'Why did you leave Harrow?' asked he.

'Sacked,' was the laconic reply.

Have you ever, asks a modern philosopher, gone upstairs in the dark,
and trodden on the last step when it wasn't there? That sensation and
the one Gethryn felt at this unexpected revelation were identical. And
the worst of it was that he felt the keenest desire to know why Harrow
had seen fit to dispense with the presence of his uncle.

'Why?' he began. 'I mean,' he went on hurriedly, 'why did you leave
Wellington?'

'Sacked,' said Farnie again, with the monotonous persistence of a
Solomon Eagle.

Gethryn felt at this juncture much as the unfortunate gentleman in
_Punch_ must have felt, when, having finished a humorous story,
the point of which turned upon squinting and red noses, he suddenly
discovered that his host enjoyed both those peculiarities. He struggled
manfully with his feelings for a time. Tact urged him to discontinue
his investigations and talk about the weather. Curiosity insisted upon
knowing further details. Just as the struggle was at its height, Farnie
came unexpectedly to the rescue.

'It may interest you,' he said, 'to know that I was not sacked from
Clifton.'

Gethryn with some difficulty refrained from thanking him for the
information.