The Loom of Youth | Page 8

of an unknown fear. Only twenty-four hours ago he had been
at breakfast with his father and mother in his home at Hampstead. It

seemed years ago. Here he was face to face with horrible, unexplained
things. The suspense grew unbearable. He was sure he heard someone
moving next door; the others were getting up; he would be late his first
day. What a start! But just as he was visioning the most dire
punishments, James, an insignificant person of one term's standing,
slowly pushed back the bed-clothes, picked up a towel and lethargically
moved towards the door. Gordon jumped up, happy at last, and made
for the huge new bathroom. It had an iron floor, sloped so as to allow
water to drain off easily, and contained six small baths and showers
fixed above them. The room was practically empty. He was glad of this;
he did not want to have a shower with a lot of people looking on. The
water was very cold--he was used to a tepid bath; but by the time he
had begun to dry, the place was full of boys all shouting at once. No
one is more loud or insistent than he who has just ceased to be labelled
new. He likes everyone to know how important he is, how free and how
unfettered by rules, and the best way to this end is to shout and curse
everything. The room was filled with shouts of "Good God! are we
expected to get clean in babies' tubs?" "What a fool the Chief is." "Oh,
damn your eyes, that's my towel." "No, there's yours, you blasted
idiot." Gordon was immensely shocked at the language. He had come
from a preparatory school run by a master with strong views on
swearing, and for that matter on everything. He had been kept
thoroughly in order. He got out of the bathroom as quickly as possible
and made for his dormitory. It did not take long to dress. There was
indeed very little time, and as the half-hour struck, he was carried down
in the throng to the dining-hall.
Breakfast is always rather a scramble, and nowhere more so than at a
Public School. The usual Fernhurst breakfast lasted about ten minutes.
Hardly anyone spoke, only the ring of forks on plates was heard and an
occasional shout of "Tea" from the Sixth Form table. They alone could
shout at meals, the others had to catch the servant's eye. To-day,
however, there was a good deal of conversation. Those who had come
by the last train had not seen all their friends the night before. There
was much shaking of hands. In the middle a loud voice from the head
of the Sixth Form table shouted out: "Silence! I want to see all new
boys in my study at nine o'clock." It was Clarke, the head of the House,

who spoke. He was tall, with pince-nez, one of those brilliant scholars
who are too brilliant to get scholarships. He was a fanatic in many ways,
a militarist essentially, a firebrand always. There was bound to be
trouble during his reign. He could never let anything alone. He was a
great fighter.
Gordon looked up with immense awe. Clarke looked so powerful, so
tremendous; even Lovelace himself was not much greater. He
wondered vaguely what would be said to them.
And indeed Clarke was even more imposing in his own study. The
back of the room sloped down into a low alcove in which hung strange
Egyptian curtains. The walls were decorated with a few Pre-Raphaelite
photogravures. Behind the door was a pile of cases. Clarke sat with his
back to the window.
"Now you are all quite new to school life," he began, "entirely ignorant
of its perils and dangers, and you are now making the only beginning
you can ever make. You start with clean, fresh reputations. I don't
know how long you will remain so, but you must remember that you
are members of the finest house in Fernhurst. Last year we had the two
finest athletes, Wincheston and Lovelace, who played cricket for
Leicestershire, and is now captain of the House. We had also the two
finest scholars, Scott and Pembroke, both of whom won scholarships.
Now we can't all be county cricketers, we can't all win scholarships, but
we can all work to one end with an unfailing energy. You will find
prefects here who will beat you if you play the ass. Well, I don't mind
ragging much and it is no disgrace to be caned for that. But it is a
disgrace to be beaten for slacking either at games or work. It shows that
you are an unworthy member of the House. Now I want all of you to
try. Some