To You, Mr. Chips: More Stories of Mr. Chips and the True Story Behind the World's Most Beloved Schoolmaster by Hilton James

To You, Mr. Chips: More Stories of Mr. Chips and the True Story Behind the World's Most Beloved Schoolmaster by Hilton James

Author:Hilton, James [Hilton, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453240458
Amazon: 1453240454
Goodreads: 13577174
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1938-01-01T08:00:00+00:00


3. YOUNG WAVENEY

WHEN WAVENEY HAD BEEN at Brookfield for a month he was moved up into the Lower Fourth, Mr. Pearson’s form; which was a pity, because he did not like Mr. Pearson. Nor, to be quite frank, did Mr. Pearson like him. For Waveney was everything that Mr. Pearson was not; he was young, he was attractive, and he possessed an inexhaustible vitality. Mr. Pearson, on the other hand, was no longer young; he had never been particularly attractive, and he had lately become exceedingly tired. Actually he was forty-three, and owing to a weak heart that made him ineligible for the Army, he had come to Brookfield as a war-time deputy.

How a schoolmaster must envy a boy who is obviously going to grow up into a man of much superior personality to his own, and how easily that envy can turn to loathing if the boy senses it and is cruel!

Waveney was not cruel, but he was a passionate hater of injustice, and before he had been in Mr. Pearson’s class for a week, that passionate hatred was aroused.

For Mr. Pearson had a system. The system, which had served well enough at his previous school, was new to Brookfield; and it was as follows. If anyone in his class talked or fooled about while his back was turned, Mr. Pearson would swing round to try to catch him, but if (being rather short-sighted) he failed to do so, he would say: “Stand up the boy who did that.” Nobody would respond, of course, because there was a feeling at Brookfield that a school-master had no right to ask such a question. He ought to spot offenders for himself, or else leave them unspotted. For after all, as young Waveney eloquently remarked, if you ride your bicycle on the footpath, you may be copped, but you aren’t expected to go to the police-station and give yourself up; and all life was rather like that, one way and another.

Wherefore it was manifestly unjust for Mr. Pearson, when nobody made a confession, to pull out a large gunmetal watch, hold it dramatically in one hand, and say: “Very well, if the boy who did it doesn’t own up within twenty seconds, I shall detain the whole form for half an hour after morning school. … Five … Ten … Fifteen … Very well, then, you will all meet me here again at twelve-thirty.”

Partly by its detestable novelty, the system worked after a few preliminary trials, and Mr. Pearson’s class remained fairly free from ragging. Which, doubtless, may be held to justify the system; for Mr. Pearson knew from long experience that, in matters of class discipline, he was such stuff as screams are made of.

Now young Waveney, who was about as clever as an eleven-year-old can well be without achieving something absolutely insufferable, had declared war on Mr. Pearson right from the first day, when in answer to a question in a history test-paper: “What do you know about the Star



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