Boarding schools -- England -- Fiction; University of Oxford -- Fiction
Nothing could have been more disastrous. For twenty years the Upper
Fourth had passed a somnolent existence under the direction of an
amiable and unassuming cleric. Much to the general disgust the dear
old man had, after a severe attack of pneumonia, resigned. In twenty
years, as was only natural, the Upper Fourth had become an institution:
terms and times continued to change, but the Upper Fourth did nothing
of the kind. Fourth-formers came and went in scores, but their
successors always managed to keep up the traditions of their
inheritance with spirit and success. There would be four or five
clever and energetic children, people rising rapidly to the Fifth,
Sixth, and university scholarships; then there would be eight or ten
inky and unambitious persons who would never get beyond the Fifth. And
lastly there would be four or five monsters of seventeen or eighteen
who were engaged in getting the greatest possible enjoyment out of
their last year at school. Good athletes as a rule, they were popular
in their house and merely stayed on till the fatal day of
superannuation in order to win cups and caps and enjoy a serene life
before disappearing into the dingy office of an uncle or the rough and
tumble of a planter's existence. In the days of the amiable cleric the
Upper Fourth had been to them Nirvana.
To such a form came Finney, clever, inexperienced, nervous: not even
his physique was imposing. He liked and encouraged the clever little
boys and made fruitless efforts to bully the ink-stained loafers; he
also determined to assault the fortress of the Olympians and to make
the great ones work; but he broke his soul upon a rock. When he
adjured them to do a little work they smiled in toleration. When he
suggested a change in the quantity or quality of their preparation he
was politely informed that Mr Foss never expected so much. He then
lost his temper, remarked savagely that he wouldn't be bound by the
idiosyncrasies of Mr Foss, and dealt out impositions. A schoolmaster
cannot afford to lose his temper unless he has complete self-confidence
and the will never to retract. Finney had not been gifted with a
forceful personality, and the weak man in a temper is a most pitiable
sight. The impositions meant the declaration of war and in that war
Finney was beaten all along the line.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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