While the headmaster’s shy voice wavered on, Edward studied the faces in front of him. Half the class was Eurasian; the other half Chinese. There were one or two thin, glowing Indian faces among the broad Chinese masks. Three Portuguese-Chinese boys in staring striped suits with small waists sat in the front row, trying successfully to frighten Edward by means of an exaggerated look of awe. With these exceptions the two front rows were occupied by little boys who were physically too weak to challenge the determination of the big boys to sit behind unseen. Edward looked hopefully at two little boys in the front row trying to look superlatively good. Their lips were moving; they were making a show of repeating the headmaster’s words to themselves in order to make a good impression. Over their heads Edward could see a dazzle of insolent faces, laughing at him and at the futile gentle enthusiasm of the headmaster. The big boys were quite frankly talking. Sometimes even Edward could hear their twanging voices. The headmaster looked wistfully down the room at the disturbers but made no comment. Edward felt his face fixed in an expression that a martyr might wear. His face was frozen. He could not change his expression. He looked in sickly appeal at the headmaster, who was now leaving the room. He looked in sickly appeal at the boys. There was a fearful silence, broken by one of the big Eurasians at the back suddenly breaking into song. “Eh—tya—tya....” “Now you must be quiet, please,” said Edward huskily. “Shall not I sing?” enquired the musician. “Am not I having sing lesson every evening when school finish?” Edward ignored him. “I see by the timetable that we should begin with a Scripture lesson——” “Oh, no sah—nevah Scriptchah. Monday mornings we was having hygiene—no, we was having dictations—nevah Scriptchah.” The concerted noise of contradiction became louder and louder. Edward felt as if he were caught in a great roaring machine that he could not stop. “Oh, silence ... oh, silence ...” he cried, tapping the desk feebly with his pencil. He could not stop the noise. He rose and flung his arms out. “Oh, silence—I can’t stand this.” The hysterical gesture produced a startling silence. Then some of the big boys laughed. “The timetable says Scripture and I say Scripture,” said Edward furiously. “No-one else’s opinion is needed. Now I want one of you big boys—I don’t know your names yet—that one with a pale blue coat on—to come and tell me how far you got in the Bible ...” “Please sah, you say no other man opinion was needed.” “Shut up, curse you.” “Eh—tya—tya....” “He sing a song for welcoming you, sah.” The boy in a long pale blue coat stood in front of Edward, unexpectedly abashed. His small eyes seemed deliberately veiled with dulness. “What is your name?” asked Edward. “I new scholar.” “You have a name, though,” insisted Edward.