The lad from the balcony now appeared at the Headmaster’s elbow.
“Well, Crawford,” said Dr. Brooke in a chilling headmasterly tone.
“I must apologize, sir, for being so late,” said Crawford, who was still somewhat breathless. “I was working in the library, and my watch disappeared.”
“Disappeared, Crawford?” said the Headmaster with a tinge of irony.
“Yes, sir. I was taking notes at the table at the far end, and I’d laid my watch in front of me so as not to be late. Then I went up the iron stairs into the gallery, sir, to look for an old issue of Nature, and when I came down, my watch was gone. I was still busy hunting for it when the luncheon bell rang. I ran all the way, sir.”
“Very well, very well,” said the Headmaster in a forgiving tone. “Sit down and eat your lunch. Miss Phipps, this is F. X. Crawford, our head prefect,” he went on as the lad went round the table and seated himself opposite Miss Phipps. “Scholarship boy. Native of the island. Captain of football. Mathematician. Going up to Cambridge when he’s done his national service — just won a place.”
Miss Phipps bent her writer’s eye on the lad. He was strongly built, with broad shoulders, a pleasantly plain face, straight dark hair, and highly intelligent brown eyes. Not wishing to keep him from his meal she contented herself with a smile at the introduction, and did not speak until after the first course.
“It must be agreeable to have such a fine swimming beach so near the school,” she said then.
“Yes. It’s actually part of the school grounds,” said Crawford in a friendly tone. “The beach and the cliff on the left, that is. But the cliff is out of bounds except with a master. There’s a cave there which is rather dangerous — it has an inner chamber with a very low entrance; you can get cut off in there at high water.”
“And how is the swimming arranged?” pursued Miss Phipps. “By house or class?”
“By class.”
“I suppose you prefects,” said Miss Phipps, smiling at the row of silver badges opposite her, “are allowed to swim whenever you’re free.”
“Oh, no!” said Crawford. “The rules are very strict—”
“Never less than three boys are allowed to be in the water together,” boomed the Headmaster in her ear. “And to become a three-swimmer, as we call them, a boy has to pass very severe swimming tests. We have a swimming pool as well, you know. He has to do two lengths of the pool, two breadths underwater, and a lifesaving test.”
“And are you a three-swimmer?” inquired Miss Phipps of Crawford.
“Only this term — I’ve never had time before to work up for the tests,” said the lad without embarrassment.
“Life is real, life is earnest, for those who want to reach scholarship standard in mathematics,” said the Headmaster. “Isn’t that so, Crawford?”
“It is indeed, sir,” said Crawford, laughing.
“However, there are compensations. Football match this afternoon,” continued the Headmaster.
“Yes. It’s strange about my watch, sir, isn’t it?” said the boy.
“We’ll have a word about that this evening, Crawford,” said the Headmaster, dismissing the subject.
“Yes sir,” agreed Crawford readily.
“Star Isle! Star Isle!” shouted Miss Phipps encouragingly. “Well passed, sir! Good heavens, what a fumble! Look out, Star Isle! Oh—” her voice changed to satisfaction — “Crawford’s got it. A very reliable player, Crawford,” she added in her normal tone, turning to the Headmaster.
Muffled to the eyebrows, she sat between the Headmaster and his wife, watching the football match. The Brooke baby lay asleep in his pram behind the white-painted seat. The College buildings provided shelter on the sea side of the field, but the other sides were open to the briskly blowing breeze.
“Crawford,” said the Headmaster with emphasis, “is very reliable in any activity he undertakes. A strong, steady character. Humble circumstances at home, you know. Excellent head prefect. Very much respected. Good bowler, too. Ah!” he exclaimed.
“He’s hurt!” cried Miss Phipps in a tone of anguish.
Indeed, in tackling an opposing forward, Crawford seemed to have suffered an injury, for a group had gathered round him as he lay on the ground. He got to his knees and tried to rise, but bent double again in evident pain.
“Oh, dear!” wailed Miss Phipps.
“Probably just winded,” said the Headmaster.
A group of boys wearing First Aid armbands now ran up bearing a stretcher. Crawford waved them impatiently aside and again tried to rise, but again fell to his knees. The First Aid detachment, obviously eager to show their skill, stood no more nonsense from him, but rolled him onto the stretcher and carried him off. The Headmaster laughed.
“Poor Crawford!” he said. “He’ll be furious.”
“But isn’t he hurt?” cried Miss Phipps. “Look, there’s an ambulance!”
“Yes. They’ll take him off to the Sanatorium for a check-up,” said Dr. Brooke. “Being winded can be a trying and painful experience, you know — I’ve been winded myself in the days when I played scrum-half. But it isn’t serious. He’ll be all right tomorrow. He’ll be the first case in the San this term, won’t he, Ella?”
“Yes. So far we’ve been lucky in that respect,” said Mrs. Brooke.
“Where is the San?” enquired Miss Phipps.
“Up there toward the cliff,” said Dr. Brooke, pointing.
“Odd about Crawford’s watch, wasn’t it?” said Miss Phipps.
“Very,” said the Headmaster shortly.
The whistle sounded. Star Isle had won handsomely. Miss Phipps walked off the field with Mrs. Brooke, assisting her occasionally with the pram. The Headmaster, accosted by several friends, parents, and well-wishers, fell behind.
At the entrance to the College, Mrs. Brooke and Miss Phipps were met by Miss Bellivant. The housekeeper was in such a state of agitation that for a moment Miss Phipps feared that Crawford was seriously hurt after all, and Mrs. Brooke obviously thought the same, for she quickly spoke his name.
“No, no, he’s just winded — he’ll be all right tomorrow, they say,” said the housekeeper. “It’s the ice cream, Mrs. Brooke. I’m sure I’m most terribly sorry — I know how much the boys look forward to it. I’d made it striped with the College colors as a special treat — just for the two competing teams, you know — we do so like to give our visitors a really good tea, Miss Phipps. It’s all so disappointing, I could cry!” Her face quivered, tears actually came to her eyes, and her usual superior, martyred expression had quite vanished. She looked genuinely distressed.
“I don’t quite understand, Miss Bellivant,” said Mrs. Brooke soothingly. “Has something gone wrong with the ice cream?”
“Ruined!” exclaimed Miss Bellivant dramatically. “The door of the small refrigerator has been left open, and the ice cream is all melted.”
“Who left the door open? Surely it was very careless,” said Mrs. Brooke, frowning.
“That’s just it, Mrs. Brooke! I can’t find out who left it open,” wailed Miss Bellivant. “It was closed at half-past two when I put the ice cream in — I closed it myself. And all the girls are off duty this afternoon until four. I put the ice cream in, I made sure the door was closed, and I set the freezer,” she detailed, performing the movements with her empty hands. “Then I went out to watch some of the match. I left a few minutes before the end and went straight to the fridge. The door wasn’t latched and I pulled it open wide and there was all the ice cream completely melted. All the stripes run into each other,” she wept, “they look really horrid. I hardly think we shall be able to use the ice cream even after it’s frozen again, it looks so horrid! So wasteful, Mrs. Brooke! It seems like carelessness on my part, but really the door was closed when I left it—”