One of the rules that governed the life of Donough O'Hara, thelight-hearted descendant of the O'Haras of Castle Taterfields, Co.

　　Clare, Ireland, was "Never refuse the offer of a free tea". So, onreceipt--per the Dexter's fag referred to--of Trevor's invitation, hescratched one engagement (with his mathematical master--not whollyunconnected with the working-out of Examples 200 to 206 in Hall andKnight's Algebra), postponed another (with his friend and ally Moriarty,of Dexter's, who wished to box with him in the gymnasium), and made hisway at a leisurely pace towards Donaldson's. He was feeling particularlypleased with himself today, for several reasons. He had begun the daywell by scoring brilliantly off Mr Dexter across the matutinal rasherand coffee. In morning school he had been put on to translate the onepassage which he happened to have prepared--the first ten lines, infact, of the hundred which formed the morning's lesson. And in thefinal hour of afternoon school, which was devoted to French, he haddiscovered and exploited with great success an entirely new and originalform of ragging. This, he felt, was the strenuous life; this was livingone's life as one's life should be lived.

　　He met Trevor at the gate. As they were going in, a carriage and pairdashed past. Its cargo consisted of two people, the headmaster, lookingbored, and a small, dapper man, with a very red face, who lookedexcited, and was talking volubly. Trevor and O'Hara raised their capsas the chariot swept by, but the salute passed unnoticed. The Headappeared to be wrapped in thought.

　　"What's the Old Man doing in a carriage, I wonder," said Trevor,looking after them. "Who's that with him?""That," said O'Hara, "is Sir Eustace Briggs.""Who's Sir Eustace Briggs?"O'Hara explained, in a rich brogue, that Sir Eustace was Mayor ofWrykyn, a keen politician, and a hater of the Irish nation, judging byhis letters and speeches.

　　They went into Trevor's study. Clowes was occupying the window in hisusual manner.

　　"Hullo, O'Hara," he said, "there is an air of quiet satisfaction aboutyou that seems to show that you've been ragging Dexter. Have you?""Oh, that was only this morning at breakfast. The best rag was inFrench," replied O'Hara, who then proceeded to explain in detail themethods he had employed to embitter the existence of the hapless Gallicexile with whom he had come in contact. It was that gentleman's customto sit on a certain desk while conducting the lesson. This desk chancedto be O'Hara's. On the principle that a man may do what he likes withhis own, he had entered the room privily in the dinner-hour, andremoved the screws from his desk, with the result that for the firsthalf-hour of the lesson the class had been occupied in excavating M.

　　Gandinois from the ruins. That gentleman's first act on regaining hisequilibrium had been to send O'Hara out of the room, and O'Hara, whohad foreseen this emergency, had spent a very pleasant half-hour in thepassage with some mixed chocolates and a copy of Mr Hornung's_Amateur Cracksman_. It was his notion of a cheerful and instructiveFrench lesson.