The Romance of a Pro-Consul | Page 9

for Oxford or Cambridge, and afterwards
for a learned profession. His real nature, as modelled chiefly by his
mother, was in the direction of public service, with, he hoped, some stir
in it. The escape from the school he always related, as if the pages of
Robert Louis Stevenson were open in his hand at the flight of Alan
Breck among the heather.
'I was determined to get home and tell my folks what I wanted to do.
Moreover, the walled playgrounds, the being shut in from nature, the
walking in line at exercise--these things were insupportable to me. It
was like keeping a boy's spirit and imagination in prison, instead of
allowing them free communion with the world around. Farther, I was
angry at boys having been put over me, for their knowledge of classics,
who were perfectly ignorant of the higher branches of knowledge at
which I had been working. "Clever but idle" was usually the character I
got at school. They didn't understand me, for I studied one subject
while they wanted to test me by others.
'Well, accompanied by a boy friend, I climbed over the wall of the
school at Guildford, and made for home. My step-father's place was at
Bodiam, about twelve miles from Hastings, and between Bodiam and
my London relatives I had lived before going to Guildford. But at this

time, if my memory does not mislead me, the family were at
Eastbourne. In that case my destination would have been Eastbourne,
and I know the route taken was by Brighton. We had left as darkness
was falling, and I'm afraid we hadn't much money for the journey. That
scarcely mattered, however, since we were walking, therefore having
no outlay unless for food. We slept a night under the cliffs at Brighton,
and I don't doubt we slept very soundly. Boys do, anywhere. People
were kind to us, and when asked, we made no secret of the fact that we
were fleeing from school.
'It had been arranged, between my companion and myself, that I should
take him into our house. At Eastbourne, which we reached sorely tired,
our insurgent spirits somewhat calmed, we had quite a lively reception.
There appeared to be, on the part of the younger members of the family,
a fear lest we should be instantly executed. Nothing so dreadful
happened. The other boy was put into communication with his friends,
and I had a long holiday. By and by, under the charge of a friend, I
returned to Guildford to make explanation and excuse. That done, I
went visiting more relations at Cheltenham--I had a lot altogether, you
see!--and there I was brought under the influence of Whately, later the
renowned Archbishop of Dublin.'
The boyish spirit kept alive in Sir George, and in that respect he had a
surpassing encounter. He spent holiday hours in the Natural History
Museum at South Kensington, near which he resided after leaving St.
James's. There was hardly an animal, or bird, that he could not instruct
you upon; but his delight was to watch the streams of happy visitors.
As he sat thus of an afternoon, half a dozen boys gathered round a
specimen from animal-land placed near by.
Boys have few doubts, but these lads had theirs as to the identity of the
beast. They noticed Sir George, and a delegate approached him with the
request, 'Please, sir, can you tell us the name of this creature?' He
turned in the direction indicated, and found, strangely enough, that the
specimen was one which he had sent home from the far south, during
his naturalist's work there. He named it, and the lad followed up,
'Where did it come from?'; getting the answer.

Next, 'Who killed it?' A pucker gathered upon Sir George's face, and he
hesitated, arguing with himself, 'If I tell them, they'll think me an
impostor, and even discount the information I have given them.'
But the inquisitor waited, and Sir George could do no better than
'Frankly, you know, I believe I killed it myself.'
'Here, you fellows!' the merry voice rang out; 'he says he killed the
beast! Did you ever?'
The other boys left the animal to stare at what they felt to be a greater
curiosity.
'Oh, yes,' Sir George addressed them, as they formed a half-circle
before him, 'what I have told you is quite true. But if you will listen, I'll
relate the whole story, and then you can decide for yourselves.'
He began the tale, the amused incredulity of the boys quickly vanished,
and he never had a more attentive audience. When he had finished, his
auditors raised their hats and caps with a hearty and convinced 'Thank
you, sir.'
He gravely saluted them, as was his custom towards young and old,