To Adair, Sedleigh was almost a religion. Both his parents were dead;
his guardian, with whom he spent the holidays, was a man with neuralgia
at one end of him and gout at the other; and the only really pleasant
times Adair had had, as far back as he could remember, he owed to
Sedleigh. The place had grown on him, absorbed him. Where Mike,
violently transplanted from Wrykyn, saw only a wretched little hole not
to be mentioned in the same breath with Wrykyn, Adair, dreaming of the
future, saw a colossal establishment, a public school among public
schools, a lump of human radium, shooting out Blues and Balliol Scholars
year after year without ceasing.
It would not be so till long after he was gone and forgotten, but he did
not mind that. His devotion to Sedleigh was purely unselfish. He did not
want fame. All he worked for was that the school should grow and grow,
keener and better at games and more prosperous year by year, till it
should take its rank among _the_ schools, and to be an Old Sedleighan
should be a badge passing its owner everywhere.
"He's captain of cricket and Rugger," said Jellicoe impressively. "He's
in the shooting eight. He's won the mile and half mile two years
running.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67