Part 6 (2/2)

”He who rount the corner looked when op the stairs I game,” he announced, ”efter lonch goms he!”

The form, some of them still breathless from their interrupted rag, merely looked down their noses with an air of seraphic piety.

”Who was de boy who did dat?” pursued Mr. Klotz.

No reply.

”Efter lonch,” trumpeted Mr. Klotz, ”goms eferypoty!”

At once a boy rose in his place. His name was Tomlinson.

”It was me, sir,” he said.

”Efter lonch,” announced Mr. Klotz, slightly disappointed at being robbed of a holocaust, ”goms Tomleenson. I gif him irrecular verps.”

Two other boys rose promptly to their feet. Their names were Pringle and Grant. They had not actually given the alarm, but they had pa.s.sed it on.

”It was me too, sir,” said each.

”Efter lonch,” amended Mr. Klotz, ”goms Tomleenson, Brinkle, unt Grunt.

Now I take your names unt aitches.”

This task accomplished, Mr. Klotz was upon the point of taking up _Chardenal's First French Course_, when a small boy with a winning manner (which he wisely reserved for his dealings with masters) said politely:--

”Won't you tell us about the Battle of Sedan, sir, as this is the first day of term?”

The bait was graciously accepted, and for the next hour Mr. Klotz ranged over the historic battle-field. It appeared that he had been personally responsible for the success of the Prussian arms, and had been warmly thanked for his services by the Emperor, Moltke, and Bismarck.

”You liddle Engleesh boys,” he concluded, ”you think your Army is great. In my gontry it would be noding--noding! Take it away! Vat battles has it fought, to compare----”

The answer came red-hot from thirty British throats:

”Waterloo!” (There was no ”sir” this time.)

”Vaterloo?” replied Mr. Klotz condescendingly. ”Yes. But vere would your Engleesh army haf been at Vaterloo without Blucher?” He puffed out his chest. ”Tell me dat, Brinkle!”

”Blucher, sir?” replied Master Pringle deferentially. ”Who was he, sir?”

”You haf not heard of Blucher?” gasped Mr. Klotz in genuine horror.

The form, who seldom encountered Mr. Klotz without hearing of Blucher, shook their heads with polite regret. Suddenly a hand shot up. It was the hand of Master Tomlinson, who it will be remembered had already burned his boats for the afternoon.

”Do you mean Blutcher, sir?” he inquired.

”Blutcher? Himmel! Nein!” roared Mr. Klotz. ”I mean Blucher.”

<script>