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Updated: May 18, 2025
Rutford continued in his best manner: "Mark the vis medicatrix naturae. Nature, assisted by hot water, gently accomplishes her task. Very simple, and not one of you had the wit to think of a remedy close at hand, and so easy to administer. The breathing is becoming normal.
It was Rutford, who, followed by Lawrence, strode down the passage into No. 15, and up to the bed. "If you please, sir," said Lovell, "Scaife has had a fit." "It looks like a fit," said Rutford, gravely. "I have telephoned for the doctor. You've tried," he sniffed the air, "all the wrong remedies, of course. Feathers phaugh! perfume brandy!
And then Caesar said suddenly "By Jove! I have got a bit of news. It quite takes the sting out of this draw." "What's happened?" "My governor has been talking with Warde. Rutford is leaving Harrow." John gasped. "That is ripping." "Isn't it? But who do you think is coming to us? Why, Warde himself.
Immediately, his face assumed the obstinate, expressionless look which made those who searched no deeper than the surface pronounce him a dull boy. Rutford, for instance, interpreted this stolidity as unintelligence and lack of perception. John, meantime, was struggling with a thought which shaped itself slowly into a plan of action. He had just heard Lovell lie to save the Caterpillar.
Not from any cowardly motive, but as he put it afterwards "because one makes a point of retiring whenever a rank outsider appears. One ought to be particular about the company one keeps." It says something for the boy's character, that this statement was accepted by the house as unvarnished truth. Lovell glanced at the other Fifth Form boys, as Rutford repeated the question.
Leaven lay in the lump, but not enough to make it rise, because the baker refused to stir the dough. First and last, Rutford disliked boys, misunderstood them, insulted them, ignored those who lacked influential connections, toadied and pampered the "swells." Just before John Verney came to Harrow, the Manor was showing unmistakable signs of decay.
A new Head Master, recognizing "dry-rot," realizing the necessity of cutting it out, was confronted with that bristling obstacle Tradition. He possessed enough moral courage to have told Rutford to resign, because in a thousand indescribable ways the man had neglected his duty; but, so said the Tones, such a step might provoke a public scandal, and if Rutford refused to go what then?
John, upon this eventful evening, soon became aware of a shindy. It happened that Rutford was giving a dinner-party, and extremely unlikely to leave the private side of the house. John heard snatches of song, howls, and cheers. John was getting a "con" from Trieve when an unusually piercing howl penetrated the august seclusion. "What are they doing?" asked Trieve, irritably. John hesitated.
His uncle, as usual, said little, replying almost in monosyllables to the questions of his host; but John junior told himself exultantly that it was not necessary for Uncle John to talk; the wide world knew what he had done. Then his house-master, Rutford, had told John where to buy his first straw hat.
"You dare to look me in the face and tell me that Scaife is not drunk?" Very seriously, John answered, "I'm sure he's not drunk, sir." Rutford eyed the boy keenly. "Have you ever seen anybody drunk?" he demanded. "I live in the New Forest," said John, as gravely as before, "and on Whit-Monday " He was aware that he had made an impression upon this big, truculent man.
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