Now the Sunday arrangements at Chiltern were perhaps unusual, but they were hallowed by tradition and shared, in a way, the sacred character of the day. Briefly, they left a clear break, interrupted only by tea, between lunch at 1.30 and chapel at eight. Exact contemporaries of Mr. Chowdler might have recalled that, in his early days, he himself had viewed this long interval with disfavour. But it is no reproach to a man to change his mind, and, with a riper experience, Mr. Chowdler had learned to love and value the Chiltern Sunday. To himself it meant a long country walk and a most refreshing snooze afterwards; but that was not the reason why he valued it. He valued it because it was so good for the boys; because it gave them, what no other school gives its boys, time to know themselves, time for thought, and especially _home_ thoughts; and because it made of Sunday what Sunday ought to be, “a morally recuperative day.” “We must put our foot down,” he said to his colleagues; “there must be no tampering with Sunday.” Masters’ meetings at Chiltern were held in the library. The headmaster and the ten housemasters sat round an oak table; and others occupied chairs wherever chairs happened to be. This disposition of forces created a rather invidious distinction between the juniors and the ten who often abused their position to make important remarks in tones which were inaudible to the rest of the meeting. But the invidiousness was felt more keenly by the juniors than by the ten. Mr. Flaggon disliked the arrangement for other reasons. Seated at the head of the table, _primus inter pares_, he felt uncomfortably close to the housemasters and inconveniently removed from the rest of the staff; and, if he wished to be heard by all, he had to raise his voice and speak through, or over, his immediate neighbours in a way that was unpleasant for both. He sighed for a dais and a more elevated seat, and, accordingly, he had suggested tentatively to some of the senior men the advisability of holding the meetings elsewhere. But the suggestion had given genuine pain. It was unthinkable that Chiltern masters should meet anywhere but under the portrait of Dr. Lanchester; and the only other portrait of Dr. Lanchester was in the Great Hall, an obviously impossible place. So, wishing to avoid unnecessary friction, Mr. Flaggon had resigned himself to the library for the present. Perhaps, as he sat with his back to the portrait, he was less conscious of inspiration than his colleagues.