The Loom of Youth Part 38

He walked up the stairs to his study, smiling to himself. What had he been fretting himself about? He had his power. He had the things he had wanted.

"_Is it not brave to be a king?_ _Is it not pa.s.sing brave to be a king_ _And ride in triumph through Persepolis?_"

Marlowe had been right, Marlowe with the pagan soul that loved material things, glitter and splendour, crowns and roses, red lips and gleaming arms.

"_A G.o.d is not so glorious as a king ..._ _To ask and have, command and be obeyed._"

And there was no doubt he was a king. He must make the best of his kingdom while he held it.

CHAPTER II: SETTING STARS

The same atmosphere of monotonous depression that overhung football soon began to affect the military side of school life as well. At first there had been the spur of novelty. The subst.i.tution of platoon drill for the old company routine and the frequent field days led to keenness. But even the most energetic get weary of doing exactly the same thing three times a week. There are only three different formations in platoon drill, which anyone can learn in half-an-hour; and the days were long past when Gordon's extraordinary commands would form his platoon into an impossible rabble that could only be extricated by the ungrammatical but effective command that School House section commanders had used from the first day of militarism: "As you did ought."

Those days were over. No mistakes. For thirty-five minutes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday the School House platoon would move round the courts in lifeless and perfect formation. And by now the School had begun to suspect that the field days were conducted mainly to satisfy Rogers's inordinate conceit. His house had always the advantage. The limit of endurance was reached one day early in November, when Rogers took his house out to defend Babylon Hill against the rest of the corps.

The attack was really rather brilliant. Babylon Hill overlooks the country for miles. There was a splendid field of fire. It was a boiling hot day. Rogers's men lay happily on the hill firing spasmodically at khaki figures crawling up the long valley. Their position seemed impregnable.

Early in the proceedings, however, Ferrers, who was conducting the attack, sent Betteridge with the School House platoon on an enormous detour to bring in a flank attack. If successful the School House platoon would be quite sufficient to wipe out the defence, and Rogers would never notice their loss, as they were sent off at a moment when the attack was crossing some dead ground.

Forlorn hopes occasionally come off, and, by a fluke, at the very moment when the attack surged over the crest of the hill, Betteridge's exhausted platoon, with shouts and cheers, burst into Rogers's flank.

There was not the slightest doubt that the defence had been cut to pieces.

For a minute or two Rogers looked perplexed at the sea of enemies. Then with customary urbanity he told Ferrers to form up his men and seat them on the ground, while he gave his impression of the day's work.

"I think the attack was quite satisfactory. Of course, it stood little chance against the well-organised defence for which I myself was in a way responsible. I believe most of the forces would have been destroyed coming up the hill. But I think the day had a good effect on the morale of the troops. Now morale----" He enlarged on the qualities of morale and discipline for about ten minutes, and concluded with the following courteous reference to the School House flanking movement:--

"I could not clearly discern what those persons were doing who came up on my left. They would have been entirely wiped out. I considered it somewhat foolish."

A contemptuous t.i.tter broke from the School House platoon, in which amus.e.m.e.nt and annoyance were equally mixed.

"What is the good of trying at all?" said Gordon at tea that night.

"There were we, sweating over ploughed fields, banging through fences, racing up beastly paths, and then that mouthing prelate says 'rather silly'! What's the use of trying?"

"There is none," said Betteridge. "I am going to conduct this platoon in future on different lines. 'Evil be thou my good,' as the lad Milton said. We will be unorthodox, original and rebellious."

A few days later, Gordon and Rudd saw displayed in a boot-shop window a wondrous collection of coloured silk shoe-laces.

"Does anyone really wear those things?" said Gordon.

"I suppose so, or they wouldn't show them."

"They are certainly amazing."

They stood looking at them as one would at a heathen G.o.d. Then suddenly Gordon clutched Rudd's sleeve.

"A notion! My word, a notion! Let's buy some pairs and wear them at platoon drill to-morrow."

Gordon was about to burst in to the shop when Rudd detained him.

"Steady, man, this is a great idea. Let's buy enough for the whole platoon. It will be a gorgeous sight! Let's fetch Betteridge."

Flinging prefectorial dignity to the winds, they rushed down to the studies.

"Betteridge, you've got to let us draw upon the House funds for a good cause."

They poured out the idea. Betteridge was enthusiastic. For six s.h.i.+llings they bought forty pairs of coloured laces.

At twelve-thirty next morning a huge crowd lined up under the lindens to watch the School House parade. Rumour had flown round.

It was a n.o.ble spectacle. Each section wore a different coloured shoe-lace. Gordon's wore pale blue, Rudd's pink, Foster's green, and Collin's orange. Everyone was shaking with laughter. Betteridge formed the platoon up in line facing the School House dormitories; sooner or later Rogers would pa.s.s by on his way from the common room. At last he was sighted turning the corner of the Chief's drive. Half the school had a.s.sembled by the gates.

"Private Morgan," shouted Betteridge, "fall out and do up your shoe-lace.

"Remainder--present ARMS!"

Rogers was far too self-satisfied and certain of his own importance to see that the demonstration was meant for him. But the school saw it, and so did certain members of the staff, who made everything quite clear to Rogers that afternoon. Finally, the Chief learnt of the affair.

Betteridge got a lecture on military discipline and on prefectorial dignity. But a good many of the younger masters thoroughly enjoyed the rag, and the story of the coloured shoe-laces is still recounted in common room, when Rogers has made himself unusually tedious about his own virtues and his cleverness in scoring off his enemies.

CHAPTER III: ROMANCE

The Tonford match was a sad travesty of Fernhurst football. The school lost by over forty points. Gordon got his "Seconds," in company with nearly the entire Fifteen. He was not very elated. These things had lost their value. Still, it was as well to have them.

The school authorities then came to the conclusion that the expense of travelling was too great during war-time, and the Dulbridge match was scratched.

The Fifteen continued to play uppers. There was nothing to train for.

There was no chance of there being any matches, but the same routine went on.

It was in this period of depression that Gordon began to take an interest in Morcombe.

Morcombe was considerably Gordon's junior; not so much in years--there was, as a matter of fact, only a few months between them--as in position. Morcombe had come late; had made little mark at either footer or cricket; and had drifted into the Army cla.s.s, where, owing to private tuition and extra hours, he found himself somewhat "out of it" in the House. In hall he used to sit at the top of the day-room table.

Gordon very rarely took hall. He generally managed to find someone to a.s.sume the duty for him; but one day everyone seemed engaged on some pursuit or other, so with every antic.i.p.ation of a dull evening he went down to hall. He began to read Sh.e.l.ley but the surroundings were unpropitious. All about him sat huddled fragments of humanity scratching half-baked ideas with crossed nibs into dog-eared notebooks. There was a general air of unrest. Gordon tried _Sinister Street_; some of the episodes in Lepard Street were more in harmony with his feelings, but there was in Compton Mackenzie's prose a Keats-like perfection of phrase which seemed almost as much out of place as _Adonais_. As a last resort he began to talk to the two boys nearest him, Bray and Morcombe. Bray always amused him; his whole outlook on life was so exactly like his footer. But for once Gordon found him dull. Morcombe was so much more interesting.

In second hall that evening Gordon discovered from a House list that Morcombe was in the Army cla.s.s. He consulted Foster on the subject.

"Know anything about a lad called Morcombe?"

"Yes; he is in the Army cla.s.s. Rather a fool. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I was talking to him in hall to-night. He didn't seem so bad."