do shut up being funny with sponges.”

  “Right oh,” said Plugs, “if you swear you’re not lying.”

  “Swear!” said David. “Hurry up and dress, and come to my study, because you and I and Bags have to talk. It’s — it’s a welter of politics.” The Court accordingly met in about ten minutes’ time in David’s study, where he had made tea for them, and where, on the table, lay Jevons’s appeal. He laid before the other two all his talk with Adams, reproducing it with laudable accuracy.

  “And as it’s a dead cert that we shall appear before the Head,” he finished up, “we’ve got to agree exactly what we say. We mustn’t give different accounts of it.”

  Bags caressed what he hoped was going to be a moustache.

  “Of course not,” he said. “We’ve just got to say what’s happened. Truth, whole truth, and nothing but.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean we were to make things up,” said David, “but the only question is, how much we tell the Head. I vote for a conference — Adams suggested it — with Manton and Crossley, and see if we can’t let each other down easily.”

  “Compromise out of Court?” suggested Plugs. “Yes: something of the kind. We can give them away hopelessly by saying how inefficient they were, and they can give us away, by saying that we have undermined the prefects’ authority. Don ‘t you see? It might all be toned down a bit.”

  “That’s no use,” said Bags, “if Manton’s given us away already.”

  “But that’s just what we don’t know,” said David. “I vote we try to get Manton to tell us what he told the Head. He may not have told him much; he may have said it was an amicable sort of arrangement. On the other hand, he may have told him that our object was to undermine prefects’ authority. Well, as I told Adams, there’s another side to that; we generally supported it, except when it was manifestly unfair. I want to know what Manton told him. That we have put ourselves above the prefects is true, but we did it in the cause of order, though of course we all enjoyed it frightfully.”

  “And the house accepted us,” said Bags.

  “Lot the Head will care for that! I want to get Manton and Crossley to come and talk. Crossley doesn’t matter, but Manton anyhow, as he’s already seen the Head. You see, when the Head has us up, we can tell him a lot if we choose. He’ll ask us for our account of it. Manton’ll see that. He isn’t a fool, though he is such a squirt.”

  With Plugs as well as Bags, David was the master-mind, and
after a few minutes Bags went to Manton’s study, and quite politely asked him to come round and confer with the Court.

  Manton rather liked this: he promised himself a pleasant time in telling the Court that the Head was going into the whole matter himself, and that he had nothing more to do with it. He was prepared to be maliciously civil and courteous, and to express his regret the Court had made such an ass of itself as its spontaneous generation implied. He thought it would be rather fun, and came very blandly, with his spectacles on, and a book that he was reading. His finger kept his place in a cursory manner.

  “Here I am,” he said. “Hullo, Blaize! Hullo, Gregson! Yes; the Court of Appeal. It wasn’t I who went to the Head about it, you know; it was that little fellow, Blaize’s friend, who let it out. What’s his name? I forget.”

  “Oh, Jevons,” said David.

  “Yes, Jevons told the Head about it, and so of course the Head asked me more. He put it rather nicely: he said it was my business to tell him about it, as head of the house.”

  David was seated between his two learned brothers, just as if a regular Court was going on.

  “Oh, we know about Jevons,” he said. “We can leave Jevons out.”

  “Waive!” said Plugs formally.

  “Yes, we can waive Jevons,” said David, “as my learned brother suggests—”

  Manton gave a little cackle of laughter.

  “I shouldn’t wonder if you had to waive everything,” he observed pleasantly.

  “Oh, we’re not going to waive you just yet, if you count for anything,” retorted David. “But perhaps you don’t count for much.”

  Bags suddenly laughed in a hoarse manner.

  “I beg pardon, brother Blaize,” he said.

  “Right oh, brother Crabtree, but just contain yourself. Well, Manton, you’ve been to the Head with your version, and next we go to the Head with ours. We can make it pretty sultry for you if we choose, and we shouldn’t mind doing it a bit. But it all depends on what you have told the Head. That’s what we should like to know.”