There was nobody who was willing to let slip the chance. Now Dr. Mantelsack crossed his legs, still standing, and began to turn over the leaves of his notebook. Hanno Buddenbrook wrung his hands under the desk. B, the letter B, came next. Now he would hear his name, he would get up, he would not know a line, and there would be a row, a loud, frightful catastrophe--no matter how good a mood Dr. Mantelsack might be in. The seconds dragged out, each a martyrdom. “Buddenbrook”-- Now he would say “Buddenbrook.” “Edgar,” said Dr. Mantelsack, closing his notebook with his finger in it. He sat down, as if all were in the best of order. What? Who? Edgar? That was Lüders, the fat Lüders boy over there by the window. Letter L, which was not next at all! No! Was it possible? Dr. Mantelsack’s mood was so good that he simply selected one of his favourites, without troubling in the least about whose turn it was. Lüders stood up. He had a face like a pug dog, and dull brown eyes. He had an advantageous seat, and could easily have read it off, but he was too lazy. He felt too secure in his paradise, and answered simply, “I had a headache yesterday, and couldn’t study.” “Oh, so you are leaving me in the lurch, Edgar,” said Dr. Mantelsack with tender reproach. “You cannot say the lines on the Golden Age? What a shocking pity, my friend! You had a headache? It seems to me you should have told me before the lesson began, instead of waiting till I called you up. Didn’t you have a headache just lately, Edgar? You should do something for them, for otherwise there is danger of your not passing. Timm, will you take his place?” Lüders sat down. At this moment he was the object of universal hatred. It was plain that the master’s mood had altered for the worse, and that Lüders, perhaps in the very next lesson, would be called by his last name. Timm stood up in one of the back seats. He was a blond country-looking lad with a light-brown jacket and short, broad fingers. He held his mouth open in a funnel shape, and hastily found the place, looking straight ahead the while with the most idiotic expression. Then he put down his head and began to read, in long-drawn-out, monotonous, hesitating accents, like a child with a first lesson-book: “_Aurea prima sata est ætas!_” It was plain that Dr. Mantelsack was calling up quite at random, without reference to the alphabet. And thus it was no longer so imminently likely that Hanno would be called on, though this might happen through unlucky chance. He exchanged a joyful glance with Kai and began to relax somewhat.