第十章
凯里夫妇决定送菲利普进坎特伯雷皇家公学念书。邻近一带的牧师，都是把自己的儿子往那儿送的。根据长久以来的习惯，这所学校早已同坎特伯雷大教堂联系在一起了：该校校长是教堂牧师会的名誉会员；前任校长中有一位还是大教堂的副主教。学校鼓励孩子立志领圣职，当牧师；而学校的教学安排，也着眼于让诚实可靠的少年日后能终身侍奉上帝。皇家公学有一所附属预备学校，现在打算送菲利普去的就是这所学校。近九月底的一个星期四下午，凯里先生领菲利普去坎特伯雷。这一整天，菲利普既兴奋，又惴惴不安。对于学校生活，他只是从《男童报》上的故事里稍微了解到一些。此外，他还读过（埃里克--点滴进步》那本书。
他们在坎特伯雷跨下火车时，菲利普紧张得快要晕倒了；去城里的途中，他脸色煞白，一声不响地呆坐在马车里。学校前面那堵高高的砖墙使学校看上去活像座监狱。墙上有扇小门，他们一按铃，门应声而开。一个笨手笨脚、衣履不整的工友走出来，帮菲利普拿铁皮衣箱和日用品箱。他们被领进会客室。会客室里摆满了笨实、难看的家具，沿墙端放着一圈靠椅，给人一种庄严肃穆的印象。他们恭候校长光临。
"沃森先生是个啥模样的？"过了半响，菲利普开口问。
"待会儿你自己瞧吧。"
接着又是一阵沉默。凯里先生暗暗纳闷：校长怎么迟迟不露面？这时菲利普鼓起勇气，又说：
"告诉他我的一只脚有毛病。"
凯里先生还没来得及答话，门倏地被推开，沃森先生大摇大摆地走了进来。在菲利普看来，他简直是个巨人：他身高六英尺开外，肩膀宽阔，一双硕大无朋的巨掌，一簇火红的大胡子。他说起话来，嗓门很大，语调轻快，可是他那股咄咄逼人的快活劲儿，却使菲利普胆战心惊。他同凯里先生握握手，接着又把菲利普的小手捏在掌心里。
"喂，小家伙，来上学了，觉得带劲吗？"他大声说。
菲利普红着脸，窘得不知如何回答是好。
"你多大岁数啦？"
"九岁，"菲利普说。
"你该称呼一声'先生，才是，"他大伯在旁提醒说。
"看来你要学的东西还不少呢，"校长兴致勃勃地大声嚷嚷道。
为了给孩子鼓鼓劲，沃森先生用他粗壮的手指搔逗起菲利普来。菲利普给他这么一搔，又难为情，又发痒难受，不住扭动着身子。
"我暂且把他安排在小宿舍里……住在那儿你会喜欢的，是不是？"他朝菲利普加了一句。"你们那儿一共才八个人。你不会感到太陌生的。"
这时门打开了，沃森太太走了进来。她是个肤色黝黑的妇人。乌黑的头发，打头正中清晰地向两边分开。嘴唇厚得出奇，鼻子挺小，鼻尖圆圆的，一双眼睛又大又黑。这位太太的神态冷若冰霜。她难得启口，脸上的笑容更难见到。沃森先生把凯里先生介绍给自己的太太，然后又亲热地把菲利普住她身边一推。
"这是个新来的孩子，海伦。他叫凯里。"
沃森太太默默地同菲利普握握手，然后一言不发地在一旁坐下。校长问凯里先生菲利普在读些什么书，程度怎样。沃森先生嘻嘻哈哈的热乎劲儿，使这个布莱克斯泰勃的教区牧师有点受不了；不多一会儿，凯里先生赶紧起身告辞。
"我想，菲利普现在就托你多多照应啦。"
"没说的，"沃森先生说。"孩子在我这儿保管没问题。要不了一两天他就习惯这儿的生活啦。你说呢，小家伙？"
不等菲利普回答，大个子校长就纵声哈哈大笑起来。凯里先生在菲利普额上亲了一下，随即离开了。
"跟我来，小伙子，"沃森先生扯着嗓门说，"我领你去看看教室。"
沃森先生迈着大步，大摇大摆地走出客厅，菲利普赶紧在他后面一瘸一拐地跟着。他被领进一个长长的房间，里面空荡荡的，只摆着两张和房问一般长的桌子，桌子两边各有一排长板凳。
"现在学校里还没什么学生，"沃森先生说，"我再领你去看看操场，然后就请你自便了。"
沃森先生在前面领路。菲利普发现自己来到一个大操场，操场的三面都围有高高的砖墙，还有一面横着一道铁栅栏，透过栅栏，可以望见一大片草坪，草坪那边便是皇家公学的几座校舍。一个小男孩在操场上没精打采地闲逛，一边走一边踢着脚下的砂砾。
"喂，文宁，"沃森先生大声招呼，"你什么时候来的？"
小男孩走上前来同沃森先生握手。
"这是个新同学，年纪比你大，个子也比你高，可别欺负他呀。"
校长瞪大眼睛，友善地望着这两个孩子，那洪钟般的嗓音足以将孩子们震慑住，接着他哈哈笑着走开了。
"你叫什么名字？"
"凯里。"
"你爸爸干什么的？"
"爸爸过世了。"
"哦！你妈妈给人洗衣服吗？"
"我妈妈也去世了。"
菲利普以为他的回答会使那孩子发窘，哪知文宁并不当回事，仍嬉皮笑脸地开玩笑。
"哦，那她生前洗衣服吗？"
"洗过的，"菲利普没好气地回答。
"那她是个洗衣妇罗？"
"不，她不是洗衣妇。"
"那她就没给人洗过衣服。"
小男孩觉得自己巧辩有术，占了上风，挺洋洋得意。这时候他一眼瞧见了菲利普的脚。
"你的脚怎么啦？"
菲利普本能地缩回那只跛足，藏在好脚的后面，想不让他看见。
"我的脚有点畸形，"他回答道。
"怎么搞的？"
"生下来就这样。"
"让我看看。"
"不。"
"不看就不看。"
