of talking to one as if he were a prince of the blood dropping a
gracious word to one of the three Small-Heads at the Hippodrome, but
that's his misfortune. We all have our troubles. That's his. Let's go
in here. It's too far to sweat to Cook's."

It was about a mile from the tea-shop to the school. Mike's first
impression on arriving at the school grounds was of his smallness and
insignificance. Everything looked so big--the buildings, the grounds,
everything. He felt out of the picture. He was glad that he had met
Wyatt. To make his entrance into this strange land alone would have
been more of an ordeal than he would have cared to face.

"That's Wain's," said Wyatt, pointing to one of half a dozen large
houses which lined the road on the south side of the cricket field.
Mike followed his finger, and took in the size of his new home.

"I say, it's jolly big," he said. "How many fellows are there in it?"

"Thirty-one this term, I believe."

"That's more than there were at King-Hall's."

"What's King-Hall's?"

"The private school I was at. At Emsworth."

Emsworth seemed very remote and unreal to him as he spoke.

They skirted the cricket field, walking along the path that divided
the two terraces. The Wrykyn playing-fields were formed of a series of