Orville College: A Story

In the Plantation.

The glowing sunset of a September evening was shining on the fair grounds around Orville College, lighting up the scene of stir and bustle invariably presented on the return of the boys to their studies after the periodical holidays. A large, comfortable-looking, and very irregular building was this college. But a moderate-sized house originally, it had been added to here, and enlarged there, and raised yonder, at different times as necessity required, and with regard to convenience only, not to uniformity of architecture. The whole was of red brick, save the little chapel jutting out at one end; that was of white brick, with black divisional strokes, as if the architect had a mind to make some distinction by way of reverence. The Head Master's house faced the lawn and the wide gravel carriage-drive that encircled it; the school apartments, ending in the chapel, were built on the house's left; the sleeping-rooms and domestic offices were on its right. It was only a private college—in fact, a school—founded many years ago by a Dr. Orville, and called after him; but it gradually became renowned in the world, and was now of the very first order of private colleges.

Situated near London, in the large and unoccupied tracts of land lying between the north and the west districts, when the college was first erected, nothing could be seen near it but green fields. It was in a degree isolated still, but time had wrought its natural changes; a few gentlemen's houses had grown up around, and a colony of small shops came with them. The latest improvement, or innovation, whichever you like to call it, had been a little brick railway station, and the rushing, thundering trains, which seemed to be always passing, would occasionally condescend to halt, and pick up or set down the Orville travellers. In want of a name, when the houses spoken of began to spring up, it had called itself Orville Green—which was as good a name for the little suburb as any other.

Dr. Brabazon, the head master, stood at the door to receive his coming guests. It had been more consistent possibly with the reserve and dignity of a head master, to have ensconced himself in a state-chair within the walls of his drawing-room or library, and given the boys a gracious bow as each introduced himself. Not so the doctor. He was the most simple-mannered man in the world—as these large-hearted and large-minded men are apt to be,—and he stood at the hall door, or went to it perpetually, with a hearty smile and outstretched hands for each fresh arrival. A portly, genial man he, of near sixty years, with an upright line of secret care on his brow that sat ill upon it, as if it had no business there.

The boys on this occasion came up, as was usual, to the front, or doctor's entrance; not to their own entrance near the chapel. The number of students altogether did not exceed a hundred. About forty of these were resident at the head master's; the rest—or nearly the rest—were accommodated at the houses of other of the masters, and a very few—eight or ten at the most—attended as outdoor pupils, their friends living near. No difference whatever was made in the education, but these last were somewhat looked down upon by the rest of the boys. They arrived variously; some driven from town in their fathers' handsome carriages, some in cabs, some used the new rail and walked from thence, some had come by omnibus. Dr. Brabazon received all alike, with the same genial smile, the same cordial grasp of the hand. He liked all to make their appearance on the eve of school, that the roll might be written and called: the actual business beginning on the morrow.

A pair of beautiful long-tailed ponies, drawing a low four-wheeled open carriage, came round the gravel sweep with a quiet dash. The driver was a well-grown youth, who had entered his eighteenth year. He had high, prominent features of an aquiline cast, and large sleepy blue eyes: a handsome face, certainly, but spoilt by its look of pride. His attention during his short drive—for they had not come far—had been absorbed by his ponies and by his own self-importance as he drove them. It was one of the senior boys, Albert Loftus. By his side sat another of the seniors, a cousin, Raymond Trace, a quiet-looking youth of no particular complexion, and his light eyes rather sunk in his head; eyes that he had a habit of screwing together when at his studies. He had been reading a book all the way, never once looking up at his cousin, or the road, or the ponies, and answering in civil monosyllables when spoken to. Behind sat another college boy, younger, Master Dick Loftus. Master Dick possessed very little pride indeed, and was a contrast to his brother. He had amused himself, coming along, with a pea-shooter, and hung out a flag behind—all to the happy ignorance of the driver and Mr. Trace. A groom in plain livery, nearly bursting with suppressed laughter, made the fourth in the pretty carriage.

"Well, Loftus, I'm very glad to see you: you're rather late, though, considering you are so close," was the doctor's greeting. "How are you, Trace? Dick, you rebel, I hope we shall have no trouble this term."

The doctor laughed as he said it. Dick, a red-faced good-humoured boy, met the hand and laugh readily. He knew he was a favourite, with all his faults.

"Sir Simon's compliments to you, sir, and he will do himself the pleasure of calling shortly," said Mr. Loftus. "Dick, take those things away."

Mr. Loftus had slightly altered the phraseology of the message: "My respects to Dr. Brabazon, and I'll give him a look in soon," was the one sent. The groom had been depositing a few things on the ground, and Dick was loading himself, when a close carriage drove in. A lady sat inside it in solitary state, and a young gentleman sat on the roof backwards.

