"Shut up, you ass!"

"I only asked," said Fullerton. "It doesn't matter to me, I don't mind going as the half man, if you like. If you send seven names you'll be in a minority in the fifteen, and if you send eight you'll be in a majority. It doesn't matter to me a bit."

"Just like Fullerton. Always asking riddles that haven't got an answer," said Dangle.

"I wonder how Fisher will manage the treasurership," said Brinkman, who was evidently sore at his defeat. "I shouldn't have thought accounts were much in his line."

"He can't have very hard work doing his own," said Clapperton, laughing, "but that's not his fault, poor beggar. Only I think it would be much better to have a fellow for treasurer who wasn't in a chronic state of being hard up."

"I suppose you mean," said Fullerton, who had a most awkwardly blunt way of putting things, "he'd have less temptation to steal. I hope Fisher's not a thief."

"What an idiot you are, Fullerton!" said Clapperton; "whoever said he was?"

"I didn't. I only asked what you thought. It doesn't much matter to me, except that it wouldn't be creditable to the School."

"Of course it wouldn't; it's hardly creditable to our side to have a jackass in it," said Clapperton.

"Oh, all right—I'll go. I dare say you'll get on as well without me."

The others presently followed his example, and Clapperton, left to himself, proceeded to draw up his list.

"Dear Yorke," he wrote, "You will probably be making up the fifteen for the Rendlesham match shortly. Please put down me, Brinkman, Dangle, Fullerton, West, Harrowby, and Ramshaw major, to play from our side. This will give your side the odd man.

"Yours truly,—

"Geo. Clapperton."

This important epistle accomplished, he shouted for his fag to come and convey it to its destination.

It was not till after several calls, on an increasing scale of peremptoriness, that Master Percy condescended to appear. When he did, he was covered with dost from head to foot, and his face, what could be seen of it, was visibly lopsided.

"Why don't you come when you're called? Whatever have you been up to— fighting?"

"Rather not," said Percy, "only boxing. You see, it was this way; Cottle brought a pair of gloves up this term, and young Lickford had an old pair; so we three and Ramshaw have been having an eight-handed mill. It was rather jolly; only Ramshaw and Lickford had the old gloves on, and they've all the horse-hair out, so Cottle and I got it rather hot on the face. But we took it out of them with our body blows—above the belt, you know—not awfully above. I couldn't come when you called, because we were wrestling out one of the rounds. It's harder work an eight-handed wrestle than four hands. Just when you called first, I nearly had Cottle and Lickford down, but you put me off my trip, and Ramshaw had me over instead."

"All very interesting," said Clapperton, "but you'll have to come sharp next time or I shall trip you up myself. Take this note over to Yorke. Stop while he reads it, and if there's any answer, bring it; if not, don't wait."

"Can't Cash take it? We're not nearly finished."

"No. Cut off, sharp!"

"Awful shame!" growled the messenger to himself, as he departed. "I hate Clapperton; he always waits till I'm enjoying myself, and then routs me out. I shan't stand it much longer. What does he want with Yorke! Perhaps it's a challenge. Yes, by the way, very good chance! I'll see what that cad Wally's got to say about those kids I found in his room yesterday. Nice old games he gets up to; Wally's all very well when he's asleep, or grubbing, or doing impositions, but he's a sight too artful out of school, like all those Classic kids. One's as bad as another."

As if to emphasise this sentiment, a Classic kid at that moment came violently into collision with Master Percy's waistcoat.

It was Fisher minor, who had once more caught sight in the distance of the mysterious borrower of his half-crown, and was giving chase.

"Where are you coming to, you kid. You've nearly smashed a button. I'll welt you for that."

"I beg your pardon, Wally, I—"

"Wally—what do you mean by calling me Wally?" exclaimed Percy.

"Well, Wheatfield, I beg your pardon; I was in a hurry to catch a fellow up and I didn't see you."

"Didn't you? Well, you'll feel me. Take that."

Fisher minor meekly accepted the cuff, and, full of his half-crown, essayed to proceed. But Percy stopped him.

"You're that new kid, Fisher's minor, aren't you?"

It astonished Fisher minor, that the speaker, whom he supposed he had seen only ten minutes ago, should so soon have forgotten his name.

"Yes, but I say, Wally, I mean Wheatfield—"

"Humph—I suppose you held up both hands for your precious brother yesterday."

"No, only one. I was nearly late, though. I waited an hour at the gymnasium, you know, and no Modern chaps came out at all."

Percy began to smell rats.

"Waited at the gymnasium, did you? Who told you to do that?"

"Oh, you know—it was part of the canvassing."

"Oh, you were in that job, were you, my boy? All serene, I'll—"

"I say," cried Fisher minor, turning pale, "aren't you Wally Wheatfield? I thought—"

"Me Wally? what do you take me for? I'll let you know who I am. You're a beauty, you are. Some of our chaps'll tell you who I am, Mr Canvasser. Now, look here, you stop there till I come back from Yorke's. If you move an inch—whew! you'll find the weather pretty warm, I can tell you. Canvassing? You'll get canvassed, I fancy, before you grow much taller."

And off stalked the indignant Percy, promising himself a particularly pleasant afternoon, as soon as his errand to the captain was over.

Yorke was at work, with his lexicon and notebooks on the table, when the envoy entered.

"Well, is that you or your brother?" inquired he.

"Not my brother, if I know it," said Percy.

"That's not much help. He says exactly the same when I put the same question to him."

"He does, does he? I owe Wally one already, now—"

"Thanks—then you're not Wally. What do you want?"

"This note. Clapperton said I was to wait while you read it, and bring an answer if there was one."

Yorke read the note, and smiled as he did so. Percy wished he knew what was in it. He didn't know Clapperton could make jokes.

"Any answer?" he demanded.

"Yes—there's an answer," said the captain.

He took out a list of names from his pocket, and compared it with that on Clapperton's letter. Then he wrote as follows:—

"Dear Clapperton,—The fifteen against Rendlesham is already made up as follows," (here followed the list). "You will see it includes six of the names you sent. We must play the best team we can; and I think we shall have it.

"Yours truly,—

"Cecil Yorke."

"There's the answer. Take it over at once."

"I like his style," growled Percy to himself. "He don't seem to have a 'please' about him. Catch me hurrying myself for him; I've got this precious canvasser to look after."

And he returned at a leisurely pace to the rendezvous.

No Fisher minor was there!

That young gentleman, when left to himself, found himself in a perspiration of doubt and fear. He had made a most awkward blunder, and confessed the delinquencies of his comrades to the very last man they would wish to know of them. That was bad enough; but, to make things worse, he was to be let in for the blame of the whole affair, and, with Master Percy's assistance, was shortly to experience warm weather among the Moderns.

Happy thought! He would not stay where he was. He would retire, as the Latin book said, into winter quarters, and entrench himself in the stronghold of Wally and D'Arcy and Ashby. If he was to get it hot, he would sooner get it from them than from the barbarians in Forder's.

With which desperate conclusion, and once more devoutly wishing himself safe at home, he made tracks, at a rapid walk, to Wally's room. His three comrades were all there.

"What's up?" said they as he entered, with agitated face.

"Oh, I say, it's all because you and your brother are so alike. I met him just now; and—he's heard about that canvassing, you know, and I thought you'd like to know."

"You mean to say you blabbed?" said Wally, jumping to his feet.

"It's your fault," said D'Arcy. "I've made the same mistake myself. Why can't you grow a moustache or something to distinguish you?"

"Why can't you get your brother to be a Classic! then it wouldn't matter—either of you would do," suggested Ashby.

Ashby was beginning to feel quite at home in Wakefield's.

"I'll let some of you see if it won't matter," retorted Wally. "If they've got wind of that affair the other side, there'll be a fearful row. They'll want another election. Oh, you young idiot! That comes of trusting a new kid, that sings comic songs, and parts his hair the wrong side, with a secret. D'Arcy's nearly as big an ass as you are yourself, to trust you."

After this Philippic, Wally felt a little better, and was ready to consider what had better be done.

"He's bound to come here, you chaps," said he. "You cut. Leave him to me—I'll tackle him."

Fisher minor considered this uncommonly good advice, and obeyed it with alacrity. The other two followed less eagerly. They would have liked to stay and see the fun.

As Wally expected, his affectionate relative, being baulked of his prey outside, came to pay a fraternal visit.

"What cheer?" said he. "I say, have you seen a kid called Fisher minor? The new kid, you know, that we had a lark with at dinner on first- night."

"Oh, that chap. Bless you, he messes in our study. What about him?"

"I want him. I want to say something to him."

"I'll tell him."

"All right. He's come and told you, has he? and you're hiding him? Never mind; I'll bowl him out, the beauty. I know all about that little game of yours, yesterday, you know!"

"What little game?"

"As if you didn't know! Do you suppose I didn't find five of 'em shut up here yesterday, being kept out of the way at Elections?"

"Yes; and do you suppose if it hadn't been for me they'd have got into the Hall at all? Don't be a beast, Percy, if you can help. They stayed here of their own accord. No one kept them in. I say, have some toffee?"

"Got any?"

"Rather. A new brew this morning. I say, you can have half of it."

"Thanks, awfully, Wally."

"You see—oh, take more than that—these new kids are such born asses, they boss everything. You should have heard that Fisher minor at lamb's singing the other night—like the toffee? I say, don't be a sneak about those chaps. You'd never have got them in without me. I backed you up, and got the door open. I say—would you like a Turkish stamp? I've got one to swop—but you can have it if you like."

"Thanks, old man. Yes, new kinds are rot. Well, ta, ta—better make it up, I suppose. I say, I shan't have time to write home to-day. You write this time, and I'll do the two next week."

