He was nearly nineteen.
He stood on the platform on Prize Day, reciting a Greek Oration of his own composition. The hall was full of schoolboys and their parents, but Maurice affected to be ad-dressing the Hague Conference, and to be pointing out to it the folly of its ways. "What stupidity is this, O andres Europenaici, to talk of abolishing war? What? Is not Ares the son of Zeus himself? Moreover, war renders you robust by exercising your limbs, not forsooth like those of my opponent." The Greek was vile: Maurice had got the prize on account of the Thought, and barely thus. The examining master had stretched a point in his favour since he was leaving and a respectable chap, and more-over leaving for Cambridge, where prize books on his shelves would help to advertise the school. So he received Grote'sHis-tory of Greece amid tremendous applause. As he returned to his seat, which was next to his mother, he realized that he had again become popular, and wondered how. The clapping continued —it grew to an ovation; Ada and Kitty were pounding away with scarlet faces on the further side. Some of his friends, also leaving, cried "speech". This was irregular and quelled by the authorities, but the Headmaster himself rose and said a few words. Hall was one of them, and they would never cease to feel him so. The words were just. The school clapped not because Maurice was eminent but because he was average. It could cele
brate itself in his image. People ran up to him afterwards saying "jolly good, old man", quite sentimentally, and even "it will be bilge in this hole without you." His relations shared in the tri-umph. On previous visits he had been hateful to them. "Sorry, mater, but you and the kids will have to walk alone" had been his remark after a football match when they had tried to join on to him in his mud and glory: Ada had cried. Now Ada was chat-ting quite ably to the Captain of the School, and Kitty was being handed cakes, and his mother was listening to his house-master's wife, on the disappointments of installing hot air. Everyone and everything had suddenly harmonized. Was this the world
A few yards off he saw Dr Barry, their neighbour from home, who caught his eye and called out in his alarming way, "Con-gratulations, Maurice, on your triumph. Overwhelming! I drink to it in this cup"—he drained it—"of extremely nasty tea.
Maurice laughed and went up to him, rather guiltily; for his conscience was bad. Dr Barry had asked him to befriend a little nephew, who had entered the school that term, but he had done nothing—it was not the thing. He wished that he had had more courage now that it was too late and he felt a man.
And what's the next stage in your triumphal career? Cam-bridge
So they say.
So they say, do they? And what do you say
I don't know," said the hero good-temperedly.
And after Cambridge, what? Stock Exchange
I suppose so—my father's old partner talks of letting me in if all goes well.
And after you're let in by your father's old partner, what? A pretty wife
Maurice laughed again.
Who will present the expectant world with a Maurice the third? After which old age, grandchildren, and finally the daisies. So that's your notion of a career. Well, it isn't mine.
What's your notion, Doctor?" called Kitty.
To help the weak and right the wrong, my dear," he replied, looking across at her.
I'm sure it is all our notions," said the housemaster's wife, and Mrs Hall agreed.
Oh no, it's not. It isn't consistently mine, or I should be look-ing after my Dickie instead of lingering on this scene of splen-dour.
Do bring dear Dickie to say how d'ye do to me," asked Mrs Hall. "Is his father down here too
Mother!" Kitty whispered.
Yes. My brother died last year," said Dr Barry. "The incident slipped your memory. War did not render him robust by exer-cising his limbs, as Maurice supposes. He got a shell in the stomach.
He left them.
I think Dr Barry gets cynical," remarked Ada. "I think he's jealous." She was right: Dr Barry, who had been a lady killer in his time, did resent the continuance of young men. Poor Maur-ice encountered him again. He had been saying goodbye to his housemaster's wife, who was a handsome woman, very civil to the older boys. They shook hands warmly. On turning away he heard Dr Barry's "Well, Maurice; a youth irresistible in love as in war," and caught his cynical glance.
I don't know what you mean, Dr Barry.
Oh, you young fellows! Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth these days. Don't know what I mean! Prudish of a petticoat! Be frank, man, be frank. You don't take anyone in. The frank mind's the pure mind. I'm a medical man and an old man and I tell you
that. Man that is bom of woman must go with woman if the human race is to continue.
Maurice stared after the housemaster's wife, underwent a violent repulsion from her, and blushed crimson: he had re-membered Mr Ducie's diagrams. A trouble—nothing as beauti-ful as a sorrow—rose to the surface of his mind, displayed its ungainliness, and sank. Its precise nature he did not ask himself, for his hour was not yet, but the hint was appalling, and, hero though he was, he longed to be a little boy again, and to stroll half awake for ever by the colourless sea. Dr Barry went on lecturing him, and under the cover of a friendly manner said much that gave pain.