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Updated: May 11, 2025
Does not Houghton exaggerate the type, as Dickens exaggerates all his types?" "Oh no, he's real enough; I expect there are a good many like him living in Fernhurst now." The truth of the last remark was brought home three days later. On the Friday before the debate Ferrers got a bad attack of influenza. There would be no one to take the chair.
M.C.C., and before he had come to Fernhurst, Lovelace had been the hero of his imagination; ambition could hardly attain a higher pedestal. There were about twelve in all at the Sixth Form table, of whom the majority were prefects; and no one could leave the hall till one of them went out.
But now that his time had come, his thoughts were very different from what he had imagined. He felt the sorrow that is inevitable to anyone who is putting a stage of his life clean out of sight behind him; but for all that he had come to the conclusion that he was not really sad at leaving. Fernhurst was for him too full of ghosts; so many dreams were buried there. His feelings were mixed.
There was always far more keenness shown about house matches than school matches, a fact which worried Buller immensely. He thought everything should be secondary to the interests of Fernhurst. On the last Saturday of the term there was the House Supper. It was a noble affair. The bloods wore evening dress; even the untidiest junior oiled his hair and put on a clean collar.
Long ago the golden-haired beauty had passed from Cosford to Fernhurst, where the young and beautiful Lady Edith Brocas is the belle of all Sussex, a sunbeam of smiles and merriment, save perhaps when her thoughts for an instant fly back to that dread night when she was plucked from under the very talons of the foul hawk of Shalford.
At the Sixth Form table sat the Chief, some guests, Lovelace, Clarke, and a certain Ferguson, who edited The Fernhurst School Magazine, and was to propose the health of the old boys, of whom about twenty had come down, several having helped to defeat the school by twenty points to sixteen in the afternoon. Never had so much food been seen before.
He murmured "Yes, sir" rather indistinctly. "Are you, though? Because if you are going to come in here and say you are sorry, when you are not, simply to smooth things over, you would be a pretty rotten sort of fellow." "Yes, sir." Gordon had recovered his self-control and was ready for a fight. "Well, this is the way I look at things. I am here to coach Fernhurst sides; it is my life's work.
The Chief was very tactful, and, moreover, he had enjoyed reading the play immensely. Besides, it would not have done any good if he had made a fuss, especially when he was entirely in sympathy with Betteridge. In The Fernhurst School Magazine, which was edited by Betteridge, there appeared the following paragraph:
As Gordon walked down the library steps he was painfully aware of having been the principal character in a scene of sustained bathos. The body that represented Fernhurst football had scarcely risen to the dignity of its trust. And then a sudden wave of feeling swept over him; and he saw the horrible unfairness of the whole thing.
The next morning as the train steamed out of Fernhurst, and he lay back in the carriage smoking a cigarette, outwardly with the air of a connoisseur, inwardly with the timid nervousness of a novice, he reflected that, in spite of the Rev. Rogers, school was a pretty decent sort of place. "I say, it is true; Lovelace major has left." "Good Lord, no; is it?" "He's not on the House list?"
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