THE RESULT OF THE PROTEST

When Finch, for he was the eavesdropper, crawled out of the bushes under the window of the Masters’ common-room, he darted quickly, keeping within the shadow of the Old School wall, into a little clump of trees beyond the terrace. He was stiff and sore from lying motionless so long and had got thoroughly chilled from the dampness of the ground. But his mind and soul were at fever heat.

He had heard almost all of the conversation in the room above him, and he was overwhelmed by the course of events. He felt much as a general must who receives the report of a spy informing him that the enemy have augmented forces with which he cannot hope to cope. Finch felt that he could not endure the situation another minute. It had seemed that he must shriek out more than once as Mr. Roylston had so calmly, with such deadly determination, built up his case against Deering. Finch felt his hero and himself the victims of an ignoble conspiracy.

The boy had grown of late so accustomed to deceit, that for the time being he absolutely forgot how contemptible his own action had been and how it would appear to others, to Tony. He was an Ishmael, and felt himself justified in raising his hands against every one because all hands seemed raised against him. And his poor warped mind knew of no weapons except deceit, trickery, eavesdropping, with which to cope against the authority and success which were his enemies. But now he was thinking of but one thing—the position he so eagerly coveted for Tony was threatened, and, thanks to the efforts of his inveterate enemy, was apt to be given to another.

After pausing for a moment or so in the clump of bushes, in which to gather together his shivering body, he slipped off, entered the Old School by a basement door, made a detour through the locker-rooms, and emerged again in the north quadrangle. He dashed across the campus and up the stairs of Standerland to the door of Number Five study, and knocked boldly, almost without knowing what he was going to say to Tony.

Deering and Jimmie were within, with two or three other boys. Finch gave a frightened glance about, but for once he overcame his self-consciousness enough to whisper at Deering, “Come over to my room, will you? I want to see you particularly for a few minutes.”

Tony went to the door. “What is it?” he began.

“Please come over,” Finch continued. “I have something important to tell you.”

Once in his own little room, Jake turned a white excited face to Tony, his shyness was gone, absorbed now by his passion of rage and anxiety.

“Well, what the deuce is up?” asked Tony, smiling a little at his protÉgÉ’s agitation.

“A lot. There’s just been a faculty meeting. I have heard all about it—it doesn’t matter how—but all about it! and the Doctor put you up for Head Prefect—and said all manner of fine things about you—all the masters were there and they were all going to vote for you—when Roylston—curse him!—got up and told about The Spectacle, and read them that copy of it he stole from me, and when he got through he said he’d give up his job here if you were made Head Prefect—and there was a lot of gas—and the Doctor broke up the meeting—and said he’d talk it over with Roylston. And then he went off. And I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Here, here! what’s all this,” exclaimed Tony, as Finch paused for breath. “You’re crazy, Jake. Somebody’s been telling you a fairy story to get you excited.”

“No, I am not crazy,” Jake replied. “I tell you I know all about it.”

“Well, what the dickens is it? Say it over, will you?”

Finch repeated, this time more accurately, all that he had overheard. “He’s trying to queer you,” he concluded, “that’s what! and he may do it, if we don’t do something.”

“Jake, I say you are off your head. In the first place, I can’t imagine the Gumshoe hating me quite hard enough for that, and, in the second, I’m blamed sure the thing has got twisted in being reported to you.”

“It didn’t—I heard it—about it, I mean—I can’t tell you who told me.”

“Well, I don’t take much stock in it,” said Tony, turning as if to leave. But Finch sprang forward, and put his hand on Tony’s arm.

“I take a lot of stock in it, I tell you. If you don’t do something, you won’t get it.”

Tony wheeled around, his face blazing with sudden anger, “What do you think I could do? Do you suppose I’d turn my hand to get the thing? I’d cut it off first. I haven’t asked to be Head Prefect, and I don’t intend to ask to be, you poor fool.”

Finch scarcely winced before Tony’s anger. And indeed it was gone as quickly as it came, almost before Deering had finished speaking.

“Don’t you want the place?” Finch asked, with a kind of wail of disappointment.

