_In Vallombrosa._

As Michael mentally repeated the thunderous English line, a surge of
melancholy caught him up to overwhelm his thoughts. In some way those
words expressed what he was feeling at this moment, so that he could
gain relief from the poignancy of his joy here in the darkness close to
Alan with the unfathomable valley of the Thames beneath, by saying over
and over again:

_Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks_
_In Vallombrosa._

"Damn, damn, damn, damn," cried Alan suddenly. "Exams on Monday! Damn,
damn, damn, damn."

"I must go home and swat to-night," said Michael.

"So must I," sighed Alan.

"Walk with me to the station," Michael asked.

"Oh, rather," replied Alan.

Soon Michael was jolting back to Kensington in a stuffy carriage of hot
Richmond merrymakers, while all the time he sat in the corner, saying
over and over again:

_Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks_
_In Vallombrosa._

All Saturday night and all Sunday Michael worked breathlessly for those
accursed examinations: but at the end of them he and Alan were bracketed
equal, very near the tail of the Upper Fourth A. Dr. Brownjohn sent for
each of them in turn, and each of them found the interview very trying.

"What do you mean by it?" roared the Headmaster to Michael. "What do you
mean by it, you young blackguard? Um? Look at this list. Um? It's a
contemptible position for a Scholar. Down here with a lump of rabbit's
brains, you abominable little loafer. Um? If you aren't in the first
five boys of the Lower Fifth next term, I'll kick you off the
Foundation. What good are you to the School? Um? None at all."

As Dr. Brownjohn bellowed forth this statement, his mouth opened so wide
that Michael instinctively shrank back as if from a crater in eruption.

"You don't come here to swagger about," growled the Headmaster. "You
come here to be a credit to your school. You pestilent young jackanapes,
do you suppose I haven't noticed your idleness? Um? I notice everything.
Get out of my sight and take your hands out of your pockets, you
insolent little lubber. Um?"

Michael left the Headmaster's room with an expression of tragic injury:
in the corridor was a group of juniors.

"What the devil are you kids hanging about here for?" Michael demanded.

"All right, sidey Fane," they burbled. Michael dashed into the group and
grabbed a handful of caps which he tossed into the dusty complications
of the La