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"Mr. Lumsden, the senior partner of Lumsden and Westmacott, the well-known scholastic and clerical agents, was a small, dapper man, with a sharp, abrupt manner, a critical eye, and an incisive way of speaking. "Your name, sir?" said he, sitting, pen in hand, with his long, red-lined folio in front of him. "Harold Weld." "Oxford or Cambridge?" "Cambridge." "Honours?" "No, sir." "Athlete?" "Nothing remarkable, I am afraid." "Not a Blue?" "Oh no." Mr. Lumsden shook his head despondently and shrugged his shoulders in a way which sent my hopes down to zero. "There is a very keen competition for masterships, Mr. Weld," said he. "The vacancies are few and the applicants innumerable. A first-class athlete, oar, or cricketer, or a man who has passed very high in his examinations, can usually find a vacancy--I might say always in the case of the cricketer. But the average man--if you will excuse the description, Mr. Weld--has a very great difficulty, almost an insurmountable difficulty. We have