The bee-line which he was making took him, first, past the Rugby posts—mere symbols of a departed game—and here he struck the broad pathway along the outskirts of the playing fields. Where the way branched into two he came to Seymour’s, and he would have passed that tall house at his best speed, cutting the night air like a land yacht, had not a sudden clamour of excited voices, raised in consummate confusion, floated down to him from an upstairs window and distracted his attention. So he stopped and he looked and he listened. The bright light in a window immediately above him, evidently that of a study, indicated without doubt the source of the commotion. For a little while he stood, his head thrown back, peering curiously towards it. There was no law against a light in a senior’s study at nine o’clock, but there could be no excuse for such disorder as was evidenced by those so wildly contesting voices. At last he made up his mind. Enthusiasm prompted him to hasten upon his way, but allegiance to the dogma of unexpectedness was too strong. He glanced round him once, then fixed the front door with protuberant eyes, lifted the latch and went in. If Mr Seymour was out visiting some colleague, the occasion called for action on his own part. It might well be that this most memorable evening would grant him an all-round victory over the school on points. He could not have chosen a more sensational moment to appear. As he reached the bottom of the stairs a young man came dancing down. It may be that those who had been watching and who would have followed had peeped over the banisters in time and had withdrawn to make good their escape, but this one young man was in that condition in which loneliness is as nothing. He was singing raucously, and his manner of descent was like that of a low comedian on a sliding staircase. His hair was tangled and his countenance was flushed to fever heat. The Head had drawn back as if in preparation for a suitably sudden appearance from the wings, but instead he slowly drew himself now to his full height. As if at one touch of a magic wand Hard Roe suddenly ceased to look merely a silly old man. He was transformed into a lonely monarch in a terrible predicament. His rather grim face suddenly aged to that of a man who has faced all weathers and seen all things. The look that came into his eyes whilst he watched was not now merely one of anger or contempt; all thoughts had fled from his mind and left him cold and stricken, and his stare was testimony to the power of unexpectedness. The young man was his son. Time passed on leaden wings. His son had stumbled once on the bottom stair and had swung forward towards the wall. As he righted himself Hard Roe moved out of the shadows to meet him, and they came face to face. At first the young man did not seem to comprehend the grim reality of it. He just stood swaying upon his heels and smiling at the old man kindly. Next he broke into cackling laughter.