was intellectually isolated since Gregson had gone
to Oxford, and Mrs Berney always welcomed the appearance of
intellectual tastes in the house. Besides, she had sense enough to
understand that Martin had made some good suggestions and was armed
with a consistent principle of criticism.

The actual work of office was not so pleasing. Heseltine had gone on
to Cambridge, where it was hoped that he would be taken in hand, and
Rayner was head of the house. Rayner was bigger, stronger, and more
reliable than ever and he could keep order successfully without a
constant use of penalties: Martin admired him, in spite of his
intellectual limitations, and aspired to a similar method of government
which should be at once peaceful and efficient. It had occurred that,
without becoming 'the boy among boys' or 'the workroom pet' or anything
horrible of that sort, it might be possible to avoid irresponsible
tyranny. Mainly owing to the influence of his social and political
views he had bullied himself into the belief that the workroom would be
much better if left alone. What the younger members of the house
needed was to be trusted, not beaten. They only fell from virtue's
path because so many people were engaged in the task of keeping them
straight with whips and scorpions. He had been sickened by the stupid
despotism of athletes which had often culminated in acts of cruelty and
injustice and he wanted to bring to his work a finer attitude and
endeavour. And so it was with the crude, untested idealism of a
seventeen-year-old humanist that he approached the formidable task of
subduing a fifteen-year-old mob.

The beginning was not auspicious. The trouble began, as trouble always
began, with Master J. R. F. Gransby-Williams, a rotund youth with a
genius for keeping within the letter of the law. His chief aim in life
was to rag, and he worked hard to attain it; but there was a subsidiary
ambition to be a nut. Consequently he was very scrupulous about his
ties and socks and handkerchiefs; his hair he kept very long and parted
with miraculous precision.

During Martin's first prep Granny (for so he was called) showed signs
of a cold. He blew his nose perpetually and with skill: the noise was
as the blare of trumpets.

"Would you mind moderating your efforts?" suggested Martin from his
chair.

"Certainly not," said Granny with supreme urbanity.

It was cheek, and a titter ran round the workroom. Martin had been
gifted