'Tell me--' began Miss Beezley, simultaneously. 'I beg your pardon,' said the Babe; 'you were saying--?' 'Not at all, Mr MacArthur. _You_ were saying--?' 'I was only going to ask you if you played croquet?' 'Yes; do you?' 'No.' 'Ah!' 'If this is going to continue,' thought the Babe, 'I shall be reluctantly compelled to commit suicide.' There was another long pause. 'Tell me the names of some of the masters at St Austin's, Mr MacArthur,' said Miss Beezley. She habitually spoke as if she were an examination paper, and her manner might have seemed to some to verge upon the autocratic, but the Babe was too thankful that the question was not on Browning or the higher algebra to notice this. He reeled off a list of names. '... Then there's Merevale--rather a decent sort--and Dacre.' 'What sort of a man is Mr Dacre?' 'Rather a rotter, I think.' 'What is a rotter, Mr MacArthur?' 'Well, I don't know how to describe it exactly. He doesn't play cricket or anything. He's generally considered rather a crock.' 'Really! This is very interesting, Mr MacArthur. And what is a crock? I suppose what it comes to,' she added, as the Babe did his best to find a definition, 'is this, that you yourself dislike him.' The Babe admitted the impeachment. Mr Dacre had a finished gift of sarcasm which had made him writhe on several occasions, and sarcastic masters are rarely very popular. 'Ah!' said Miss Beezley. She made frequent use of that monosyllable. It generally gave the Babe the same sort of feeling as he had been accustomed to experience in the happy days of his childhood when he had been caught stealing jam. Miss Beezley went at last, and the Babe felt like a convict who has just received a free pardon. One afternoon in the following term he was playing fives with Charteris, a prefect in Merevale's House. Charteris was remarkable from the fact that he edited and published at his own expense an unofficial and highly personal paper, called _The Glow Worm_, which was a great deal more in demand than the recognized School magazine, _The Austinian_, and always paid its expenses handsomely. Charteris had the journalistic taint very badly. He was always the first to get wind of any piece of School news. On this occasion he was in possession of an exclusive item. The Babe was the first person to whom he communicated it. 'Have you heard the latest romance in high life, Babe?' he observed, as they were leaving the court. 'But of course you haven't. You never do hear anything.' 'Well?' asked the Babe, patiently. 'You know Dacre?' 'I seem to have heard the name somewhere.' 'He's going to be married.' 'Yes. Don't trouble to try and look interested. You're one of those offensive people who mind their own business and nobody else's. Only I thought I'd tell you. Then you'll have a remote chance of understanding my quips on the subject in next week's _Glow Worm_. You laddies frae the north have to be carefully prepared for the subtler flights of wit.'