n was not friendly. The person in question was Sandham of the
Lower Sixth, who had been made a house prefect and was very conscious of
it, and who was also well aware of the fact that he was not very tall.
His friends called him "The Cockroach"; and Gordon was told politely to
go elsewhere. He did not, however, go where he was told, but sauntered
sadly down to the matron's room, only to find it full of people all with
some complaint. Some had lost their keys, others were furious that their
people should have been charged for biscuits and sultana cake that they
had never had, but the greater part were wanting to know why the old
bathroom had been turned into a study for the Chief's secretary, while
they had been given in exchange a lot of small zinc hip-baths. To the
smaller members of the House this change was rather popular. On the days
when there were only four baths among eighty, it did not matter very
much to them how large they were, if they were always occupied by the
bloods, while however small the new baths might be, there were
sufficient to go round. The bloods did not look on the matter in this
light.

Gordon walked from room to room utterly miserable. Nobody took the
slightest notice of him, only one person asked his name, and that was a
small person of one term's standing who wanted to show that he was a
power in the land. At last, however, the old cracked bell rang out for
supper, and very thankfully he took his place among the new boys at the
bottom of the day-room table. Evening prayers in the School House had
once been rather a festive occasion, and a hymn chosen by the head of
the House was sung every night. It had been the custom to choose a hymn
with some topical allusion. For instance, on the evening when the House
tutor had given a hundred lines to every member of the day-room for
disturbing a masters' meeting, by playing cricket next door, they chose
_Fierce raged the Tempest o'er the Deep_; and on one occasion when an
unpopular prefect had been unexpectedly expelled the House was soothed
with the strains of _Peace, Perfect Peace_. But those days were over. A
new headmaster had come with an ear for music, and the riot of melody
that surged from the V. A table seemed to him not only blasphemous, but
also inartistic. And so hymn-singing stopped, and only a few prayers
were read instead.

On this particular evening the Chief was in high spirits. It was
characteristic of his indomitable kindliness and