To You, Mr Chips by James Hilton

arrived on the first September day of the following school term, by which time his father had already served a month of the sentence. The boy was a nice-looking youngster, with more than a touch of the same eager charm that had lured thousands of profit-seekers to their doom.
    On those first nights of term, despite his age and the fact that he was no longer on the official staff of the school, Chips would often take prep in substitution for some other master who had not yet arrived. He rather enjoyed being asked to do so; and the boys were equally satisfied. It relieved the misery of term-beginning to see old Chips sitting there at the desk on the platform, goggling over his spectacles, introducing new boys, and sometimes making jokes about them. Of course there was no real work done on such an evening, and it was an understood thing that one could rag the old man very gently and that he rather liked it.
    But that evening there was an especial sensation--young Menvers. 'I say, d'you see the fellow at the end of the third row--new boy--his name's Manvers--his father's in prison!' 'No? Really?' 'Yes--doing twelve years for fraud--didn't you read about it in the papers?' 'Gosh, I wonder what it feels like to have your old man in quod!' 'Mine said it served him right--we lost a packet through him. . . .' And so on.
    And suddenly Chips, following his age-old custom, rose from his chair, his hand trembling a little as it held the typewritten sheet.
    'We have--umph--quite a number of newcomers this term. . . . Umph--umph. . . . Astley . . . your uncle was here, Astley--umph--he exhibited--umph--a curious reluctance to acquire even the rudiments of a classical education--umph--umph. . . . Brooks Secundus. . . . These Brooks seem--umph--to have adopted the--umph--Tennysonian attribute of--umph--going on for ever. . . . Dunster . . . an unfortunate name, Dunster . . . but perhaps you will claim benefit of the  "lucus a non lucendo"  theory--umph--umph . . . eh?'
    Laughter . . . laughter . . . the usual laughter at the usual jokes. . . . And then, in its due alphabetical order:
    'Menvers. . . .'
    Chips said:
    'Menvers--umph--your father was here--umph--I well remember him--umph--I hope you will be more careful than he has been--umph--lately . . . (laughter). He was always a crazy fellow . . . and once he did the craziest thing that ever was known at Brookfield . . . climbed to the roof of the hall to rescue a kitten . . . the kitten--umph--had more sense--didn't need rescuing--so this--umph--crazy fellow--umph--in sheer petulance, I suppose--climbed to the top of the belfry--umph--and tied up the weathervane with a Brookfield tie. . . . When you go out, take a look at the belfry and think what it meant--umph--crazy fellow, your father, Menvers--umph--umph--I hope you won't take after him. . . .'
    Laughter.
    And afterwards, alone in his sitting-room across the road from the school, Chips wrote again to the prisoner in Pentonville:
     
'MY DEAR MENVERS,  I took a risk too, and it was well taken. . .  .'
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE

MR. CHIPS MEETS A SINNER
     
    When Chips went on his annual climbing holidays he never told people he was a schoolmaster and always hoped that there was nothing in his manner or behaviour that would betray him. This was not because he was ashamed of his profession (far from it); it was just a certain shyness about his own personal affairs plus a disinclination to exchange 'shop' talk with other schoolmasters who might more openly reveal themselves. For when Chips was on holiday he didn't want to talk about his job--he didn't even want to think about it. Examination papers, class lists, terminal reports--all could dissolve into the thin air of the mountains, leaving not a wrack behind.
    But he could never quite lose his interest in boys. And when, one September morning in 1917 in the English mountain-town of Keswick, he saw an eager-faced freckled youngster of about eleven or twelve swinging astride a hotel balcony