The Bramhallites enjoyed my impersonation.

“N-now, Moles—­White, I mean—­how much b-b-bank do you want?  Two shillings?  B-bank won’t stand it.  Take three halfpence—­take it, Moles, and toddle away.”

There were roars of laughter, and a grin from White like the smile of a brontosaurus.

“N-now, Doe, you don’t want any this week—­you’ve come to pay in some, I suppose.  You—­oh, damn!”

This whispered oath, accompanied by a dismayed stare at the door, turned the heads of all in that direction.  Fillet, in his carpet slippers, had come round the corner and was an interested critic of my little imitation.

Very red, I vacated the seat to its owner and stepped down among the boys.  Without a word he took it in my stead, placed his cash-box on the desk, and opened his book.

“N-now, White, how much b-b-bank do you want?”

Having heard this before, several boys tittered.  Out of nervousness I tittered too, and cursed myself as I did so.  Fillet looked at me as though he would have liked to repeat the flogging he had given me many years before.  But the blushing boy in front of him was now seventeen, and taller than he.

When the last account had been duly debited, the Bramhallites dispersed to their classes.  Throughout that day the incident was a painful recollection for me.  I felt I could beat Fillet with cleaner weapons than an exploiting of his affliction:  and the more I thought of it, the more I decided that I must go and apologise to him.  The sentence to be used crystallised in my mind:  “Please, sir, I came to say I was sorry I was imitating you this morning.”

With this little offering I walked in the fall of the evening upstairs to his study.  My knock eliciting a “C-come in,” I entered and began: 

“Please, sir, I came to say—­” I got no further, for, with a sour look, he interrupted testily: 

“Run away, b-boy, run away.”

This rejection of my apology I had never contemplated, and it was with a sinking heart that I persisted: 

“Please, sir, I wanted to—­”

“Run away, boy. I’m accustomed to dealing with gentlemen.”

At once my attitude of submission was changed at Fillet’s clumsy touch into one of hot defiance.

“Indeed, sir,” I retorted.  “I’m not always so fortunate.”  I went quickly out and managed to slam the door.  Blood up, I muttered: 

“Brute!  Beast!  Swine!  Devil!”

Sec.2

Moles White, who was now the house-captain, was occupied two afternoons later in discussing with the bloods of Bramhall the composition of the House Swimming Four for the Inter-house relay races.

“Erasmus House have a splendid Four,” he said.  “We’ve only got three so far:  there’s myself and Cully and Johnson.”

“And a precious rotten three too,” said Doe.

“Well,” grumbled White, “there’s nobody else in the House who can swim a stroke; a good many think they can.”