'I and my friend the Headmaster,' said Gethryn, 'have been having a
quiet pot of tea between us.'

'Really? Was he affable?'

'Distinctly affable.'

'You know,' said Marriott confidentially, 'he asked me in, but I told
him it wasn't good enough. I said that if he would consent to make his
tea with water that wasn't two degrees below lukewarm, and bring on his
muffins cooked instead of raw, and supply some butter to eat with them,
I might look him up now and then. Otherwise it couldn't be done at the
price. But what did he want you for, really?'

'He was ragging me about the House. Quite right, too. You know, there's
no doubt about it, Leicester's does want bucking up.'

'We're going to get the cricket cup,' said Marriott, for the defence.

'We may. If it wasn't for the Houses in between. School House and
Jephson's especially. And anyhow, that's not what I meant. The games
are all right. It's--'

'The moral _je-ne-sais-quoi_, so to speak,' said Marriott.
'That'll be all right. Wait till we get at 'em. What I want you to turn
your great brain to now is this letter.'

He produced a letter from his pocket. 'Don't you bar chaps who show you
their letters?' he said. 'This was written by an aunt of mine. I don't
want to inflict the whole lot on you. Just look at line four. You see