It was, therefore, with feelings of the acutest interest that he waited, in the upper corridor of Memorial Hall, on the opening morning of the spring term, for the appearance of Mr. Baldwin, the new recruit to the mathematics department. The Hall was choked with old boys chattering over the doings of the Easter vacation, calling back and forth, punching one another affectionately or critically examining the returning stragglers. "His name is Ernest Garrison Baldwin," said the Gutter Pup. "Just graduated, full of honours and that sort of thing." "He ought to be easy," said Crazy Opdyke, hopefully. "These mathematical sharks are always fancy markers," interposed Macnooder. "If I'm stuck in the first row," said the Egghead gloomily, "it's all up--I never could do anything with figures." "If we want short lessons," said Hickey, waking out of his reverie, "we've all got to flunk in the beginning." At this Machiavellian analysis there was a chorus of assent. "Sure." "Hickey's the boy!" "Red Dog and Poler Fox have got to be kept down." "We're not pack-horses." "Say, is he green?" "Sure--never taught before." "Cheese it--he's coming." The group stood aside, intent on the arrival of the new adversary. They saw a stiff young man, already bald, with a set, affable manner and a pervading smile of cordiality, who entered the classroom with a confident step, after a nodded: "Ah, boys--good-morning." The class filed in, eyeing the natural enemy closely for the first indications of value to aid them in the approaching conflicts. "He's awfully serious," said the Egghead to his neighbour. "He'll try to drive us," replied Macnooder, with instinctive resentment. Hickey said nothing, absorbed in contemplation of a momentous question--how would the new master hear recitations? To solve a master's system is to be prepared in advance, and with the exception of the Roman's there was not a system which he had not solved. Popular masters, like Pa Dater, called you up every third day, which is eminently just and conducive to a high standard of scholarship. The Muffin Head, in stealthy craftiness, had a way of calling you up twice in succession after you had flunked and were expecting a brief period of immunity; but this system once solved gave ample opportunity to redeem yourself. The Doctor, wiser than the rest, wrote each name on a card, shuffled the pack and called for a recitation according to chance--but even the Doctor left the pack on his desk, nor counted the cards as all careful players should. Other masters, like Tapping and Baronson, trusted to their intuitions, seizing upon the boy whose countenance betrayed a lurking apprehension. Hickey took kindly to this method and had thrived amazingly, by sudden flagrant inattentions or noticeable gazing out of the windows, which invariably procured him a staccato summons to recite just as the recitation neared the limited portion he had studied.