“What does that mean--‘_deciderant, patula Jovis arbore glandes_’?” he asked in a despairing voice, turning to Adolf Todtenhaupt, who sat beside him working on the register. “What?” asked Todtenhaupt, continuing to write. “The acorns from the tree of Jupiter--that is the oak; no, I don’t quite know myself--” “Tell me a bit, Todtenhaupt, when it comes my turn, will you?” begged Hanno, and pushed the book away. He scowled at the cool and careless nod Todtenhaupt gave by way of reply; then he slid sidewise off the bench and stood up. The scene had changed. Herr Ballerstedt had left the room, and his place was taken by a small, weak enervated little man who stood straight and severe on the platform. He had a sparse white beard and a thin red neck that rose out of a narrow turned-down collar. He held his top-hat upside down in front of him, clasped in two small hands covered with white hair. His real name was Professor Hückopp, but he was called “Spider” by the pupils. He was in charge of classrooms and corridors during the recess. “Out with the gas! Up with the blinds! Up with the windows!” he said, and gave his voice as commanding a tone as possible, moving his little arm in the air with an awkward, energetic gesture, as if he were turning a crank. “Everybody downstairs, into the fresh air, as quick as possible!” The gas went out, the blinds flew up, the sallow daylight filled the room. The cold mist rushed in through the wide-open windows, and the lower second crowded past Professor Hückopp to the exit. Only the head boy might remain upstairs. Hanno and Kai met at the door and went down the stairs together, and across the architecturally correct vestibule. They were silent. Hanno looked pathetically unwell, and Kai was deep in thought. They reached the courtyard and began to stroll up and down across the wet red tiles, among school companions of all ages and sizes.