These words were gasped out. Perrin was now entirely beside himself with rage. He saw this man here before him as the originator of all his misfortunes, all his evils. He had put the other masters against him, he had put the boys against him, he had taken Garden away from him, he had been against him at every turn. All control, all discipline, everything had fled from Mr. Perrin. He did not remember where he was, he did not remember that Robert was in the room, he did not remember that the door was open and that the boys could hear his shrill, excited voice. He only knew that here, in this smiling, supercilious, conceited young man, was his enemy, the man who would rob and ruin him. “Really, this is too absurd,” said Traill, stepping back a little, and conscious of the startled surprise on the face of Robert—he did not want to have a scene before a servant. “I am exceedingly sorry that I took your umbrella. I don't see that that gives you any reason to speak to me like that. We can discuss the matter afterwards—not here.” “Oh, yes!” screamed Perrin, moving still nearer his enemy. “Oh! of course to you it is nothing—nothing at all—it is all of a piece with the rest of your behavior. It you don't know how to behave like a gentleman, it's time someone taught you. Gentlemen don't steal other people's things. You can be put in prison for that sort of thing, you know.” “I didn't steal your beastly umbrella,” said Traill, beginning in his anger to forget the ludicrousness of the situation. “I don't want your beastly things—keep them to yourself.” “I say”—this from Clinton—“chuck it, you two. Don't make such a row here—everyone can hear. Wait until later.” But Perrin heard nothing. He had stepped up to Traill now and was shaking his fist in Traill's face. “It's beastly, is it?” he shouted. “I 'll give you something for saying that—I 'll let you know.” And then, in a perfect scream, “Give me my umbrella! Give me my umbrella!” “I haven't got your rotten umbrella,” shouted Traill. “I left it somewhere. I've lost it. I'm jolly glad. You can jolly well go and look for it.” And at this moment, as Clinton afterwards described it, “the scrap began.” Perrin suddenly flung himself upon Traill and beat his face with his fist. Traill clutched Perrin's arm and flung him back upon the breakfast-table. Perrin's head struck the coffee-pot, and as he rose he brought with him the tablecloth and all the things that Robert had left upon the table. With a fearful crash of crockery, with the odors of streaming coffee, with the cry of the terrified Robert, down everything came. Afterwards there was a pause whilst Perrin and Traill swayed together, then with another crash, they too came to the floor. Clinton and Robert rushed forward. Two Upper School masters, Birkland and Comber, surveyed the scene from the doorway. There was an instant's absolute silence.