_January 27._--I fear the school is taking the Commercial side too literally--with unforeseen results. To-day there was a regrettable incident in the tuck-shop, outside the door of which, unknown to Mrs. Harrison, a placard was nailed up announcing "Harrison's Winter Sale. All goods at sacrificial prices. Must be cleared. No offer refused." As a consequence the boys burst into the place in a crowd, ate and drank everything they could lay hands on, and paid for nothing. I have undertaken to rectify this matter. _January 28._--Mutiny is rampant. The boys, inflated by their success in the tuck-shop, held "A Great White Sale" in most of the dormitories last night. As a consequence, all towels, sheets, pillows, flannels, etc., are inextricably mixed up, and a very large number can only be described as "remnants." Seven masters have resigned, including Herr Wolff, who was informed by a boy that he refused to handle the works of Schiller, because they were "made in Germany." Personally flogged the boy. _January 29._--Things are becoming intolerable. Three boys appeared in the lower Modern class this morning in frock coats and false waxed moustaches which they must have written to London for. They were sent up to me and had the audacity to explain that they hoped to be shop-walkers some day and wanted to practise. Another boy asked if a Hair Drill could be substituted for the ordinary drill. Verily the reformer's task is a thankless one. _January 30._--_Actum est_ ... This morning I announced to assembled boys that I should not proceed with the Commercial side. The speech was received in silence, except that one boy (whom, I regret to say, I was unable to identify) called out, "And the next thing, Sir?" I fear there is no real commercial zeal as yet among boys. * * * * * [Illustration: EXIT TANGO. THE SPIRIT OF DANCING (_waking up_). "WELL, THANK HEAVEN THAT'S OVER; ONE OF THE DULLEST NIGHTMARES I EVER MET."] * * * * * LIDBETTER. The shopkeeper said he had not got it in stock, but he would get it for me. "When?" "By to-morrow morning." "Before lunch?" "Yes." "For certain?" "Yes." Very well then, I would have it. "Can I send it?" he asked. "No, someone will call." Very well. It should be ready for my man before lunch. How did he know I had a man? I wondered. I had never been to the shop before. Do I look like a man who has a man? I suppose I must. Yet I always rather hoped that I didn't. What had I said exactly? I had said, "someone will call." Either, then, "someone" means, in such shops, a man-servant; or the fact that I am a man-keeping animal is visible all over me. I went on to wonder if, should he see Lidbetter, he would know that he belonged to me. Did I not only betray the fact that I kept a man, but also what kind of a man I kept? Good old Lidbetter--what should I do without him? I wondered. How get through the day at all? How, to begin with, get up?