Читать книгу The Exploits of Peter - Sydney Horler - Страница 4

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That night McTavity got on the London telephone to his father, and the next morning he was stopped by his form master, who said,—

“The Head has given you permission to go to London for two days, McTavity, I understand.”

“Yes, sir, I have some business that requires seeing to!” was the reply which flabbergasted the master, and sent him staggering away.

Calvey took the surprising retort straight to the Head, who looked up from his papers with a puzzled frown.

“It is most surprising, I agree, Calvey; but Sir Robert sent me a telegram to say that he wished to see his son on an urgent matter, and that he couldn’t spare the time to come down to Stapleford. So I gave my permission. But the boy’s head is full of extraordinary ideas—I really do not know what he will develop into when he gets out into the world—and so I dare say we need not attach any undue importance to the matter. I will see him when he returns.”

But—and perhaps it was a freakish Fate who decided it—the multifarious duties of the Head prevented him from interviewing the boy on whose youthful shoulders the cares of business pressed so heavily. Instead of taking war into the enemy’s camp, the enemy actually brought war—or something which at first threatened to be akin to it—into the sacred precincts of his own study.

It happened this way: in the interval between tea and Prep, the Rev. Joseph Baxter placidly reading Greek verse in the original—his one luxury—was informed that a boy wished to have a private interview with him. It was a time-honoured custom, that, if a boy followed the correct procedure, the Head was accessible to him in case of need. Somewhat wearily then, the Head gave permission for the boy to enter.

The visitor proved to be McTavity—a serenely-confident McTavity, oozing goodwill and benevolence to the world at every pore.

The Head straightened himself up, scenting mischief.

“And what do you want to see me about, my boy?” he asked sharply.

“I have come to know, sir, if you would lend your kind support to a scheme which has as its object the providing of wholesome amusement for the boys of the school; and which, I have every reason to believe, would do away with the lamentable tendency of some of the more ill-balanced minds for seeking relaxation in unhealthy atmospheres, and the consequent degrading scenes which were witnessed a few days ago in the Big Hall!”

“What in thun”—the Head nearly said “thunder,” but stopped himself on the brink of the precipice—“the name of all that’s intelligible do you mean?” cried the Rev. Joseph Baxter. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

“Sir!” was the shocked reply, “you pain me! I am sorry if I have vexed you in any way, or if you question the objects which have prompted me to undertake this work. You said in your speech the other morning that you deplored the fact that there wasn’t an outlet in Stapleford for legitimate amusement; well, sir, it is my sincere and honest endeavour to supply that long-felt want. I counted on your support, sir.” This last with a look of mute reproach that was calculated to move the heart of a dyspeptic rhinoceros.

The Head was cornered—pushed into a situation by a quotation from his own oration. He felt himself in the power of an agency that was seeking to overthrow him by nefarious means, and yet against which he knew he was helpless.

He did the best he could for himself in the circumstances.

“If you are arranging some form of entertainment for the school—an entertainment which will prove helpful and wholesome—I shall be pleased to lend my support to the scheme,” he replied, “but, remember, I must have the scheme laid before me. You can go.”

McTavity went—grinning from ear to ear—to be embraced, bear-fashion, by a highly expectant and inordinately delighted Mike Beavis, who had been fretfully waiting in the corridor.

*****

Three days later, and the bombshell fell. Although made of paper, it created as much commotion at the breakfast table of the Rev. Joseph Baxter as a 5.9 might have done.

Amongst the Head’s correspondence was a large envelope, highly ornamental, on the top of which was printed in flaming scarlet letters:

THE STAPLEFORD COLOSSEUM

Bewildered, the eminent pedagogue tore open the envelope: a large card dropped to the floor.

At first, the Rev. Joseph Baxter thought he must be dreaming, but a second scrutiny through his pince-nez assured him that he could no longer harbour any illusions on that score.

This is what he read:—

UNDER THE DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE OF

THE REV. JOSEPH BAXTER, HEADMASTER OF ST. COLSTON’S,

SIR ROBERT ANGUS M^cTAVITY, AND OTHER NOTABILITIES.

The charming Picture Play House to be known as

THE STAPLEFORD COLOSSEUM

will be opened with great éclat on Saturday next at

2.30 p.m. sharp. Doors Open at 2.15 p.m.

MONSTER PROGRAMME OF STARS!

FORGET DULL CARE! COME AND LAUGH!

Come Early to Avoid the Crush

Come and shake hands with Peter McTavity, the world’s

youngest manager, who lives only to see you happy!

POPULAR PRICES!

The Rev. Joseph Baxter had led an uneventful and sequestered life; his heart wasn’t equal to the tremendous strain which suddenly had been put upon it. With a faint, despairing cry like unto that of a wounded bird in fright, his head fell forward.

And it was thus that Sir Robert McTavity, who, a proverbial early riser, had come down by the first train from London, found him when, to use his own terse phrase, he dropped in for a bite.