that an eccentricity which was a wild worship of the ordinary.
At last he grew so sensitive that he could not even bear any question
answered correctly without grief. He felt there was a touch
of disloyalty, of unfraternal individualism, even about knowing
the right answer to a sum. If asked the date of the battle of Hastings,
he considered it due to social tact and general good feeling
to answer 1067. This chivalrous exaggeration led to bad feeling
between him and the school authority, which ended in a rupture
unexpectedly violent in the case of so good-humoured a creature.
He fled from the school, and it was discovered upon inquiry that
he had fled from his home also.

I never expected to see him again; yet it is one of the two
or three odd coincidences of my life that I did see him.
At some public sports or recreation ground I saw a group of
rather objectless youths, one of whom was wearing the dashing
uniform of a private in the Lancers. Inside that uniform was
the tall figure, shy face, and dark, stiff hair of Simmons.
He had gone to the one place where every one is dressed alike--
a regiment. I know nothing more; perhaps he was killed in Africa.
But when England was full of flags and false triumphs, when everybody
was talking manly trash about the whelps of the lion and the brave
boys in red, I often heard a voice echoing in the under-caverns
of my memory, "Shut up... O, shut up ... O, I say, shut it."




Cheese