William The Conqueror Read Online Free PDF Page B

rather welcomed the presence of Mr Falkner than otherwise. Mr Falkner’s accounts of his varied exploits of dauntless bravery and dazzling cleverness seemed to induce in
William’s family a certain apathy of hopelessness which William thought a very proper attitude on the part of a family.
    No one told him to go and wash his hands and brush his hair again. No one made sarcastic remarks about his table manners. They simply had not the spirit. In fact, such is the humanising effect
of a common misfortune, they almost felt drawn to him. They had thought that no family could be afflicted with an affliction worse than William. They had discovered their mistake. They had
discovered Mr Falkner . . .
    Then came the end of the term. The end of the term was a time of mixed feelings for William. On the one hand, there was the glorious prospect of the holidays. On the other hand, there was his
report.
    William’s best friends could not assert that he was intellectual or industrious. He was a daring and capable leader. He was, at different times and in different moods, robber chief,
pirate, Red Indian, explorer, castaway, desperado – but he was not at any time, or in any mood, a student. William’s attitude towards the question was one of humility and
self-effacement. He’d do without them. There were enough swots in the world without him.
    So there was a certain monotony about William’s reports. Masters who had a delicate shrinking from the crude and brutal truth wrote, ‘Fair’. Those who had the courage of their
convictions wrote, ‘Poor’. The mathematical master, who was very literal, wrote, ‘Uniformly bad’.
    The horror and disgust of William’s father at these statements was generally as simulated as William’s penitence. They knew their respective roles and played them, but they had gone
through the scene too many times to be able to put much spirit into the parts.
    But this time Mr Falkner was there. Before Mr Brown could begin his set speech expressive of horror and disgust, he took the paper from him and began to comment on it squeakily.
    ‘By jove, very different from the things I used to get. “Excellent” and all that sort of thing all over them. Some of them simply couldn’t say enough. “Remarkable
talent” and “Very industrious” and “Splendid work”, and all that sort of thing. I remember the headmaster saying to my father one speech day, “Brilliant boy of
yours, that!” Very keen-sighted man he was, too. Never made a mistake. I believe I was a great favourite at school. I’ve no doubt I’m still remembered there.’
    ‘No, neither have I,’ said Mr Brown.
    ‘Yes,’ bleated Mr Falkner, ‘it’s extraordinary how anyone at all above the average makes himself felt through life. So often I find that people who’ve only met me
once remember me when I’ve quite forgotten them.’
    Again Mr Brown had no doubt of it.
    ‘Now, this boy of yours,’ went on Mr Falkner, ‘quite a good fellow, no doubt – well meaning and all that. But –’ he tapped his hand upon the damning report
– ‘if anything below the average in intellect. I hope I don’t annoy you by saying that.’
    Mr Brown hastened to assure him that he didn’t.
    ‘We can’t all be above the average, of course. But a boy like this wants a little friendly advice, that’s all. I’ve no doubt that I shall be able to help him a good deal
during the holidays. I always get on well with children. I could tell you most interesting stories about young friends of mind. A marked difference in them from the minute they know me.’
    Again Mr Brown didn’t doubt it.
    ‘I’m sure that if I stayed here through the next term, you’d find a very different report at the end of it.’
    Mr Brown thought that on the whole he’d prefer the same report and the absence of Mr Falkner, but with great exercise of self-control he remained silent.
    ‘Very different indeed,’ went on Mr Falkner. ‘I wish I’d got some of my