Chipping, and you must ascribe it to my forbearance that I have put up with it so long.”

“But—” Chips began, in sheer bewilderment; and then he took up isolated words out of that extraordinary indictment. “SLOVENLY—umph —you said—?”

“Yes, look at the gown you’re wearing. I happen to know that that gown of yours is a subject of continual amusement throughout the School.”

Chips knew it, too, but it had never seemed to him a very regrettable matter.

He went on: “And—you also said—umph—something about—INSUBORDINATION—?”

“No, I didn’t. I said that in a younger man I should have regarded it as that. In your case it’s probably a mixture of slackness and obstinacy. This question of Latin pronunciation, for instance—I think I told you years ago that I wanted the new style used throughout the School. The other masters obeyed me; you prefer to stick to your old methods, and the result is simply chaos and inefficiency.”

At last Chips had something tangible that he could tackle. “Oh, THAT!” he answered, scornfully. “Well, I—umph—I admit that I don’t agree with the new pronunciation. I never did. Umph—a lot of nonsense, in my opinion. Making boys say ‘Kickero’ at school when— umph—for the rest of their lives they’ll say ‘Cicero’—if they ever—umph—say it at all. And instead of ‘vicissim’— God bless my soul—you’d make them say, ‘We kiss ‘im’! Umph— umph!” And he chuckled momentarily, forgetting that he was in Ralston’s study and not in his own friendly form room.

“Well, there you are, Mr. Chipping—that’s just an example of what I complain of. You hold one opinion and I hold another, and, since you decline to give way, there can’t very well be any alternative. I aim to make Brookfield a thoroughly up-to-date school. I’m a science man myself, but for all that I have no objection to the classics—provided that they are taught efficiently. Because they are dead languages is no reason why they should be dealt with in a dead educational technique. I understand, Mr. Chipping, that your Latin and Greek lessons are exactly the same as they were when I began here ten years ago?”

Chips answered, slowly and with pride: “For that matter—umph —they are the same as when your predecessor—Mr. Meldrum —came here, and that—umph—was thirty-eight years ago. We began here, Mr. Meldrum and I—in—umph—in 1870. And it was—um—Mr. Meldrum’s predecessor, Mr. Wetherby—who first approved my syllabus. ‘You’ll take the Cicero for the fourth,’ he said to me. Cicero, too—not Kickero!”

“Very interesting, Mr. Chipping, but once again it proves my point— you live too much in the past, and not enough in the present and future. Times are changing, whether you realize it or not. Modern parents are beginning to demand something more for their three years’ school fees than a few scraps of languages that nobody speaks. Besides, your boys don’t learn even what they’re supposed to learn. None of them last year got through the Lower Certificate.”

And suddenly, in a torrent of thoughts too pressing to be put into words, Chips made answer to himself.