Clif’s somewhat doleful reminiscences were broken into by the tooting of a motor horn down the drive, and a big blue bus rolled past to East Hall and disgorged nearly a score of very small, very noisy boys. “The infant class has arrived,” said a youth behind Clif. A second bus paused at West Hall and a dozen or so older fellows went crowding past, bag laden, exchanging greetings. A load of trunks passed around the side of the wing. The tall clock in the reception room chimed out four o’clock. Another automobile, a hired vehicle, crowded to the steps and four more laughing, sun-browned fellows piled out of it and dragged suit cases and bags to the gravel while one of the number haggled amusingly with the driver. When the new arrivals had disappeared inside Clif remembered Kemble and wondered if that objectionable youth had been released from his session with Mr. Wyatt, and, if he had, whether he was even now preparing for his exodus. Judging from the expression Clif had seen on his face, Kemble’s chance of remaining at Wyndham was mighty slim! Well, Clif guessed the school would be well rid of him. Fellows who hadn’t the common decency to mind their own affairs and――and didn’t know any better than to sit and gloat over another chap’s――another chap’s――well, embarrassment, weren’t wanted at a school like Wyndham. No, sir! Only――well, when you came to think of it, it was sort of tough to get turned down like that. And the fellow was kind of nice looking, too; and there had been something about him. Sort of――sort of appealing. Or――or something. Oh, well, Clif didn’t wish him any ill luck. If they let him stay it wouldn’t make any difference to Clif. There’d be room enough for both of them in a school that looked after a hundred and ninety fellows!