Mike's dealings with his father were as a rule of a most pleasant nature. Mr. Jackson was an understanding sort of man, who treated his sons as companions. From time to time, however, breezes were apt to ruffle the placid sea of good fellowship. Mike's end-of-term report was an unfailing wind raiser; indeed, on the arrival of Mr. Blake's sarcastic resume of Mike's shortcomings at the end of the previous term, there had been something not unlike a typhoon. It was on this occasion that Mr. Jackson had solemnly declared his intention of removing Mike from Wrykyn unless the critics became more flattering; and Mr. Jackson was a man of his word. It was with a certain amount of apprehension, therefore, that Jackson entered the study. "Come in, Mike," said his father, kicking the waste-paper basket; "I want to speak to you." Mike, skilled in omens, scented a row in the offing. Only in moments of emotion was Mr. Jackson in the habit of booting the basket. There followed an awkward silence, which Mike broke by remarking that he had carted a half volley from Saunders over the on-side hedge that morning. "It was just a bit short and off the leg stump, so I stepped out--may I bag the paper knife for a jiffy? I'll just show--" "Never mind about cricket now," said Mr. Jackson; "I want you to listen to this report." "Oh, is that my report, Father?" said Mike, with a sort of sickly interest, much as a dog about to be washed might evince in his tub. "It is," replied Mr. Jackson in measured tones, "your report; what is more, it is without exception the worst report you have ever had." "Oh, I say!" groaned the record-breaker. "'His conduct,'" quoted Mr. Jackson, "'has been unsatisfactory in the extreme, both in and out of school.'" "It wasn't anything really. I only happened--" Remembering suddenly that what he had happened to do was to drop a cannonball (the school weight) on the form-room floor, not once, but on several occasions, he paused. "'French bad; conduct disgraceful--'" "Everybody rags in French." "'Mathematics bad. Inattentive and idle.'" "Nobody does much work in Math." "'Latin poor. Greek, very poor.'" "We were doing Thucydides, Book Two, last term--all speeches and doubtful readings, and cruxes and things--beastly hard! Everybody says so." "Here are Mr. Appleby's remarks: 'The boy has genuine ability, which he declines to use in the smallest degree.'" Mike moaned a moan of righteous indignation. "'An abnormal proficiency at games has apparently destroyed all desire in him to realize the more serious issues of life.' There is more to the same effect."