thirteen pounds per quarter he taught daily from nine till five, with
an interval of an hour and a half at dinner-time, when he walked home
to Walcot Square for such meal as the state of his exchequer would
allow. Waymark occupied a prominent place in Dr. Tootle's prospectus.
As Osmond Waymark, B.A.,--the degree was a _bona fide_ one, of London
University,--he filled the position of Senior Classical Master;
anonymously he figured as a teacher of drawing and lecturer on
experimental chemistry. The other two masters, resident, were Mr.
O'Gree and Herr Egger; the former, teacher of mathematics, assistant
classical master, and professor of gymnastics; the latter, teacher of
foreign languages, of music, and of dancing. Dr. Tootle took upon
himself the English branches, and, of course, the arduous duty of
general superintendence. He was a very tall, thin, cadaverous,
bald-headed man. Somehow or other he had the reputation of having, at
an earlier stage in his career, grievously over-exerted his brain in
literary labour; parents were found, on the whole, ready to accept this
fact as an incontestable proof of the doctor's fitness to fill his
present office, though it resulted in entire weeks of retreat from the
school-room under the excuse of fearful headaches. The only known
product of the literary toil which had had such sad results was a very
small English Grammar, of course used in the school, and always
referred to by the doctor as "my little compendium."

Now and then, Waymark sought refuge from the loneliness of his room in
a visit to his colleagues at the Academy. The masters' sitting-room was
not remarkable for cosiness, even when a fire burnt in the grate and
the world of school was for the time shut out. The floor was
uncarpeted, the walls illustrated only with a few maps and diagrams.
There was a piano, whereon Herr Egger gave his music lessons. Few rooms
in existence could have excelled this for draughts; at all times there
came beneath the door a current of wind which pierced the legs like a
knife; impossible to leave loose papers anywhere with a chance of
finding them in the same place two minutes after.

When Waymark entered this evening, he found his colleagues seated
together in silence. Mr. Philip O'Gree--"fill-up" was his own
pronunciation of the name--would have been worse than insignificant in
appearance, but for the expression of good-humour and geniality which
possessed his irregular features. He was re