Excerpt from Caliban
A shaft of light fell through the class-room window on the round, bald head of old Chips. It looked red as the sun in fog; red as a guinea. Bulmer yawned over his Livy and stared at the beam, at the grains of dust dancing in it. He thought, "I wonder how many bits of dirt there are in that beam." It was an interesting speculation, and his mind, that was not at all stimulated by Latin prose, wandered towards the obscene baldness of old Chips. Then he reflected that Topsy, who did maths., science, and commerce, was also bald as any egg, while Clamart, the French master, and old Barnes, who took prep. and messed about, had splendid heads of hair.
"Go on, Tarland," said Chips. "Take the torch from the fainting hand of your comrade. Ubi, in recensendis captivis. Proceed, O Tarland."
"There, while counting the prisoners..." stuttered Tarland. Then again, "... were recognized as Tusculans..."
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