“I explained to you that I wanted to read History,” said Michael, echoing himself involuntarily the don’s tone of patient boredom.
“I have you down as coming from St. James’,” snapped the Senior Tutor. “A school reputed to send out good classical scholars, I believe.”
“I’m not a scholar,” Michael interrupted. “And I don’t intend to take Honor Mods.”
“That will be for the college to decide.”
“Supposing the college decided I was to read Chinese?” Michael inquired.
“There is no need for impertinence. Well, well, for the present I have put you down for the lectures on Pass Moderations. You will attend my lectures on Cicero, Mr. Churton on the Apologia, Mr. Carder on Logic, and Mr. Vereker for Latin Prose. The weekly essay set by the Warden for freshmen you will read to your tutor Mr. Ambrose.”
Then he went on to give instructions about chapels and roll-calls and dining in hall and the various regulations of the college, while the Swiss mountains stared bleakly down at the chilly interview.
“Now you’d better go and see Mr. Ambrose,” said the Senior Tutor, and Michael left him. On the staircase he passed Lonsdale going up.
“What’s he like?” asked Lonsdale.
“Pretty dull,” said Michael.