Good-bye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton — Read

And now, fifteen years after that, he could look back upon it all with a deep and sumptuous tranquillity. He was not ill, of course-- only a little tired at times, and bad with his breathing during the winter months. He would not go abroad--he had once tried it, but had chanced to strike the Riviera during one of its carefully unadvertised cold spells. "I prefer--um--to get my chills--umph-- in my own country," he used to say, after that. He had to take care of himself when there were east winds, but autumn and winter were not really so bad; there were warm fires, and books, and you could look forward to the summer. It was the summer that he liked best, of course; apart from the weather, which suited him, there were the continual visits of old boys. Every weekend some of them motored up to Brookfield and called at his house. Sometimes they tired him, if too many came at once; but he did not really mind; he could always rest and sleep afterward. And he enjoyed their visits-- more than anything else in the world that was still to be enjoyed. "Well, Gregson--umph--I remember you--umph--always late for everything--eh--eh? Perhaps you'll be late in growing old--umph-- like me--umph--eh?" And later, when he was alone again and Mrs. Wickett came in to clear away the tea things: "Mrs. Wickett, young Gregson called--umph--you remember him, do you? Tall boy with spectacles. Always late. Umph. Got a job with the--umph--League of Nations--where--I suppose--his--um--dilatoriness--won't be noticeable--eh?"

And sometimes, when the bell rang for call-over, he would go to the window and look across the road and over the School fence and see, in the distance, the thin line of boys filing past the bench. New times, new names. but the old ones still remained. Jefferson, Jennings, Jolyon, Jupp, Kingsley Primus, Kingsley Secundus, Kingsley Tertius, Kingston. where are you all, where have you all gone to?. Mrs. Wickett, bring me a cup of tea just before prep, will you, please?