On Sundays in Chapel it was he who now read out the tragic list, and sometimes it was seen and heard that he was in tears over it. Well, why not, the School said; he was an old man; they might have despised anyone else for the weakness.
One day he got a letter from Switzerland, from friends there; it was heavily censored, but conveyed some news. On the following Sunday, after the names and biographies of old boys, he paused a moment and then added:--
"Those few of you who were here before the War will remember Max Staefel, the German master. He was in Germany, visiting his home, when war broke out. He was popular while he was here, and made many friends. Those who knew him will be sorry to hear that he was killed last week, on the Western Front."
He was a little pale when he sat down afterward, aware that he had done something unusual. He had consulted nobody about it, anyhow; no one else could be blamed. Later, outside the Chapel, he heard an argument:--
"On the Western Front, Chips said. Does that mean he was fighting for the Germans?"
"I suppose it does."
"Seems funny, then, to read his name out with all the others. After all, he was an enemy."
"Oh, just one of Chips's ideas, I expect. The old boy still has 'em."
Chips, in his room again, was not displeased by the comment. Yes, he still had 'em--those ideas of dignity and generosity that were becoming increasingly rare in a frantic world. And he thought: Brookfield will take them, too, from me; but it wouldn't from anyone else.
--- James Hilton, Goodbye, Mr. Chips