You couldn’t be sure if they were Tripping or just staying away because things were in a mess. Very little work got done, anyway. In assembly the Head Man gave us a warning about people who might try to Cap us. It seemed Uncle Ian wasn’t the only one around carrying rubber helmets. We were to report anyone acting suspiciously. I was standing next to Hilda Goossens, who sniffed and said, “Silly old twit!” “Why?” “As if we need to be told.” “Someone said they saw Wild Bill hanging about school this morning. If he spots you, he might decide to Cap his pet genius.” “I don’t think so.” “My uncle nearly managed it, with me.” She just looked at me pityingly. I wondered what it must be like to be Hilda Goossens and so sure of yourself about everything. The Head Man droned on. He was thin and anxious, white-faced and white-haired (what there was of it), due for retirement at the end of the school year. I wondered about being like him, too—just about able to cope under normal conditions, without things like Tripping to contend with.
