ed in mocking imitation:

"I don't know--I don't know!"

He was too cunning to retaliate. He waited till he had reached his
chosen ground, then he turned with his fists clenched. The storm had
already gathered. It was only a little school, and the story of the
new boy's "break" with old Jaegers had reached even the big louts who
lingered on in Form VI. They made a rough half-circle round their
intended victim, only partially malevolent in their intentions. The
fact that he had bearded a contemptible old beast like Jaegers was
rather in his favour than otherwise, but his assertion that he did not
say his prayers and knew nothing about God smacked of superiority. He
had to be taken down. And, anyhow, a new boy was an object of
curiosity and his preliminary persecution a time-honoured custom. A
fight was not in their calculations--the very idea of a new boy
venturing to fight beyond their imaginations. And Robert did not want
to fight. He felt oddly weary and disinclined. But to him there was
no other outcome possible. It was his only tradition. It blinded him
to what was kindly or only mischievous in the faces round him. He had
a momentary glimpse of the red-headed boy who stood just outside the
circle, munching an apple and staring at him with astonished blue eyes,
and then his attention fixed itself on his enemy-in-chief. There was
no mistaking him. He was a big, lumpy fellow, fifteen years of age,
with an untidy mouth, the spots of a premature adolescence and an air
of heavy self-importance. When he spoke, the rest fell into awed
attention.

"Hallo, new kid, what's your name?"

"Robert Stonehouse."

"Don't be so abrupt, my boy,"--a delighted titter from the small
fry--"say 'sir' when you answer me."

"I shan't."

The little colourless eyes widened in sheer incredulity. For a moment
the role of humorist was forgotten.

"Look here--no cheek, or I'll smack your head."

"He hasn't been properly brought up," one of the spotty youth's
companions remarked, not ill-naturedly. "Can't expect him to have
manners. He never had a father or a mother, poor darling----"

"Then where did he come from?"

"God made him."

"He told old Jaegers he'd never even heard of God."

"Dear, dear, what a naughty boy. He doesn't even say his prayers."

"But he lives with a lady called Christine----"

"How nice for him. Is she a pretty lady, Stonehouse?" Up till now
nothing had stirred in him. He hadn't car