ment becomes, at times, sentimental; and then strenuousness pushes
it into a corner. When honoured veterans are wearing out, loyalty,
gratitude for past service, reluctance to inflict pain, keep them in
positions of responsibility which mentally and physically they are
unfit to administer. It is almost as difficult to turn an Eton or
Harrow master out of his house, as to turn a parson of the Church of
England out of his pulpit. More, in selecting a house-master as in
selecting a parson, a man's claims to preferment are too often
determined by scholarship, by length of former service, by interest
with authority, rather than by ability to govern a body of boys made up
of widely different parts. A capable form-master may prove an
incapable house-master. Richard Rutford, to give a concrete example,
came to Harrow knowing nothing about Public Schools, and caring as
little for the traditions of the Hill, but with the prestige of being a
Senior Classic. Nobody questioned his ability to teach Greek. In his
own line, and not an inch beyond, the Governors were assured that
Rutford was a success. In due time he accepted a Small House, so small
that its autocrat's incapacity as an administrator escaped notice.
Rutford waited patiently for a big morsel. He wrote a couple of
text-books; he married a wife with money and influence; he entertained
handsomely. It is true he became popular neither with masters nor
boys, but his wine was as sound as his scholarship, and his wife had a
peer for a second cousin. Eventually he accepted the Manor. Within a
month, those in authority suspected that a blunder had been made;
within a year they knew it. The house began to go down. Leaven lay in
the lump, but not enough to make it rise, because the baker refused to
stir the dough. First and last, Rutford disliked boys, misunderstood
them, insulted them, ignored those who lacked influential connections,
toadied and pampered the "swells."

Just before John Verney came to Harrow, the Manor was showing
unmistakable signs of decay. A new Head Master, recognizing "dry-rot,"
realizing the necessity of cutting it out, was confronted with that
bristling obstacle--Tradition. He possessed enough moral courage to
have told Rutford to resign, because in a thousand indescribable ways
the man had neglected his duty; but, so said the Tones, such a step
might provoke a public scandal, and if Rutford refused to go--what
then? Nothing definite could