"All serene, if you like. Here, you're leaving one of your bits of toffee. Ta, ta, old chappie."

And these great twin brethren, whose infirmity it was always to be fond of one another when they were together, and to scorn one another when they were apart, separated in a most amicable fashion.

"Well?" asked the three exiles, putting in their heads as soon as the enemy had gone.

"Choked him off," said Wally, fanning himself. "Jolly hard work. But he came round."

Percy, meanwhile, having suddenly remembered his errand, hastened back to the house. As he did so he observed notices of the fifteen for the Rendlesham match posted on Wakefield's door, on the school-board, and at Forder's. He solaced himself by writing in bold characters the word "beast" against each of the names which belonged to a Classic boy, and discovered, when his task was done, that he had inscribed the word nine times out of fifteen on each notice. Whereupon he made off at a run to his senior's.

"Well," said Clapperton, evidently anxious, "didn't I tell you to come back at once! Any answer?"

"Yes, this," said Percy, producing the captain's letter. "I say, Yorke grinned like anything when he read yours."

"Did he?" replied Clapperton, opening the envelope.

Evidently Yorke in his reply had not been guilty of a joke, for the face of the Modern captain was dark and scowling as he read it.

"Cool cheek," muttered he. "Dangle was right, after all. You can go, youngster."

"All right. I say, they've got the fifteen stuck up on the boards—six of our chaps in it. We ought to lick them this year."

But as Clapperton did not do him the favour of heeding his observations, he retired, and tried vainly to collect his scattered forces to conclude the eight-handed boxing match, which had been so unfeelingly interrupted an hour ago.

Clapperton, to do him justice, could not deny to himself that the team selected by the captain was the best fighting fifteen the School could put into the football field. But, having advanced his claim for half numbers, his pride was hurt at finding it almost contemptuously set aside. It would never do for him to climb down now.

The Moderns, after all, had a right to have their men in; and he had a right to assume they were better players than some of the selected Classics. It was easy to work himself into a rage, and talk about favouritism, and abuse of privilege, and all that. His popularity in his own house depended on his fighting their battles, and he must do it now. So he wrote a reply to Yorke.

"Dear Yorke,—I do not agree with you about the fifteen. I consider the men on our side whom you have omitted are better than the three I have marked on your list. If we are to make the clubs a success, we ought to pull together, and let there be no suspicion, however groundless, of favouritism.

"Yours truly, Geo. Clapperton."

To this letter, which he sent over by another junior, more expeditious than his last, he received the following reply:—

"Dear Clapperton,—Sides have nothing to do with it. If the best fifteen names were all on your side, I should have to select them. But they are not. The fifteen I have chosen are undoubtedly the best men we have, and the team most likely to win the match. I suppose that is what we play for.

"Yours truly,—

"Cecil Yorke."

This polite correspondence Clapperton laid before his friends. The general feeling was that the Moderns were being unfairly and disrespectfully used.

"It's the old story over again," said Dangle. "If we don't look after ourselves, nobody else will."

"At any rate, as long as he's captain, I suppose he has the right to pick the team," said Fullerton. "I shouldn't be particularly sorry if he were to leave me out. It wouldn't matter to me."

"Who cares whether it matters to you? It matters to our side," said Brinkman, "and we oughtn't to stand it."



CHAPTER SIX.

ROLLITT.

Rollitt of Wakefield's was a standing mystery at Fellsgarth. Though he had been three years at the school, and worked his way up from the junior form to one of the first six, no one knew him. He had no friends, and did not want any. He rarely spoke when not obliged to do so; and when he did, he said either what was unexpected or disagreeable. He scarcely ever played in the matches, but when he did he played tremendously. Although a Classic, he was addicted to scientific research and long country walks. His study was a spectacle for untidiness and grime. He abjured his privilege of having a fag. No one dared to take liberties with him, for he had an arm like an oak branch, and a back as broad as the door.

All sorts of queer stories were afloat about him. It was generally whispered that his father was a common workman, and that the son was being kept at school by charity. Any reference to his poverty was the one way of exciting Rollitt. But it was too risky an amusement to be popular.

His absence of mind, however, was his great enemy at school. Of him the story was current that once in the Fourth, when summoned to the front to call-over the register, he called his own name among the rest, and receiving no reply, looked to his place, and seeing the desk vacant, marked Rollitt down as absent. Another time, having gone to his room after morning school to change into his flannels for cricket, he had gone to bed by mistake, and slept soundly till call-bell next morning. "Have you heard Rollitt's last?" came to be the common way of prefacing any unlikely story at Fellsgarth; and what with fact and fiction, the hero had come to be quite a mythical celebrity at Fellsgarth.

His thrift was another of his characteristics. He had never been seen to spend a penny, unless it was to save twopence. If fellows had dared, they would have liked now and then to pay his subscriptions to the clubs; or even hand on an old pair of cricket shoes or part of the contents of a hamper for his benefit. But woe betide them if they ever tried it! The only extravagance he had ever been known to commit was some months ago, when he bought a book of trout-flies, which rumour said must have cost him as much as an ordinary Classic's pocket-money for a whole term.

To an impressionable youth like Fisher minor it was only natural that Rollitt should be an object of awe. For a day or two after his arrival, when the stories he had heard were fresh in his memory, the junior was wont to change his walk to a tip-toe as he passed the queer boy's door. If ever he met him face to face, he started and quaked like one who has encountered a ghost or a burglar. After a week this excess of deference toned down. Finding that Rollitt neither hurt nor heeded him, he abandoned his fears, and, instead of running away, stood and stared at his man, as if by keeping his eye hard on him he could discover his mystery.

It was two or three days after Elections that Fisher minor, having discovered by the absence of everybody from their ordinary haunts that it was a half-holiday, took it into his head to explore a little way down the Shargle Valley. He believed the other fellows had gone up; and he thought it a little unfriendly that they should have left him in the lurch.

He was not particularly fond of woods, unless there were nuts in them; or of rivers, unless there were stones on the banks to shy in. Still, it seemed to be half-holiday form at Fellsgarth to go down valleys, so he went, quite indifferent to the beauties of Nature, and equally indifferent as to where this walk brought him.

A mile below Fellsgarth, as everybody knows, the Shargle tumbles wildly into the Shayle, with a great fuss of rapids and cataracts and "narrows" to celebrate the fact; and a mile further, the united streams flow tamely out among reeds and gravel islands into Hawkswater.

Fisher minor had nearly reached the junction, and was proceeding to speculate on the possibility of picking his way among the stones towards the lake, when he caught sight of a boat in the middle of the rapid stream. It was tied somewhat carelessly to the overhanging branch of a tree, which bent and creaked with every lurch of the boat in the passing rapids. Standing in the stern as unconcerned as if he was on an island in a duck-pond, was Rollitt with his fishing-rod, casting diligently into the troubled waters.

For the first time the junior enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the object of his curiosity. He found it hard to recognise at first in the eager, sportsmanlike figure, with his animated face, the big shambling fellow whom he had so often eyed askance in the passages at Wakefield's. But there was no mistaking the shabby clothes, the powerful arms, the broad, square back. Rollitt the sportsman was another creature from Rollitt the Classic, and Fisher minor was critic enough to see that the advantage was with the former.

There was no chance of being detected. Rollitt was far too busy to heed anything but the six-pounder that struggled and plunged and tore away with his line to the end of the reel. Had all Fellsgarth stood congregated on the banks, he would never have noticed them.

Ah! he was beginning to wind in now, gingerly and artfully, and the fish, sulking desperately among the stones, was beginning to find his master. It was a keen battle between those two. Now the captive would dive behind a rock and force the line out a yard or two; now the captor would coax it on from one hiding-place to the next, and by a cunning flank movement cut off its retreat. Then, yielding little by little, the fish would feign surrender, till just as it seemed within reach, twang would go the line and the rod bend almost double beneath the sudden plunge. Then the patient work would begin again. The man's temper was more than a match for that of the victim, and, exhausted and despondent, the fish would, sooner or later, have to submit to the inexorable.

How long it might have gone on Fisher could never tell; for once, when victory seemed on the point of declaring for the angler, and the shining fins of the fish floundered despairingly almost within his reach, a downward dash nearly wrenched the rod from his hands and sent him sprawling on to the thwarts. The sudden lurch of the boat was too much for the ill-tied rope, and to Fisher's horror the noose gave way and sent boat and fisherman spinning down the rapids at five miles an hour.

Rollitt either did not notice the accident or was too engrossed to heed it. He still had his fish, though as far off as before, and once more the tedious task of coaxing him out of his tantrums was to begin over again. It was useless to shout. The roar of the water among the stones above and over the rocks below was deafening, and Fisher's piping voice could never make itself heard above it. He tried to throw a stone, but its little splash was lost in the hurly-burly of the rapids. It was hopeless to expect that Rollitt would see him. He had no eyes but for his rod.

The last glimpse Fisher minor caught of him as the boat, side-on, swirled round the turn towards the falls below, he was standing on the seat, craning his neck for a glimpse of his prize, and winding in gingerly on the reel as he did so. Then he disappeared.

With a groan of panic the small boy started to follow. The boulders were big and rough, and it was hard work to go at ordinary rate, still more to run. Happily, however, after a few steps he stumbled upon a path which, though it seemed to lead from the river, would take him, he calculated, back to it above the falls at the end of the bend in which the boat was. It was a tolerable path, and Fisher minor never got over ground so fast before or after. A few seconds brought him out of the wood on to the river-bank, where the stream, deepening and hushing, gathers itself for its great leap over the falls.

