“Mr. O’Gree!”

The tableau was most effective.  Unnoticed by either the Irishman or Waymark, the door had opened behind them, and there had appeared a little red-faced woman, in slatternly dress.  It was Mrs. Tootle.  She had overheard almost the whole of O’Gree’s vivid comment upon his graphic illustration, in silence, until at length she could hold her peace no longer, and gave utterance to the teacher’s name in a voice which trembled with rage and mortification.

“Mr. O’Gree!  Are you aware of my presence, sir?”

The chalk dropped from O’Gree’s fingers, but otherwise his attitude remained unaltered; struck motionless with horror, he stood pointing to the drawing on the board, his face pale, his eyes fascinated by those of Mrs. Tootle.  The latter went on in a high note.

“Well, sir, as soon as you have had enough of your insulting buffoonery, perhaps you will have the goodness to attend to me, and to your duty!  What do you mean by allowing the dormitories to get into this state of uproar?  There’s been a pillow-fight going on for the last half-hour, and you pay no sort of attention; the very house is shaking?”

“I protest I had not heard a sound, ma’am, or I should have—­”

“Perhaps you hear nothing now, sir,—­and the doctor suffering from one of his very worst headaches, utterly unable to rest even if the house were perfectly quiet!”

O’Gree darted to the door, past Mrs. Tootle, and was lost to sight.  There was indeed a desperate uproar in the higher regions of the house.  In a moment the noise increased considerably.  O’Gree had rushed up without a light, and was battling desperately in the darkness with a score of pillow-fighters, roaring out threats the while at the top of his voice.  Mrs. Tootle retired from the masters’ room with much affectation of dignity, leaving the door open behind her.

Waymark slammed it to, and turned with a laugh to the poor Swiss.

“In low spirits to-night, I’m afraid, Mr. Egger?”

Egger let his chair tilt forward, rose slowly, drew a yellow handkerchief from his mouth and wiped his eyes with it, then exclaimed, in the most pitiful voice—­

“Mr. Waymark, I have made my possible!—­I can no more!”

It was his regular phrase on these occasions; Waymark had always much ado to refrain from laughter when he heard it repeated, but he did his best to be seriously sympathetic, and to attempt consolation in such German as was at his command.  Egger’s despondency only increased, and he wept afresh to hear accents which were intelligible to him.  Mr. O’Gree re-entered the room, and the Swiss retired to his comer.

Philip was hot with excitement and bodily exertion; he came in mopping his forehead, and, without turning to Waymark, stood with eyes fixed on the chalk caricatures.  Very gradually he turned round.  Waymark was watching him, on his face an expression of subdued mirth.  Their looks met, and both exploded in laughter.