“Has anybody finished yet?” Mr. Lowden asked, and the boy who had moved up to make room for me held up his hand, cracking his fingers. I glanced at him. He had a round, merry face, rosy cheeks, bright eyes and dimples. “How often have I told you not to crack your fingers, Knox?” asked Mr. Lowden, discontentedly. “Well, what answer do you get?” “Ten bob, a deuce an’ a make.” “Come in to-day, Knox, at recess.” He wrote down another sum, and I had begun to copy it, when something went off with a sharp report under my feet. Mr. Lowden was gazing straight at me, and he instantly told me to stay in at recess. I knew well enough what had happened, that I had trodden on a wax match softened and rolled up with the head inside. I told Mr. Lowden that I hadn’t done it on purpose. “I can’t help that: you must stay in.” “But it wasn’t my fault if I didn’t know it was there,” I argued. “You must stay in,” repeated Mr. Lowden, in a silly, obstinate kind of voice, horribly irritating, “and, Knox, you stay in after school as well as at recess.” “I don’t see what _he_ has to do with it, any way,” I muttered. The boy beside me laughed. “Oh, yes: Knox put it there,” Mr. Lowden said monotonously. I had taken a dislike to Mr. Lowden, and at the same time I thought him a fool. A few days later something happened to make me dislike him even more. He had read aloud a problem which we were to work out mentally, putting down our answers when he gave us the word. My answer was right, but, unfortunately, when he asked me how I got it, the problem itself had gone out of my head. For the life of me I couldn’t remember it; yet I was ashamed to say so, and simply sat silent while he repeated two or three times, as if it were some kind of refrain, “Well, now, how did you work the sum, Waring?” As I was unable to tell him, he said, “You must have copied the answer from Knox.” “I didn’t,” I protested, angrily. “Then why can’t you tell me how you got it?” Again silence. “You must be telling a lie, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Lowden, in his apathetic voice, “and the silliest kind of lie, because it’s obvious to everybody.” “I’m not telling a lie.” Mr. Lowden shrugged his shoulders; he never seemed to get angry, or even moderately interested, no matter what the circumstances. “If you’re not, then why can’t you tell me how you worked the sum? If you had done it once, you could do it again.” “I did do it.” “Well, how?” Renewed silence. “You’d better stay in at recess.” And I stayed in.