consciousness of his degradation more intense. He longed for
something to happen, something dramatic, something that would show
the vampires what manner of man he was. He was histrionic in his
anguish.

A fly settled on his back--a damp, sluggish fly that had survived
the winter--and it crawled horribly up his spine. He bore it for a
few moments, and then his over-excited nerves gave way and he dashed
his hand behind him. Somebody laughed. He raised his clenched fists
and glared at the class.

"Ay, yo' can laugh--you can laugh till yo' bust!" he cried,
falling back into his Lancashire accent. "But yo'll never see me,
here agen. Never, never, never, so help me God!"

He rushed away. The head of the school followed him and, while he
was dressing, reasoned with him.

"Nay," said Paul. "Never agen. Aw'm doan wi' th' whole business."

And as Paul walked home through the hurrying streets, he thought
regretfully of twenty speeches which would have more adequately
signified his indignant retirement from the profession.



CHAPTER VI

PAUL'S model-self being dead, he regarded it with complacency and
set his foot on it, little doubting that it was another