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On the Tuesday afternoon, strolling in some shady corner of the grounds you would come upon him lying on his chest, deep in some work of fiction and resentful of interruption. On the Wednesday morning he would be in receipt of four hundred lines from his housemaster for breaking three windows and a gas-globe. Essentially a man of moods, Shoeblossom.

And Mr Seymour stalked off to clean himself. "Anyhow," said Shoeblossom, as his footsteps died away, "we saved the sausages." It is this indomitable gift of looking on the bright side that makes us Englishmen what we are.

"You see," he said, "I saw it coming out of Milton's study, and that must have been about the time the study was ragged. And it went into Rigby's dorm. So it must have been a chap in that dorm, who did it." Shoeblossom was quite clever at rare intervals. Even Barry, whose belief in his sanity was of the smallest, was compelled to admit that here, at any rate, he was talking sense.

The search for matches had so far proved fruitless. Shoeblossom stood and quaked behind the door. The reek of hot tin from the dark lantern grew worse momentarily. Mr Seymour sniffed several times, until Shoeblossom thought that he must be discovered. Then, to his immense relief, the master walked away. Shoeblossom's chance had come.

Mr Seymour had probably gone to get some matches to relight his candle. It was far from likely that the episode was closed. He would be back again presently. If Shoeblossom was going to escape, he must do it now, so he waited till the footsteps had passed away, and then darted out in the direction of his dormitory. As he was passing Milton's study, a white figure glided out of it.

"What would you do?" asked Shoeblossom. "Tell Milton, of course," said Barry. "But he'd give me beans for being out of the dorm, after lights-out." This was a distinct point to be considered. The attitude of Barry towards Milton was different from that of Shoeblossom.

No wonder Shoeblossom felt dull. Once Barry and Drummond had taken him over to the gymnasium with them, but this had bored him worse than ever. They had been hard at it all the time for, unlike a good many of the school, they went to the gymnasium for business, not to lounge and he had had to sit about watching them. And watching gymnastics was one of the things he most loathed.

A week later Shoeblossom began to feel queer. He had occasional headaches, and found himself oppressed by a queer distaste for food. The professional advice of Dr. Oakes, the school doctor, was called for, and Shoeblossom took up his abode in the Infirmary, where he read Punch, sucked oranges, and thought of Life. Two days later Barry felt queer. He, too, disappeared from Society.

"Ages ago," said M'Todd. A look of intense alarm appeared on Shoeblossom's classical features. "You've not finished, really?" "We've finished cooking everything," said Drummond. "We haven't begun tea yet. Now, are you happy?" Shoeblossom was. So happy that he felt he must do something to celebrate the occasion. He felt like a successful general.

He tripped over the mat as he entered, and spilt about half a pint into one of his football boots, which stood inside the door, but the accident was comparatively trivial, and excited no remark. "I wonder where that slacker Shoeblossom has got to," said Barry. "He never turns up in time to do any work. He seems to regard himself as a beastly guest.