The Hill | Page 7

Within five minutes Rutford reappeared. He stood in the doorway, glaring.
"Just now, Duff," said he, "I happened to overhear your voice, which is singularly, I may say vulgarly, penetrating. You were speaking of me, your house-master, as 'Dick.' But you used an adjective before it. What was it?"
Duff writhed. "I don't--remember."
"Oh yes, you do. Why lie, Duff?"
John's brown face grew pale.
"The adjective you used," continued Rutford, "was 'dirty.' You spoke of me as 'Dirty Dick,' and I fancy I caught the word 'beast.' You will write out, if you please, one hundred Greek lines, accents and stops, and bring them to me, or leave them with Dumbleton, twenty-five lines at a time, every alternate half hour during the afternoon of the next half holiday. Good night to you."
"Good night, sir," said all the boys, save John and Scaife.
"Good night, Verney."
Master and pupil confronted each other. John's face looked impassive; and Rutford turned from the new boy to Scaife.
"Good night, Scaife."
Scaife drew himself up, and, in a quiet, cool voice, replied--
"Good night, sir."
Duff waited till Rutford's heavy step was no longer heard; then he rushed at John.
"I say," he spluttered, "you're a good sort--ain't he, Demon? Refusing to say 'Good night' to the beast because he was ragging me. But he'll never forgive you--never!"
"Oh yes, he will," said Scaife. "It won't be difficult for Dirty Dick to forgive the future Verney of Verney Boscobel."
John stared. "Verney Boscobel?" he repeated. "Why, that belongs to my uncle. Mother and I hope he'll marry and have a lot of jolly kids of his own."
"You hope he'll marry? Well, I'm----"
John's jaw stuck out. The emphasis on the "hope" and the upraised eyebrow smote hard.
"You don't mean to say," he began hotly, "you don't think that----"
"I can think what I please," said Scaife, curtly; "and so can you." He laughed derisively. "Thinking what they please is about the only liberty allowed to new boys. Even the Duffer learned to hold his tongue during his first term."
The Caterpillar--the tall, thin, aristocratic boy--spoke solemnly. He was a dandy, the understudy--as John soon discovered--of one of the "Bloods;" a "Junior Blood," or "Would-be," a tremendous authority on "swagger," a stickler for tradition, who had been nearly three years in the school.
"The Demon is right," said he. "A new boy can't be too careful, Verney. Your being funny in hall just now made a dev'lish bad impression."
"But I didn't mean to be funny. I told Lawrence so directly after call-over."
The Caterpillar pulled down his cuffs.
"If you didn't mean to be funny," he concluded, "you must be an ass."
Duff, however, remembered that John was nephew to an explorer.
"I say," he jogged John's elbow, "do you think you could get me your uncle's autograph?"
"Why, of course," said John.
"Thanks. I've not a bad collection," the Duffer murmured modestly.
"And the gem of it," said Scaife, "is Billington's, the hangman! The Duffer shivers whenever he looks at it."
"Yes, I do," said Duff, grinning horribly.
After supper and Prayers, John went to bed, but not to sleep for at least an hour. He lay awake, thinking over the events of this memorable day. Whenever he closed his eyes he beheld two objects: the spire of Harrow Church and the vivid laughing face of Desmond. He told himself that he liked Desmond most awfully. And Scaife too, the Demon, had been kind. But somehow John did not like Scaife. Then, in a curious half-dreamy condition, not yet asleep and assuredly not quite awake, he seemed to see the figure of Scaife expanding, assuming terrific proportions, Impending over Desmond, standing between him and the spire, obscuring part of the spire at first, and then, bit by bit, overshadowing the whole.

[1] Byron, writing to John Murray, May 26, 1822, and giving directions for the burial of poor little Allegra's body, says--
"I wish it to be buried in Harrow Church. There is a spot in the churchyard, near the footpath, on the brow of the hill looking towards Windsor, and a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie, or Peachey), where I used to sit for hours and hours as a boy: this was my favourite spot; but, as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body had better be deposited in the church."
See also "Lines written beneath an elm in the churchyard of Harrow," in "Hours of Idleness."
[2] "Speecher"--i.e. Speech-Day. At Harrow "er" is a favourite termination of many substantives. "Harder," for hardball racquets, "Footer," "Ducker," etc.
[3] The Duke of Dorset was Byron's fag. Cf.-- "Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Bade thee obey, and gave me to command." Hours of Idleness
CHAPTER II
CAESAR
"You come here where your brothers came, To the old school years ago, A young new face, and a Harrow name, 'Mid a crowd of strangers? No! You may not