He came into the common room again. “I can't think—” he said, with his trembling hand to his forehead. “I know I had it yesterday—last night. Clinton, you must have seen it.” “No,” said Clinton in that abstract voice that is so profoundly irritating because it shows that the speaker's thoughts are far away. “No—I don't think I've seen it. What did I do with that Algebra? Oh! there it is. My word! is n't it raining!” The Upper School bell began, far in the distance, its raucous clanging. Perrin was pacing up and down the room; every now and again he flung a furtive glance at Traill. Traill had paid, hitherto, no attention to the conversation. At last, hearing the Upper School bell, he looked up. “What's the matter?” he said. “Really, Robert,” said Perrin, turning round to the factotum, “you must have seen it somewhere. It's absurd! I want to go out.” “There are the other gentlemen's,” said Robert, looking a little frightened of Perrin's twitching lips and white face. It dawned upon Traill slowly that Perrin was looking for an umbrella. Then on that it followed that possibly the umbrella that he had taken that morning might be Perrin's umbrella. Of course it must be Perrin's umbrella. It was just the sort of umbrella, with its faded silk and stupid handle, that Perrin would be likely to have. However, it was really very awkward—most awkward. He stood up and stayed with a hand nervously fingering the Morning Post. Perrin rushed once more into the hall and then came furiously back. “I must have my umbrella,” he said, storming at Robert. “I want to go to the Upper School.” He had left the door a little open. “I am very sorry,” Traill began; the paper crackling beneath his fingers. Perrin wheeled round and stared at him, his face very white. “I'm very sorry,” said Traill again, “but I'm afraid I must have taken it—my mistake. I wouldn't have taken it if I had dreamed—” “You!” said Perrin in a hoarse whisper. “Yes,” said Traill, “I'm afraid I took the first one I saw this morning. I'm afraid it must have been yours, as yours is missing. I assure you—” He was smiling a little—really it was all too absurd. His smile drove Perrin into a trembling passion. He took a step forward. “You dared to take my umbrella?” he said, “without asking? I never heard such a piece of impertinence. But it's all of a piece—all of a piece!” “But it's really too absurd,” Traill broke in. “As though a man mightn't take another man's umbrella without all this disturbance. It's too absurd.” “Oh! is it?” said Perrin, his voice shaking. “That's all of a piece—that's exactly like the rest of your behavior here. You come here thinking that everything and everyone belongs to you. Oh, yes! we've all got to bow down to everything that your Highness chooses to say. We must give up everything to your Highness—our clothes, our possessions—you conceited—insufferable puppy!”