Had the boat already passed, and was he too late! No; there it came, sidling along on the swift waters, the angler still at his post, leaning over with his landing-net, within reach at last of his hard-earned prize. What could Fisher minor do! The stream was fairly narrow, and the boat, sweeping round the bend, was, if anything, nearer the other side, where the banks were high. His one chance was to attract the anglers attention. Had that angler been any one but Rollitt, it might have been easy.

Arming himself with a handful of stones, Fisher minor waited till the boat came within a few yards. Then with a great shout he flung with all his might at the boat.

The sudden fusillade might have been unheeded, had not one stone struck the angler's hand just as he was manoeuvring his landing-net under the fish. In the sudden start he missed his aim and looked up.

"Look out!" screamed Fisher. "You're adrift! Catch the branch!"

And he pointed wildly to the branch of an ash which straggled out over the water just above the fall.

Rollitt took in the situation at last. He cast a regretful glance at the fish as it gave its last victorious leap and vanished. Then, standing on the gunwale and measuring his distance from the tree, he jumped. For a moment Fisher minor thought he had missed; for the branch yielded and went under with his weight. But in a moment, just as the boat with a swoop plunged over the fall, he rose, clutching securely and hauling himself inch by inch out of the torrent. To Fisher, who watched breathlessly, it seemed as if every moment the branch would snap and send the senior back to his fate. But it held out bravely and supported him as he gradually drew himself up and finally perched high and dry above the water.

Fisher minor's difficulties now began. Having seen his man safe he would have liked to run away; for he was not at all sure how Rollitt would take it. Besides, he wouldn't much care to be seen by fellows like Wally or D'Arcy walking back in his company to Fellsgarth. On the other hand, it seemed rather low to desert a fellow just when he was half-drowned and might be hurt. What had he better do? Rollitt decided for him.

He came along the bough to where the boy stood, and dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Thanks," he said, and held out his hand.

Fisher was horribly alarmed. The tone in which the word was spoken was very like that which Giant Blunderbore may have used when dinner was announced. However, he summoned up courage to hold out his hand, and was surprised to find how gently Rollitt grasped it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you with the stones," he said.

"You didn't. Come and look for the boat, Fisher minor."

"He knows my name then," soliloquised the minor, beginning to recover a little from his panic. "I hope nobody will see me."

The boat was found bottom upwards—a wreck, with its side stove in, entangled in a mass of flotsam and jetsam which had gathered in one of the side eddies below the waterfall.

"Haul in, Fisher minor," growled Rollitt, surveying the wreck.

With difficulty they got it ashore and turned it right side up.

"Rod, flies, net, all gone," said Rollitt, half angry; "and fish too."

"It was such a beauty, the trout you hooked. I wish you'd got it. You nearly had it too when you had to jump out," ventured Fisher.

Rollitt looked down almost amiably at the speaker. Had the boy studied for weeks he could not have made a more conciliatory speech.

"Can't be helped," said the senior. "Might have been worse. Thanks again. Come and see Mrs Wisdom."

Mrs Wisdom was a decent young widow woman in whom the Fellsgarth boys felt a considerable interest. Her husband, late gamekeeper at Shargle Lodge, had always had a civil word for the young gentlemen, especially those addicted to sport, by whom he had been looked up to as a universal authority and ally. In addition to his duties at the Lodge, which were very ill paid, he had eked out his slender income by the help of a boat, which he kept on the lower reach below the falls, and which was, in the season, considerably patronised by the schoolboys. When last season he met his death over one of the cliffs of Hawk's Pike, every one felt sympathy for the widow and her children, who were thus left homeless and destitute. An effort was made, chiefly by the School authorities, to get her some laundry work, and find her a home in one of the little cottages on the School farm, near the river; while the boys made it almost a point of honour never to hire another boat down at the lake if Mrs Wisdom's was to be had.

Last week the boat had been brought up to the cottage on a cart, to be repainted for the coming season, and while here Rollitt had begged the use of it for this particular afternoon to fish from in the upper reach.

"Take care of her, Master Rollitt," said the widow; "she's a'most all I've got left, except the children. My John, he did say the upper reach was no water for boats."

"I'll take care," said Rollitt.

As the two boys now walked slowly, towards the cottage, Fisher minor could see that his companion's face was working ominously. He mistook it for ill-temper at the time, for he did not know Mrs Wisdom's history, or what the wreck meant to her.

She was at her door as they approached, and as she looked up and saw their long faces, the poor woman jumped at the truth at once.

"Don't say there's anything wrong with the boat, Master Rollitt. Don't tell me that."

Rollitt nodded, almost sternly.

"It went over the fall," said Fisher, feeling that something ought to be said. "Rollitt only just got out in time."

"Over the fall! Then it's smashed," cried she, bursting into tears. "It was to keep our body and soul together this season. Now what'll become of us! Oh, Master Rollitt, I did think you'd take care of my boat. It was all I had left—bar the children. What'll they do now?"

Rollitt stood by grimly silent till she had had her cry and looked up.

"I'm sorry," said he, in a voice that meant what it said. "What was it worth?"

"Worth? Everything to me."

"What would a new one cost?"

"More than I could pay, or you either. My John gave five pound for her—and oh, how we scrimped to save it! Where's it to come from now!" and she relapsed again into tears.

Rollitt waited a little longer, but there was nothing more to add; and presently he signalled Fisher to come away.

He was silent all the way home. The junior did not dare to speak to him—scarcely to look up in his face. Yet it did occur to him that if any one had a right to be in a bad temper over that afternoon's proceedings it was Mrs Wisdom, and not Rollitt.

As they neared the school, Fisher minor began to feel dreadfully compromised by his company. Rollitt's clothes were wet and muddy; his hands and face were dirty with his scramble along the tree; his air was morose and savage, and his stride was such that the junior had to trot a step or two every few yards to keep up. What would fellows think of him! Suppose Ranger were to see him, or, still worse, the Modern Wheatfield, or—

At this moment fate solved his problem. For just ahead of him, turning the corner of Fowler's Wall, was the cadaverous individual who owed him half a crown.

"Oh, excuse me, Rollitt," said he, "there's a fellow there I want to speak to. Good-bye."

Rollitt did not appear either to hear the words or notice the desertion, but stalked on till he reached Wakefields'. The house seemed to be empty. Evidently none of the other half-holiday makers had returned. Study doors stood open; an unearthly silence reigned in Wally's quarters. Even the tuck-shop was deserted.

The only person he met was Dangle, the clubs' secretary, who had penetrated into the enemy's quarter in order to confer with his dear colleague the treasurer as to calling a committee meeting, and was now returning unsuccessful.

"Ah, Rollitt," said he, "tell Fisher major, will you, I want to see him as soon as he comes in. I'd leave a line for him, but I don't know his room."

Whether Rollitt heard or not, he had to guess. At any rate he hardly felt sanguine that his message would be delivered.

As for Rollitt, he shut himself into his study with a bang, and might have been heard by any one who took the trouble to listen, pacing up and down the floor for a long time that evening. He did not put in an appearance in the common room, and although Yorke sent to ask him to tea, he forgot all about the invitation, and even if he had remembered it, would have forgotten whether he had said Yes or No.

The next morning—Sunday—just as the chapel bell was beginning to ring, Widow Wisdom was startled by a loud knock at her door.

"Oh, Master Rollitt," said she, and her eyes were red still, "is the boat safe after all?"

"No; but I've got you another. Farmer Gay's was for sale on the lake— I've bought it. It's yours now."

"Farmer Gay's—mine? Oh, go on, Master Rollitt, how could you buy a boat any more than me? You've no money to spare, I know."

"It's yours—here's the receipt," said the boy, with almost a scowl.

"But, Master Rollitt—"

But Master Rollitt had gone to be in time for chapel.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

TRIAL BY JURY.

Fisher minor's hopes rose high within him as he stalked his debtor across the School Green. Three times already he had encountered him, but fate had stepped in to prevent the collection of his dues. Now—

He had arrived at this stage when a voice at his side sent a cold shiver down his back.

"Hullo, kid, got you at last, then? That's what you call waiting where I left you, do you?"

"I didn't promise to wait," said Fisher. "You told me to."

"It's the same thing. Now you'll come along with me, my beauty."

Had Fisher minor been anything but a raw hand, it might have occurred to him that it would take Percy Wheatfield all his time to convey a boy his, Fisher's, size against his will into Forder's house. But such is the force of innocence on one side, and authority on the other, that the new boy laid down his arms, and followed his captor meekly into the enemy's citadel. Just as they were entering, a posse of the enemy appeared on the scene, consisting, among other supporters of the Modern cause, of Ramshaw, Cottle, Lickford, and Cash.

"Here's a game, Rammy," cried Percy. "Got him at last! This is the villain, this is the murdering, highway forger. Come on, you kid; you're in for it."

It did occur to Fisher minor at this juncture that a change of air might be refreshing. But it was too late now. The enemy had him fast. There was no getting out of the "warm weather" which had been promised him.

"Come on—we'll have a regular Old Bailey of it," cried Percy. "Go and tell the fellows, and collar some witnesses, do you hear; and tell the hangman he'll be wanted in half an hour."

This promise of judicial dispatch was not consoling to the prisoner, who had grave doubts as to the impartiality of the tribunal before which he was to be arraigned. He wondered if Ashby, or D'Arcy, or any of his friends would appear among the witnesses.

The trial took place in the room jointly owned by Percy, Ramshaw, Cottle, and Lickford. A chair was planted on the bed for the accommodation of the judge. The fender was brought out in front of the chest of drawers for a witness-box; while Rix minimus, who officiated as jury, sat on a footstool on the table.

As for the prisoner, a dock was provided for him in the form of a wash- stand, out of which the basin had been removed to make room for his uneasy person in the vacant hole.

