urned over
subconsciously and said something fierce. Gordon relapsed into a state
of terror. During the next quarter of an hour he passed through all the
miseries of an unknown fear. Only twenty-four hours ago he had been at
breakfast with his father and mother in his home at Hampstead. It seemed
years ago. Here he was face to face with horrible, unexplained things.
The suspense grew unbearable. He was sure he heard someone moving next
door; the others were getting up; he would be late his first day. What a
start! But just as he was visioning the most dire punishments, James, an
insignificant person of one term's standing, slowly pushed back the
bed-clothes, picked up a towel and lethargically moved towards the door.
Gordon jumped up, happy at last, and made for the huge new bathroom. It
had an iron floor, sloped so as to allow water to drain off easily, and
contained six small baths and showers fixed above them. The room was
practically empty. He was glad of this; he did not want to have a shower
with a lot of people looking on. The water was very cold--he was used to
a tepid bath; but by the time he had begun to dry, the place was full of
boys all shouting at once. No one is more loud or insistent than he who
has just ceased to be labelled new. He likes everyone to know how
important he is, how free and how unfettered by rules, and the best way
to this end is to shout and curse everything. The room was filled with
shouts of "Good God! are we expected to get clean in babies' tubs?"
"What a fool the Chief is." "Oh, damn your eyes, that's my towel." "No,
there's yours, you blasted idiot." Gordon was immensely shocked at the
language. He had come from a preparatory school run by a master with
strong views on swearing, and for that matter on everything. He had been
kept thoroughly in order. He got out of the bathroom as quickly as
possible and made for his dormitory. It did not take long to dress.
There was indeed very little time, and as the half-hour struck, he was
carried down in the throng to the dining-hall.

Breakfast is always rather a scramble, and nowhere more so than at a
Public School. The usual Fernhurst breakfast lasted about ten minutes.
Hardly anyone spoke, only the ring of forks on plates was heard and an
occasional shout of "Tea" from the Sixth Form table. They alone could
shout at meals, the others had to catch the servant's eye. To-day,
however, there was a good deal of conversation. Those who had come by