He only told me to get on with my work.
The term drew to a close, and most of the boys in my form-room
ticked off the days on lists, in which the Sundays were written in
red ink to show that they did not really count. As time went on they
grew more and more boisterous, and wherever I went I heard them
telling one another how they were going to spend their holidays. It
was surprising to me that these boys who were so ordinary during
term-time should lead such adventurous lives in the holidays, and I
felt a little envious of their good fortune. They talked of visiting
the theatre and foreign travel in a matter-of-fact way that made me
think that perhaps after all my home-life was incomplete. I had
never been out of England, and my dramatic knowledge was limited to
pantomimes, for which these enthusiastic students of musical comedy
expressed a large contempt. Some of them were allowed to shoot with
real guns in the holidays, which reminded me of the worst excesses
of my brother in Yorkshire. Examining my own life, I had often come
to the conclusion that adventures did not exist outside books. But
the boys shook this comforting theory with their boastful
prophecies, and I thought once more that perhaps it was my
misfortune that they did not happen to me. I began to fear that I
would find the holidays tame.
There were other considerations that made me look forward to the end
of the term with misgiving. Since it had been made plain to me that I
was a remarkable boy, I had rather enjoyed my life at school.
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