“Why, yes, of course, I want it,” answered Tony, “but haven’t you got sense enough to see, that it isn’t a thing a decent chap could work for, much less ask for? Did you think I’d go over to the Doctor and tell him that I think he had better appoint me and let the Gumshoe go? I shouldn’t care very much if he did go, but,—who told you about the meeting any way? I can’t see why you shouldn’t tell me. Was it a fellow?”

“No—”

“A member of the faculty? not Bill? he wouldn’t tell a thing like that.”

“No—I dunno.”

“Yes, you do—did you promise——?”

“No—I—I—happened to hear some of the faculty talking.”

“Hear—where?”

“On the campus.”

“Overhear, you mean?”

“Yes, I s’pose so.”

“Where were the masters you heard talking?” Tony was putting his questions now rapidly and with intention, for he had become suddenly suspicious.

“In the common-room,” Finch answered, beginning to shake nervously again.

“Where were you?”

“Outside.”

“How could you hear all that outside? By Jove, man, you were under the window listening?” Tony’s voice took on a sharp note of contempt.

Finch shook like an aspen leaf.

“Answer me!” demanded Tony. “You weren’t trying to hear, were you?”

No reply. Poor Jake moistened his dry lips.

“Pah!” exclaimed Deering. “So the fellows are right, are they? you are a sneak?” He turned away in disgust, and started across the room. His hand was on the knob of the door, when Finch threw himself in his way, and grasped him tightly again by the arm.

“For God’s sake, Deering,” he cried in a queer cracked voice, “don’t throw me over. You are the only friend I’ve got. Don’t throw me over. I did it for your sake. God knows I did.”

Tony stopped. He was appalled and bewildered by the passion in poor Finch’s voice and attitude. He turned back at last, and thrust Finch a little roughly onto the couch. “Sit down there,” he said gruffly. “I guess I’d better have it all out of you right now.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you everything,” whimpered Finch. “Don’t throw me over.”

i254

“Shut up, and stop blubbering like a kid. I won’t throw you over. But just at present I’m mighty disgusted with you, I reckon you know.”

Finch drew his coat sleeve across his eyes, and caught a sob or so in his throat. “I’ll tell you everything,” he said, with a sniffle, “just wait a second.”

“All right. And mind you do tell everything, if you ever want me to trust you an inch beyond my nose again,” answered Tony. He suspected there was a good deal to tell; in the last few moments a multitude of little incidents flashed into his mind; all were accounted for if Finch was a sneak.

“I know it was rotten, Deering,” began Finch, “but I couldn’t seem to help it.”

“Now cut that sort of excuse out. Don’t try to defend it. Just tell the truth, will you?”

“Well, I was sitting in the library reading, and the Doctor passed through, and stopped a minute and spoke to me, and told me not to say anything about the letter he wrote me last summer in which he had mentioned you as the leader of the school. He said the appointment wasn’t made yet.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s all, but I saw him go into the Masters’ room, and I guessed they were going to have a meeting to discuss that very thing. It flashed into my head that something was up; that something had gone wrong about your getting it. I couldn’t help—I swear to you I couldn’t help sneaking outside and trying to hear. The windows were up, and I could hear almost everything that was said inside. As I said, the Doctor——.”

“I don’t want to hear anything more about that,” interrupted Tony, “I’m not an eavesdropper. I don’t give a continental darn what you heard. If I don’t get it—all right. If Roylston’s queered me, that’s his business, I guess. He may think he has a right to. Maybe he has. But just at present, what I am trying to make you see is that what went on in the faculty room isn’t your business nor my business, and that to sneak and listen like that is low-down.”

Finch, poor chap, did not fully understand what Tony was driving at. “All right, I guess it is,” he said, with a bewildered air, “but I thought——”

“I don’t care what you thought,” said Tony. “Do you see that was the act of a sneak? You called Roylston a sneak earlier this evening—well, whether he ever did a sneaky thing or not, you have just done one, see?”

“Yes, I see, of course, I see; but——.”

“Well, if you see, all right. Now there’s something else I want to get at. I want to know in what other ways you’ve been sneaky around school. Did you tell the Head that you had already told me about this letter?”

“No.”

“Did he ask you?”

“No—not exactly—but I s’pose he thought I hadn’t from my manner.”