"Now, you chaps," said Percy, who had naturally appointed himself, in addition to his other offices, "usher of the court", "no larks. Shut up. This is a big job. This young cad cheated at Elections."

Here the door opened, and Dangle looked in.

"What on earth is all this row?" he said.

"A trial. I say, Dangle, will you be judge? It's a Classic kid that cheated at Elections."

"No, really, I didn't," said Fisher, painfully aware that so far, the trial was going against him.

Dangle, who fancied something might come of this, was condescending enough to say he didn't mind playing at judge, if they liked. Whereat, amid cheers, he was voted to the chair on the bed, where he sat rather precariously, and ordered silence in the court.

"Who is the prisoner?"

"Go on, kid, tell 'em your name," said Percy, encouragingly.

"Fisher minor—really I didn't do anything," said the prisoner.

"What's the charge?" said the judge.

"You see, it's this way," said Percy, forgetting to go inside the fender—"Bam, and Cot, and Lick and I were having a ripping eight-handed mill in here the other day—"

The prisoner thought over all his crimes, and could recall nothing that was even remotely connected with an eight-handed mill.

"Cot and Lick had got gloves with no horse-hair in them, you know, so they lammed it pretty hard; but Ram and I were just scrunching them up—"

"Crams! You never got near us. My nose wasn't hit once," said Cottle.

"No; but we had you in the ribs."

"Under the belt," ejaculated Lickford.

"No, it wasn't—I say, Dangle," said the witness, "it was just on his waistcoat pocket, and he says that's below the belt. If he likes to wear his belt round his neck, of course he gets hit under."

"And if you wear yours round your ankle, there's not much room for your bread-basket," retorted Cottle.

"And where does Fisher minor come in?" asked the judge; "was he in the middle of the mill?"

"No. You see, we were just in the middle of it, and these jolly cheats were beginning to cave in—"

"Ho, ho!—It would take a lot more than you to make us—"

"Order in the court—go on, Wheatfield."

"There you are—shut up, you chaps—beginning to cave in, when Clapperton yelled for me, and I had to go."

"Lucky job for you," growled Cottle. "You wouldn't have been able to go at all five minutes later."

Whereupon Percy appealed to the court to keep order.

"Fire away," said the judge, "that's nothing to do with the prisoner."

"Oh, hasn't it!—You see, Clapperton wanted me to take a letter to Yorke. It must have been a screamer, for Yorke yelled when he read it. I wanted him to let me finish our mill first, but—"

"Who, Yorke?"

"No, Clapperton. If there'd been time for another round—"

"Now, then, don't let's have any more of that mill," said the judge.

"That's just what they felt at the time, wasn't it, Lick?" ejaculated Cottle.

"Did we?—wait till you see, my beauty," said the witness. "I wish you wouldn't interrupt. Oh, so I had to go, and this kid came and caught me a jolly crack in the stomach."

"Which side of your belt?" inquired Lickford.

"The side you'll get it hot, my boy, next time I catch you," retorted Percy.

"That'll be under, you bet," said Lickford.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," said the prisoner, who began to hope that the charge against him was to prove much less serious than he had at first feared, "I apologise."

"Shut up, don't talk to me—talk to the jury."

As the jury at this moment was struggling manfully to protect his hassock from the depredations of Cash, who was anxious to investigate its interior, it was not much use addressing him; so Fisher subsided, and wished the hole of Percy's wash-stand had been at least so much easier in diameter as to allow him room to sigh.

"Fire away," said the judge, "we shall be all night at this."

"Well, you see," continued Percy, "it's this way. I've got a brother, you know, called Wally, a seedy Classic chap, and up to no end of low tricks."

"We know him," echoed the court generally.

"Not got such a rummy-shaped waist as his brother, though," whispered Cottle.

"All right, young Cottle, I'll take it out of you, you'll see."

"What'll you take! I keep mine outside," replied Cottle.

"Order in the court. Forge away, Wheatfield."

"I should like to know how I'm to forge away, with these two asses fooling about down here? Why can't you raise them to the bench to keep them quiet? Oh yes—well, you see, this kid, being new, and green, and about as high old an idiot as they make them—did you fellows see him on first-night? I say! oh my—"

"Look here, Wheatfield," said the judge, sternly, "if you aren't done in three minutes, I'll call the next witness."

"He wouldn't know anything about it, bless you," said Percy. "You see, it was like this—this kid thought I was Wally—what do you think of that?"

"Cheek. Jolly rough on Wally," remarked Cash. The witness looked at the interrupter, and tried to make out whether his remark was a compliment or the reverse. He decided that, as he had only three minutes left, he had better defer thinking the question out till afterwards.

"So, of course, he began to swagger about his big brother—"

"No, you asked me—" began the prisoner.

"Shut up," cried Percy, sternly, "how am I to get done in three minutes if—"

"Only two left now," said Ramshaw.

"Go on, Ram, I've not been a minute yet."

"Yes, you have—sixty-five seconds," said Ramshaw, who held his watch in his hand.

"I never did believe in those Waterbury turnips, they always stop when you—oh yes!—swaggered about his big brother and all those fellows over there, and blabbed out there'd been a regular plant among 'em to rig the Elections, and he and a lot of 'em had been out canvassing and bagged a lot of our kids and locked them out, and if it hadn't been for that, Brinkman would have pulled off the treasurership, and if it hadn't been for me getting wind of it, and going and fetching them out and bringing them into Hall in the nick of time, Ranger would have got the secretaryship, and our side would have been jolly well out of it, and I mean to say it's a howling swindle—and—hope—there'll—be—a—jolly— good—row kicked—up—and—you—needn't—say—I—let—out—about it— because—Wally—asked—me—to—keep—it—mum—and I—said—"

"Time's up," said Ramshaw. "No side?"

Whereupon the witness stopped short triumphantly, like an athlete who has just won his race by a neck.

"Come," said the judge, "this is getting interesting. Who's the next witness? Are any of our fellows who were collared here?"

"Rather—young Rix is one."

"Please, Dangle," said the prisoner, "I didn't touch anybody. I was— that is—"

"Don't tell crams," said Percy, "it's a bad habit."

"Biz had better go into the witness-box," said the judge.

"What about the jury?" asked that functionary.

"Oh, I'd keep the place warm," volunteered Percy.

Whereupon Rix quitted his hassock, and entered the fender.

"I and Slingsby got nailed by a Classic cad outside our form door. I kicked him on the shins, though," said he.

"What Classic cad!"

"Oh, I don't know; a new kid with sandy hair, a horrid lout. It was Wally's room we were taken to, and they fooled us about high tea and that sort of thing. The place was swarming with our chaps who had been collared."

"How many?" asked the judge. "Fifty?"

"Not quite so many; there were four or five."

"Next witness."

Another of the captives gave similar evidence. After which, Lickford deposed that he had seen the troop come in to Elections just in time to vote for Dangle.

"Yes; and who tried to keep us out, I'd like to know?" said Percy. "There you are, it was you!"

"I thought you were on the other side."

"Did you? I'm very glad Wally gave you a welting for it. I wish he'd do it again."

"He hits above the belt, that's how I know him from you," retorted Lickford.

"Order—what's the prisoner got to say!"

"Crams," said Percy, "it's no use asking him."

"Wait a bit," said the judge. "Fisher minor, how many of our chaps did you collar?"

"None, really," said the prisoner. "I waited by the gymnasium."

"Oh. What for?"

"Well, I was canvassing."

"What did you wait at the gymnasium for?" This was awkward. Fisher minor found himself getting into a tight corner, tighter even than the wash-stand. "I was told to."

"Who by? your brother, I suppose."

"Oh no. My brother wouldn't do such a thing. What sort of thing?"

"Why, try to collar fellows off the other side."

"Oh, that was your little game, was it? Whose idea was it? Yorke's?"

"Oh no. It was D'Arcy spoke to me."

"Oh, D'Arcy. And who spoke to him? Whose fag is he?"

"Ridgway's."

"And what did Ridgway tell him?"

"I don't think Ridgway told him anything. The only one I heard speak to him was Wally."

"Wretched young sneak!" said Percy. "I'll let Wally know that."

"Wally, he's Yorke's fag. Who else was there?"

"Only me and Ashby."

"Who does Ashby fag for?"

"My brother, Fisher major."

"I thought you said just now your brother wasn't in it. You'd better be careful, youngster."

For the life of him, Fisher minor, in his bewildered state, could not make out how Ridgway, and Yorke, and Fisher major all seemed to have got mixed up in the affair.

"You mean to say," said the judge, "you don't know what the orders to the fags were?"

"No, really—I only heard of it from D'Arcy."

"Your brother never said anything to you direct!"

"Oh no."

"Has he said anything since?"

"Oh no; that is, he only said it was a pity Ranger got beaten."

"Did he say how it happened?"

"He said if the five Modern chaps hadn't turned up at the last moment, he'd have won."

"Was he angry about it?"

"He was rather in a wax."

"Did he tell you you were an ass?"

"Not that time."

"Another time?"

"Yes, once or twice."

"'Cute chap, your brother," said Percy, aside.

"Shut up, Wheatfield. Now tell me this, young Fisher major," said Dangle, with an air of importance which intimidated the prisoner; "what was it your brother said about the election?"

"It wasn't to me, it was to Ranger, my senior. He said it was a regular sell, and he'd have given a lot to see you beaten, because he knew you couldn't play fair at anything, even if you tried."

Some of the court were rude enough to laugh at this very candid confession; but the judge himself failed to see any humour in it.

"Oh, that's what he said? And yet you mean to tell me, after that, that your brother had nothing to do with trying to get Ranger elected instead of me?"

