Again the Dean frantically searched on his desk to discover the subject in which Mr. Carter had failed; again was unsuccessful. Deep thought ravelled his brow. His fingers drummed indecision on the table. It was a telling picture of one struggling between duty and kindliness--masterly as the result of long practice. “Mr. Carter,” the Dean summed up, “I will consider your case more fully to-night. Against my better judgment I may perhaps decide not on this occasion to communicate with your father. But remember this. At the very outset of your career you have strained to breaking-point the confidence of your teachers. Only by stupendous efforts on your part can that confidence be restored. These failures, believe me, will dog you from now until you are qualified--nay, will dog your whole professional career. That will do.” In a convulsion of relief and of agitation beneath this appalling prospect the dogged man quavered thanks; stumbled from the room. III. George laughed. “Same old dressing-down,” he said. “Don't you ever alter the formula?” “It's very effective,” the Dean replied. “That's the sixth this morning. Unfortunately I couldn't remember in what subject that boy had failed; so he didn't get the best part--the part about that being the one subject of all others which, if failed in, predicted ruin.” “It was biology in my case,” George told him. “I trembled with funk.” “I think most of you do. It's fortunate that all you men when you first come up are afraid of your fathers. It gives us a certain amount of hold over you. If the thing were done properly, both at the 'Varsities and the hospitals, there would be a system of marks and reports just as at schools. You are only boys when you first come up, and you should be treated as boys; instead, you are left free and irresponsible. It ruins dozens of men every year.” “Perhaps that's why I'm here now,” George responded. “You know I got ploughed?” The Dean told George how sorry he had been to hear it. He questioned: “Bad luck, I suppose? I thought it was a sitter for you this time.” “Yes, rotten luck.” “It's unfortunate, you know. You would have got a house appointment. I'm afraid you will miss that mow. There will be a crowd of very hot men up with you in October, junior to you, who will get the vacancies. What will you do?” George shrugged and laughed. The Dean frowned; interpreted the shrug. “Well, you should care,” he said. “You ought to be looking around you. Won't your uncle help you to buy a partnership?” “We are on worse terms than ever after this failure. Not he.” “And you're not trying to be on good terms, I suppose?” “Not I.”