bottom of the page--S. C. B. standing
for Samuel Constantine Brownjohn--after which endorsement he would pat
Michael's head, rumble an unintelligible joke and plunge down beside
another victim.

One of Michael's greatest trials was his inability to convince Miss
Carthew how unutterably terrific Dr. Brownjohn really was. She insisted
that Michael exaggerated his appearance and manners, and simply would
not believe the stories Michael told of parents and guardians who had
trembled with fear when confronted by the Old Man. In many ways Michael
found Miss Carthew was very contentious nowadays, and very seldom did an
evening pass without a hot argument between him and her. To be sure, she
used to say it was Michael who had grown contradictory and
self-assertive, but Michael could not see that he had radically altered
since the first moment he saw Miss Carthew, now nearly four years ago.

Michael's purgatory in the Special continued for several weeks, and he
grew bored by the monotony of his work that was only interrupted by the
suspense of the Headmaster's invasions. Sometimes Dr. Brownjohn would
make his dreadful descent early in the 'hour,' and then relieved from
the necessity to work with such ardour, Michael would gaze up to the
raftered roof of the hall and stare at the long lancet windows filled
with the coats of arms in stained glass of famous bygone Jacobeans. He
would wonder whether in those windows still unfilled a place would one
day be found for his name and whether years and years hence, boys doing
Greek conditional sentences would speculate upon the boyhood of Charles
Michael Saxby Fane. Then Mr. Spivey would break into his dreams with
some rather dismal joke, and Michael would make blushing amends to
[Greek: ei] and [Greek: ean] by writing as quickly as he could
three complete conditional sentences in honour and praise of the twin
gods. Mr. Spivey, the master in charge of the Special, was mild and
good-humoured. No one could fail to like him, but he was not
exhilarating; and Michael was greatly pleased when one morning Mr.
Spivey informed him that he was to move into the Shell. Michael was glad
to dodge the Upper Third, for he knew that life in the Shell under Mr.
Neech would be an experience.

Chaps had often said to Michael, "Ah, wait till you get into old Neech's
form."

"Is he decent?" Michael would enquire.

"Some chaps like him," the chaps in question would ambiguously reply.

When Mr. Spivey intr