Chapter 1

The summer term ended in a blaze of glory for Frank Mannix. It was a
generally accepted opinion in the school that his brilliant catch in the
long field--a catch which disposed of the Uppingham captain--had been
the decisive factor in winning the most important of matches. And the
victory was particularly gratifying, for Haileybury had been defeated
for five years previously. There was no doubt at all that the sixty not
out made by Mannix in the first innings rendered victory possible in the
“cock house” match, and that his performance as a bowler, first change,
in the second innings, secured the coveted trophy, a silver cup, for
Edmonstone House. These feats were duly recorded by Mr. Dupré, the house
master, in a neat speech which he made at a feast given in the classroom
to celebrate the glory of the house. When the plates of the eleven were
finally cleared of cherry tart and tumblers were refilled with the most
innocuous claret cup, Mr. Dupré rose to his feet.

He chronicled the virtues and successes of the hero of the hour. The
catch in the Uppingham match was touched on--a dangerous bat that
Uppingham captain. The sixty not out in the house match had been
rewarded with a presentation bat bearing a silver shield on the back of
it. No boy in the house, so Mr. Dupré said, grudged the sixpence which
had been stopped from his pocket money to pay for the bat. Then, passing
to graver matters, Mr. Dupré spoke warmly of the tone of the house, that
indefinable quality which in the eyes of a faithful schoolmaster is more
precious than rubies. It was Mannix, prefect and member of the lower
sixth, who more than any one else deserved credit for the fact that
Edmonstone stood second to no house in the school in the matter of tone.
The listening eleven, and the other prefects who, though not members
of the victorious eleven, had been invited to the feast, cheered
vigorously. They understood what tone meant though Mr. Dupré did not
define it. They knew that it was mainly owing to the determined attitude
of Mannix that young Latimer, who collected beetles and kept tame white
mice, had been induced to wash himself properly and to use a clothes
brush on the legs of his trousers. Latimer’s appearance in the old
days before Mannix took him in hand had lowered the tone of the house.
Mannix’ own appearance--though Mr. Dupré did not mention this--added the
weight of example to his precepts. His taste in ties was acknowledged.
No member of the school eleven knotted a crimson sash round his waist
with more admired precision. Nor was the success of the hero confined
to the playing fields and the dormitory. Mr. Dupré noted the fact that
Mannix had added other laurels to the crown of the house’s glory by
winning the head master’s prize for Greek iambics.

Mr. Dupré sat down. Mannix himself, blushing but pleasurably conscious
that his honours were deserved, rose to his feet. As President of the
Literary Society and a debater of formidable quality, he was well able
to make a speech. He chose instead to sing a song. It was one, so he
informed his audience, which Mr. Dupré had composed specially for the
occasion. The tune indeed was old. Every one would recognise it at once
and join in the chorus. The words, and he, Frank Mannix, hoped they
would dwell in the memory of those who sang them, were Mr. Dupré’s own.
The eleven, the prefects and Mr. Dupré himself joined with uproarious
tunefulness in a chorus which went tolerably trippingly to the air of
“Here’s to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen.”

“Here’s to the House, Edmonstone House.
Floreat semper Edmonstone House.”

Mannix trolled the words out in a clear tenor voice. One after another
of the eleven, even Fenton, the slow bowler who had no ear for music,
picked them up. The noise flowed through the doors and windows of the
classroom. It reached the distant dormitory and stimulated small boys in
pyjamas to thrills of envious excitement It was Mannix again, Mannix
at his greatest and best, who half an hour later stood up in his place.
With an air of authority which became him well, he raised his hand and
stilled the babbling voices of the enthusiastic eleven. Then, pitching
on a note which brought the tune well within the compass of even
Fenton’s growling bass, he began the school songs,

“Adsis musa canentibus
Laeta voce canentibus
Longos clara per annos
Haileyburia floreat.”

House feeling, local patriotism to the tune of “The Maiden of Bashful
Fifteen,” was well enough. Behind it, deep in the swelling heart of
Mannix, lay a wider thing, a kind of imperialism, a devotion to the
school itself. Far across the dim quadrangle rang the words “Haileyburia
Floreat.” It was Mannix’s greatest moment.

Three days later the school broke up. Excited farewells were said by
boys eagerly pressing into the brakes which bore them to the Hertford
station. Mannix, one of the earliest to depart, went off from the midst
of a group of admirers. It was understood by his friends that he was to
spend the summer fishing in the west of Ireland--salmon fishing. There
would be grouse shooting too. Mannix had mentioned casually a salmon rod
and a new gun. Happy Mannix!

The west of Ireland is a remote region, wild no doubt, half barbarous
perhaps. Even Mr. Dupré, who knew almost all things knowable, admitted,
as he shook hands with his favorite pupil, that he knew the west of
Ireland only by repute. But Mannix might be relied on to sustain
in those far regions the honour of the school. Small boys, born
hero-worshippers, gathered in groups to await the brakes which should
carry them to less splendid summer sports, and spoke to each other in
confidence of the salmon which Mannix would catch and the multitude of
grouse which would fall before the explosions of his gun.