"The sack," said Wyatt laconically.
"It is expulsion. You must leave the school. At once."
Wyatt nodded.
"As you know, I have already secured a nomination for you in the London and Oriental Bank. I shall write to-morrow to the manager asking him to receive you at once"
"After all, they only gain an extra fortnight of me."
"You will leave directly I receive his letter. I shall arrange with the headmaster that you are withdrawn privately"
"Not the sack?"
"Withdrawn privately. You will not go to school to-morrow. Do you understand? That is all. Have you anything to say?"
Wyatt reflected.
"No, I don't think"
His eye fell on a tray bearing a decanter and a syphon.
"Oh, yes," he said. "Can't I mix you a whisky-and soda, father, before I go off to bed?"
"Well?" said Mike.
Wyatt kicked off his slippers, and began to undress.
"What happened?"
"We chatted."
"Has he let you off?"
"Like a gun. I shoot off almost immediately. Tomorrow I take a well-earned rest away from school, and the day after I become the gay young bank-clerk, all amongst the ink and ledgers."
Mike was miserably silent.
"Buck up," said Wyatt cheerfully. "It would have happened anyhow in another fortnight. So why worry?"
Mike was still silent. The reflection was doubtless philosophic, but it failed to comfort him.