"I suppose he had; but I'm sure he didn't mean to do anything fishy, any more than I did. I thought it was only a joke."

"You've a nice notion of a joke. That'll do, you can cut."

"What!" exclaimed Percy, aghast, "aren't you going to hang him?"

"No, I must go. You can finish the trial yourselves."

As soon as the judge had quitted the bench, Percy mounted it, and proceeded to sum up.

"You're a nice article, you are," said he, addressing the prisoner—"what do you mean by sneaking on my young brother, Wally, eh? You'll get it hot for that, I can tell you. You're to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; then you're to be kicked all round our side; then you're to be ducked in the river; then you're to kneel down and lick every chap's boots; then you're to be executed; then you're to be burnt alive; then you're to write out fifty Greek verbs; then you're— Hallo, who's there? Come in! what do you want?"

This abrupt curtailment of the prisoner's doom was occasioned by a modest tap at the door; probably some belated witness come to add his evidence to the rest, "Come in, can't you?" repeated Percy.

Whereupon the door opened with a swing, and in rushed Wally, D'Arcy, Ashby, and three or four other Classic fags. How they had got wind of the capture of their man it would be hard to say; but now they had come to fetch him.

The only thing visible in Percy's room for several minutes was dust—out of which proceeded yells, and howls, and recriminations which would have done credit to Pandemonium. As the cloud rolled by, the Classics might be seen in a firm phalanx, with their man in the middle, backing on to the door. Signs of carnage lay all around. Lickford was struggling, head downward, in the wash-stand. Cash was leaning up in a corner, with his hand modestly placed over his nose. Ramshaw and Cottle were engaged in deadly strife on the floor, each under the fond delusion that the other was a Classic; while the twin brothers, armed with the better pair of boxing-gloves, were having a friendly spar in the middle.

It was a victory all along the line for the invaders, and when, a moment afterwards, they stampeded in a body, and marched with shouts of victory down the passage, carrying the late prisoner among them, there was no mistake about the ignominious defeat of the besieged garrison.

That evening Fisher major received a polite note from his colleague, the secretary.

"Dear Fisher,—It is only right to tell you, that we have discovered that five of our fellows were prevented from voting at Elections by boys of your side, apparently acting under orders from their seniors. We don't profess to know who were at the bottom of it, but it is a fact that the election for treasurer would have gone differently but for this very shady trick. Clapperton and most of us are not disposed to claim a new election, now everything is settled, and you have already got in most of the subscriptions. But it makes us think that even the virtuous Classics at Fellsgarth are not absolutely perfect even yet—which is a pity.

"Yours truly,—

"R. Dangle."

This pleasant letter, Fisher major, raging, carried to the captain.

Yorke pulled a long face when he read it.

"There's no truth in it, surely?" said he.

"I can't answer for any foolery the juniors have been up to; but apart from that, it's a sheer lie, and the fellows deserve to be kicked."

"Much better offer them a new election," said the captain.

"What! They'll get their man in."

"My dear fellow, suppose they do. You'll still belong to Fellsgarth. They mustn't have a chance of saying they don't get fair play."

"Well, perhaps you're right. I don't care twopence about the treasurership, but I wouldn't like to be beaten by Brinkman."

"I hope you won't be, old man," said the captain.

Next morning, when fellows got up, they found the following notice on the boards:

"Elections.

"A protest having been handed in against the recent election for treasurer, notice is given that a fresh election will be held for this office on Friday next at 3.

"C.Y., Captain."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

ONE TOO MANY.

The seniors of Forder's house were by no means gratified at the captain's prompt reply to Dangle's accusation. Indeed, that active and energetic official had written to Fisher on his own responsibility, and was now a little hurt to find that his colleagues were half inclined to repudiate his action.

"Why ever couldn't you speak about the thing before you wrote like that?" said Clapperton. "We don't want another election."

"You weren't going to sit down meekly, and let those fellows cheat without saying a word, were you?" retorted Dangle.

"No—rather not. But that wasn't the way to do it. It would have paid us much better to stand on our dignity."

"In other words," said Fullerton in his melancholy voice, "to have a grievance, and nurse it well."

"You idiot!" said Clapperton. "I don't want you to tell me what I mean."

"I wasn't, I was telling the others," said Fullerton. "But I agree with you. If we have another election and get beaten, we shall be far worse off than if we were able to take heaven and earth to witness we had been wronged and were too noble to seek revenge."

If Fullerton could have translated Cicero as well as he translated Clapperton, what a good Classic he would have been!

"We'd better decline the new election at once," said Brinkman; "it concerns me more than anybody else; and I agree with Clapperton."

"Why ever not have the new election?" said Dangle. "We're bound to get our man in."

"Better decline it first," said Clapperton. "They'll be glad enough not to let it go to a trial, I expect."

"Hurrah for injured innocence," said Fullerton; "it's the best paying thing I know."

The result of this conference was, that Dangle went across after school next morning to the captain's study where Fisher and Ranger happened to be calling at the same time.

"Look here, Yorke," said the secretary, adopting his most civil tones, "you quite misunderstood my letter to Fisher major. We don't want another election. We'd just as soon let things stop as they are. It was rough on us, of course; but it divides the offices up more fairly to have them as they are."

"Thanks," said Yorke, "that's not good enough. We'll have another election on Friday."

Dangle's face fell.

"You're fools if you do," said he. "Those five votes will make all the difference."

"I don't care if they've five hundred," said Yorke.

"Oh, all right. You've no message about the cheats who kept our men out, have you? Probably they've been promoted to prefects!"

"You took care not to commit yourself to any names; but, as you wrote to Fisher major, you probably include him as one of the cheats. If so, I dare say he'll be glad to discuss the matter with you outside."

"I never said it was he," said Dangle hurriedly.

"But I know who it was."

"Three of our juniors, I understand?" said Yorke. "The fags of three of your prefects, yes."

"Fisher," said the captain, "will you fetch Ashby, D'Arcy, and Fisher minor here?"

The young gentlemen in question were not far away busily engaged in their joint study, with Wally's assistance, in getting up a stock of impositions, which should serve as a common fund on which to draw daring the term.

The idea was D'Arcy's.

"You see," he had said, "we're bound to catch it, some of as, and it's a jolly fag having to do the lines just when they're wanted. My notion is, if we just keep a little stock by us, it'll be awfully handy. Why, suppose young Ashby were to get fifty lines at morning school next Saturday, what about his chance of getting into the 58th fifteen?"

"It's the 6th fifteen, not the 58th," said Ashby.

"Well, there's not much difference."

"It would be jolly awkward," said Ashby.

"Yes; and you always do get potted just when it is jolliest awkward," said D'Arcy. "That's why it's such a tip to have your impots written before you get them. Penny wise, pound foolish, you know."

It was not at all clear what this valuable aphorism had to do with the subject in hand, but it impressed the two new boys considerably.

"And just fancy," continued Wally, driving home his chum's nails with considerable industry, "just fancy if young Fisher was to have to sit up here swotting over lines, just when his brother wants his vote in Hall on Friday! Why, one vote will make all the difference."

Fisher immediately called for pens, ink, and paper, which Wally and D'Arcy promptly supplied for him and Ashby, and a scene of unparalleled industry ensued. Even D'Arcy insisted on doing his share, which consisted of drawing niggers in various stages of public execution, labelled with the names of Clapperton, Dangle, and Brinkman, while Wally generally superintended and assisted, by playing fives against the wall.

"I say," said he presently, "I suppose it's all out about your precious canvassing. That beast Percy has gone and blabbed—after me giving him toffee too!"

"Never mind," said D'Arcy, "we rather took it out of them, I fancy, yesterday. They won't mess about with us in a hurry again."

"No, we did pull that off pretty well. I'm sorry for our seniors, you know. We did our best for them, and we shan't be able to give them the same leg-up on Friday."

"They ought to be pretty civil to us this term, anyhow," said Wally.

Whereupon Fisher major entered the room.

"Yorke wants D'Arcy, Ashby, and my minor. Come at once, he's waiting."

"Don't he want me?" said Wally, evidently afraid lest his services were going to be overlooked. "I was in it too, you know, Fisher."

"Were you? Oh, you'd better come too, then."

"Thanks."

And the four, disposing themselves meekly for their coming honours, followed, single file, into the captain's room.

"Wally wished to come too," explained Fisher. "He says he was in it."

It perplexed the four heroes to see Dangle there. What did he want! And why did the captain look so stern? And, oh, horrors, what was that switch on the table for?

Gradually it dawned upon them that the honours in store for them would fall rather thicker than they were prepared for; and Wally, for one, wished he had stayed at home.

"You youngsters," said the captain, "it is said that you four behaved unfairly last election, by keeping out five boys from voting. Is that true?"

"Yes," said Ashby.

"They were only Modern kids," explained D'Arcy.

"They wouldn't have got in for the second vote, if it hadn't been for me," remarked Wally.

"I didn't catch any boys; I couldn't find any," said Fisher minor.

"You see, Yorke," said D'Arcy, who began to realise that he was "boss of this show," "these two kids are new kids; they oughtn't to be licked; it's Wally and me."

"Me?" exclaimed the injured Wally; "I like your style, young D'Arcy; what did I do?"

"All right, it's me then, if you like!"

"I don't mind being in it, to give you a leg-up," said Wally, touched by the heroism of his friend, "but you might let a chap bowl himself out, you know. All right, Yorke, it was me and D'Arcy."

"You should say I and D'Arcy," said Ranger. "What, were you in it? Good old—"

"No, you young ass; it's bad grammar to say me and D'Arcy were in it."

