Sons of Fortune Read Online Free PDF Page B

trying to hide the fact that he was shaking.
    “You
will be briefed by your form master,” said the young man who turned his
attention to the new father. “Nat will be just fine, Mr. Cartwright. I hope you
have a good journey home, sir.”
    That
was the moment Nathaniel decided in the future he would always be known as Nat,
even though he realized it wouldn’t please his mother.
    As
he entered Tail Hall Nat lowered his head and walked quickly down the long
aisle, hoping no one would notice him. He spotted a place on the end of the
second row, and slipped into it. He glanced at the boy seated on his left,
whose head was cupped in his hands. Was he praying, or could he possibly be
even more terrified than Nat? “My name’s Nat,” he ventured.
    “Mine’s
Tom,” said the boy, not raising his head.
    “What
happens next?”
    “I
don’t know, but I wish it would,” said Tom as the clock struck nine, and
everyone fell silent.
    A
crocodile of masters proceeded down the aisle-no mistresses, Nat observed. His
mother wouldn’t approve. They walked up onto the stage, and took their places,
leaving only two seats unoccupied. The faculty began to talk quietly among
themselves, while those in the body of the hall remained silent.
    “What
are we waiting for?” whispered Nat, and a moment later his question was answered
as everyone rose, including those seated on the stage. Nat didn’t dare look
around when he heard the footsteps of two men proceeding down the aisle.
Moments later, the school chaplain followed by the principal passed him on
their way up to the two vacant seats. Everyone remained standing as the
chaplain stepped forward to conduct a short service, which included the Lord’s
Prayer, and ended with the assembly singing the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
    The
chaplain then returned to his seat, allowing the principal to take his place.
Alexander Inglefield paused for a moment, before gazing down at the assembled
gathering. He then raised his hands, palms down, and everyone resumed their
seat.
    Three
hundred and eighty pairs of eyes stared up at a man of six foot two with thick
bushy eyebrows and a square jaw, who presented such a frightening figure that Nat hoped they would never meet.
    The
principal gripped the edge of his long black gown before addressing the
gathering for fifteen minutes.
    He
began by taking his charges through the long history of the school, extolling
Taft’s past academic and sporting achievements. He stared down at the new boys
and reminded them of the school’s motto, Non ut sibi I ministretur sed ut ministret .
    “What
does that mean?” whispered Tom.
    “Not
to be served, but to serve,” muttered Nat.
    The
principal concluded by announcing that there were two things a Bearcat could
never afford to miss-an exam, or a match against Hotchkiss-and, as if making
clear his priorities, he promised a half-day’s holiday if Tail beat Hotchkiss
in the annual football game. This was immediately greeted by a rousing cheer
from the whole assembly, although every boy beyond the third row knew that this
had not been achieved for the past four years.
    When
the cheering had died down, the principal left the stage, followed by the
chaplain and the rest of the staff.
    Once
they had departed, the chattering began again as the upper classmen started to
file out of the hall, while only those boys in the front three rows remained
seated, because they didn’t know where to go.
    Ninety-five
boys sat waiting to see what would happen next. They did not have long to wait,
because an elderly master-well actually he was only fifty-one, but Nat thought
he looked much older than his dad-came to a halt in front of them. He was a
short, thick-set man, with a semicircle of gray hair around an otherwise bald
pate. As he spoke, he clung onto the lapels of his tweed jacket, imitating the
principal’s pose.
    “My
name is Haskins,” he told them. “I am master of the lower middlers ,”
he added with a wry