heir
own dear Mr. Caesar. Thus, you see, in their ignorance, they were
able to bring up the Reinhardt works to Mr. Caesar, and say with
worried brows: "Here, sir. This bally book's all wrong"; "I could
write a better book than this myself, sir"; "The Johnny who wrote
this book, sir--well, _st. st._" Pennybet, however, used to tremble
on the brink of identification, when he made the idiotic mistake of
saying: "Shall I bring up my Caesar, sir,--I mean, my Reinhardt?"

The jubilation of our class, as we lolled or clog-danced in the
corridor, had need to be organised into some systematic fooling; and
for once in a way, the boys accepted a suggestion of mine.

"Let's all hum 'God Save the King' exactly at twelve o'clock. Mr.
Caesar won't hear; he's too deaf."

Immediately several boys started to sing the popular air in
question, and others went for a slide along the corridor, both of
which performances are generally construed as meaning: "Right-ho!"

"It's crude," commented Penny, "but I'll not interfere. I might
even help you--who knows? And here comes Mr. Caesar. Ah, wee, wee."

It was our custom to race in a body along the corridor to meet Mr.
Caesar, and to arrive breathless at his side, where we would fight to
walk, one on his right hand, and another on his left. In the course
of a brilliant struggle several boys would be prostrated, not
unwillingly. We would then escort him in triumph to his door, and
all offer to turn the lock, crying: "Let _me_ have the key, sir."
"Do let _me_, sir." "You never let _me_, sir--dashed unfair." When
someone had secured the key, he would fling wide the door, as though
to usher in all the kings of Asia, but promptly spoil this courtly
action by racing after the door ere it banged against the wall,
holding it in an iron grip like a runaway horse, and panting
horribly at the strain. This morning I was honoured with the key. I
examined it and saw that it was stuffed up with dirt and there would
be some delay outside the class-room door while the key underwent
alterations and repairs.

"Has any boy," I asked, "a pin?"

None had; but Pennybet offered to go to Bramhall House in search of
one. He could do it in twenty minutes, he said.

"Dear me, how annoying!" I shook the key, I hammered it, I blew down
it till it gave forth a shrill whistle, and Penny said: "Off side."
And then I giggled into the key.

Don't think Mr. Caesar tolerated all this without a mild protest. I
distinctly r