As Dr. Brownjohn bellowed forth this statement, his mouth opened so wide that Michael instinctively shrank back as if from a crater in eruption. “You don’t come here to swagger about,” growled the Headmaster. “You come here to be a credit to your school. You pestilent young jackanapes, do you suppose I haven’t noticed your idleness? Um? I notice everything. Get out of my sight and take your hands out of your pockets, you insolent little lubber. Um?” Michael left the Headmaster’s room with an expression of tragic injury: in the corridor was a group of juniors. “What the devil are you kids hanging about here for?” Michael demanded. “All right, sidey Fane,” they burbled. Michael dashed into the group and grabbed a handful of caps which he tossed into the dusty complications of the Laocoön. To their lamentations he responded by thrusting his hands deep down into his pockets and whistling ‘Little Dolly Daydreams, pride of Idaho.’ The summer term would be over in a few days, and Michael was sorry to say good-bye to Alan, who was going to Norway with his father and mother and would therefore not be available for the whole of the holidays. Indeed, he was leaving two days before School actually broke up. Michael was wretched without Alan and brooded over the miseries of life that so soon transcended the joys. On the last day of term, he was seized with an impulse to say good-bye to Mr. Caryll, an impulse which he could not understand and was inclined to deplore. However, it was too strong for his conventions, and he loitered behind in the confusion of merry departures. “Good-bye, sir,” he said shyly. Mr. Caryll took off two pairs of spectacles and examined Michael through the remaining pair, rasping out the familiar cough as he did so. “Now, you great booby, what do you want?” he asked. “Good-bye, sir,” Michael said, more loudly. “Oh, good-bye,” said Mr. Caryll. “You’ve been a very idle boy”—cough—cough—“and I”—cough—cough—“I don’t think I ever knew such an idle boy before.” “I’ve had a ripping time in your class, sir,” said Michael. “What do you mean?”—cough—cough—“are you trying to be impudent?” exclaimed Mr. Caryll, hastily putting on a second pair of spectacles to cope with the situation. “No, sir. I’ve enjoyed being in your class. I’m sorry I was so low down in the list. Good-bye, sir.” Mr. Caryll seemed to realize at last that Michael was being sincerely complimentary, so he took off all the pairs of spectacles and beamed at him with an expression of the most profound benignity.