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Glyn Severn's Schooldays, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 22. The Professor's Gratitude |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE PROFESSOR'S GRATITUDE There was a great talk at the Doctor's establishment about the event of the season, an event that filled the boys' brains, seniors and juniors, for weeks before it took place, and brought forth a rebuke from the Doctor one morning at breakfast, for the masters were reporting that the papers sent in by the boys were very much wanting in merit. There was a report, too, going about that Monsieur Brohanne had been seen walking up and down the class-room tearing his hair--a most serious matter in his case, for it was exceedingly short. Matters had come to such a pitch that the Doctor sternly gave quite a little lecture upon the duty of every pupil to do his very best, whether at work or play, saying that a boy who could not give his mind to working could not devote it to playing well. And if in future, he said, his pupils did not work hard, he should be obliged to make them suffer the contumely of sending in word that they would not be able to meet Strongley School in the annual cricket-match. "I regret it very much, young gentlemen," said the Doctor; "but if you will disgrace your _alma mater_ by idleness, I have no other alternative. Duty and pleasure must go hand in hand." The boys groaned that morning, and broke up into little knots after breakfast to discuss the matter. Little jealousies were forgotten, and Slegge declared it was too bad of the Doctor, who seemed to be blaming them, the seniors, for the failings of those lazy little beggars the juniors, just when their picked eleven had arrived at such perfection, through his batting, Glyn's bowling, and the Nigger's wicket-keeping, that success was certain. There was gloom in every face save one, and that appertained to Morris, who watched his opportunity, button-holed Glyn and Singh, and led them off into the solitude of the lecture-hall. "Good news!" he said. "Splendid news! Gentlemen, this is entirely a private matter between us three, and I know you will be ready to rejoice." "What, have you got some fine appointment, Mr Morris?" cried Glyn, who had grown to be on quite friendly terms with the master in a very short time of late, Morris making a point of treating him always with genuine respect, and aiding him in every way possible--coaching him, in fact, with his mathematics, in which, truth to tell, Glyn did not shine. "No," cried Morris, in answer to the lad's question; "it is better than that. Somebody else has." "You mean Professor Barclay?" said Singh. "Yes, sir; I mean Professor Barclay. I have had a letter from him this morning telling me of his success, and that he leaves for India directly, to take up some post in connection with the Sanskrit college." "I am very glad," said Singh, "for he must have been dreadfully poor." "Sadly so," said Morris. "I am glad too," said Glyn; "very." "You don't know what a relief it is to me," continued Morris confidentially. "Is he coming down to see you before he goes?" said Glyn. "Oh no. He writes word that he is staying at apartments in London in the neighbourhood of the East India Docks until the great Indiaman sails, and desires his most respectful compliments to you both, and above all he begs me to tell you, Mr Singh, that the feelings of gratitude within his breast will never expire. While, as now he is entering upon a career of prosperity, many weeks will not elapse before he sends something, upon receipt of which he hopes you will return to him certain little memoranda that you hold, signed by his name." "Ha, ha!" laughed Singh, "he'll wait a long time. Why, I burned them all directly after he gave them to me. Are you going to write to him, Mr Morris?" "Yes; I must reply to his letter." "Then, please tell him from me that I wish him all success in my beautiful country, and that he is never to trouble himself any more about the memoranda." "For you have burned them?" said Morris. "Yes, of course." _ |
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