Mike by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH MIKE IS DISCUSSED

 

Trevor and Clowes, of Donaldson’s, were sitting in their study a week

after the gramophone incident, preparatory to going on the river. At

least Trevor was in the study, getting tea ready. Clowes was on the

window-sill, one leg in the room, the other outside, hanging over

space. He loved to sit in this attitude, watching some one else work,

and giving his views on life to whoever would listen to them. Clowes

was tall, and looked sad, which he was not. Trevor was shorter, and

very much in earnest over all that he did. On the present occasion he

was measuring out tea with a concentration worthy of a general

planning a campaign.

 

“One for the pot,” said Clowes.

 

“All right,” breathed Trevor. “Come and help, you slacker.”

 

“Too busy.”

 

“You aren’t doing a stroke.”

 

“My lad, I’m thinking of Life. That’s a thing you couldn’t do. I often

say to people, ‘Good chap, Trevor, but can’t think of Life. Give him a

tea-pot and half a pound of butter to mess about with,’ I say, ‘and

he’s all right. But when it comes to deep thought, where is he? Among

the also-rans.’ That’s what I say.”

 

“Silly ass,” said Trevor, slicing bread. “What particular rot were you

thinking about just then? What fun it was sitting back and watching

other fellows work, I should think.”

 

“My mind at the moment,” said Clowes, “was tensely occupied with the

problem of brothers at school. Have you got any brothers, Trevor?”

 

“One. Couple of years younger than me. I say, we shall want some more

jam to-morrow. Better order it to-day.”

 

“See it done, Tigellinus, as our old pal Nero used to remark. Where is

he? Your brother, I mean.”

 

“Marlborough.”

 

“That shows your sense. I have always had a high opinion of your

sense, Trevor. If you’d been a silly ass, you’d have let your people

send him here.”

 

“Why not? Shouldn’t have minded.”

 

“I withdraw what I said about your sense. Consider it unsaid. I have a

brother myself. Aged fifteen. Not a bad chap in his way. Like the

heroes of the school stories. ‘Big blue eyes literally bubbling over

with fun.’ At least, I suppose it’s fun to him. Cheek’s what I call

it. My people wanted to send him here. I lodged a protest. I said,

‘One Clowes is ample for any public school.’”

 

“You were right there,” said Trevor.

 

“I said, ‘One Clowes is luxury, two excess.’ I pointed out that I was

just on the verge of becoming rather a blood at Wrykyn, and that I

didn’t want the work of years spoiled by a brother who would think it

a rag to tell fellows who respected and admired me–-”

 

“Such as who?”

 

“–-Anecdotes of a chequered infancy. There are stories about me

which only my brother knows. Did I want them spread about the school?

No, laddie, I did not. Hence, we see my brother two terms ago, packing

up his little box, and tooling off to Rugby. And here am I at Wrykyn,

with an unstained reputation, loved by all who know me, revered by all

who don’t; courted by boys, fawned upon by masters. People’s faces

brighten when I throw them a nod. If I frown–-”

 

“Oh, come on,” said Trevor.

 

Bread and jam and cake monopolised Clowes’s attention for the next

quarter of an hour. At the end of that period, however, he returned to

his subject.

 

“After the serious business of the meal was concluded, and a simple

hymn had been sung by those present,” he said, “Mr. Clowes resumed his

very interesting remarks. We were on the subject of brothers at

school. Now, take the melancholy case of Jackson Brothers. My heart

bleeds for Bob.”

 

“Jackson’s all right. What’s wrong with him? Besides, naturally, young

Jackson came to Wrykyn when all his brothers had been here.”

 

“What a rotten argument. It’s just the one used by chaps’ people, too.

They think how nice it will be for all the sons to have been at the

same school. It may be all right after they’re left, but while they’re

there, it’s the limit. You say Jackson’s all right. At present,

perhaps, he is. But the term’s hardly started yet.”

 

“Well?”

 

“Look here, what’s at the bottom of this sending young brothers to the

same school as elder brothers?”

 

“Elder brother can keep an eye on him, I suppose.”

 

“That’s just it. For once in your life you’ve touched the spot. In

other words, Bob Jackson is practically responsible for the kid.

That’s where the whole rotten trouble starts.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, what happens? He either lets the kid rip, in which case he may

find himself any morning in the pleasant position of having to explain

to his people exactly why it is that little Willie has just received

the boot, and why he didn’t look after him better: or he spends all

his spare time shadowing him to see that he doesn’t get into trouble.

He feels that his reputation hangs on the kid’s conduct, so he broods

over him like a policeman, which is pretty rotten for him and maddens

the kid, who looks on him as no sportsman. Bob seems to be trying the

first way, which is what I should do myself. It’s all right, so far,

but, as I said, the term’s only just started.”

 

“Young Jackson seems all right. What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t

stick on side any way, which he might easily do, considering his

cricket.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with him in that way. I’ve talked to him

several times at the nets, and he’s very decent. But his getting into

trouble hasn’t anything to do with us. It’s the masters you’ve got to

consider.”

 

“What’s up? Does he rag?”

 

“From what I gather from fellows in his form he’s got a genius for

ragging. Thinks of things that don’t occur to anybody else, and does

them, too.”

 

“He never seems to be in extra. One always sees him about on

half-holidays.”

 

“That’s always the way with that sort of chap. He keeps on wriggling

out of small rows till he thinks he can do anything he likes without

being dropped on, and then all of a sudden he finds himself up to the

eyebrows in a record smash. I don’t say young Jackson will land

himself like that. All I say is that he’s just the sort who does. He’s

asking for trouble. Besides, who do you see him about with all the

time?”

 

“He’s generally with Wyatt when I meet him.”

 

“Yes. Well, then!”

 

“What’s wrong with Wyatt? He’s one of the decentest men in the

school.”

 

“I know. But he’s working up for a tremendous row one of these days,

unless he leaves before it comes off. The odds are, if Jackson’s so

thick with him, that he’ll be roped into it too. Wyatt wouldn’t land

him if he could help it, but he probably wouldn’t realise what he was

letting the kid in for. For instance, I happen to know that Wyatt

breaks out of his dorm. every other night. I don’t know if he takes

Jackson with him. I shouldn’t think so. But there’s nothing to prevent

Jackson following him on his own. And if you’re caught at that game,

it’s the boot every time.”

 

Trevor looked disturbed.

 

“Somebody ought to speak to Bob.”

 

“What’s the good? Why worry him? Bob couldn’t do anything. You’d only

make him do the policeman business, which he hasn’t time for, and

which is bound to make rows between them. Better leave him alone.”

 

“I don’t know. It would be a beastly thing for Bob if the kid did get

into a really bad row.”

 

“If you must tell anybody, tell the Gazeka. He’s head of Wain’s, and

has got far more chance of keeping an eye on Jackson than Bob has.”

 

“The Gazeka is a fool.”

 

“All front teeth and side. Still, he’s on the spot. But what’s the

good of worrying. It’s nothing to do with us, anyhow. Let’s stagger

out, shall we?”

 

*

 

Trevor’s conscientious nature, however, made it impossible for him to

drop the matter. It disturbed him all the time that he and Clowes were

on the river;