THE GUARDIAN


P. G. WODEHOUSE

THE GUARDIAN


Table of Contents


THE GUARDIAN..............................................................................................................................................1


P. G. WODEHOUSE..............................................................................................................................1

THE GUARDIAN


P. G. WODEHOUSE
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Etext by Dagny
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In his Sunday suit (with ten shillings in specie in the right-hand trouser pocket) and a brand-new bowler hat,
the youngest of the Shearnes, Thomas Beauchamp Algernon, was being launched by the combined strength
of the family on his public-school career. It was a solemn moment. The landscape was dotted with relatives

 here a small sister, awed by the occasion into refraining from insult; there an aunt, vaguely admonitory.
"Well, Tom," said Mr Shearne, "you'll soon be off now. You're sure to like Eckleton. Remember to cultivate
your bowling. Everyone can bat nowadays. And play forward, not outside. The outsides get most of the fun,
certainly, but then if you're a forward, you've got eight chances of getting into a team."
"All right, father."
"Oh, and work hard." This by way of an afterthought.
"All right, father."
"And, Tom," said Mrs Shearne, "you are sure to be comfortable at school, because I asked Mrs Davy to write


to her sister, Mrs Spencer, who has a son at Eckleton, and tell her to tell him to look after you when you get
there. He is in Mr Dencroft's house, which is next door to Mr Blackburn's, so you will be quite close to one
another. Mind you write directly you get there."

"All right, mother."

"And look here, Tom." His eldest brother stepped to the front and spoke earnestly. "Look here, don't you
forget what I've been telling you?"
"All right."
"You'll be right enough if you don't go sticking on side. Don't forget that, however much of a blood you may


have been at that rotten little private school of yours, you're not one at Eckleton."
"All right."
"You look clean, which is a great thing. There's nothing much wrong with you except cheek. You've got


enough of that to float a ship. Keep it under."
"All right. Keep your hair on."
"There you go," said the expert, with gloomy triumph. "If you say that sort of thing at Eckleton, you'll get


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jolly well sat on, by Jove!"
"Bai Jove, old chap!" murmured the younger brother, "we're devils in the Forty-twoth!"
The other, whose chief sorrow in life was that he could not get the smaller members of the family to look


with proper awe on the fact that he had just passed into Sandhurst, gazed wistfully at the speaker, but


realising that there was a locked door between them, tried no active measures.
"Well, anyhow," he said, "you'll soo...

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