The fifth form was getting ready for its exercises. They stood in a row and the Athletic instructor, a lieutenant of the local reserve battalion, was about to give a command, but, on seeing the Head-Master, he went forward to meet him. Khripatch shook his hand and looking somewhat confusedly at the students asked:
"Are you satisfied with them? Do they work well? Do any of them get tired?"
The lieutenant deep in his heart detested those students, who, in his opinion, had not and could never have a military bearing. If they had been cadets he would have told them at once what he thought of them, but it was not worth while to tell the unpleasant truth about these sluggards to the man on whom these lessons depended. And so with a smile on his thin lips he looked at the Head-Master in a friendly way and said:
"Oh, yes, they're fine boys."
The Head-Master walked past some of the boys in the line and was about to leave when he stopped short as if he had suddenly remembered something.
"And are you satisfied with the new boy? Is he doing well? Does he tire quickly?" he asked languidly and cheerlessly, putting his hand to his forehead.
The lieutenant said for the sake of variety—the boy in any case was a stranger:
"He's a little frail—he gets tired quickly."
But the Head-Master seemed not to listen to him and he left the hall.
The outdoor air rather refreshed Khripatch. He returned in half an hour and again standing in the door looked on at the exercises. The boys were using various gymnastic appliances. Two or three idle students who did not notice the Head-Master were leaning against the wall, taking advantage of the fact that the lieutenant was not looking at them. Khripatch walked up to them.