Dormer was muttering to himself, “Wednesday, 9 o'clock, Bilto, Cummin; 10 o'clock, Sayer, Long. Thursday, 9 o'clock—”
The golden leaves blew with a whispering chatter down the path.
The door opened again, and someone came in—Traill, the new man. Perrin looked at him with curiosity and some excitement. The first impression of him, standing there in the doorway, was of someone very young and very eager to make friends. Someone young, by reason of his very dress—the dark brown Norfolk jacket, light gray flannel trousers, turned up and short, showing bright purple socks and brown brogues. His hair, parted in the middle and brushed back, was very light brown; his eyes were brown and his cheeks tanned. His figure was square, his back very broad, his legs rather short—he looked, beyond everything else, tremendously clean.
He stopped when he saw Perrin, and Dormer looked up and introduced them. Perrin was relieved that he was so young. Searle, last year, had been old enough to have an opinion of his own—several opinions of his own; he had contradicted Perrin on a great many points, and towards the end of the term they had scarcely been on speaking terms. Searle was a pig-headed ass....
But Traill evidently wanted to “know”—was quite humble about it, and sat, pulling at his pipe, whilst Perrin enlarged about lists and dormitories and marks and discipline to his hearts content. “I must say as far as order goes I 've never found any trouble. It 's in a man if he 's going to do it—I've always managed them all right—never any trouble—hum, ha! Yes, you 'll find them the first few days just a little restive—seeing what you 're made of, you know; drop on them, drop on them.”
Traill asked about the holiday task.
“Oh, yes, Dormer set that. Ivanhoe—Scott, you know. Just got to read out the questions, and see they don't crib. Let them go when you hear the chapel bell.”
Traill was profuse in his thanks.
“Not at all—anything you want to know.”
Perrin smiled at him.