“I see. Well let’s settle one or two other things, Jake. Remember the time that Kit Wilson kicked you out of his room last spring?”

“Yes.” Finch was whiter than ever.

“Well, was it true—no, I mean, was Kit right—did you go there to rough-house his room that night?”

“Yes,” breathed Finch.

“Had you been rough-housing his room and desk before, as he thinks you had?”

“Yes.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tony. “And you lied to me! You let me quarrel with Kit, just because I thought you were innocent and that he had been hard on you and unfair! You let me lose one of my very best friends, just because—by Jove, I don’t understand you. It’s too rotten bad.”

“For God’s sake, Deering,” whimpered Finch, “don’t throw me over!” and then sat, biting the tips of his fingers.

Tony, wavering between anger, disgust and pity, could scarcely trust himself to speak.

At last he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me the truth that night when I asked you? Kit and I had already quarreled, but if I had known then what you had done to him, we could——Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“I was afraid you’d throw me over.”

Tony shuddered with an uncontrollable feeling of repulsion. “Why did you want to play such low tricks on Kit?”

“I hated him.”

“Why? Because he opposed your getting into the Dealonian?”

“No, no, not that!” exclaimed Finch passionately. “I didn’t want to get into the Dealonian.”

“Then, why?” Tony was nonplussed.

“Because he had broke with you.”

At last to his humiliation—it dawned on Tony, the depth, the tragedy, of Finch’s affection; the complexity of his twisted, dwarfed nature; and anger and contempt were swallowed up in pity. He stood for a long time before the miserable lad without speaking.

“Well, Jake,” he said at length, “it is pretty bad—awful bad. I just hate to think of it.”

“What can I do?” asked Finch piteously.

“I don’t know what you can do. I want to think it all out before I talk with you any more. But if I were you I’d get down on my knees and ask God to forgive me.” Tony again put his hand on the doorknob. “I am going. I have got to think it out. I reckon you can see that you have been the cause of a lot of trouble. Don’t worry about me, though. I won’t throw you over in the way you think I might. But I can’t talk about it any more now. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” said Finch, with a gulp.

He sat for a long time on the edge of his couch with his face in his hands, staring blankly in front of him. The world upon which his soul looked out was as bare, as comfortless as his little room. He was dumbly miserable. He knew he had hurt Deering, but just how, he could not see. The fear that possessed him chiefly was that Deering would throw him over. “And I did it because of him,” he would say now and then between his clenched teeth. He could not understand Tony’s horror of the deceit, he could not fathom his unwillingness to take advantage of the information which he himself had risked so much to obtain. He knew of course that he had done a wicked thing, but the wickedness seemed almost justified because the temptation had been so strong. He was sorriest about Wilson. As for the eavesdropping—when he thought of that, he clenched his fists. If Roylston were successful! I may be a sneak, he thought, but so is he. All was fair in war—and if Tony didn’t get the Head Prefectship, whatever Tony might say or feel, war it should be. “I’ll show him,” he muttered, conjuring up the vision of Mr. Roylston reading The Spectacle to his colleagues. “If he queers Deering, I’ll get even with him whatever happens!”

When Tony returned to Number Five study he found that the boys had left and that Jimmie had gone to bed. He undressed slowly, trying to think out the situation. Of course, he had misjudged Finch almost from the first, he realized that. The others were right. He was a difficult case, too difficult for a place like Deal. He could not have believed, had he not heard it from the boy’s own lips, that he could stoop to such methods for revenge. But there it was! He had an actual situation to deal with; a living soul, just so tempted, so weak, so corrupted by misery, to help or hurt now by fresh judgments, which might be right or wrong. That he had been too generous before toward Finch, was no reason, however, with Tony, even for a moment, why he should be ungenerous now. He must do his best. He hoped Finch would be willing for him to talk it all over with Mr. Morris.

