in an unexpected holiday, we might have been at a loss what to do,
whereas under Reinhardt we had no doubt--we played the fool.

"And now get on with your work," concluded Radley.

We got on with it, knowing that it was only for a short time that we
need work that morning.

It was writing work I know, for, after a while, I had a note
surreptitiously passed to me between folded blotting-paper. The note
bore in Doe's ambitiously ornate writing the alarming statement: "I
shall never like you so much after what you said this morning Yours
Edgar Gray Doe." There was room for me to pen an answer, and in my
great round characters I wrote: "I never really meant anything and
after you left I tried to be rude to Penny but he'd gone and will
you still be my chum Yours S. Ray." (My real name was Rupert, but I
was sometimes nicknamed "Sonny Ray" from the sensational news, which
had leaked out, that my mother so called me, and I took pleasure in
signing myself "S. Ray.") My handsome apology was passed back to the
offended party, and in due course the paper returned to me, bearing
his reply: "I don't know We must talk it over, but don't tell anyone
Yours Edgar Gray Doe." That was the last sentence destined to be
written on this human document, for Radley, without looking up from
the exercise he was correcting, said quietly:

"In the space of the last five minutes Doe has twice corresponded
with Ray, and Ray has once replied to Doe. Now both Ray and Doe will
come up here with the letters."

To the accompaniment of a titter or two, Ray and Doe came up, I