And his task is not altogether thankless. Just as the sun never sets upon the British Empire, so it never sets upon all the Old Boys of a great public school at once. They are gone out into all lands: they are upholding the honour of the School all the world over. And wherever they are--London, Simla, Johannesburg, Nairobi, or Little Pedlington Vicarage--they never lose touch with their old Housemaster. His correspondence is enormous; it weighs him down: but he would not relinquish a single picture postcard of it. He knows that wherever two or three of his Old Boys are gathered together, be it in Bangalore or Buluwayo, the talk will always drift round in time to the old School and the old House. They will refer to him by his nickname--"Towser," or "Potbelly," or "Swivel-Eye,"--and reminiscences will flow. "Do you remember the old man's daily gibe when he found us chucking bread at dinner? 'Hah! There will be a bread pudding tomorrow!'" "Do you remember the jaw he gave us when the news came about Macpherson's V.C.?" "Do you remember his Sunday trousers? Oh, Lord!" "Do you remember how he tanned Goat Hicks for calling The Frog a _cochon_? Fourteen, wasn't it?" "Do you remember the grub he gave the whole House the time we won the House-match by one wicket, with Old Mike away?" "Do you remember how he broke down at prayers the night little Martin died?" "Do you remember his apologising to that young swine Sowerby before the whole House for losing his temper and clouting him over the head? That must have taken some doing. We rooted Sowerby afterwards for grinning." "I always remember the time," interpolates one of the group, "when he scored me off for roller-skating on Sunday." "How was that?" "Well, it was this way. I had got leave of morning Chapel on some excuse or other, and was skating up and down the Long Corridor, having a grand time. The old man came out of his study--I thought he was in Chapel--and growled, looking at me over his spectacles--you remember the way?----" "Yes, rather. Go on!" "He growled:--'Boy, do you consider roller-skating a Sunday pastime?' I, of course, looked a fool, and said, 'No, sir.' 'Well,' chuckled the old bird, 'I do: but I always make a point of respecting a man's religious scruples. I will therefore confiscate your skates.' And he did! He gave them back to me next day, though." "I always remember him," says another, "the time I nearly got sacked. By rights I ought to have been, but I believe he got me off at the last moment. Anyhow, he called me into his study and told me I wasn't to go after all. He didn't jaw me, but said I could take an hour off school and go and telegraph home that things were all right. My people had been having a pretty bad time over it, I knew, and so did he. I was pretty near blubbing, but I held out. Then, just as I got to the door, he called me back. I turned round, rather in a funk that the jaw was coming after all. But he growled out:--