After a time, as he lay in bed, sleepless and still feverishly thinking, his attention wandered from Finch to his own case, to the facts, that, much as he wished to close his mind to them, were very much there. It was hard to believe that Mr. Roylston was so bitterly hostile, so absolutely unforgiving. His own conscience had long ceased from troubling him about The Spectacle, and he wondered if the Head could take Mr. Roylston’s point of view. He had forgiven himself in that matter so completely, that he could hardly realize how it still rankled with the offended master, how it might impress others. At last he fell asleep, quite assured that things would right themselves and confident that on the morrow he would learn that he had been appointed Head Prefect.

He saw Finch in the morning on the way to Chapel, and tried to greet him naturally. Finch seemed stolid, unresponsive, but not keenly conscious, as Tony had supposed he would appear, of what had taken place between them the night before.

Finch had spent a sleepless night. But now he had set his teeth and was waiting. He was staking his all, as it were, on the Head proving fair as he called it to himself. He was staking his reform, his remorse, his repentance on the issue which, beyond his control now by fair means or foul, depended on the Head.

The morning hymn was “I need Thee every hour,” and Finch joined in it. He dumbly felt he was willing to bribe heaven to gain his end. He looked about the Chapel, and noted that Mr. Roylston was not present, and his heart leaped with the thought that the master had lost his case, perhaps even, Finch passionately hoped, the Head had accepted his resignation. He tried, but he could not listen to the reading of the scriptures and the prayers. Then the Grace was said, and the boys were settling back in their seats into attitudes of attention, for the Doctor was still at the reading-desk as if he had something to say to them.

“There is still”—the Doctor’s voice seemed to Finch to come from a great distance—“there is still an important appointment to be announced. The Head Prefect for the year will be——”

There was a slight disturbance in the back of the Chapel—some one had dropped a hymn-book, and the Doctor paused, it seemed to Finch for an intolerable age.

“Edward Austin Clavering of the Sixth Form.”

Immediately there was a little buzz; then the boys began pouring out of the Chapel. Finch sat still. Outside he heard Doc Thorn calling for a cheer for Clavering. At last, he pulled himself together and went out. On the gravel walk boys were still congregated; he passed Tony who was shaking hands at the moment with Ned Clavering. “I say, Jake; wait a second!” Tony called, catching sight of him; but Finch, making no sign that he had heard, bent his head and hurried on.

Jimmie Lawrence, however, was waiting for Tony until with good grace he had finished his congratulations to Clavering. A good many, as they poured out of the Chapel that morning, watched with curious interest the meeting between the successful and the unsuccessful candidate. But from Tony’s manner, the most critical could not have imagined a shade of envy in his cordiality.

“It is a downright shame!” exclaimed Jimmie, when at last Tony joined him. “It is an outrage. I can’t understand it—why—!”

“Careful, Jim, careful. Deuce take it, I do feel a bit sore, but then I reckon Ned Clavering has as good a right to it as I have.”

“Perhaps he has, other things being equal; but they are not equal. You were nominated, the school wanted you, everybody expected you would get it: there is not a single reason why you shouldn’t have it.”

“Perhaps there is,” protested Tony. “We’ve all been in scrapes now and then. We weren’t always the angels we are now, Jim.”

“Likely not, but I notice they didn’t hold up my ante-angelic days against me. Why, you aren’t even a prefect, do you know it?”

“By Jove, I’m not, am I?” exclaimed Deering. That fact until then had not occurred to him.

“There’s something fishy behind it, mark my words. I wish we could find out what it is.”

“Perhaps we shall,” said Tony. “But anyhow, I’m not going into a grouch over the affair.”

“Nobody wants you to, but I wish you would show a little more sense of the rotten way you have been treated. By Jove, Tonio, I have it! it’s the Gumshoe!”

Tony found no answer to this exclamation, but Jimmie, excited by his theory, did not wait for one. “D’ye remember Reggie Carroll telling us that the Gumshoe would get even?”

“When?”

“Why, after the show-up he got when you and Kit licked Ducky Thornton and he took you two to the Head for breaking his gating. And also after the time Gumshoe soured on you about the Soft-toed Sammy billet-doux.”

“Yes, I remember something of the sort. Perhaps he is responsible. But anyway, kiddo, I’m dished, and that’s a fact.”

“Oh, that Kit was one of us now, boy; wouldn’t we get even?”

Tony sighed. “I reckon we would. But he isn’t!”

