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Updated: May 26, 2025
He had in a reckless way expressed his sympathy with what he chose to term a very innocent "round game," and had given practical proof of his sympathy by buying a ticket. That was yesterday, and he had since forgotten the whole affair, and was quietly looking about him for some new way of wiping off the rapidly-accumulating score against Railsford and his lieutenant Ainger.
Ainger was one of those fellows who, when their mind is set on a thing, seem to lose sight of all but two persons the person who can help them most and the person who can hinder them most. In the present case Ainger's heart was set on making his house the crack house of Grandcourt. The person who could help him most was Railsford, and the person who could hinder him most was Felgate.
I'll get one out of the bedroom!" And in his flurry he went off, poker in hand, to the cubicle. "What a day we're having!" murmured Barnworth. Stafford giggled just as Railsford re-entered. It was awkward, and gave the new master a very unfavourable impression of the most harmless boy in his house.
"I had expected long before this that it would have been possible to restore it to the ordinary rights of Grandcourt. An impenetrable mystery is a bad thing for a school." "It is," said Railsford, feeling uncomfortable. And here the conservation ended. Railsford had not been long in his room that evening when Sir Digby Oakshott knocked at the door and entered with a long face.
"P.S. Please show this letter to Dr Ponsford and Mr Railsford." This startling letter Mr Bickers read over several times, with great amazement and no less vexation. He was angry, not at the injury which had been done to himself, but because this letter had come just when it did. To-morrow, in all probability, his enemy would have left Grandcourt, and then it would be less matter.
"No, sir," said Ainger, returning the look, after his fashion, half defiantly. The next name was called, and its owner marched up to the desk and uttered his denial. Railsford, as he stood scanning keenly the face of each boy in turn, felt that he was watching the action of some strange machine. First Ainger's clear voice. Then the short "Adsum," and the footsteps up to the desk.
"For all that, I should like to know the name of the person referred to." "You surely do not mean, Bickers, that you attach any importance to a ridiculous joke like that?" "I attach just the importance it deserves, Railsford." "Then I would put it in the fire, Bickers." Mr Bickers's face darkened.
"Married!" he would reply, scornfully, "fiddlesticks! I tell you there's nothing in it all jaw! Who told you they were going to be married?" From utterances like these an impression got abroad in some quarters that Railsford wanted to marry "Chuckey," but "Chuckey" wouldn't have him. So the last end of the story was worse than the first.
"Hear, hear," said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers's voice was conspicuous. Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice, and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman. "They do not know of your scrape," said monsieur, cheerfully. "I would tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his little speech."
The Master of the Shell retired to bed that night doubtful about his boys, and doubtful about himself. He was excellent at shutting stable doors after the abstraction of the horses, and could see a blunder clearly after it had been committed. Still, hope sprang eternal in the breast of Mark Railsford. He would return to the charge to-morrow, and the next day, and the next.
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