"I never knew you were. It's the first we've heard of it; isn't it, you chaps?"

The chaps most emphatically agreed that it was.

"Let them be, Ranger," said the captain. "There'll be time enough for a grammar lesson after."

"Can't do it to-day, we've got syntax this afternoon," said D'Arcy.

"Now, you youngsters, look here," said the captain. "You may think you're very clever; but this sort of thing is cheating, and cheating is what cads do. We don't want any of it inside Fellsgarth. Dangle, here are the youngsters, and here is the switch; will you lick them, or shall I?"

"I don't want to lick them. Let them off," growled Dangle.

The hopes of the culprits rose for a moment, but they went down below zero when Yorke picked up the cane.

"Wheatfield, come here."

Wally held out his case-hardened hand and received half a dozen cats, for which it is earing a good deal that they made the recipient dance.

D'Arcy followed, and received his six with meek indifference. If he had come first, he would probably have danced. But as Wally had done that, he stood firm.

Ashby received three cuts only, which astonished him dreadfully. It was his first acquaintance with the cane. He had never realised before what a venomous instrument it can be. Still, he bore it like a man.

Poor Fisher minor had a similar experience. With his brother looking on, and his messmates to watch how he bore it, he passed through the ordeal creditably. His three "Ohs" varied in cadence from anguish to surprise, and from surprise to mild expostulation, "Oh!" "Ehee!" "Ow!" after which he felt very pleased, on his brother's account, that he had not shed tears.

"Now cut," said the captain, "and if you're bowled out in that sort of thing again, you won't be let off so easy."

"Yorke's a beast," said Wally, when the shattered forces mastered once more in his study, "but he's a just beast. He gave it us all hot alike."

No one disputed the proposition.

"I thought he'd let you new kids off, but he didn't. It's just as well. It'll do you good, and make you sit up."

"Jolly sell for that cad Dangle," said D'Arcy. "He thought Yorke was going to shirk it."

"He can't say that now," said Ashby, rubbing the palm of his hand up and down his thigh.

Dangle, meanwhile, had returned to his quarters with the unsatisfactory report of his mission.

"Bother them!" said Clapperton. "They take advantage of us whenever there's a chance. Now they've offered a new election, and licked the youngsters, the wind is out of our sails."

"When it comes to the time, I shall decline to be nominated," said Brinkman.

"That won't be much good. You'll get some of our fellows voting for you whether you stand or not. And if some vote, all must."

"We shall have to see all our men turn up," said Dangle. "It was a tight enough shave for the secretaryship."

"Yes. If we don't carry it now, we'd much better have left it alone. I only wish we had."

"There's this to be said," said Dangle, anxious to make the best of his mistake; "if we do get three officers to their one, there should be no doubt about our getting properly represented in the fifteen next week."

"Ah—yes; we've still that bone to pick with them."

As the Friday approached, signs of excitement in the coming conquest were plainly visible. By tacit agreement the return match between Percy's adherents and Wally's was postponed till after the election. Absentees at the last election were diligently looked up by their respective prefects, and ordered to be in attendance. Minute calculations were made by the knowing ones, which decided within one or two what Brinkman's majority would be. Even in Wakefield's it was admitted that the Classic chance was a slender one.

"I wish it was all over," said Fisher major. "I'm getting sick of these precious accounts already, and shall be glad to hand them over."

"You won't lose them," said Dalton, "if we can help. You may have to vote for yourself, though."

"Catch me. I've come to the conclusion I wasn't born a treasurer, and I couldn't conscientiously vote for myself. I only wish I could back out."

"You can't do that now," said his friend. "Bless you, we can keep the accounts for you. We couldn't for Brinkman."

When morning school was over on the Friday, there was a general stampede for the Hall, where boys crowded up for good seats a quarter of an hour before the time, and enlivened the interval with cheers and demonstrations for their favourite candidate. Wally and his friends were particularly active in their corner, and addressed the meeting generally in favour of Fisher major.

"Back up, you Classic kids!" shouted Wally, standing on his seat and apostrophising a group of the Sixth who were standing near. "Fisher's your friend! Won the mile in 4-38; batting average 34.658742.3; bowling, 12 wickets an innings, and 3 runs an over. Never tells lies, or cheats. Always comes home sober and gives silver in the collection. He won't waste your money or cook your accounts, like some chaps; and he'll run the ball up the field, instead of sitting down in the middle of the scrummage like the Modern chaps to keep warm. Walk up! walk up! vote for Fisher and economy! Hooray for Fisher! Down with the swell mob!"

Amid such torrents of eloquence the cause of Fisher major was not likely to go by default.

Brinkman, too, was not without his champions, who, however, avoided set speeches and confined themselves to personalities and generalities, such as—

"Who cheats at Elections?"

"Oh, my hands, what a licking!"

"How now—not me!" (Here Fisher minor coloured up.) "Look out, you chaps, there's a Classic cad blushing."

"No! where? won't he want a rest after it!"

"Here comes Brinkman! Hooray for honesty and fair play! Hooray for the Moderns! Down with Wakefield's kids! Send 'em home to their mas!"

"Shut up there! Sit down, you youngsters."

Whereupon there fell a lull.

Fisher minor surveyed the scene with anxious trepidation. If his brother were to lose now, it would be his—Fisher minor's—fault. He would never be able to hold up his head again. How he wished he had a dozen votes!

"Strong muster," he heard some one say near him. "I expect every fellow's here."

"Except Rollitt."

"Of, of course," said the other, with a laugh, "no one ever expects him."

"Why not?" said Fisher minor to himself. "Why shouldn't Rollitt come and vote?"

He quite shuddered at the audacity of the idea; and yet, when he looked up to the front and saw his brother standing there, worried and uneasy, and realised that in a few minutes he was to stand his ordeal, the younger brother's courage rose within him, and he edged towards the door.

In due time Yorke arose. This time, amid the vociferous cheers of his own side, a few of the Moderns ventured to mingle howls. They soon discovered their mistake, for not even their own side was with them as a body. They were hooted down with execrations, and the result of this interposition was that the captain was cheered for twice the usual time.

"You fellows," said he, as soon as there was silence, "you probably understand from the notice why this meeting is called. The last election was very close, and I am sorry to say there was not fair play. I am still more sorry to say the offenders were juniors in Wakefield's," (terrific yells and hoots from the Moderns), "who ought to have known better, and who I hope are thoroughly ashamed of themselves," (terrific cheers, during which, D'Arcy, Wally, and Ashby, who had been standing on a form, modestly took seats and exchanged defiant signals with the youth of the Modern side through the chinks of the crowd). "They have had the licking they deserve," ("Not half of it!" and laughter), "as Dangle here, who was present at the time, will testify." (Dangle scowled at this reference—What right had the captain to score off him?). "Of course under the circumstances it was necessary to have a new election. Fisher minor here," (tremendous cheers, amidst which the culprits, considering that the storm had blown over, remounted their perches) "would scorn to be treasurer of the clubs, and everybody would scorn him too, if there was any suspicion of foul play about his election. He has resigned, like an honest man; and our business is now to elect a treasurer." (Cheers and "Vote for Fisher major" from Wally.)

Dalton rose and proposed his friend Fisher major, which Ranger briefly seconded.

Dangle thereupon proposed Brinkman. He was sorry the School was being put to the trouble of this new election. They hadn't wanted it on their side; and his friend had been very reluctant to stand. But of course, as the election was to take place, he hoped Brinkman would win by a majority which would show the School what Fellsgarth thought about the foul play which had been tried on at the last election.

Clapperton seconded the nomination, and assured his friends that, now the offence had been acknowledged and atoned for by the castigation of the offenders, they would try to forget it and feel to the other side as if it had not occurred.

Clapperton, of course, was cheered by his side; and yet his chief admirers did not feel as proud of him as they would have liked. His tone was patronising, and Fellsgarth could not stand being patronised, even by its captain.

Just as the meeting was settling down for the important business of the vote, a sensational incident took place.

The door swung open, and in strode Rollitt, with Fisher minor, panting and pale, at his heels.

The new-comer, heedless of the astonishment caused by his appearance, strode negligently up to the front where the other prefects were, while his escort modestly slipped into the arms of his admiring friends.

For a moment the meeting looked on with amused bewilderment. Then it suddenly dawned on everybody that this meant a new voter; and terrific shouts of jubilation went up from the Classics; during which Fisher minor had his back thumped almost in two.

For once in his life he was a hero! How he wished his young sisters could have seen him then!

"Never mind," shouted Percy across the room, "he's bound to vote the wrong side, or forget to vote at all."

"Order! Those who vote for Brinkman, hold up your hands."

It was far too serious to humbug now. Even D'Arcy was grave as he surveyed the force of the enemy.

Two tellers had been appointed from either side, so that the votes were counted four times, and the total was not allowed till all were agreed on the result.

"Brinkman has one hundred and twenty-eight votes."

Loud and long were the cheers which greeted this announcement. The knowing ones felt that it practically meant victory for the Moderns, for it was one more vote than Fisher major had won with last time.

"Now, hands up for Fisher major."

Amid dead silence the Classic hands went up. Anxious eyes were cast in Rollitt's direction. But he, strange to say, was all there, and held up his hand with the rest.

Fisher major himself at the last moment kept his own hand down. He had decided that, if Brinkman voted for himself, he would do the same. Brinkman had voted. But, when it came to following his example, the candidate's pride went on strike, and, whether it lost the election or not, he declined to vote, Three of the tellers evidently agreed, but the other had to count again before he made the figure right. Then the written paper was handed up to Yorke, "Brinkman 128, Fisher major, 129— Fisher is elected."



CHAPTER NINE.