“No, worse luck! I wish——”

What Jimmie wished was left unsaid, for at that moment Doctor Forester caught up with them, and called to Deering. “Will you please stop at the Rectory, Anthony, for a few moments? I want a word with you.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Tony and waited for the Head, as Jimmie, with a “So long,” hurried on to a first hour recitation.

The Doctor was very cordial in his manner to Tony, and waved him to a comfortable chair in his study before he opened his conversation.

“I dare say,” he began, “that you, as were others, were somewhat surprised to learn who is to be Head Prefect this year.”

Tony flushed and looked uncomfortable.

“I do not mean,” went on the Head quickly, “to suggest that you had no occasion for surprise. It is an open secret, I fancy, that you were slated for the position.”

“Of course,” said Tony, with some embarrassment, “I had some reason to suppose that I was being considered.”

“More than that, I am frank to say,” continued the Doctor, “I had quite determined on your appointment. I wish you to understand that I changed my mind strictly with the understanding that the reasons for the change should be thoroughly explained to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wish you to know that there is but one reason why I have not chosen you for Head of the School. The mild or mischievous infractions of discipline in your younger days, I do not take into account. You were concerned, I have learned, in fact, you were the author of a squib in which one of the senior masters was held up to ridicule.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,” continued the Head, finding it a little hard to word his phrases exactly, “I agree with Mr. Roylston, the master so caricatured, that that was most reprehensible. I do not suppose you have any defense for it.”

“None, sir. I can only say, while I now see how it was calculated to be taken as an insult, I did it simply for fun.”

“Precisely. It was not a matter that I myself, taking all things into consideration, should have regarded as a capital crime, but it has caused deep offense to the master involved and he has not seen his way to forgetting or perhaps even to forgiving it. In fact, because of it, he has protested emphatically against your appointment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I repeat, I should myself have overlooked such an offense—I should have accepted your apology in the spirit in which I think it was given. But as Mr. Roylston is unwilling to do so, I do not feel that I should be justified in overruling his protest. The same reason disqualified you as a prefect.”

Tony was silent.

“I need not point out to you,” the Doctor continued, “that while I believe Mr. Roylston is severe, that I do not think he is acting with any conscious injustice.”

“No, sir. I recognize his right to protest against my appointment. I have not complained of your decision, sir.”

“No, I know that you have not. I felt it due to you that you should understand perfectly what interfered with your appointment. I know also that I can count on you for as loyal help as though you were a prefect.”

“Thank you very much for what you have said to me, Doctor Forester. I appreciate it. I am very sorry that I hurt Mr. Roylston in the way I did. Of course—I don’t say this as a defense for writing what I did—I did not mean it to come under his eyes. I apologized sincerely, and though I know that Mr. Roylston did not believe in my sincerity, I can see perhaps that it was difficult for him to do so. As for my being loyal, I can’t see that this makes the slightest difference one way or the other. I should like to have been Head Prefect, but I should never have thought of being chosen except for my election as president of the Dealonian and my nomination by last year’s prefects. I think Clavering will make a fine Head of the School.”

“I trust,” said Doctor Forester, “that you will not bear ill-will toward Mr. Roylston. He is acting from conscientious motives, I am sure.”

“I shall try not to, sir.”

With that Tony rose, shook hands with the Head Master, and took his leave.

Doctor Forester watched him as he walked across the campus, at a brisk pace, head up, shoulders back. “There,” he said, turning to his wife who had just slipped into the room, “there goes a rare boy, my dear. He has made it harder for me to do my duty than any one I have ever known.”

“Tony Deering make it hard for anyone to do his duty! Why, my dear, did you not appoint him Head Prefect? Every one wanted him; every one expected that he would be.”

“All but one of us, dear, who had a strong, if not a fine reason, for objecting to him; but I would rather not go into it, if you do not mind. Mark my words, that boy now is the strongest boy in the school—all the stronger for not having the position he ought to have.”

Mrs. Forester smiled. “That is a comfort, at least, to know. But I tell you, Henry, if we women had the appointment to make, it would take more than one strong reason to prevent our giving Tony Deering anything he ought to have.”

“Well, it is fortunate then, my dear, that you women have other things to do.”