Follow My Leader | Page 9

Mr Ashford that they were not to blame for what had
occurred.
"I am less concerned," said he, "about the damage done to the
waggonette than I am to think I cannot trust you as fully as I ought to
be able to trust my head boys. I hope during the week or two that
remains of this term you will try to win back the confidence you have
lost. I must, in justice to my other boys, punish you. Under the
circumstances, I shall not cane you, but till the end of the term you
must each of you lose your hour's play between twelve and one."
Mr Ashford paused. Perhaps he expected an outburst of gratitude.
Perhaps he didn't exactly know what to say next. In either case, he
found he had made a mistake.
The boys, with an instinct not, certainly, of self-righteousness, but of
common justice, felt that they had had punishment enough already for
their sin. Mr Ashford took no account of those few seconds when the
waggonette was dashing through the gate and reeling to its fall. He
reckoned as nothing the weary jolt home, the indignity of that supper
last night, and the suspense of that early morning. He made no
allowance for an absence of malice in what they had done, and gave
them no credit--although, indeed, neither did they give themselves
credit-- for the regret and straightforwardness with which they had
confessed it. He proposed to treat them, the head boys of Mountjoy, as
common delinquents, and punish them as he would punish a cheat, or a
bully, or mutineer.
It wasn't fair--they knew it; and if Ashford didn't know it, too--well, he
ought.
"We'd rather be caned, sir," said Richardson, speaking for all three.

Mr Ashford regarded the speaker with sharp surprise.
"Richardson, kindly remember I am the best judge of what punishment
you deserve."
"It's not fair to keep us in all the term," said Dick, his cheeks mounting
colour with the desperateness of his boldness.
Mr Ashford changed colour, too, but his cheeks turned pale.
"Leave my sight, sir, instantly! How do you dare to use language like
that to me!"
Fortunately for the dignity, as well as for the comfort, of the three boys,
Dick made no attempt to prolong the argument. He turned and left the
room, followed by his two faithful henchmen, little imagining that, if
any one had scored in this unsatisfactory interview, he had.
Don't let the reader imagine that any mystical glory belongs to the
schoolboy who happens to "score one" off his master. If he does it
consciously, the chances are he is a snob for doing it. If he does it
unconsciously, as Dick did here, then the misfortune of the master by
no means means the bliss of the boy.
Dick felt anything but blissful as he stalked moodily to the schoolroom
that morning and growled his injuries to his allies.
But Mr Ashford, as soon as his first burst of temper had evaporated,
like an honest, sensible man, sat down and reviewed the situation; and
it occurred to him, on reviewing it, that he had made a mistake. It was,
of course, extremely painful and humiliating to have to acknowledge it;
but, once acknowledged, it would have been far more humiliating to
Mr Ashford's sense of honour to persist in it.
He summoned the boys once more to his presence, and they trooped in
like three prisoners brought up on remand to hear their final sentence.
The master's mouth twitched nervously, and he half repented of the

ordeal he had set before himself.
"You said just now, Richardson, that the punishment I proposed to
inflict on you was not fair?"
"Yes, sir, we think so," replied Dick, simply.
"I think so, too," said Mr Ashford, equally simply, "and I shall say no
more about it. Now you can go."
The boys gaped at him in mingled admiration and bewilderment.
"You can go," repeated the master.
Richardson took a hasty survey of his companions' countenances, and
said--
"Will you cane us instead, please sir?"
"No, Richardson, that would not be fair either."
Richardson made one more effort.
"Please, sir, we think we deserve something."
"People don't always get their deserts in this world, my boy," said the
master, with a smile. "Now please go when I tell you."
Mr Ashford rallied three waverers to his standard that morning. They
didn't profess to understand the meaning of it all, but they could see
that the master had sacrificed something to do them justice, and with
the native chivalry of boys, they made his cause theirs, and did all they
could to cover his retreat.
Two days later, a letter by the post was brought in to Mr Ashford in the
middle of