那孩子嘴上这么说，却猛地朝菲利普的小腿飞起一脚。菲利普猝不及防，被踢个正着，痛得他直呼嘘喘气。然而，就程度而言，肉体上的疼痛还及不上心里的惊讶。菲利普不明白文宁干吗要对他来这么一招。他惊魂未定，顾不上还手，况且这孩子年纪也比他小。他在《男童报》上念到过，揍一个比自己年幼的对手是件不光彩的事。在菲利普抚揉小腿的时候，操场上又出现了第三个孩子，那个折磨人的孩子撇开他跑了。过了一会儿，菲利普注意到他俩在窃窃私议，还不住打量自己的一双脚。菲利普两腮发烫，浑身发毛。
这时候又来了一批孩子，共有十来个，不多一会儿又跑来几个，他们叽叽呱呱扯开了：假期里干了些什么啊，去过哪些地方啊，打了多少场精采的板球啊。几个新同学出现了，一转眼菲利普不知怎么倒同他们攀谈了起来。他显得腼腆，局促不安。菲利普急于给人留下个愉快的印象，可一时却找不到话茬来。别的孩子向他问这问那，提了一大堆问题，他很乐意地--一作了回答。有个小男孩还问他会不会打板球。
"不会，"菲利普说，"我的脚不方便。"
那男孩朝他下肢瞥了一眼，涨红了脸。菲利普看得出，那孩子察觉到自己问的问题不甚得体，羞得连句道歉的话都说不出口，只是尴尬地冲着菲利普发愣。
Chapter 10
The Careys made up their minds to send Philip to King’s School at Tercanbury. The neighbouring clergy sent their sons there. It was united by long tradition to the Cathedral: its headmaster was an honorary Canon, and a past headmaster was the Archdeacon. Boys were encouraged there to aspire to Holy Orders, and the education was such as might prepare an honest lad to spend his life in God’s service. A preparatory school was attached to it, and to this it was arranged that Philip should go. Mr. Carey took him into Tercanbury one Thursday afternoon towards the end of September. All day Philip had been excited and rather frightened. He knew little of school life but what he had read in the stories of The Boy’s Own Paper. He had also read Eric, or Little by Little.
When they got out of the train at Tercanbury, Philip felt sick with apprehension, and during the drive in to the town sat pale and silent. The high brick wall in front of the school gave it the look of a prison. There was a little door in it, which opened on their ringing; and a clumsy, untidy man came out and fetched Philip’s tin trunk and his play-box. They were shown into the drawing-room; it was filled with massive, ugly furniture, and the chairs of the suite were placed round the walls with a forbidding rigidity. They waited for the headmaster.
‘What’s Mr. Watson like?’ asked Philip, after a while.
‘You’ll see for yourself.’
There was another pause. Mr. Carey wondered why the headmaster did not come. Presently Philip made an effort and spoke again.
‘Tell him I’ve got a club-foot,’ he said.
