[1]

TERM BEGINS


Marriott walked into the senior day-room, and, finding no one there,
hurled his portmanteau down on the table with a bang. The noise brought
William into the room. William was attached to Leicester's House,
Beckford College, as a mixture of butler and bootboy. He carried a pail
of water in his hand. He had been engaged in cleaning up the House
against the conclusion of the summer holidays, of which this was the
last evening, by the simple process of transferring all dust, dirt, and
other foreign substances from the floor to his own person.

''Ullo, Mr Marriott,' he said.

'Hullo, William,' said Marriott. 'How are you? Still jogging along?
That's a mercy. I say, look here, I want a quiet word in season with
the authorities. They must have known I was coming back this evening.
Of course they did. Why, they specially wrote and asked me. Well,
where's the red carpet? Where's the awning? Where's the brass band that
ought to have met me at the station? Where's anything? I tell you what
it is, William, my old companion, there's a bad time coming for the
Headmaster if he doesn't mind what he's doing. He must learn that life
is stern and life is earnest, William. Has Gethryn come back yet?'

William, who had been gasping throughout this harangue, for the
intellectual pressure of Marriott's conversation (of which there was
always plenty) was generally too much for him, caught thankfully at the