CARRIED NEM. CON.

It must not be supposed that in the midst of the excitement of School politics the intellectual side of the Fellsgarth juniors, life was being quite neglected.

On the contrary, they complained that so far from being neglected it was rather overdone.

The Classic juniors, for instance, suffered many things at the hands of the cheerful Mr Stratton, who really worked hard to instil into their opening minds some rudiments of those studies from which their side took its name. He took pains to explain not only when a thing was wrong, but why; and, unlike some of his calling, he devoted his chief attention to his most backward boys. This was his great offence in the eyes of D'Arcy and Wally and some of their fraternity, because under the arrangement they came in for the special attention alluded to.

"That kid," said Wally, one day, sotto voce, as class was proceeding, "has no more idea of teaching than my hat. We don't get a chance to do things ourselves, with him always messing about and looking over. It's rude to look over. I mean to mark my exercise private in future."

"The thing is," said D'Arcy, "if he'd anything original to say it wouldn't matter so. But he's always talking the same old rot about roots. What's the use of a root, I should like to know, if you can't bury it? Eh, kid?"

Fisher minor, to whom the question was addressed, did not know, and remarked that they didn't teach Latin here the same way as when he learned from a governess at home.

He regretted this admission almost as soon as he had made it. For Wally and D'Arcy immediately got paper and began to draw fancy portraits of Fisher minor learning Latin under the old regime. The point of these illustrations was not so much in the figures as in the conversation. The figures were more or less unlike the originals; at least, Fisher minor declared that the three isosceles triangles piled by Wally one on the top of the other were not a bit like his governess; while the plum- pudding on two sticks, with a little pudding above for a head which emitted four huge tears, the size of an orange, from either eye, he regarded as a simple libel on himself. In one sense the likenesses were speaking—that is, a gibbous balloon proceeded from the mouth of each figure, wherein the following dialogue was indicated. "Governess.—'Naughty little Tommy-wommy, didn't know his Latin. Tommy must have a smack when he goes bye-bye.' Tommy.—'Booh, hoo, how bow, yow, wow, oh my! I'll tell my ma!'"

"Bring up that paper, Wheatfield," said Mr Stratton.

Wally made a wild grab at Ashby's exercise, and was proceeding to take it up when the master stopped him.

"Not that; the other, Wheatfield. Bring it immediately."

Whereupon Wally with shame had to rejoice Ashby's heart by restoring his exercise, and take up in its place the fancy portrait.

Mr Stratton gazed attentively and critically at this work of art.

"Not at all well done, Wheatfield," said he. "Sit down at my table here and draw me thirty copies of it before you leave this room. Next boy, go on."

Wally confessed, in later life, that of all the impositions he had had in the course of his chequered career, none had been more abominable and wearisome than this. Oh, how he got to detest that governess and her ward, and how sickening their talk became before the task was half over!

He sat in that room nearly three hours by the clock, groaning over this task, and when at last he went in search of Mr Stratton with the original and thirty copies in his hand, he felt as limp and flabby, bodily and mentally, as he had ever done in his life.

Mr Stratton, who was having tea in his own room, examined each picture in turn, and rejected two as not fair copies of the original.

"Do these two again—here," said he.

Wally meekly obeyed. He had not a kick left in him.

"That's better," said the young master when they were done. "Now sit down and have some tea."

It was a solemn meal. Mr Stratton went quietly on with his meal, looking up now and then to see that his guest was supplied with bread and butter and cake and biscuits. Wally was equally silent. He felt sore against the master, but he liked his cake—and the tea was "tip- top."

The ceremony came to an end about the same time as the cake, and then Mr Stratton said, pointing to the papers—

"You can put them in the fire now, Wheatfield."

Wally obeyed with grim satisfaction.

"Thanks. You can go now. You must come another day and bring your friends. Good-bye," and he shook hands.

"I wonder if the chap's all there," said Wally to himself as he limped over to his quarters. "He forgot to jaw me. Wonder if I ought to have reminded him? Wonder who he gets his cake from? I wouldn't care for many more impots like that. It was pretty civil of him asking me to tea, when you come to think of it. Not sure I sha'n't back him up a bit this half, and make the chaps do so too. Wonder if he meant all four of us to come to tea? One cake wouldn't go round. Besides, there's no saying how that young cad Fisher minor would behave."

This little episode was not without its effect on all the occupants of Wally's study. For that young gentleman had not the slightest intention of turning over a new leaf by himself. No, bother it; if he was going to "back up" Stratton, the other fellows would have to back up too.

His one grief was that the stock of impositions stored up by the industry of the two new boys would not be likely to be wanted now, which would be wicked waste. D'Arcy had already occasionally drawn on them, and one day nearly spoiled the whole arrangement by taking up to Mr Wakefield fifty lines of Virgil precisely five minutes after they had been awarded. Fortunately, however, his hands were exceedingly grimy at the time, so that Mr Wakefield sent him back for ablutions before he would communicate with him. And in the interval he fortunately discovered his error, and instead of taking up the imposition with his clean hands, he delighted the master with a knotty inquiry as to one of the active tenses of the Latin verb "To be."

However, there was no saying when the imposition? might not come in useful, and meanwhile Ashby and Fisher minor were taken off the job and ordered to sit up hard with their work for Stratton.

"You know," said Wally, propounding his scheme of moral reform in a little preliminary speech, "you kids are not sent up here to waste your time. No more's D'Arcy."

"How do you know what I was sent up here for?" said D'Arcy. "It wasn't to hear your jaw."

"Shut up. I've just been having tea with Stratton, and we were talking about you chaps, him and I—I mean he and me."

"You didn't get on to English grammar, did you, while you were about it?" asked Ashby.

"No. Look here, you chaps, no larks. It would be rather a spree if we put our back into it this term, wouldn't it?—beastly sell, you know, for the others; and rather civil to Stratton too, for asking us to tea."

This last argument was more impressive than the first; and the company said they supposed they might.

"All right—of course we may have to shut off a lark or two, but unless we stick— Hullo, I say, look at those Modern chaps down there punting a football on our side of the path! Cheek! Why, it's Cash and my young brother. I say, let's go and drive them off, you fellows."

So the four descended, and a brisk scrimmage ensued, which resulted in the complete rout of the invaders and the capture of their football.

With which tremendous prize the victorious army returned to quarters and continued their discussion on moral reform.

"Yes, as I was saying, we shall have to stick to it a bit. But young Stratton'll make it worth our while, I fancy."

This hidden allusion to the tea and cake completed the speaker's argument, and the party forthwith sat down with one ink-pot among them for preparation.

As it happened, the preparation for the day was an English Essay on "Your favourite Animal," with special attention to the spelling and the stops.

It was always a sore point with the Classic juniors to be set an English lesson. They could understand being taught Latin, but they considered they ought to be exempt from writing and spelling their own language. It wasn't Classics, and they didn't like it, and they oughtn't to be let in for it. However, it was no use growling; and as the subject (apart from the spelling and points) was a congenial one, it seemed a fair opening for the commencement of their reformed career.

"Look here," said Wally, "don't let's all have the same beast. I'm going to have a dog."

"Oh, I wanted a dog," said Fisher minor.

"Can't; he's bagged. Have a cat?"

"No, I don't like cats—can't I write about a dog too?"

"That would be rot. Haven't you got the whole of Noah's Ark to pick from—lions, tigers, ants, hippopotamuses, cobra de capellos?"

"How much?" asked D'Arcy. "Are they good to eat?"

"Uncommon good. Will you take cobra de capellos?"

"Ah right," said D'Arcy; "I don't mind."

"I shall take pigs," said Ashby.

"There you are," said Wally; "there's lots left. You have cows, kid—"

"No—if you won't let me have the dog—"

"Dog in the Wheatfield. Joke!—laugh, you chaps," interjected D'Arcy.

"I shall have rabbits," said Fisher minor.

"Good old rabbits! Did you ever keep any? What were their names?" said Wally.

"Don't you know?" said Ashby, solemnly. "One was called 'How' and the other 'Now,' weren't they, Fisher minor?"

Whereupon there was mirth at the expense of Fisher minor.

Silence having been procured, D'Arcy began to write.

"'Cobbrer de Capillars is my favrite—' What is it? Bird, beast, or fish, Wally?"

"Shut up; bird, of course."

"'Bird,'" continued the essayist. "'It was in Nore's arck and is good eating'—that's all I know about it. Tell us something more, Wally, there's a good chap."

"Oh, bother. Don't go disturbing, it spoils everything."

"'The cobberer oart not to be disterbd for it spoyls everything—it spoyls your close and—' wire in, Wally, what else does it do? You might tell a chap."

"What I'll do to you, you cad, and that's pull your nose if you don't shut up!" retorted Wally, who was busy over his own theme.

"'—and puis yore knows if yore a cad, and don't shut up.' There, bother it, that ought to do—twelve lines. Good enough for him."

"Stuck in the stops?" asked Ashby.

"No; by the way—glad you reminded me—I suppose about every four words, eh?"

"Something about that," said Ashby.

So D'Arcy sprinkled a few stops judiciously through his copy, and having done so began to upbraid his partners for their slowness.

Some time was lost in suppressing him, but he was eventually disposed of under the bath, which was turned upside down to accommodate him and sat upon by the other three, who were thus able to continue their work in peace.

Ashby was done first. He had a congenial subject and wrote con amore.

"I shall now say something about the pig which is my favourite annimal— The pig is a quadruped—Sometimes he is male in which case he is called a hog. Sometimes he is female in which case he is called a sow. Pigs were rings in their noses and are fond of apple-peal. Their young are called litter and are very untidy in their habbits. Pig's cheek is nice to eat and pork in season is a treat." (The writer was very proud of this little outbreak of poetry.)

