'Hum!' he said. Then 'Umph!' in a protesting tone, as if someone had pinched him. Finally, he gave vent to a long-drawn 'Um-m-m,' in a deep bass. 'Most extraordinary. Really, most extraordinary. Exceedingly. Yes. Um. Very.' He took a sip of coffee. 'My dear,' said he, suddenly. Mrs Perceval started violently. She had been sketching out in her mind a little dinner, and wondering whether the cook would be equal to it. 'Yes,' she said. 'My dear, this is a very extraordinary communication. Exceedingly so. Yes, very.' 'Who is it from?' Mr Perceval shuddered. He was a purist in speech. '_From whom_, you should say. It is from Mr Wells, a great College friend of mine. I--ah--submitted to him for examination the poems sent in for the Sixth Form Prize. He writes in a very flippant style. I must say, very flippant. This is his letter:--"Dear Jimmy (really, really, he should remember that we are not so young as we were); dear--ahem--Jimmy. The poems to hand. I have read them, and am writing this from my sick-bed. The doctor tells me I may pull through even yet. There was only one any good at all, that was Rogers's, which, though--er--squiffy (tut!) in parts, was a long way better than any of the others. But the most taking part of the whole programme was afforded by the three comedians, whose efforts I enclose. You will notice that each begins with exactly the same four lines. Of course, I deprecate cribbing, but you really can't help admiring this sort of thing. There is a reckless daring about it which is simply fascinating. A horrible thought--have they been pulling your dignified leg? By the way, do you remember"--the rest of the letter is--er--on different matters.' 'James! How extraordinary!' 'Um, yes. I am reluctant to suspect--er--collusion, but really here there can be no doubt. No doubt at all. No.' 'Unless,' began Mrs Perceval, tentatively. 'No doubt at all, my dear,' snapped Reverend Jimmy. He did not wish to recall the other possibility, that his dignified leg was being pulled. 'Now, for what purpose did I summon you three boys?' asked Mr Perceval, of Smith, Montgomery, and Morrison, in his room after morning school that day. He generally began a painful interview with this question. The method had distinct advantages. If the criminal were of a nervous disposition, he would give himself away upon the instant. In any case, it was likely to startle him. 'For what purpose?' repeated the Headmaster, fixing Smith with a glittering eye. 'I will tell you,' continued Mr Perceval. 'It was because I desired information, which none but you can supply. How comes it that each of your compositions for the Poetry Prize commences with the same four lines?' The three poets looked at one another in speechless astonishment. 'Here,' he resumed, 'are the three papers. Compare them. Now,'--after the inspection was over--' what explanation have you to offer? Smith, are these your lines?' 'I--er--ah--_wrote_ them, sir.'