they closed carefully behind them. The fact that it was after lock-up
was of small consequence. A good deal of latitude in that way was
allowed at Wrykyn. It was the custom to go out, after the bell had
sounded, to visit the gymnasium. In the winter and Easter terms, the
gymnasium became a sort of social club. People went there with a very
small intention of doing gymnastics. They went to lounge about, talking
to cronies, in front of the two huge stoves which warmed the place.
Occasionally, as a concession to the look of the thing, they would do
an easy exercise or two on the horse or parallels, but, for the most
part, they preferred the _role_ of spectator. There was plenty to
see. In one corner O'Hara and Moriarty would be sparring their nightly
six rounds (in two batches of three rounds each). In another, Drummond,
who was going up to Aldershot as a feather-weight, would be putting in
a little practice with the instructor. On the apparatus, the members of
the gymnastic six, including the two experts who were to carry the
school colours to Aldershot in the spring, would be performing their
usual marvels. It was worth dropping into the gymnasium of an evening.
In no other place in the school were so many sights to be seen.

When you were surfeited with sightseeing, you went off to your house.
And this was where the peculiar beauty of the gymnasium system came in.
You went up to any master who happened to be there--there was always
one at least--and observed in suave accents, "Please, sir, can I have a
paper?" Whereupon, he, taking a scrap of paper, would write upon it,
"J. O. Jones (or A. B. Smith or C. D. Robinson) left gymnasium at
such-and-such a time". And, by presenting this to the menial who
opened the door to you at your house, you went in rejoicing, and all
was peace.

Now, there was no mention on the paper of the hour at which you came to