Tales of St. Austin's

Name: Tales of St. Austin's
Author: Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)

Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)

Humorous stories; Schools -- Fiction

'Don't prevaricate, Smith. Are you the author of those lines?'

'No, sir.'

'Ah! Very good. Are you, Montgomery?'

'No, sir.'

'Very good. Then you, Morrison, are exonerated from all blame. You have
been exceedingly badly treated. The first-fruit of your brain has
been--ah--plucked by others, who toiled not neither did they spin. You
can go, Morrison.'

'But, sir--'

'Well, Morrison?'

'I didn't write them, sir.'

'I--ah--don't quite understand you, Morrison. You say that you are
indebted to another for these lines?'

'Yes, sir.'

'To Smith?'

'No, sir.'

'To Montgomery?'

'No, sir.'

'Then, Morrison, may I ask to whom you are indebted?'

'I found them in the field on a piece of paper, sir.' He claimed the
discovery himself, because he thought that Evans might possibly prefer
to remain outside this tangle.

'So did I, sir.' This from Montgomery. Mr Perceval looked bewildered,
as indeed he was.

'And did you, Smith, also find this poem on a piece of paper in the
field?' There was a metallic ring of sarcasm in his voice.

'No, sir.'

'Ah! Then to what circumstance were you indebted for the lines?'

'I got Reynolds to do them for me, sir.'

Montgomery spoke. 'It was near the infirmary that I found the paper,
and Reynolds is in there.'

'So did I, sir,' said Morrison, incoherently.

'Then am I to understand, Smith, that to gain the prize you resorted to
such underhand means as this?'

'No, sir, we agreed that there was no danger of my getting the prize.
If I had got it, I should have told you everything. Reynolds will tell
you that, sir.'

'Then what object had you in pursuing this deception?'

'Well, sir, the rules say everyone must send in something, and I can't
write poetry at all, and Reynolds likes it, so I asked him to do it.'

And Smith waited for the storm to burst. But it did not burst. Far down
in Mr Perceval's system lurked a quiet sense of humour. The situation
penetrated to it. Then he remembered the examiner's letter, and it
dawned upon him that there are few crueller things than to make a
prosaic person write poetry.

'You may go,' he said, and the three went.

And at the next Board Meeting it was decided, mainly owing to the
influence of an exceedingly eloquent speech from the Headmaster, to
alter the rules for the Sixth Form Poetry Prize, so that from thence
onward no one need compete unless he felt himself filled with the
immortal fire.




[13]

WORK


    With a pleasure that's emphatic
    We retire to our attic
    With the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.

    Oh! philosophers may sing
    Of the troubles of a king
    But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none,
    And the culminating pleasure
    Which we treasure beyond measure
    Is the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.

                                           _W. S. Gilbert_

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Tales of St. Austin'sWodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)

General

Tales of St. Austin's

Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)

Humorous stories; Schools -- Fiction

'Don't prevaricate, Smith. Are you the author of those lines?'

'No, sir.'

'Ah! Very good. Are you, Montgomery?'

'No, sir.'

'Very good. Then you, Morrison, are exonerated from all blame. You have
been exceedingly badly treated. The first-fruit of your brain has
been--ah--plucked by others, who toiled not neither did they spin. You
can go, Morrison.'

'But, sir--'

'Well, Morrison?'

'I didn't write them, sir.'

'I--ah--don't quite understand you, Morrison. You say that you are
indebted to another for these lines?'

'Yes, sir.'

'To Smith?'

'No, sir.'

'To Montgomery?'

'No, sir.'

'Then, Morrison, may I ask to whom you are indebted?'

'I found them in the field on a piece of paper, sir.' He claimed the
discovery himself, because he thought that Evans might possibly prefer
to remain outside this tangle.

'So did I, sir.' This from Montgomery. Mr Perceval looked bewildered,
as indeed he was.

'And did you, Smith, also find this poem on a piece of paper in the
field?' There was a metallic ring of sarcasm in his voice.

'No, sir.'

'Ah! Then to what circumstance were you indebted for the lines?'

'I got Reynolds to do them for me, sir.'

Montgomery spoke. 'It was near the infirmary that I found the paper,
and Reynolds is in there.'

'So did I, sir,' said Morrison, incoherently.

'Then am I to understand, Smith, that to gain the prize you resorted to
such underhand means as this?'

'No, sir, we agreed that there was no danger of my getting the prize.
If I had got it, I should have told you everything. Reynolds will tell
you that, sir.'

'Then what object had you in pursuing this deception?'

'Well, sir, the rules say everyone must send in something, and I can't
write poetry at all, and Reynolds likes it, so I asked him to do it.'

And Smith waited for the storm to burst. But it did not burst. Far down
in Mr Perceval's system lurked a quiet sense of humour. The situation
penetrated to it. Then he remembered the examiner's letter, and it
dawned upon him that there are few crueller things than to make a
prosaic person write poetry.

'You may go,' he said, and the three went.

And at the next Board Meeting it was decided, mainly owing to the
influence of an exceedingly eloquent speech from the Headmaster, to
alter the rules for the Sixth Form Poetry Prize, so that from thence
onward no one need compete unless he felt himself filled with the
immortal fire.




[13]

WORK


    With a pleasure that's emphatic
    We retire to our attic
    With the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.

    Oh! philosophers may sing
    Of the troubles of a king
    But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none,
    And the culminating pleasure
    Which we treasure beyond measure
    Is the satisfying feeling that our duty has been done.

                                           _W. S. Gilbert_

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Tales of St. Austin's

Tales of St. Austin's

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