"Halloa! It's Onions!"

The remark came from Mr. Dick Loftus. He dropped the things summarily, went out, and began a dance in honour of the new arrival. Loftus the elder seized on a square parcel done up in brown paper, and disappeared, leaving the other things to their fate. "Onions" got down by the chariot wheel, and shook hands with Dick.

They called him Onions as a sort of parody on his name, "Leek." The college was in the habit of bestowing these nicknames. Joseph Leek, at any rate, did not mind it, whatever others, thus distinguished, might do; he would as soon be called Onions as Leek, at any time. Nothing upset his temper or his equanimity. He was one of the coolest boys that ever entered a school, and was a universal favourite. His father, General Leek, was in India; his mother, Lady Sophia, whom Dr. Brabazon was now assisting from the carriage, was an invalid in the matter of nerves, and always thankful to get her son to school again the first day of term.

The pony carriage drove off; Lady Sophia Leek's carriage was not long in following; other carriages, and cabs, and flies came up and went; and there was a lull in the arrivals. Dr. Brabazon was standing at his drawing-room window (a light pretty room on the right of the hall) and was trying to call to mind how many were still absent, when he saw some one else approaching, a small black travelling-bag in one hand, and dressed from head to foot in a suit of grey.

"Who's this?" cried he to himself. "It looks too tall for Gall."

Too tall certainly for Mr. Gall, who, though the senior boy of the college, was undersized. And too old also. This gentleman looked two or three-and-twenty; a slender man of middle height, with pale, delicate features, and a sad sort of look in his pleasant dark eyes.

"It must be the new German master," thought Dr. Brabazon: and he hurried out to meet him.

The new German master it was, Mr. Henry. There was a peculiar kind of timid reticence in his manner which seemed foreign to himself, for his face was a candid, open face, his voice frank. Dr. Brabazon put it down to the natural shyness of one who has resided abroad. Mr. Henry, of English birth, had been chiefly educated in Germany. He spoke German as a native, French also: for some few years he had been a professor at the University of Heidelberg, and had come thence now, strongly recommended to Dr. Brabazon.

"I am very glad to see you," said the doctor, taking his hand in his simple, cordial manner. "Welcome to England! I have been expecting you since the morning."

"We had a bad passage, sir; the boat was late by many hours. It was due at ten this morning, but we only got in an hour or two ago."

The words were spoken without any foreign accent. Not only that: the tone was that of a refined Englishman. The fact gave satisfaction to Dr. Brabazon, who liked his pupils to be surrounded by good associations in all ways.

"Will you kindly tell me where I am to lodge?"

"Here, for a few days," said Dr. Brabazon. "As you were so complete a stranger, we thought you might like best to fix, yourself, upon lodgings. It is some years since you were in England, I think?"

"Nine years, sir."

"Nine years! Dear me! You have not many friends, then, I conclude, in your own country?"

Mr. Henry shook his head. "Few men are much more friendless than I am."

And the accent sounded friendless. There was something singularly attractive about this young man, in his gentle manner, his sensitive, shrinking shyness (for so it seemed), his sad, earnest brown eyes: and Dr. Brabazon's heart went out to him.

"You shall be shown your room, Mr. Henry," he said, "and then my daughter will give you some tea."

Later, Dr. Brabazon took him through the passages, on either side of which were rooms appropriated to particular studies, to the lofty hall, which was the chief schoolroom. A long room, with high windows on one side of it; the masters' desks in the angles of the room, and the long desks of the boys ranged against the sides. Dr. Brabazon's place was at the upper end, in the centre, facing the door, so that he commanded full view of all. Three masters lived in the house: the Reverend Mr. Jebb; Mr. Baker, the mathematical master, and Mr. Long, who took English generally, some of the natural sciences, and was supposed to superintend the boys out of hours. Mr. Jebb assisted Dr. Brabazon with the classics, and the latter took divinity. The other masters lived out. Dr. Brabazon introduced Mr. Henry to the clergyman and Mr. Long, and left him. Mr. Baker was not there.

The boys were renewing private friendships, telling tales of their holidays, hatching mischief for the coming term, criticising a few new-comers, and making a continuous hum. Their ages varied from ten to eighteen. On the whole, they seemed a rather superior set; for one thing, the terms were high, and that tended to keep the school select.

A sudden "Hiss-is-s," from the lips of Master Richard Loftus—or, as he was called in the school, Loftus minor—suppressed almost before it was heard, caused the group, of whom he was the centre, to look round.

"What is it, Dick?"

"Don't you see?" whispered Dick. "A nice amount of brass he must have, to show himself here again! Look at him, Onions; he looks more of a sneak than ever."