If the form-rooms had been lonely, the Great Hall was doubly, trebly,so. It was a vast room, stretching from side to side of the middleblock, and its ceiling soared up into a distant dome. At one end was adais and an organ, and at intervals down the room stood long tables.

　　The panels were covered with the names of Wrykynians who had wonscholarships at Oxford and Cambridge, and of Old Wrykynians who hadtaken first in Mods or Greats, or achieved any other recognisedsuccess, such as a place in the Indian Civil Service list. A silenttestimony, these panels, to the work the school had done in the world.

　　Nobody knew exactly how many the Hall could hold, when packed to itsfullest capacity. The six hundred odd boys at the school seemed toleave large gaps unfilled.

　　This morning there was a mere handful, and the place looked worse thanempty.

　　The Sixth Form were there, and the school prefects. The Great Picnichad not affected their numbers. The Sixth stood by their table in asolid group. The other tables were occupied by ones and twos. A buzzof conversation was going on, which did not cease when the mastersfiled into the room and took their places. Every one realised by thistime that the biggest row in Wrykyn history was well under way; andthe thing had to be discussed.

　　In the Masters' library Mr. Wain and Mr. Shields, the spokesmen of theCommon Room, were breaking the news to the headmaster.

　　The headmaster was a man who rarely betrayed emotion in his publiccapacity. He heard Mr. Shields's rambling remarks, punctuated by Mr.

　　Wain's "Exceedinglys," to an end. Then he gathered up his cap andgown.

　　"You say that the whole school is absent?" he remarked quietly.

　　Mr. Shields, in a long-winded flow of words, replied that that waswhat he did say.

　　"Ah!" said the headmaster.

　　There was a silence.

　　"'M!" said the headmaster.

　　There was another silence.

　　"Ye--e--s!" said the headmaster.

　　He then led the way into the Hall.

　　Conversation ceased abruptly as he entered. The school, like anaudience at a theatre when the hero has just appeared on the stage,felt that the serious interest of the drama had begun. There was adead silence at every table as he strode up the room and on to thedais.

　　There was something Titanic in his calmness. Every eye was on his faceas he passed up the Hall, but not a sign of perturbation could theschool read. To judge from his expression, he might have been unawareof the emptiness around him.

　　The master who looked after the music of the school, and incidentallyaccompanied the hymn with which prayers at Wrykyn opened, was waiting,puzzled, at the foot of the dais. It seemed improbable that thingswould go on as usual, and he did not know whether he was expected tobe at the organ, or not. The headmaster's placid face reassured him.

　　He went to his post.

　　The hymn began. It was a long hymn, and one which the school liked forits swing and noise. As a rule, when it was sung, the Hall re-echoed.

　　To-day, the thin sound of the voices had quite an uncanny effect. Theorgan boomed through the deserted room.

　　The school, or the remnants of it, waited impatiently while theprefect whose turn it was to read stammered nervously through thelesson. They were anxious to get on to what the Head was going to sayat the end of prayers. At last it was over. The school waited, allears.

　　The headmaster bent down from the dais and called to Firby-Smith, whowas 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. Theysounded 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 tocall the roll.

　　"Abney."No answer.

　　"Adams."No answer.

　　"Allenby.""Here, sir," from a table at the end of the room. Allenby was aprefect, 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 motorcars.

　　The headmaster made another tick.

　　The list came to an end after what seemed to the school anunconscionable time, and he rolled up the paper again, and stepped tothe edge of the dais.

　　"All boys not in the Sixth Form," he said, "will go to theirform-rooms and get their books and writing-materials, and returnto the Hall."("Good work," murmured Mr. Seymour to himself. "Looks as if weshould get that holiday after all.")"The Sixth Form will go to their form-room as usual. I should liketo speak to the masters for a moment."He nodded dismissal to the s............