Lord Ormont and his Aminta | Page 2

why did they keep steering
columns to meet? There was no fun in meeting; it would never be
happening every other Sunday, and oftener, by sheer toss-penny
accident. They were moved like pieces for the pleasure of these two.

Sometimes the meeting occurred twice during the stupid march-out,
when it became so nearly vexatious to boys almost biliously oppressed
by the tedium of a day merely allowing them to shove the legs along,
ironically naming it animal excise, that some among them pronounced
the sham variation of monotony to be a bothering nuisance if it was
going to happen every Sunday, though Sunday required diversions.
They hated the absurdity in this meeting and meeting; for they were
obliged to anticipate it, as a part of their ignominious weekly
performance; and they could not avoid reflecting on it, as a thing done
over again: it had them in front and in rear; and it was a kind of
broadside mirror, flashing at them the exact opposite of themselves in
an identically similar situation, that forced a resemblance.
Touching the old game, Cuper's fold was a healthy school, owing to the
good lead of the head boy, Matey Weyburn, a lad with a heart for
games to bring renown, and no thought about girls. His emulation, the
fellows fancied, was for getting the school into a journal of the Sports.
He used to read one sent him by a sporting officer of his name, and talk
enviously of public schools, printed whatever they did--a privilege and
dignity of which, they had unrivalled enjoyment in the past, days, when
wealth was more jealously exclusive; and he was always prompting for
challenges and saving up to pay expenses; and the fellows were to
laugh at kicks and learn the art of self-defence--train to rejoice in
whipcord muscles. The son of a tradesman, if a boy fell under the
imputation, was worthy of honour with him, let the fellow but show
grip and toughness. He loathed a skulker, and his face was known for
any boy who would own to fatigue or confess himself beaten. "Go to
bed," was one of his terrible stings. Matey was good at lessons,
too--liked them; liked Latin and Greek; would help a poor stumbler.
Where he did such good work was in sharpening the fellows to excel.
He kept them to the grindstone, so that they had no time for rusty
brooding; and it was fit done by exhortations off a pedestal, like St.
Paul at the Athenians, it breathed out of him every day of the week. He
carried a light for followers. Whatever he demanded of them, he
himself did it easily. He would say to boys, "You're going to be men,"
meaning something better than women. There was a notion that Matey

despised girls. Consequently, never much esteemed, they were in
disfavour. The old game was mentioned only because of a tradition of
an usher and governess leering sick eyes until they slunk away round a
corner and married, and set up a school for themselves--an emasculate
ending. Comment on it came of a design to show that the whole game
had been examined dismissed as uninteresting and profitless.
One of the boys alluded in Matey's presence to their general view upon
the part played by womankind on the stage, confident of a backing; and
he had it, in a way: their noble chief whisked the subject, as not worth a
discussion; but he turned to a younger chap, who said he detested girls,
and asked him how about a sister at home; and the youngster coloured,
and Matey took him and spun him round, with a friendly tap on the
shoulder.
Odd remarks at intervals caused it to be suspected that he had ideas
concerning girls. They were high as his head above the school; and
there they were left, with Algebra and Homer, for they were not of a
sort to inflame; until the boys noticed how he gave up speaking, and
fell to hard looking, though she was dark enough to get herself named
Browny. In the absence of a fair girl of equal height to set beside her,
Browny shone.
She had a nice mouth, ready for a smile at the corners, or so it was
before Matey let her see that she was his mark. Now she kept her
mouth asleep and her eyes half down, up to the moment of her nearing
to pass, when the girl opened on him, as if lifting her eyelids from sleep
to the window, a full side--look, like a throb, and no disguise--no
slyness or boldness either, not a bit of languishing. You might think her
heart came quietly out.
The look was like the fall of light on the hills from the first of morning.