ake an even greater fool of himself by
wandering disconsolate in the aisle. He was vague also as to the
locality of the Lower Fifth classroom: there was, indeed, one other
member of that form in the house, but he was a gigantic, moustachioed
person, a man of weight in the football world: to approach him would be
impossible. Martin came to the conclusion that not only would chapel
make him notorious for life, but that he would also get lost in school
and reach his classroom late: then he would come in blushing, amidst
the smiles of the superior. And the Terror would not rage and swear
like a gentleman: he would smile, as he had smiled that morning, and
make a little joke.

Life was undoubtedly overwhelming. And there were other no less cruel
facts to face. His collars were all wrong. All the other new boys, he
had noticed, wore Eton collars: these, apparently, should be retained
for a few terms, until the owner considered himself sufficiently
dignified for 'stick-ups.' Martin, who was fourteen and tall for his
age, had been sent to school with 'stick-ups' and no Eton collars. He
saw at once the horrid nature of his offence: it was side of the first
degree, involuntary side, but who would know that, much less conjecture
it? The new boys, as timid as himself, had of course said nothing, but
he had observed the smiles and queer looks of the people about a year
older, who had themselves only just assumed the emblem of position. It
was a very awkward and bothering occurrence, and he had already written
home for others to be sent as soon as possible. In reality Martin was
more worried about this than about all the information he had
forgotten. What made him dread the morrow with a fear he had never
known before was not so much the possibility of his wandering about
school and chapel like a lost sheep, but the certainty that he would be
dressed in open defiance of all the sartorial traditions of Elfrey
School.

Martin tried to console himself with the reflection that nothing could
now deprive him of nine hours' peace. He was glad that he was allowed
a cubicle and could enjoy a certain amount of privacy: he had
anticipated a large, bare room with rows of beds and the continual
shower, so dear to the books of his youth, of hurtling slippers and
sponges. Instead he had found a comfortable dormitory with a broad
passage separating two rows of nine wooden-sided cubicles. As far as
he could gather most of the boys ad