The Loom of Youth | Page 5

did not dare to go out of the sight of the
Abbey for fear of getting lost. When he returned to the House the court
was loud with shouts and laughter. Everyone had something to do.
There was the luggage to fetch from the day-room. The town porter,
known generally as Slimy Tim, was waiting to be tipped. Health

certificates had to be produced. There was a sporting chance of finding
in Merriman's second-hand bookshop--out of bounds during
term-time--an English version of Vergil and Xenophon. There were a
hundred things to do for everyone except Gordon. There were several
other new boys, doubtless, to be found among this unending stream of
bowler hats. But he saw no way of discovering them. He did, it is true,
make one attempt. Very bravely he walked up to a rather bored
individual who was leaning against the door that led into the studies
and asked him if he was a new boy. His reception was not friendly. The
person in question was Sandham of the Lower Sixth, who had been
made a house prefect and was very conscious of it, and who was also
well aware of the fact that he was not very tall. His friends called him
"The Cockroach"; and Gordon was told politely to go elsewhere. He
did not, however, go where he was told, but sauntered sadly down to
the matron's room, only to find it full of people all with some complaint.
Some had lost their keys, others were furious that their people should
have been charged for biscuits and sultana cake that they had never had,
but the greater part were wanting to know why the old bathroom had
been turned into a study for the Chief's secretary, while they had been
given in exchange a lot of small zinc hip-baths. To the smaller
members of the House this change was rather popular. On the days
when there were only four baths among eighty, it did not matter very
much to them how large they were, if they were always occupied by the
bloods, while however small the new baths might be, there were
sufficient to go round. The bloods did not look on the matter in this
light.
Gordon walked from room to room utterly miserable. Nobody took the
slightest notice of him, only one person asked his name, and that was a
small person of one term's standing who wanted to show that he was a
power in the land. At last, however, the old cracked bell rang out for
supper, and very thankfully he took his place among the new boys at
the bottom of the day-room table. Evening prayers in the School House
had once been rather a festive occasion, and a hymn chosen by the head
of the House was sung every night. It had been the custom to choose a
hymn with some topical allusion. For instance, on the evening when the
House tutor had given a hundred lines to every member of the

day-room for disturbing a masters' meeting, by playing cricket next
door, they chose Fierce raged the Tempest o'er the Deep; and on one
occasion when an unpopular prefect had been unexpectedly expelled
the House was soothed with the strains of Peace, Perfect Peace. But
those days were over. A new headmaster had come with an ear for
music, and the riot of melody that surged from the V. A table seemed to
him not only blasphemous, but also inartistic. And so hymn-singing
stopped, and only a few prayers were read instead.
On this particular evening the Chief was in high spirits. It was
characteristic of his indomitable kindliness and optimism that, though
he ended every term in a state of exhaustion, having strained his energy
and endurance to the breaking-point, he invariably began the new term
in a spirit of geniality and hope. It was not till years later that Gordon
came to understand the depth of unselfish idealism that burned behind
the quiet modesty of the Chief; but even at first sight the least
impressionable boy was conscious of being under the influence of an
unusual personality. There was nothing of the theatrical pedagogue
about him; he surrounded himself with no trappings of a proud
authority. His voice was gentle and persuasive; his smile as winning
almost as a child's. The little speech with which he welcomed the House
back, and a passing allusion, half humorous, half appealing, to the
changes in the bath-rooms were perhaps too homely to impress the
imagination of the average inhuman boy. But they were the sincere
expression of the man--an idealist, with an unfailing faith in human
nature, founded in an even deeper faith in Christianity.
When he had gone, Gordon ventured to look round at the sea of faces.
On a