ek. Old Waterhouse
(I call him "Old Waterhouse" because "Mister Waterhouse, M.A.,"
would convey no meaning to me, and I should not know about whom I
was speaking) who cordially liked him, was honestly grieved. We, his
friends, though it was pleasant to have him among us, suffered in our
pride of him. The only person quite contented was Dan himself. It was
his way in all things. Others had their opinion of what was good
for him. He had his own, and his own was the only opinion that ever
influenced him. The Lower Third suited him. For him personally the Upper
Fourth had no attraction.

And even in the Lower Third he was always at the bottom. He preferred
it. He selected the seat and kept it, in spite of all allurements, in
spite of all reproaches. It was nearest to the door. It enabled him
to be first out and last in. Also it afforded a certain sense of
retirement. Its occupant, to an extent screened from observation,
became in the course of time almost forgotten. To Dan's philosophical
temperament its practical advantages outweighed all sentimental
objection.

Only on one occasion do I remember his losing it. As a rule, tiresome
questions, concerning past participles, square roots, or meridians never
reached him, being snapped up in transit by arm-waving lovers of such
trifles. The few that by chance trickled so far he took no notice of.
They possessed no interest for him, and he never pretended that they
did. But one day, taken off his guard, he gave voice quite unconsciously
to a correct reply, with the immediate result of finding himself in an
exposed position on the front bench. I had never seen Dan out of
temper before, but that moment had any of us ventured upon a whispered
congratulation we would have had our head punched, I feel confident.

Old Waterhouse thought that here at last was reformation. "Come, Brian,"
he cried, rubbing his long thin hands together with delight, "after all,
you're not such a fool as you pretend."

"Never said I was," muttered Dan to himself, with a backward glance of
regret towards his lost seclusion; and before the day was out he had
worked his way back to it again.

As we were going out together, old Waterhouse passed us on the stairs:
"Haven't you any sense of shame, my boy?" he asked sorrowfully, laying
his hand kindly on Dan's shoulder.

"Yes, sir," answered Dan, with his frank smile; "plenty. It isn't yours,
that's all."

He was an excellent fighter. In the whole school o