FICTION.
THE COCKATOO.*
IF hard cases make bad law, it does not follow that they conduce to bad fiction. The case of Tod Maclean, son of an Australian millionaire, born and bred in the Antipodes and suddenly pitchforked into an English public school, largely governed by tradition and convention, and treating any deviation from the norm as an outrage, was certainly hard. Nothing was wanting to handicap his start. He had no friends or relations to coach him in English public-school etiquette ; his father, an aggressive self-made man, put every hind of spoke in his son's wheels at the outset, affronting the dignity of the headmaster and encouraging the boy to believe that money could do everything. Then Tod himself was expansive, impatient, exuberant, unconventional, and undisciplined. He had no caution or reserve, and, though capable of hero-worship, had little reverence for constituted authority. To make matters worse, the house which he entered was the worst in the school—dominated by bullies and "wasters," the housemaster, a man of considerable academic distinction, having long given up any attempt to maintain order or encourage efficiency either in work or games. One cannot wholly acquit Mr. Rittenberg of artificially aggravating the severity of Tod Maclean's ordeal, though in the main he holds the balance fairly enough. Tod was for awhile very badly treated, but he gave great provocation. He violated etiquette and tradition at every turn ; he was rebellious, impenitent, and unaccommodating. He alienated sympathy and tried to buy friendship. But he had indomitable grit, which survived endless snubs and humiliations, a wholesome mind, and a rude chivalry. Hence we are supported by the con- viction, as we watch the young Australian floundering uneasily about in a sea of hostility, that he will find his feet at last. And one great merit of the story is that while the writer is fully alive to the defects of its qualities and the hardship to which it subjects unconventional natures, he is very far from indulg- ing in a wholesale impeachment of our public-school system. If Tod Maclean comes out on top in the end it is quite as much through his acceptance of the best school traditions and ideals as through his Australian driving power. The turning- point comes in the appointment of a new housemaster and in the interview in which Tod, with characteristic disregard for ordinary procedure, tells Mr. Lancaster that he (Tod) is a failure, but wants to know why :—
" I won't mention any names,' continued Tod, 'and I'd like you, sir, if you will, to consider the case not as myself but as some imaginary boy. I'll call him Smith."Right." Smith's father
• The Cockatoo : a Novel of Public-School Life. By Max llittenberg. London: Sidg,wick and Jackson. Da.] wants him one day to become Lieutenant-Governor of Now South Wales. That means he will have to govern men, and I suppose before he can govern men he will have to learn how to govern boys—make himself liked, and get them to do things for him willingly, and all that.' 'Precisely.' Still putting the case as that of the imaginary Smith, Tod went on to detail minutely all that had happened to him since the very first day he had set foot at Whiterock, sparing himself nothing in his recital of the snubs, the humiliations, and the open failures undergone. Mr. Lancaster's interest in the account was entirely real. He saw a veritable human document laid before him, a document such as few house- masters ever have the privilege of reading. Only the exceptional boy, one who can rise superior to convention, ever confides in his housemaster as Tod was now doing. The ridiculous barrier of schoolboy convention keeps the innermost thoughts of the average boy from those who are best able to advise him in his difficulties. It was one of Mr. Lancaster's hopes to tear away this barrier in time, but ho knew it could only be achieved very slowly. Tod warmed to the very evident sympathy in the master's face, and when he concluded with the words, Why is Smith an titter failure, sir ? ' he knew that Mr. Lancaster could give him the solution he had puzzled over so fruitlessly. 'He's not an utter failure !' came the inspiriting answer. 'I believe in your friend Smith. He has the right stuff in him, and he's going to be a big success later on.' The housemaster lighted a spill of paper at the fire and held it to his pipe-bowl for a moment. That simple action stamped itself on Tod's memory— meaninglessly, as trivial actions do at the crises of human lives. Ever after, the lighting of a spill of paper brought vividly back to Tod that moment of tense expectation while he waited to learn from his housemaster a lesson that no formal school curriculum provides for. 'First, tell your friend Smith this: he has failed through selfishness. All his thoughts have been given to making a place fur himself. All his energies have been directed to asserting himself.' Tod flushed as the accuracy of that analysis went home to him. Mr. Lancaster noted the flush, but continued with his direct, incisive surgery : 'Smith must see bigger. Smith is one unit out of a thousand at Whiterock, and if all those thousands were to spend the vital years of school-life thinking only of how to push themselves forward, Whiterock would be creating a host of selfish egoists who in after-life would spread poison through England or India or Australia, or wherever their careers might lie. Smith must see bigger. Smith must realize that the real big men—Gordon, Rhodes, Huxley, Gladstone—have always sacri- ficed themselves to their country, their religion, their life-work. They put ideals before ambitions, and that's why they have made men love them and follow them.' Ted's face was alight now, but not with shame at himself. He had caught the fire of his house- master's sincerity. He sat rigid, not a muscle moving, so anxious was he to miss no word of a lesson the like of which he had never been given before. Smith must see bigger. If it's football, he must work first for his team ; and second for himself. If it's fighting, he must fight first for the right thing, the decent thing ; and second for himself. If it's governing, he must govern first for his house, his school, his country, or his empire; and second for himself. Smith must see bigger. He must have ideals as well as ambitions. He must realize that a man's success is to be measured by the decent thoughts and unselfish deeds he has spread out around him in his path through life. Otherwise, whatever money he piles together, or whatever high post he elbows his way to, he's a moral cancer. England has not been built up by such men, and England will not keep its place amongst the nations by such men.' " The sequel shows how Tod endeavoured to translate these ideals into practice, not without occasional lapses, but in the
main with an honest desire to make the good prevail. The story suffers from the comparative absence of likable repre- sentatives of the English schoolboy ; but the three types of master—the diplomatic Head ; Mr. Turnbull, the academician run to seed; and Mr. Lancaster, the vigorous young reformer —are well-drawn figures. It would be interesting to know how the book strikes an Australian.
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