thout looking up. The others said
"Guidnicht" or "So Long," and I went out. I was sorry to leave these
good friends, and they were sorry to lose me; yet we parted, it may be,
for years, just as if we were to see each other to-morrow. We are a
queer race.

XI.

When I arrived in London to-night I received a blow. A letter awaited
me saying that the landlord of the school I was taking over had decided
to sell the property. Thus all my dreams of a free school vanished in
smoke. There isn't a house to rent in London; thousands are for sale,
but I have no money to buy. If I had money I should hesitate to buy,
for if a school is a success it expands, and the ideal thing to do is
to take it out to the country where there is fresh air and space to
grow.

To-night I feel pessimistic; it is difficult to be an optimist when a
long-planned scheme suddenly falls to pieces.

I think of my capitalist friend Lindsay. He could buy me a school
to-morrow, and never miss the money, but I don't think I should accept
it. He would always have a big say in the running of it, and his
ideals are not mine. I know other people with money, but I fancy that
they have no faith in me. That is one of the disadvantages of writing
light books like _A Dominie's Log_. The adult reads it and says:
"Funny chap this!" But people have little faith in funny chaps. You
can be a funny chap if you are a magistrate or a cabinet minister, but
a teacher must be a staid dignified person. He must be a man who by
his serious demeanour will impress the children and lead them out of
the morass of original sin in which they were born. Montessori is
catching on in the educational world not entirely because of her
excellent system; part of her success is due to the fact that she never
makes a joke; she is always the dignified moral model teacher.

Poor Montessori! Here I am transferring my irritation at the landlord
who sold my school to her. I beg her pardon. Nor am I really annoyed
with the landlord; the person I am annoyed with is myself. I bungled
that school business.

Now I feel better. When I am irritated I always think of the traveller
from St. Andrews. He arrived at Leuchars Junction and had five minutes
to wait for the Edinburgh train. He entered the bar and had a drink.
He had a second drink, and then awoke to the fact that he had missed
the train. The next train was due in two hours. The barmaid shut the
bar between trains a