The headmaster bent down from the daïs and called to Firby-Smith, who was standing in his place with the Sixth.
The Gazeka, blushing warmly, stepped forward.
"Bring me a school list, Firby-Smith," said the headmaster.
The Gazeka was wearing a pair of very squeaky boots that morning. They sounded deafening as he walked out of the room.
The school waited.
Presently a distant squeaking was heard, and Firby-Smith returned, bearing a large sheet of paper.
The headmaster thanked him, and spread it out on the reading-desk.
Then, calmly, as if it were an occurrence of every day, he began to call the roll.
"Abney."
No answer.
"Adams."
No answer.
"Allenby."
"Here, sir," from a table at the end of the room. Allenby was a prefect, in the Science Sixth.
The headmaster made a mark against his name with a pencil.
"Arkwright."
No answer.
He began to call the names more rapidly.
"Arlington. Arthur. Ashe. Aston."
"Here, sir," in a shrill treble from the rider in motor-cars.
The headmaster made another tick.
The list came to an end after what seemed to the school an unconscionable time, and he rolled up the paper again, and stepped to the edge of the daïs.
"All boys not in the Sixth Form," he said, "will go to their form-rooms and get their books and writing-materials, and return to the Hall."
("Good work," murmured Mr. Seymour to himself. "Looks as if we should get that holiday after all.")
