Maddox went upstairs again after this to his study, where his fag was putting out his tea-things. David, of course, after his promotion into the fifth form, had ceased to be in a state of servitude, and his successor was a small bony youth called Jevons, who usually had a cold in the head, and an inky handkerchief with which to minister to it. There was no kind of briskness about him; he was timid and slovenly and melancholy, and went about his duties as if laying out the bake-meats for the funeral of a dear departed friend. Maddox did his best with him, tried to encourage him to look the world in the face a little more, and wash a little more, and not drag his feet as he walked; but it was a dismal change from being attended to by the adroit and willing David. David, it is true, sometimes smashed things by running with them, or from excess of zeal in cleaning the inside of a tea-cup, but that was better than finding forgotten tea-leaves in the pot one day, or crumbs and other foreign substances in the sugar, and little bits of butter sticking to the bottom of the plates. But though Maddox was kind to this spiritless youth, David, on the occasions when he came across him, was severely critical. It seemed to him a dreadful affair that his place should be filled by so abject a specimen, and, mixed with his contempt for Jevons, there was a certain jealousy that he should go in and out of Maddox’s study as he chose, and joylessly perform all the offices in which David had delighted. Fifth-form boy as he was, he would have loved to continue fagging for Maddox, for the sake of seeing that he was properly looked after, and for the intimacy which that would give him. Now, since their ages and places sundered them so widely in ordinary school-life, David necessarily saw much less of him than before. He knew that this must be so, but it did not make him like Jevons the more. There was the sound of cheerful whistling going on from the bath-room where David was washing up on his own account, when Maddox came up to his study, but it ceased as Jevons went in to fill his kettle, and a half-cracked admonitory voice took its place. “Well, have you put a nice bit of butter in the milk-jug to-day,” it asked—the voice was as unmistakably David’s as the whistle—“or have you rubbed it round the edge of the tea-cup? Lord, rinse out the kettle before you fill it, can’t you? Here, give it me. I say, you really should smarten yourself up a bit, Jevons. Wash your hands while I get the kettle ready. I wonder Maddox can eat a thing when you’ve touched his crockery.” “David!” shouted Maddox. “Want me?” asked David. “Yes, come here a minute. I’ve got something to say to you.” David went to his study followed by the depressed Jevons, who shuffled about the room for a bit, dropped a knife, and then left them.