The Door in the Wall and Other Stories | Page 8

didn't check me. I ran past tugging out
my watch, found I had ten minutes still to spare, and then I was going
downhill into familiar surroundings. I got to school, breathless, it is true,
and wet with perspiration, but in time. I can remember hanging up my
coat and hat . . . Went right by it and left it behind me. Odd, eh?"
He looked at me thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't know then that it
wouldn't always be there. School boys have limited imaginations. I
suppose I thought it was an awfully jolly thing to have it there, to know
my way back to it, but there was the school tugging at me. I expect I
was a good deal distraught and inattentive that morning, recalling what
I could of the beautiful strange people I should presently see again.

Oddly enough I had no doubt in my mind that they would be glad to
see me . . . Yes, I must have thought of the garden that morning just as
a jolly sort of place to which one might resort in the interludes of a
strenuous scholastic career.
"I didn't go that day at all. The next day was a half holiday, and that
may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state of inattention
brought down impositions upon me and docked the margin of time
necessary for the detour. I don't know. What I do know is that in the
meantime the enchanted garden was so much upon my mind that I
could not keep it to myself.
"I told--What was his name?--a ferrety-looking youngster we used to
call Squiff."
"Young Hopkins," said I.
"Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling that in some
way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did. He was walking part
of the way home with me; he was talkative, and if we had not talked
about the enchanted garden we should have talked of something else,
and it was intolerable to me to think about any other subject. So I
blabbed.
"Well, he told my secret. The next day in the play interval I found
myself surrounded by half a dozen bigger boys, half teasing and wholly
curious to hear more of the enchanted garden. There was that big
Fawcett--you remember him?--and Carnaby and Morley Reynolds. You
weren't there by any chance? No, I think I should have remembered if
you were . . . . .
"A boy is a creature of odd feelings. I was, I really believe, in spite of
my secret self-disgust, a little flattered to have the attention of these big
fellows. I remember particularly a moment of pleasure caused by the
praise of Crawshaw--you remember Crawshaw major, the son of
Crawshaw the composer?--who said it was the best lie he had ever
heard. But at the same time there was a really painful undertow of
shame at telling what I felt was indeed a sacred secret. That beast
Fawcett made a joke about the girl in green--."
Wallace's voice sank with the keen memory of that shame. "I pretended
not to hear," he said. "Well, then Carnaby suddenly called me a young
liar and disputed with me when I said the thing was true. I said I knew
where to find the green door, could lead them all there in ten minutes.

Carnaby became outrageously virtuous, and said I'd have to--and bear
out my words or suffer. Did you ever have Carnaby twist your arm?
Then perhaps you'll understand how it went with me. I swore my story
was true. There was nobody in the school then to save a chap from
Carnaby though Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his
game. I grew excited and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved
altogether like a silly little chap, and the outcome of it all was that
instead of starting alone for my enchanted garden, I led the way
presently--cheeks flushed, ears hot, eyes smarting, and my soul one
burning misery and shame--for a party of six mocking, curious and
threatening school-fellows.
"We never found the white wall and the green door . . ."
"You mean?--"
"I mean I couldn't find it. I would have found it if I could.
"And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn't find it. I never found
it. I seem now to have been always looking for it through my
school-boy days, but I've never come upon it again."
"Did the fellows--make it disagreeable?"
"Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton lying. I
remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the marks of my
blubbering. But when I cried myself to sleep at last