'Let's talk about it tomorrow, Jen. I am really sleeping already.'
During the next four days Jennings and Darbishire did all they could to be decent to Mr Wilkins. They tried to mend his pen (it was not their fault that they could not do it), they woke him up early in the morning to show him Darbishire's new drawing, they once opened the door for him - they did it so quickly that Mr Wilkins nearly fell.
'I think he will be happier when he sees, his life-story in the Form Three Times,' Darbishire said to Jennings when they waited for Mr Wilkins to arrive for an algebra lesson a week later. 'Are you writing those famous life- stories?'
'I've already written Juluis Caesar's lifestory,' answered Jennings, 'but there wasn't much to say about Charles Dickens, so I am going to write Mr Carter's life-story to fill up the space. Mr Wilkins' life-story is the most difficult one: I can't find out how old he is or what his first name is.'
At that moment they heard Mr Wilkins' footsteps in the corridor. The door opened, and Mr Wilkins came into the classroom.
'Good morning, sir,' said Form Three.
'Good morning,' said Mr Wilkins. 'I am going to show you a new sort of problem during this lesson. So sit up straight and try to understand.'
Form Three sat up straight, but to try to understand Mr Wilkins was another thing, because it was not easy to understand when Mr Wilkins explained about new problems. There was one problem about the man who walked at the strange speed of x miles an hour for the strange time of y hours.
'I've never seen a clock with y's on its face,' Jennings whispered to Darbishire. 'Maybe Mr Wilkins will be interested to know about it.'
And Jennings told him so. Other boys asked Mr Wilkins questions which he thought were very silly too.
When he finished his explanation he said, 'Now we'll see how much you've understood. Try to work out the next problem for yourselves.'
He wrote the next problem on the blackboard and sat down at the .teacher's desk. The problem was about a walk from one milestone to the next and there were some x's and y's in it too.
'Do we have to work it out in our exercise books, sir?' asked Atkinson.
'Of course. You don't think I want you to write it on the desks, do you?' came the angry reply.
Temple put up his hand.
'Please, sir, we can't find the answer to this problem, sir. You haven't told us how far it is from one milestone to the next. And before we know that we can't work it out, can we, sir?'
'I'm sure, Temple, you must know how far it is from one milestone to the next mile-stone. It can't be more than one mile, can it?' said Mr Wilkins and left his desk. 'Well, Bromwich, have you worked out how much time it will take?'
'Yes, sir, three days, sir.'
'Three days to go a mile! Don't be funny, you silly little boy. A snail can do it in that time!'
'I thought it was a snail, sir. The problem doesn't say it has to be a man. So I thought, it could be a snail.'
'Well, well, Bromwich... Darbishire! I think you have worked it out, haven't you?'
'Yes, I have, sir. I used a man, sir, and I worked it out quickly. He must finish his trip at half past z, sir.'
Mr Wilkins clasped his hands over his eyes and sat down at the desk.
'Please put your hands up all boys who have written down 'twenty minutes' for the answer,' he said loudly.
Nobody put up his hand.
'Not one right answer to an easy problem!' exclaimed Mr Wilkins. 'Very well. You all must come here at a quarter past four on Saturday and we'll have some more examples.'
The boys were certainly not happy when they heard the news. Bromwich turned to Jennings and Darbishire.
'The first team will play a 'home' match on Saturday,' he said. 'When the game is over at half past three then it's the time we can go to the village. I think Old Wilkie has purposely chosen this time for his detention class, because we won't have enough time to go to the village and to come back.'
'You mean we shall have enough time to go to the village and come back, because it takes us ten minutes to walk each way. But we won't have any time to spend in o the village, will we?' said Jennings.
Jennings didn't want to go to the village this Saturday because he had no money. He decided to finish his life- stories for the next issue of the wall newspaper which he wanted to hang on the notice-board the following Tuesday.
The algebra lesson ended when the bell rang for break, and Mr Wilkins went to the staff room for a cup of tea.
Chapter Nineteen
Jennings' famous people
'I've had enough of that Form Three,' Mr Wilkins said to Mr Carter when he went into the staff room after his algebra lesson. 'I gave them an easy problem this morning, and nobody could give me the right answer. Well, I'm going to make them come to the classroom on Saturday afternoon, believe me!'
'Don't worry, Wilkins,' said Mr Carter. 'Here is a letter for you.'
Mr Wilkins took the envelope, looked at it, and saw L. P. Wilkins in his sister's handwriting. Mr Wilkins began to worry because his younger sister Margaret was usually too busy at her London hospital where she worked as a nurse. She did not often write letters to him. He loved his sister, which was not surprising, because she was a very nice young lady. He opened the envelope and read:
Dear Lancelot,
I shall spend next week-end with my friends not far from Dunhambury. So I think I can visit you for an hour at tea-time on Saturday. I shall take a bus from Dunham-bury to Linbury,- but don't meet me; I think I can find my own way.
With love,
Margaret.
Mr Wilkins put the letter back in the envelope as one of the other teachers came into the staff room. Nobody except the Headmaster and Mr Carter knew that his first name was Lancelot. Nothing was wrong with Lancelot: it was a nice name for the right man, but Mr Wilkins thought that he was not the right man. He would have made no secret of it if his name had been Bill or Jack or Tom. But Lancelot... oh, no!
Mr Wilkins came up to the notice-board and saw that Mr Carter was on duty on Saturday afternoon and evening. 'That's fine,' he thought. 'The detention class will be over at a quarter past five, and I'll be free.'
He finished his tea, and when he heard a knock at the door some minutes before the end of break there was only Mr Carter and himself in the staff room.
'Come in!' called Mr Wilkins.
The visitor was Jennings.
'It's about our wall newspaper, sir,' he said to Mr Carter and explained. 'I'm writing the lives of famous people like Charles Dickens, sir. But we think the boys may not be very interested in reading about them. So we are going to write about some infamous people too - like you and Mr Wilkins, sir... or... I mean people who are not so famous as Charles Dickens, but are more interesting to read
about.'
'Go on,' said Mr Carter with a smile. 'Well, sir, teachers never tell people what they were like when they were at school, and I think, sir, these are the things which will be most interesting to read in a wall newspaper.'
