“Cray? Oh, he’s my form-master, and tries to be funny.”
“So do I, Michael,” confessed Mr. Viner.
“Oh, well, that’s different. I’m not bound to listen to you, if I don’t want to. But I have to listen to Cray for eighteen hours every week, and he hates me because I won’t take notes for his beastly essays. I think I’ll ask my mater if I can’t leave school after this term.”
“And then what would you do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I could settle when I’d left.”
“What about Oxford?”
“Well, I could go to Oxford later on.”
“I don’t think you could quite so easily as you think. Anyway, you’d much better go to Oxford straight from school.”
“Eight more terms before I leave. Phew!” Michael groaned. “It’s such a terrible waste of time, and I know Oxford’s ripping.”
“Perhaps something will come along to interest you. And always, dear boy, don’t forget you have your religion.”