tion.

CHAPTER VI

A CALAMITY FOR THE SCHOOL

It was a most fortunate thing that there was cold mutton for dinner. The
economic principle governing the arrangement of the menu was that the
simplicity of the mutton atoned for the extravagance of the birthday
pudding, while the extravagance of the birthday pudding excused the
simplicity of the mutton. Had the first course been anything richer than
cold mutton, Henry could not have pretended even to begin the repast. As
it was, he ate a little of the lean, leaving a wasteful margin of lean
round the fat, which he was not supposed to eat; he also nibbled at the
potatoes, and compressed the large remnant of them into the smallest
possible space on the plate; then he unobtrusively laid down his knife
and fork.

'Come, Henry,' said Aunt Annie, 'don't leave a saucy plate.'

Henry had already pondered upon a plausible explanation of his
condition.

'I'm too excited to eat,' he promptly answered.

'You aren't feeling ill, are you?' his mother asked sharply.

'No,' he said. 'But can I have my birthday pudding for supper, after
it's all over, instead of now?'

Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie looked at one another. 'That might be safer,'
said Aunt Annie, and she added: 'You can have some cold rice pudding
now, Henry.'

'No, thank you, auntie; I don't want any.'

'The boy's ill,' Mrs. Knight exclaimed. 'Annie, where's the Mother
Seigel?'

'The boy's no such thing,' said Mr. Knight, pouring calmness and
presence of mind over the table like oil. 'Give him some Seigel by all
means, if you think fit; but don't go and alarm yourself about nothing.
The boy's as well as I am.'

'I think I _should_ like some Seigel,' said the boy.

Tom was never present at the mid-day meal; only Mrs. Knight knew that
Henry had been out with him; and Mrs. Knight was far too simple a soul
to suspect the horrid connection between the morning ramble and this
passing malaise of Henry's. As for Henry, he volunteered nothing.

'It will pass off soon,' said Aunt Annie two hours later. The time was
then half-past three; the great annual ceremony of Speech Day began at
half-past seven. Henry reclined on the sofa, under an antimacassar, and
Mrs. Knight was bathing his excited temples with eau de Cologne.

'Oh yes,' Mr. Knight agreed confidently; he had looked in from the shop
for a moment. 'Oh yes! It will pass off. Give him a cup of strong tea in
a quarter of an hour, and he'll be as right as a