"It is preferrablest roast with sage and apple sauce. I hope I have now described the pig and told you why he is my favourite."

Fisher minor, on the uncongenial topic of the rabbit, found composition difficult and punctuation impossible.

"I like rabbits next best to dogs which Wally has taken mine were black and white one was one and the other the other the white one died first of snuffles he had lobears the other had the same pequliarity and was swoped for 2 white mice who eskaped the first-night owing to the size of the bars there is a kind of rabbit called welsh rabbit that my father is fond of he says it goes best on toast but I give mine oats and bran it is a mistake for boys to keep rabbits because first they give them too much and burst them and then they give them too little and starve them which is not wright and makes the rabbit skinny to eat if a boy feeds rabbits well he can get his mother to give him half-a-crown a peace to make pies of them which is very agreeable so I therefore on this account consider rabbits favourites."

Before this conclusion had been reached, Wally, with a complacent smile, had laid down his pen, flattering himself he had made a real good thing of the dog. He scorned commonplace language, and, mindful of the eloquent periods of certain newspapers of his acquaintance, had "let out" considerably on his favourite theme, which, if the spelling and punctuation had been as good as the language, would have been a fine performance.

"The dog is the sublymest, gift of beficient nature to the zografical Speeches, He has been the confidenshul playmate of; man since before the creation, he is compounded of the most plezing trays and Generaly ansers to the endeering name of carlo? if you put his noes at the extremity of a rat-Hole he: will continue their ad libbitums till he has his man; In Barberous lands there is an exorable law ordayning muscles but It can be invaded by a little despeshun and sang frore, as one side of the streat is not unfrequentedly Outside the rools so that if you take him that side the politician cannot Run him in which is the wulgar for lagging him for not [waring Mussles I have] ockasionaly done bobys this Way myself so that I am convinzed of my voracity, the lesson we learn from this is that dogs should be treeted kindly and not Injected to unkind tretemant there? was Ice a dog with the pattrynamie of dognes who lived in a tub but; tubs are not helthy kenels because, they Roal when you dont stick brix under, which teechus to be kind 'to our' fello animals and pleze Our masters—I will. Only include by adding that dogs like cake? which Shoes how like they are to boys who have kind masters that they strive to pleas in ewery way in Their incapacity as the righter of this esay strives ever to endevor."

"That ought to fetch him," said the delighted author, as he dotted his last "i," and released D'Arcy from under the bath. "Now I vote we stow it, and—"

Here there was a loud knock at the door and a senior's voice calling, "Open the door, you youngsters."

The intruder was Dangle, at sight of whom the backs of our four heroes went up.

"What do you youngsters mean by bagging one of our balls!" said the Modern senior. "Give it me directly."

"It doesn't belong to you," said Wally; "it's my young brother's."

"Do you hear?—give it to me," said Dangle. "He can fetch it if he wants it. You're not our prefect," retorted Wally.

None of the four were more astounded than Wally himself at the audacity of this speech. It must have been due to the exhilarating effect of his tea and essay combined.

Dangle was evidently unprepared for defiance of this sort and became threatening.

"If you don't give me that ball at once, I'll give the lot of you the best hiding you ever had in your lives."

"Try it. We're not going to give up the ball. There! If Percy wants it, let him come for it. Back up, you chaps."

In a tussle between one big boy and four small ones, the odds are usually in favour of the former, but Dangle on the present occasion did not find his task quite as easy as he expected. The juniors defended themselves with great tenacity, and although the senior's blows came home pretty hard, he could only deal with them one at a time. It got to be a little humiliating to discover that he would have to fight hard to gain his end, and his temper evaporated rapidly.

Seizing his opportunity, when Fisher minor, who had been fighting perhaps the least steadily of the four—yet doggedly enough—was within reach, he struck out at him wildly, determined to get him disposed of first. It was a cruel blow even for a fellow in Dangle's plight. The small boy recoiled half-stunned, and uttered a yell which for an instant startled the bully.

Before Dangle had time to recover, the three survivors were upon him tooth and nail; at the same moment the door opened again, and Rollitt, of all persons, stood in the room.

He took in the situation at a glance—the big boy white with rage, his three assailants with heads down and lips tight, pounding away, and Fisher minor leaning against the wall with his handkerchief to his face.

"Stop!" said he in a voice which suspended hostilities at once. Then turning to Dangle he said—

"Get out."

Bangle glared defiantly, and remained where he was, whereupon Rollitt, without another word, lifted him in his arms like a child, and slinging him across his shoulders marched forth.

Wakefield's boys were just trooping up the staircase from the fields, and at this strange apparition stood still and made a lane for it to pass. Dangle's struggles were futile. The giant, if he was aware of them, heeded them no more than the kicking of a kitten, and proceeded deliberately down the stairs, past everybody, juniors, middle-boys, prefects and all, and walked with his burden out at the door. There every one expected the scene would end.

But no. He walked on sedately across the Green. Indifferent as to who saw him or what they said, until he came to the door of Forder's house, where he entered. Up the stairs he stumped amid gaping juniors and menacing middle, boys until he reached his captive's study; where without ceremony he deposited him, and, not vouchsafing a word, turned on his heel.

Strangely enough, no one had the presence of mind to challenge him or demand reparation for the insult to their house. He neither dawdled nor hurried.

At the door a bodyguard of Classics had assembled to meet him and escort him back. But he had no need of their services. He made his way through them as coolly as if he was coming from class; and utterly indifferent to the rising clamour and shouts behind him—for the Moderns had by this time recovered breath enough to use their tongues—reached Wakefield's, where without a word to any one he proceeded to his own study and shut himself in to continue the scientific experiments which had only been interrupted a few minutes before by the sudden cry of distress from the one boy in Fellsgarth to whom he owed the least obligation.



CHAPTER TEN.

HOW PERCY GOT BACK HIS FOOTBALL.

It was not to be expected that in the present state of party feeling at Fellsgarth the incident recorded in the last chapter would be confined to a personal quarrel between Dangle and Rollitt.

If it be true that it takes two to make a quarrel, there was not much to be feared in the latter respect. For Rollitt was apparently unaware that he had done anything calling for general remark, and went his ways with his customary indifference.

When Dangle, egged on by the indignation of his friends, had gone across to find him and demand satisfaction, Rollitt had told him to call again to-morrow, as he was busy.

Dangle therefore called again.

"I've come to ask if you mean to apologise for what you did the other day? If you don't—"

"Get out!" said Rollitt, going on with his work.

"—If you don't," continued Dangle, "you'll have to take the consequences."

"Get out!"

"If you funk it, Rollitt, you'd better say so."

"Get out," said Rollitt, rising slowly to his feet.

Dangle reported, when he got back to his house, that argument had been hopeless. Yet he meant to take it out of his adversary some other way.

But if the principals in the quarrel were inactive, their adherents on either side took care to keep up the feud.

The Modern juniors especially, who felt very sore at the indignity put upon their house, took up the cudgels very fiercely. Secretly they admitted that Dangle had cut rather a poor figure, and that they could have made a much better job over the impounded football than he had by his interference. But that had nothing to do with the conduct of the enemy, whom they took every opportunity of defying and deriding.

"There go the sneaks," shouted Lickford, as the four Classic juniors paraded arm in arm across the Green. "Who got licked by our chap and had to squeal for a prefect to come and help them? Oh my—waterspouts!"

"Ya—how now—oh no, not me!" Percy shouted for the special benefit of Fisher minor.

"Look at them! They daren't come our side. Cowards!—daren't come on to our side of the path," chimed in Cash.

"Look at their short legs," called Ramshaw; "only useful for cutting away when they see a Modern."

"Who got licked on the hands for cheating at Elections, and blubbed like anything!" put in Cottle.

The four heroes walked on, hearing every word and trying to appear as if they did not. They spoke to one another with forced voices and mechanical smiles, and did their best not to be self-conscious in the matter of their legs.

But as the defiance grew bolder in proportion as they walked further, Wally said—

"I say, this is a drop too much. We can't stand this, eh?"

"No; the cads!" chimed in the other three.

"Tell you what," said Wally, "it wouldn't be a bad joke to have a punt- about with their football right under their noses, would it?"

"How if they bag it?"

"Bother!—we must chance that."

"I say," said Ashby, "if we could bag their boots first!"

"Can't do that; but we might wait till they're in their class after breakfast in the morning. They go in half an hour before us. I know, they all sit near the window, and are squinting out at everybody that passes. Won't they squirm?"

Next morning therefore at early school, as Percy and Company sat huddled at their desks in the Modern class-room, biting their pens, groaning over their sums, and gazing dismally from the window all at the same time, they had the unspeakable anguish of beholding Wally, D'Arcy, Ashby, and Fisher minor, with their ball, having a ding-dong game of punt-about on the sacred Modern grass, under their very eyes.

How these four enjoyed themselves and kicked about the ball, nodding and kissing their hands all the while at the mortified enemy, who sat like caged beasts glaring at them through their bars, and gnawing their fingers in impotent fury!

Sometimes, to add a little relish to the sport, they invited a passing prefect of their own house to give the ball a punt, and once a neat drop-kick from D'Arcy left a muddy splotch on the face of the sundial above border's door.

This was too much; and when, a few minutes later, they caught sight of the marauders waving to them and calling attention by pantomimic gesture to the fact that they were carrying off the ball once more to their own quarters, Percy could contain himself no longer.

"Beasts!" he ejaculated.

"Wheatfield," said Mr Forder, who was in charge of the class, "write me out fifty lines of the Paradise Lost and a letter of apology in Latin for using bad language in class."