Evelyn Waugh: Decline and Fall

'Thank you, I'd love to.

'Well, there's only one glass.

'Oh, well, it doesn't matter, then.

'You might get your tooth‑glass from your bedroom.

'I don't know where that is.

'Oh, well, never mind; we'll have some another night. I suppose you're the new master?

'Yes.

'You'll hate it here. I know. I've been here ten years. Grimes only came this term. He hates it already. Have you seen Grimes?

'Yes, I think so.

'He isn't a gentleman. Do you smoke?

'Yes.

'A pipe, I mean.

'Yes.

'Those are my pipes. Rernind me to show them to you after dinner.

At this moment the butler appeared with a message that Dr Fagan wished to see Mr Pennyfeather.

Dr Fagan's part of the Castle was more palatial. He stood at the end of a long room with his back to a rococo marble chimneypiece; he wore a velvet dinner‑jacket.

'Settling in? he asked.

'Yes, said Paul.

Sitting before the fire, with a glass bottle of sweets in her lap, was a brightly dressed woman in early middle age.

'That, said Dr Fagan with some disgust, 'is my daughter.

'Pleased to meet you, said Miss Fagan. 'Now what I always tells the young chaps as comes here is, "Don't let the dad overwork you." He's a regular Tartar, is Dad, but then you know what scholars are ‑ inhuman. Ain't you, said Miss Fagan, turning on her father with sudden ferocity ‑ 'ain't you inhuman?

'At times, my dear, I am grateful for what little detachment I have achieved. But here, he added, 'is my other daughter.

Silently, except for a scarcely perceptible jingling of keys, another woman had entered the room. She was younger than her sister, but far less gay.

'How do you do? she said. 'I do hope you have brought some soap with you. I asked my father to tell you, but he so often forgets these things. Masters are not supplied with soap or with boot polish or with washing over two shillings and sixpence weekly. Do you take sugar in your tea?

'Yes, usually.

'I will make a note of that and have two extra lumps put out for you. Don't let the boys get them, though.

'I have put you in charge of the fifth form for the rest of this term, said Dr Fagan. 'You will find them delightful boys, quite delightful. Clutterbuck wants watching, by the way, a very delicate little chap. I have also put you in charge of the games, the carpentering class, and the fire drill. And I forgot, do you teach music?

'No, I'm afraid not.

'Unfortunate, most unfortunate. I understood from Mr Levy that you did. I have arranged for you to take Beste‑Chetwynde in organ lessons twice a week. Well, you must do the best you can. There goes the bell for dinner. I won't detain you. Oh, one other thing. Not a word to the boys, please, about the reasons for your leaving Oxford! We schoolmasters must temper discretion with deceit. There, I fancy I have said something for you to think about. Good night.

'Tootle‑oo, said the elder Miss Fagan.

Paul had very little difficulty in finding the dining‑hall. He was guided there by the smell of cooking and the sound of voices. It was a large, panelled room, far from disagreeable, with fifty or sixty boys of ages ranging from ten to eighteen settled along four long tables. The smaller ones wore Eton suits, the elder ones dinner-jackets.

He was led to a place at the head of one of the tables. The boys on either side of him stood up very politely until he sat down. One of them was the boy who had whistled at Captain Grimes. Paul thought he rather liked him.

'I'm called Beste‑Chetwynde, he said.

'I've got to teach you the organ, I believe.

'Yes, it's great fun: we play in the village church. Do you play terribly well?

Paul felt this was not a moment for candour, and so, 'tempering discretion with deceit', he said, 'Yes, remarkably well.

'I say, do you really, or are you rotting?

'Indeed, I'm not. I used to give lessons to the Master of Scone.

'Well, you won't be able to teach me much, said Beste‑Chetwynde cheerfully. 'I only do it to get off gym. I say, they haven't given you a napkin. These servants are too awful. Philbrick, he shouted to the butler, 'why haven't you given Mr Pennyfeather a napkin?

'Forgot, said Philbrick, 'and it's too late because Miss Fagan's locked the linen up.

'Nonsense! said Beste‑Chetwynde; 'go and get one at once. That man's all right, really, he added, 'only he wants watching.

In a few minutes Philbrick returned with the napkin.

'It seems to me that you're a remarkably intelligent boy, said Paul.

'Captain Grimes doesn't think so. He says I'm half-witted. I'm glad you're not like Captain Grimes. He's so common, don't you think?

'You mustn't talk about the other masters like that in front of me.

'Well that's what we all think about him, ariyway. What's more, he wears combinations. I saw it in his, washing‑book one day when I was fetching him his hat. I think combinations are rather awful, don't you?

There was a commotion at the end of the hall.

'I expect that's Clutterbuck being sick, said Beste Chetwynde. 'He's awfully sick when we have mutton.

The boy on Paul's other side now spoke for the first time.

'Mr Prendergast wears a wig, he said, and then be came very confused and subsided into a giggle.

'That's Briggs, said Beste‑Chetwynde, 'only everyone calls him Brolly, because of the shop, you know.

'They're silly rotters, said Briggs.

All this was a great deal easier than Paul had expected; it didn't seem so very hard to get on with boys, after all.

After a time they all stood up, and amid considerable noise Mr Prendergast said grace. Someone called out 'Prendy! very loudly just by Paul's ear.

… per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen, said Mr Prendergast. 'Betse‑Chetwynde, was that you who made that noise?

'Me, sir? No, sir.

'Pennyfeather, did Beste‑Chetwynde make that noise?

'No, I don't think so, said Paul, and Beste‑Chetwynde gave him a friendly look, because, as a matter of fact, he had.

Captain Grimes linked arms with him outside the dining‑hall.

'Filthy meal, isn't it, old boy? he said.

'Pretty bad, said Paul.

'Prendy's on duty to‑night. I'm off to the pub. How about you?

'All right, said Paul.

'Prendy's not so bad in his way, said Grimes, 'but he can't keep order. Of course, you know he wears a wig. Very hard for a man with a wig to keep order. I've got a false leg, but that's different. Boys respect that. Think I lost it in the war. Actually, said the Captain, 'and strictly between ourselves, mind, I was run over by a tram in Stoke‑on‑Trent when I was one‑over‑the‑eight. Still, it doesn't do to let that out to everyone. Funny thing, but I feel I can trust you. I think we're going to be pals.

'I hope so, said Paul.

'I've been feeling the need of a pal for some time. The bloke before you wasn't bad ‑ a bit stand‑offish, though. He had a motor‑bike, you see. The daughters of the house didn't care for him. Have you met Miss Fagan?

'I've met two.

'They're both bitches, said Grimes, and added moodily, 'I'm engaged to be married to Flossie.

'Good God! Which is she?

'The elder. The boys call them Flossie and Dingy. We haven't told the old boy yet. I'm waiting till I land in the soup again. Then I shall play that as my last card. I generally get into the soup sooner or later. Here's the pub. Not such a bad little place in its way. Clutterbuck's father makes all the beer round here. Not bad stuff, either. Two pints, please, Mrs Roberts!

In the farther corner sat Philbrick, talking volubly in Welsh to a shady‑looking old man.

'Damned cheek his coming in here! said Grimes.

Mrs Roberts brought them their beer. Grimes took a long draught and sighed happily.