School Stories P. G. Wodehouse (easy readers TXT) 📖

the fellow-traveller. He had resolved to follow Harrison’s lead. If Harrison was bringing war, then war let it be. If, however, his intentions were friendly, he would be friendly too.

“I didn’t know you were coming to Merevale’s. It’s the best House in the School.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, for one thing, everybody except the kids has a study.”

“What? Not really? Why, I thought we had to keep to this room. One of the chaps told me so.”

“Trying to green you, probably. You must look out for that sort of thing. I’ll show you the way to your study, if you like. Come along upstairs.”

“Thanks, awfully. It’s awfully good of you,” said the gratified unknown, and they went upstairs together.

One of the doors which they passed on their way was open, disclosing to view a room which, though bare at present, looked as if it might be made exceedingly comfortable.

“That’s my den,” said Harrison. It was perhaps lucky that Graham, to whom the room belonged, in fact, as opposed to fiction, did not hear the remark. Graham and Harrison were old and tried foes. “This is yours.” Harrison pushed open another door at the end of the passage.

His companion stared blankly at the Oriental luxury which met his eye. “But, I say,” he said, “are you sure? This seems to be occupied already.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” said Harrison, airily. “The chap who used to be here left last term. He didn’t know he was going to leave till it was too late to pack up all his things, so he left his study as it was. All you’ve got to do is to cart the things out into the passage and leave them there. The Moke’ll take ’em away.”

The Moke was the official who combined in a single body the duties of butler and bootboy at Merevale’s House. “Oh, right-ho!” said the unknown, and Harrison left him.

Harrison’s idea was that when Venables returned and found an absolute stranger placidly engaged in wrecking his carefully-tidied study, he would at once, and without making inquiries, fall upon that absolute stranger and blot him off the face of the earth. Afterwards it might possibly come out that he, Harrison, had been not altogether unconnected with the business, and then, he was fain to admit, there might be trouble. But he was a youth who never took overmuch heed for the morrow. Sufficient unto the day was his motto. And, besides, it was distinctly worth risking. The main point, and the one with which alone the House would concern itself, was that he had completely taken in, scored off, and overwhelmed the youth who had done as much by him in the train, and his reputation as one not to be lightly trifled with would be restored to its former brilliance. Anything that might happen between himself and Venables subsequently would be regarded as a purely private matter between man and man, affecting the main point not at all.

About an hour later a small Merevalian informed Harrison that Venables wished to see him in his study. He went. Experience had taught him that when the Head of the House sent for him, it was as a rule as well to humour his whim and go. He was prepared for a good deal, for he had come to the conclusion that it was impossible for him to preserve his incognito in the matter, but he was certainly not prepared for what he saw.

Venables and the stranger were seated in two armchairs, apparently on the very best of terms with one another. And this, in spite of the fact that these two armchairs were the only furniture left in the study. The rest, as he had noted with a grin before he had knocked at the door, was picturesquely scattered about the passage.

“Hullo, Harrison,” said Venables, “I wanted to see you. There seems to have been a slight mistake somewhere. Did you tell my brother to shift all the furniture out of the study?”

Harrison turned a delicate shade of green.

“Your⁠—er⁠—brother?” he gurgled.

“Yes. I ought to have told you my brother was coming to the Coll this term. I told the Old Man and Merevale and the rest of the authorities. Can’t make out why I forgot you. Slipped my mind somehow. However, you seem to have been doing the square thing by him, showing him round and so on. Very good of you.”

Harrison smiled feebly. Venables junior grinned. What seemed to Harrison a mystery was how the brothers had managed to arrive at the School at different times. The explanation of which was in reality very simple. The elder Venables had been spending the last week of the holidays with MacArthur, the captain of the St. Austin’s Fifteen, the same being a day boy, suspended within a mile of the School.

“But what I can’t make out,” went on Venables, relentlessly, “is this furniture business. To the best of my knowledge I didn’t leave suddenly at the end of last term. I’ll ask if you like, to make sure, but I fancy you’ll find you’ve been mistaken. Must have been thinking of someone else. Anyhow, we thought you must know best, so we lugged all the furniture out into the passage, and now it appears there’s been a mistake of sorts, and the stuff ought to be inside all the time. So would you mind putting it back again? We’d help you, only we’re going out to the shop to get some tea. You might have it done by the time we get back. Thanks, awfully.”

Harrison coughed nervously, and rose to a point of order.

“I was going out to tea, too,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ll have to scratch the engagement,” said Venables.

Harrison made a last effort.

“I’m fagging for Welch this term,” he protested.

It was the rule at St. Austin’s that every fag had the right to refuse to serve two masters. Otherwise there would have been no peace for that downtrodden race.

“That,” said Venables, “ought to be awfully jolly for