"You liddle Engleesh boys," he concluded, "you think your Army is great. In my gontry it would be noding--noding! Take it away! Vat battles has it fought, to compare----" The answer came red-hot from thirty British throats: "Waterloo!" (There was no "sir" this time.) "Vaterloo?" replied Mr. Klotz condescendingly. "Yes. But vere would your Engleesh army haf been at Vaterloo without Blucher?" He puffed out his chest. "Tell me dat, Brinkle!" "Blucher, sir?" replied Master Pringle deferentially. "Who was he, sir?" "You haf not heard of Blucher?" gasped Mr. Klotz in genuine horror. The form, who seldom encountered Mr. Klotz without hearing of Blucher, shook their heads with polite regret. Suddenly a hand shot up. It was the hand of Master Tomlinson, who it will be remembered had already burned his boats for the afternoon. "Do you mean Blutcher, sir?" he inquired. "Blutcher? Himmel! Nein!" roared Mr. Klotz. "I mean Blucher." "I expect he was the same person, sir," said Tomlinson soothingly. "I remember him now. He was the Russian who----" "Prussian!" yelled the infuriated Mr. Klotz. "I beg your pardon, sir--Prussian. I thought they were the same thing. He was the Prussian general whom Lord Wellington was relying on to back him up at Waterloo. But Blutcher--Blucher lost his way--quite by accident, of course--and did not reach the field until the fight was over." "He stopped to capture a brewery, sir, didn't he?" queried Master Pringle, coming to his intrepid colleague's assistance. "It was bad luck his arriving late," added Tomlinson, firing his last cartridge; "but he managed to kill quite a lot of wounded." Mr. Klotz had only one retort for enterprises of this kind. He rose stertorously to his feet, crossed the room, and grasping Master Tomlinson by the ears, lifted him from his seat and set him to stand in the middle of the floor. Then he returned for Pringle. "You stay dere," he announced to the pair, "ontil the hour is op. Efter lonch----" But in his peregrinations over the battle-field of Sedan, Mr. Klotz had taken no note of the flight of time. Even as he spoke, the clock struck. "The hour is up now, sir!" yelled the delighted form. [Illustration: THE FRENCH MASTER: (I) FICTION, (II) FACT] And they dispersed with tumult, congratulating Pringle and Tomlinson upon their pluck and themselves upon a most profitable morning. * * * * * But it is a far cry to Sedan nowadays. The race of Klotzes has perished, and their place is occupied by muscular young Britons, who have no reminiscences and whose pronunciation, both of English and German, is easier to understand. CHAPTER FOUR BOYS NUMBER I. THE GOVERNMENT "There's your journey money, Jackson. Good-bye, and a pleasant holiday!" "Thank you, sir. The same to you!" replies Jackson dutifully. They shake hands, and the Housemaster adds:-- "By the way, I shall want you to join the prefects next term." "Me, sir? Oh!"