Jack Harmon himself invigilated, seated behind his own desk, reading the minutes of (and adding his comments and recommendations to) the observations and notes of the last Staff Meeting. But while he worked, occasionally he would look up, glance at the boy, wonder about him.
Actually, Harmon didn’t particularly want Harry Keogh at the Tech. Not for any personal motive – not even because he half felt that he’d been pushed into this unheard-of situation: that of being obliged to test a boy who had, quite simply, already missed his chance – but because it might set an unfortunate precedent. Time was precious enough without extra work of this sort being found or manufactured. Exams were exams: they were held annually and the colliery boys who passed them had the opportunity to finish their final years of schooling here, where perhaps they could go on to better things than their fathers had known. The system was long-established and worked very well. But this new thing -Howard Jamieson pushing the Keogh boy forward like this . . .
On the other hand, the headmaster at Harden Modern Boys’ was a proven friend from the old days, and it was also true that Harmon owed him a favour or two. Even so, when Jamieson had first approached him on the subject, Harmon had been cool about it; but the other had persisted. Finally Harmon’s curiosity had been aroused: he’d wanted to see this ‘teenage prodigy’ for himself. At the same time, however, and as stated, he had not wanted to set any sort of precedent. He had looked for an easy way out and believed he’d found one. He himself had set the questions, choosing only the most difficult problems from the last six years’ examination papers. No boy of Keogh’s educational background could possibly hope to answer them (not all of them, anyway, and certainly not correctly) but while the examination itself would almost constitute a farce, still Harmon would be able to look at examples of Keogh’s work and so satisfy his curiosity. Jamieson, too, would have been mollified, at least in respect of his request that the boy be tested; Keogh’s failure would destroy the credibility of any further, like requests in the future. And so Jack Harmon invigilated, keeping an eye on the boy while he worked at the papers.
An hour had been allowed for each subject; there were to be ten-minute breaks between subjects; tea and biscuits would be served right here in the head’s study during the breaks, and a staff toilet was right next door. The first paper had been the English exam, following which Keogh had sat quietly drinking his tea, staring pallidly at the rain beyond the windows. Now he was half-way into the maths paper – or should be. That was a moot point.
Harmon had watched him. The boy’s pen had seemed barely to scratch the answer paper; or if it had, then it was during those moments when the Tech’s headmaster had been busy with his own work. Oh, the boy had been hard enough at it through the first hour, the first test: the English paper had seemed to interest him, he’d done a lot of frowning and pen-chewing and had written and rewritten – indeed he’d still been working when Harmon had called time – but the maths paper obviously had him stumped. He made the occasional, sporadic attempt at it, Harmon must give him that much (and there he went again, even now, his pen flying, scratching away) but after only a moment or two he’d sit back, stare out of the windows, go pale and quiet again, almost as if he were exhausted.
Then he would appear to pick up, glance at the next question, scribble away at frantic speed, as if inspired -before pausing again, exhausted – and so on. Harmon could well understand his tension or anxiety or whatever it was: the questions were very difficult. There were six of them, each one of which would normally take at least a quarter of an hour to complete – and only then if the boy’s aptitude was well in advance of his years and present level of education at Harden Modern.