BOOK II CONSTANCE - CHAPTER IV - CRIME - PART II

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_ Nobody really thought that this almost ideal condition of things
would persist: an enterprise commenced in such glory must surely
traverse periods of difficulty and even of temporary disaster. But
no! Cyril seemed to be made specially for school. Before Mr. Povey
and Constance had quite accustomed themselves to being the parents
of 'a great lad,' before Cyril had broken the glass of his
miraculous watch more than once, the summer term had come to a end
and there arrived the excitations of the prize-giving, as it was
called; for at that epoch the smaller schools had not found the
effrontery to dub the breaking-up ceremony a 'speech-day.' This
prize-giving furnished a particular joy to Mr. and Mrs. Povey.
Although the prizes were notoriously few in number--partly to add
to their significance, and partly to diminish their cost (the
foundation was poor)--Cyril won a prize, a box of geometrical
instruments of precision; also he reached the top of his form, and
was marked for promotion to the formidable Fourth. Samuel and
Constance were bidden to the large hall of the Wedgwood
Institution of a summer afternoon, and they saw the whole Board of
Governors raised on a rostrum, and in the middle, in front of what
he referred to, in his aristocratic London accent, as 'a beggarly
array of rewards,' the aged and celebrated Sir Thomas Wilbraham
Wilbraham, ex-M.P., last respectable member of his ancient line.
And Sir Thomas gave the box of instruments to Cyril, and shook
hands with him. And everybody was very well dressed. Samuel, who
had never attended anything but a National School, recalled the
simple rigours of his own boyhood, and swelled. For certainly, of
all the parents present, he was among the richest. When, in the
informal promiscuities which followed the prize distribution,
Cyril joined his father and mother, sheepishly, they duly did
their best to make light of his achievements, and failed. The
walls of the hall were covered with specimens of the pupils'
skill, and the headmaster was observed to direct the attention of
the mighty to a map done by Cyril. Of course it was a map of
Ireland, Ireland being the map chosen by every map-drawing
schoolboy who is free to choose. For a third-form boy it was
considered a masterpiece. In the shading of mountains Cyril was
already a prodigy. Never, it was said, had the Macgillycuddy Reeks
been indicated by a member of that school with a more amazing
subtle refinement than by the young Povey. From a proper pride in
themselves, from a proper fear lest they should be secretly
accused of ostentation by other parents, Samuel and Constance did
not go near that map. For the rest, they had lived with it for
weeks, and Samuel (who, after all, was determined not to be dirt
under his son's feet) had scratched a blot from it with a
completeness that defied inquisitive examination.

The fame of this map, added to the box of compasses and Cyril's
own desire, pointed to an artistic career. Cyril had always drawn
and daubed, and the drawing-master of the Endowed School, who was
also headmaster of the Art School, had suggested that the youth
should attend the Art School one night a week. Samuel, however,
would not listen to the idea; Cyril was too young. It is true that
Cyril was too young, but Samuel's real objection was to Cyril's
going out alone in the evening. On that he was adamant.

The Governors had recently made the discovery that a sports
department was necessary to a good school, and had rented a field
for cricket, football, and rounders up at Bleakridge, an
innovation which demonstrated that the town was moving with the
rapid times. In June this field was open after school hours till
eight p.m. as well as on Saturdays. The Squire learnt that Cyril
had a talent for cricket, and Cyril wished to practise in the
evenings, and was quite ready to bind himself with Bible oaths to
rise at no matter what hour in the morning for the purpose of home
lessons. He scarcely expected his father to say 'Yes' as his
father never did say 'Yes,' but he was obliged to ask. Samuel
nonplussed him by replying that on fine evenings, when he could
spare time from the shop, he would go up to Bleakridge with his
son. Cyril did not like this in the least. Still, it might be
tried. One evening they went, actually, in the new steam-car which
had superseded the old horse-cars, and which travelled all the way
to Longshaw, a place that Cyril had only heard of. Samuel talked
of the games played in the Five Towns in his day, of the Titanic
sport of prison-bars, when the team of one 'bank' went forth to
the challenge of another 'bank,' preceded by a drum-and-fife band,
and when, in the heat of the chase, a man might jump into the
canal to escape his pursuer; Samuel had never played at cricket.

Samuel, with a very young grandson of Fan (deceased), sat in
dignity on the grass and watched his cricketer for an hour and a
half (while Constance kept an eye on the shop and superintended
its closing). Samuel then conducted Cyril home again. Two days
later the father of his own accord offered to repeat the
experience. Cyril refused. Disagreeable insinuations that he was a
baby in arms had been made at school in the meantime.

Nevertheless, in other directions Cyril sometimes surprisingly
conquered. For instance, he came home one day with the information
that a dog that was not a bull-terrier was not worth calling a
dog. Fan's grandson had been carried off in earliest prime by a
chicken-bone that had pierced his vitals, and Cyril did indeed
persuade his father to buy a bull-terrier. The animal was a
superlative of forbidding ugliness, but father and son vied with
each other in stern critical praise of his surpassing beauty, and
Constance, from good nature, joined in the pretence. He was called
Lion, and the shop, after one or two untoward episodes, was
absolutely closed to him.

But the most striking of Cyril's successes had to do with the
question of the annual holiday. He spoke of the sea soon after
becoming a schoolboy. It appeared that his complete ignorance of
the sea prejudicially affected him at school. Further, he had
always loved the sea; he had drawn hundreds of three-masted ships
with studding-sails set, and knew the difference between a brig
and a brigantine. When he first said: "I say, mother, why can't we
go to Llandudno instead of Buxton this year?" his mother thought
he was out of his senses. For the idea of going to any place other
than Buxton was inconceivable! Had they not always been to Buxton?
What would their landlady say? How could they ever look her in the
face again? Besides ... well ...! They went to Llandudno, rather
scared, and hardly knowing how the change had come about. But they
went. And it was the force of Cyril's will, Cyril the theoretic
cypher, that took them. _

Read next: BOOK II CONSTANCE: CHAPTER IV - CRIME : PART III

Read previous: BOOK II CONSTANCE: CHAPTER IV - CRIME : PART I

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