sh man,
getting on for sixty, and his hair was white. He had a long moustache,
his clothes carried the odour of stale tobacco, his legs seemed hung on
to his body by hooks that every day appeared less likely to maintain the
weight attached to them. His face wore a self-depreciatory smile. He was
most mercilessly "ragged."

The day when he took exams in big school will never be forgotten. Gordon
was then in V.A. The Sixth, the Army class and the Upper Fifth were all
supposed to be preparing for some future paper. All three forms had, of
course, nothing to do. The Chief was in London.

At four-fifteen Finnemore was observed to be moving in his strange way
across the courts. With an almost suspicious quietness the oak desks
were filled.

"What are you doing to-day, Lane?" Finnemore asked the head of the
school.

"I believe, sir, we are supposed to be preparing something."

"Ah, excellent; excellent, a very good opportunity for putting in some
good, hard work. Excellent! Excellent!"

For about three minutes there was peace. Then Ferguson lethargically
arose. He strolled up the steps to the dais, and leaning against the
organ loft began to speak:

"Gentlemen, as not only the Sixth Form, but also the Army class and
Upper Fifth, are gathered here this afternoon with no very ostensible
reason for work, I suggest that we should hold, on a small scale, a
Bacchic festival. This will, of course, be not only entertaining but
also instructive. 'Life consists in knowing where to stop, and going a
little further,' once said H.H. Monro. Let us follow his advice--and
that of the Greeks. First, let us shove the desks against the wall and
make ready for the dance."

It had all been prepared beforehand. In a few minutes several hundred
books had been dropped, several ink-pots lay smashed on the floor. There
was a noise of furious thunder, and at last all the desks somehow got
shoved against the wall.

Finnemore was "magnificently unprepared." He lay back nervously in his
chair, fingering his moustache.

"This must now cease," he said.

"No, really, sir" protested Ferguson; "everything is all right. Mr
Carter, will you oblige us by playing the piano. I myself will conduct."

The floor of the big school is made of exquisitely polished oak, and is
one of the glories of Fernhurst. It was admirably suited for the dance
which within five minutes was in progress. It was a noble affair.
Finnemore sat back in his chair powerless, imp