Before Mr. Carey could speak the door burst open and Mr. Watson swept into the room. To Philip he seemed gigantic. He was a man of over six feet high, and broad, with enormous hands and a great red beard; he talked loudly in a jovial manner; but his aggressive cheerfulness struck terror in Philip’s heart. He shook hands with Mr. Carey, and then took Philip’s small hand in his.
‘Well, young fellow, are you glad to come to school?’ he shouted.
Philip reddened and found no word to answer.
‘How old are you?’
‘Nine,’ said Philip.
‘You must say sir,’ said his uncle.
‘I expect you’ve got a good lot to learn,’ the headmaster bellowed cheerily.
To give the boy confidence he began to tickle him with rough fingers. Philip, feeling shy and uncomfortable, squirmed under his touch.
‘I’ve put him in the small dormitory for the present.... You’ll like that, won’t you?’ he added to Philip. ‘Only eight of you in there. You won’t feel so strange.’
Then the door opened, and Mrs. Watson came in. She was a dark woman with black hair, neatly parted in the middle. She had curiously thick lips and a small round nose. Her eyes were large and black. There was a singular coldness in her appearance. She seldom spoke and smiled more seldom still. Her husband introduced Mr. Carey to her, and then gave Philip a friendly push towards her.
‘This is a new boy, Helen, His name’s Carey.’
Without a word she shook hands with Philip and then sat down, not speaking, while the headmaster asked Mr. Carey how much Philip knew and what books he had been working with. The Vicar of Blackstable was a little embarrassed by Mr. Watson’s boisterous heartiness, and in a moment or two got up.
‘I think I’d better leave Philip with you now.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Mr. Watson. ‘He’ll be safe with me. He’ll get on like a house on fire. Won’t you, young fellow?’
Without waiting for an answer from Philip the big man burst into a great bellow of laughter. Mr. Carey kissed Philip on the forehead and went away.
‘Come along, young fellow,’ shouted Mr. Watson. ‘I’ll show you the school-room.’
He swept out of the drawing-room with giant strides, and Philip hurriedly limped behind him. He was taken into a long, bare room with two tables that ran along its whole length; on each side of them were wooden forms.
‘Nobody much here yet,’ said Mr. Watson. ‘I’ll just show you the playground, and then I’ll leave you to shift for yourself.’
Mr. Watson led the way. Philip found himself in a large play-ground with high brick walls on three sides of it. On the fourth side was an iron railing through which you saw a vast lawn and beyond this some of the buildings of King’s School. One small boy was wandering disconsolately, kicking up the gravel as he walked.
‘Hulloa, Venning,’ shouted Mr. Watson. ‘When did you turn up?’
The small boy came forward and shook hands.
‘Here’s a new boy. He’s older and bigger than you, so don’t you bully him.’
The headmaster glared amicably at the two children, filling them with fear by the roar of his voice, and then with a guffaw left them.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Carey.’
‘What’s your father?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh! Does your mother wash?’
‘My mother’s dead, too.’
Philip thought this answer would cause the boy a certain awkwardness, but Venning was not to be turned from his facetiousness for so little.
‘Well, did she wash?’ he went on.
‘Yes,’ said Philip indignantly.
‘She was a washerwoman then?’
‘No, she wasn’t.’
‘Then she didn’t wash.’
The little boy crowed with delight at the success of his dialectic. Then he caught sight of Philip’s feet.
‘What’s the matter with your foot?’
Philip instinctively tried to withdraw it from sight. He hid it behind the one which was whole.
‘I’ve got a club-foot,’ he answered.
‘How did you get it?’
‘I’ve always had it.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
‘No.’
‘Don’t then.’
The little boy accompanied the words with a sharp kick on Philip’s shin, which Philip did not expect and thus could not guard against. The pain was so great that it made him gasp, but greater than the pain was the surprise. He did not know why Venning kicked him. He had not the presence of mind to give him a black eye. Besides, the boy was smaller than he, and he had read in The Boy’s Own Paper that it was a mean thing to hit anyone smaller than yourself. While Philip was nursing his shin a third boy appeared, and his tormentor left him. In a little while he noticed that the pair were talking about him, and he felt they were looking at his feet. He grew hot and uncomfortable.
But others arrived, a dozen together, and then more, and they began to talk about their doings during the holidays, where they had been, and what wonderful cricket they had played. A few new boys appeared, and with these presently Philip found himself talking. He was shy and nervous. He was anxious to make himself pleasant, but he could not think of anything to say. He was asked a great many questions and answered them all quite willingly. One boy asked him whether he could play cricket.
‘No,’ answered Philip. ‘I’ve got a club-foot.’
The boy looked down quickly and reddened. Philip saw that he felt he had asked an unseemly question. He was too shy to apologise and looked at Philip awkwardly.