front of Tim, Sebastian standing behind him.
“You any good at gym?” Scrotton grunted, turning around before they started.
“I don’t know,” said Tim. “We didn’t have a gymnasium at junior school.”
“I’m brilliant,” said Scrotton arrogantly.
“No doubt,” Tim replied sarcastically.
The whistle blew again, and the pupils set off at intervals of about five seconds. When it came to Scrotton’s turn, the coach
standing at the head of the line said, “Right! Off you go, boy!”
Yet Scrotton did not move. He seemed to be studying the equipment, as if plotting his way around it.
“Get on with it!” the gym coach said impatiently. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve shown you what to do.”
At that point, Scrotton obsequiously said, “Yes, sir, I was just thinking, sir.”
With that, he set off at an incredible speed, his agility astonishing. One of the sets of bars was standingat right angles to the wall. The boys had to climb up the bars for six or seven rungs, reach out, get hold of a rope, wrap
their legs around it, slide down the rope hand over hand and then run along a bench. Most boys went as fast as they could
to the bottom of the bars and then gingerly climbed up the six or seven rungs before tentatively reaching for a rope.
Scrotton, however, did nothing of the sort. He ran straight at the bars, jumped from the ground up to the seventh rung and
then, with a leap into mid-air, grabbed hold of a rope and slid down it at an amazing rate. Once he touched the bench below,
he set off along it at little less than a sprint. At the end of the bench, he proceeded without pause around the entire course,
soon catching up with the boy in front of him and having to wait until he cleared the next obstacle. The teacher by the vaulting
horse did not need to help him over it; he rolled perfectly three or four times across the mats, and, when he got to the beam,
he simply hoisted himself straight up on it and ran across it as if it were no more than a centimeter above the floor. Eventually,
he reached the back of the line again.
Tim, following him around, simply could not keep up, even with his very best efforts. Sebastian took his time.
“That was fast,” Tim said with begrudging admiration when he came up to Scrotton at the back of the line.
“Yeah,” said Scrotton immodestly. “Told you I was good at gym.”
The class continued. In every task that was set for them, one of the games masters stood by the apparatus to assist the inexperienced
or prevent injury: Scrottonrequired no help or guidance. He was nimble, swift and incredibly agile. Several times, Tim caught sight of the teachers looking
at each other with surprise.
The gym period over, Tim made sure he was first into the locker room where he positioned himself so that he could see behind
the lockers. Sebastian held back. Scrotton came in and, believing he was not being observed, swiftly removed his undershirt
and tugged on it as quickly as he could. Yet Tim still saw a thin ridge of tightly matted black hair down Scrotton’s spine.
Across his shoulders, he was also very hairy. His arms were dark with hair but it was much shorter and seemed to have been
cut.
“Ape-lout!” muttered a voice over Tim’s shoulder.
He turned to find the boy who had told him about Scrotton on the first day of term.
“You should have seen him in junior school,” the boy went on. “If there was a tree, he was up it, swinging by his arms like
a scruffy little Tarzan. The teachers were forever chasing him off the infants’ climbing bars.”
“You don’t know where he lives, do you?” Tim asked.
“No. Never saw his parents, not on open evenings or anything. We used to say he wasn’t born but made out of a packet of Insta-Fool.”
The boy grinned. “Just add water and stir.”
For the remainder of the morning, Tim and Sebastian tended not to watch Scrotton to avoid arousing his suspicion. Instead,
Pip turned
“You any good at gym?” Scrotton grunted, turning around before they started.
“I don’t know,” said Tim. “We didn’t have a gymnasium at junior school.”
“I’m brilliant,” said Scrotton arrogantly.
“No doubt,” Tim replied sarcastically.
The whistle blew again, and the pupils set off at intervals of about five seconds. When it came to Scrotton’s turn, the coach
standing at the head of the line said, “Right! Off you go, boy!”
Yet Scrotton did not move. He seemed to be studying the equipment, as if plotting his way around it.
“Get on with it!” the gym coach said impatiently. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve shown you what to do.”
At that point, Scrotton obsequiously said, “Yes, sir, I was just thinking, sir.”
With that, he set off at an incredible speed, his agility astonishing. One of the sets of bars was standingat right angles to the wall. The boys had to climb up the bars for six or seven rungs, reach out, get hold of a rope, wrap
their legs around it, slide down the rope hand over hand and then run along a bench. Most boys went as fast as they could
to the bottom of the bars and then gingerly climbed up the six or seven rungs before tentatively reaching for a rope.
Scrotton, however, did nothing of the sort. He ran straight at the bars, jumped from the ground up to the seventh rung and
then, with a leap into mid-air, grabbed hold of a rope and slid down it at an amazing rate. Once he touched the bench below,
he set off along it at little less than a sprint. At the end of the bench, he proceeded without pause around the entire course,
soon catching up with the boy in front of him and having to wait until he cleared the next obstacle. The teacher by the vaulting
horse did not need to help him over it; he rolled perfectly three or four times across the mats, and, when he got to the beam,
he simply hoisted himself straight up on it and ran across it as if it were no more than a centimeter above the floor. Eventually,
he reached the back of the line again.
Tim, following him around, simply could not keep up, even with his very best efforts. Sebastian took his time.
“That was fast,” Tim said with begrudging admiration when he came up to Scrotton at the back of the line.
“Yeah,” said Scrotton immodestly. “Told you I was good at gym.”
The class continued. In every task that was set for them, one of the games masters stood by the apparatus to assist the inexperienced
or prevent injury: Scrottonrequired no help or guidance. He was nimble, swift and incredibly agile. Several times, Tim caught sight of the teachers looking
at each other with surprise.
The gym period over, Tim made sure he was first into the locker room where he positioned himself so that he could see behind
the lockers. Sebastian held back. Scrotton came in and, believing he was not being observed, swiftly removed his undershirt
and tugged on it as quickly as he could. Yet Tim still saw a thin ridge of tightly matted black hair down Scrotton’s spine.
Across his shoulders, he was also very hairy. His arms were dark with hair but it was much shorter and seemed to have been
cut.
“Ape-lout!” muttered a voice over Tim’s shoulder.
He turned to find the boy who had told him about Scrotton on the first day of term.
“You should have seen him in junior school,” the boy went on. “If there was a tree, he was up it, swinging by his arms like
a scruffy little Tarzan. The teachers were forever chasing him off the infants’ climbing bars.”
“You don’t know where he lives, do you?” Tim asked.
“No. Never saw his parents, not on open evenings or anything. We used to say he wasn’t born but made out of a packet of Insta-Fool.”
The boy grinned. “Just add water and stir.”
For the remainder of the morning, Tim and Sebastian tended not to watch Scrotton to avoid arousing his suspicion. Instead,
Pip turned
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