On the second there occurred an Episode.

Thomas had inherited from his mother a pleasant, rather meek cast of
countenance. He had pink cheeks and golden hair--almost indecently
golden in one who was not a choirboy.

Now, if you are going to look like a Ministering Child or a Little
Willie, the Sunbeam of the Home, when you go to a public school,
you must take the consequences. As Thomas sat by the window of the
junior day-room reading a magazine, and deeply interested in it,
there fell upon his face such a rapt, angelic expression that the
sight of it, silhouetted against the window, roused Master P. Burge,
his fellow-Blackburnite, as it had been a trumpet-blast. To seize a
Bradley Arnold's Latin Prose Exercises and hurl it across the room
was with Master Burge the work of a moment. It struck Thomas on the
ear. He jumped, and turned some shades pinker. Then he put down his
magazine, picked up the Bradley Arnold, and sat on it. After which he
resumed his magazine.

The acute interest of the junior day-room, always fond of a break in
the monotony of things, induced Burge to go further into the matter.

"You with the face!" said Burge rudely.

Thomas looked up.

"What the dickens are you going with my book? Pass it back!"

"Oh, is this yours?" said Thomas. "Here you are."