had not been the one to pick up the ruler. He was a romantic youth
and would have liked to occupy my picturesque and rather heroic
position.

"Why didn't you let me pick up the ruler?" he whispered. "You knew I
wanted to."

This utterly senseless remark I had no opportunity of answering, so
I determined to sulk with Doe, as soon as the interval should
arrive. When, however, the bell rang for that ten-minutes'
excitement, I forgot everything in the glee of thinking that the
second period would be spent with Herr Reinhardt. Ten minutes to go,
and then--and then, Mr. Cæsar!


§3

In the long corridor, on to which Radley's class-room opened,
gathered our elated form, awaiting the arrival of Herr Reinhardt. He
was late. He always was: and it was a mistake to be so, for it gave
us the opportunity, when he drew near, of asking one another the
time in French: "Kell er eight eel? Onze er ay dammy. Wee, wee."

Cæsar Reinhardt, the German, remains upon my mind chiefly as being
utterly unlike a German: he was a long man, very deaf, with drooping
English moustaches, and such obviously weak eyes that now, whenever
Leah's little eye-trouble is read in Genesis, I always think of
Reinhardt. But I think of him as "Mr. Cæsar." Why "Mr. Cæsar" and
not purely "Cæsar" I cannot explain, but the "Mr." was inseparable
from the nickname. Good Mr. Cæsar was misplaced in his profession.