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Updated: May 18, 2025
Richard Rutford, to give a concrete example, came to Harrow knowing nothing about Public Schools, and caring as little for the traditions of the Hill, but with the prestige of being a Senior Classic. Nobody questioned his ability to teach Greek. In his own line, and not an inch beyond, the Governors were assured that Rutford was a success.
The action, the expression in the eyes, were unmistakable. John understood, as plainly as if Scaife had spoken, that silence, where expulsion impended, was not only expedient but imperative. Kinloch crept out of the room. Rutford examined Scaife, who feigned insensibility. Then he addressed Lawrence. "Go to Lovell's room, Lawrence, and institute a thorough search.
Rutford will put Verney in here, if I ask him. And, by God! I'm in the mood to ask him now. Shall I go to him, Desmond, or shall I stay?" He had never raised his voice, but it fell upon the sensitive soul of the boy facing him as if it were a clarion-call to battle. Desmond sprang forward, ardent, eager, afire with generous self-surrender. "Forgive me," he cried.
"Why is Rutford called 'Dirty Dick'?" John asked nervously. "He doesn't look dirty." "Oh, we've licked him into a sort of shape," said Desmond. "I believe he toshes now once a month, or so." "Toshes?" "Tubs, you know. We call a tub a 'tosh. When Dirty Dick came here he was unclean.
"Scaife said he felt as if he was jolly well screwed, sir; but he isn't. I'm quite sure he isn't. He may feel like it; but he isn't." John could see Scaife's eyes, slightly blood-shot, but sparkling with a sort of diabolical sobriety. At that moment, one thing alone seemed certain, Scaife had regained full possession of his faculties. Rutford stared at John, frowning.
But whatever hopes Duff may have entertained of his house-master's deafness were speedily laid in the dust. Within five minutes Rutford reappeared. He stood in the doorway, glaring. "Just now, Duff," said he, "I happened to overhear your voice, which is singularly, I may say vulgarly, penetrating. You were speaking of me, your house-master, as 'Dick. But you used an adjective before it.
John described his return to Trieve's room, and Trieve's threat. "Lovell and you tell the same story." "Why, yes, sir." John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; but his face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless. Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recited what he knew and what he suspected.
Everything was tried, even to the expedient of flicking Scaife's body with a wet towel; but the boy lay motionless, his face horribly red against the white pillow, his heavy breathing growing more laboured and louder. And despite the perfume of the eau de Cologne which had drenched pillow and pyjamas, the smell of whisky spread terror to the crowd. If Rutford came in, he would swoop on the truth.
"I was just outside the door," said John. "We'll put him into the sick-room, Mr. Rutford. And in a day or two he'll be himself again." "Are you sure that what I er feared er ?" The doctor frowned. "The boy has had brandy, of course." "Mrs. Puttick and Lovell gave him plenty of that," John interpolated. "I believe you can exonerate the boy entirely," said the doctor.
Not a boy in Damer's team was Scaife's equal as a player, but in Scaife's strength lay the weakness of the Manorites. They relied upon one player; Damer's pinned faith to eleven. As it happened to be a fine day, the School turned out in force to witness the match. Most of the masters were present, and some ladies. Rutford, however, had business elsewhere.
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