Peter in common daylight carefully examined his face in the looking-glass. His left eye was a painter's palette. He ruefully remembered that the fight had yet to be finished. He was bound to offer his adversary an opportunity of completing the good work, and he distinctly quailed. Peter was this morning upon solid earth. The crisis was past. He knew now that he had quickly to be a man, to get knowledge and wealth and power. Boys at Peter's branch of the foundation of King Edward VI could no higher ascend into knowledge than the binomial theorem. Peter, not yet fifteen, was already head of the school--the favourite pupil of his masters, easily leading in learning and cricket. Already it was a question whether he should or should not proceed to the High School where Greek and the Calculus were to be had. Peter's career was already a problem. Mr. Paragon inclined to believe that the best thing for a boy of fifteen was to turn into business, leaving Greek to the parsons. Mrs. Paragon had different views. Peter was yet unaware of this discussion, nor had he wondered what would happen when the time came for leaving his first school. Peter's company raised a chorus when they beheld him. They explained to Peter what his face was like. They were proud of it. A terrible and bloody fellow was their captain. When Peter met his adversary each noted with pleasure that the other was honourably marked. The handsome rough thrust out a large red hand. "Take it or leave it," he said. Peter took it. The bells were calling in a final burst, and he passed rapidly on with his company. It was peace with honour. Peter was in a resolute grapple with the binomial theorem when a call came for him to go into the headmaster's room. Peter, delicately feeling his battered face, followed the school-porter with misgiving. "Paragon," said the headmaster, "I don't like your face. It isn't respectable." Peter writhed softly, aware that he was ironically contemplated. "This fighting in the streets," continued the headmaster, "is becoming a public nuisance. I should be sorry to believe that any of our boys provoked it. I hope it was self-defence." "Mostly, sir," said Peter. "I rely upon you, Paragon, to avoid making the school a nuisance to the parish." "I realise my responsibility, sir." Peter was quite serious, and the headmaster did not smile. "Now, Paragon," he said, "I want to talk to you about something else. I have just written to your father. Do you know what you would like to do when you leave school?" "No, sir," said Peter.