Reverend John Gillett's study at 10 p. m.—classical versus modern as usual.
'Character—proportion—background,' snarled King. 'That is the essence of the Humanities.'
'Analects of Confucius,' little Hartopp answered.
'Time,' said the Reverend John behind the soda-water. 'You men oppress me. Hartopp, what did you say to Paddy in your dormitories to-night? Even you couldn't have overlooked his face.'
'But I did,' said Hartopp calmly. 'I wasn't even humorous about it, as some clerics might have been. I went straight through and said naught.'
'Poor Paddy! Now, for my part,' said King, 'and you know I am not lavish in my praises, I consider Winton a first-class type; absolutely first-class.'
'Ha-ardly,' said the Reverend John. 'First-class of the second class, I admit. The very best type of second class but'—he shook his head—'it should have been a rat. Pater'll never be anything more than a Colonel of Engineers.'
'What do you base that verdict on?' said King stiffly.
'He came to me after prayers—with all his conscience.'
'Poor old Pater. Was it the mouse?' said little Hartopp.
'That, and what he called his uncontrollable temper, and his responsibilities as sub-prefect.'
'And you?'
'If we had had what is vulgarly called a pi-jaw he'd have had hysterics. So I recommended a
