Railsford was baffled. There seemed more hope in the turbulent skirmishers at the back of the room, who at least could now and then be worked upon by thunder, and always, in theory, acknowledged that lessons were things to be learned. On the first day the "muggers" knew their task well, and Railsford glowed with hope as he expressed his approbation. But when he came to the gapers his spirits sunk to zero. They had unfortunately mistaken the passage, or else the page was torn out of their book, or else they had been prevented by colds or sprained wrists or chilblains from learning it. When told to construe a passage read out not two minutes before by one of the upper boys, they knew nothing about it, and feared it was too hard for their overwrought capacities; and when pinned down where they sat to the acquirement of some short rule or passage, they explained sorrowfully that that had not been Mr Moss's method. In divinity they raised discussions on questions of dogma, and so subtly evaded challenge on questions of Greek Testament construction and various readings. In history they fell back on a few stock answers, which rarely possessed the merit of having any connection with the questions which they pretended to satisfy. But the gapers were men of peace, after all. They rarely insisted upon their own opinion, nor did it offend them to be told they were wrong.

The noisier element were less complacent; it is true, they never did a lesson through, or construed a sentence from one end to the other. Still, when they took the trouble to "mug" a question up, they expected to be believed. It hurt them a good deal to be informed that they knew nothing; and to detain them or set them impositions because of a difference of opinion on an historical, classical, or theological question seemed grossly unjust. When, for instance, Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, on an early day of the term, publicly stated that the chief features of Cromwell's character was a large mouth and a wart on the nose, he was both hurt and annoyed to be ordered peremptorily to remain for an hour after class and write out pages 245 to 252, inclusive, of the School History. He had no objection, as he confided to his friend and comforter, Arthur Herapath, Esquire, to the Master of the Shell entertaining his own opinions as to the character of the personage in question. But he believed in the maxim "give and take," and just as he would cheerfully have received anything Mr Railsford might have to say on the subject, he at least expected that his own statement should be received in an equally candid spirit, particularly (as he was anxious to point out) since he had personally inspected a portrait of Cromwell not long ago, and verified the existence of the two features alleged.

Sir Digby, indeed, deserved some little commiseration. He had come up to Grandcourt this term pledged to the hilt to work hard and live virtuously. He had produced and proudly hung in a conspicuous place in his study a time-table, beautifully ruled and written in red and black ink, showing how each hour of every day in the week was to be spent in honest toil and well-earned sport. He had explained to his friend the interesting fact that a duplicate of this table had been presented to his mother, who thereby would be able to tell at any moment how her dear son was occupied.

"Let's see," said he, proudly, taking out his watch. "7.15. Now what am I doing at 7.15 on Thursdays? French preparation. There you are! So if she's thinking about me now she knows what I'm up to."

"But you're not doing French preparation," suggested Arthur.

"Of course I'm not, you ass. How could I when I lent Dimsdale my book? Besides, we've not started yet. I've got about a million lines to write. Do you know, I'm certain it was Bickers got me into that row about the omnibus; I saw him looking on. I say, that was a stunning lark, wasn't it? I'd have won too if Riggles had kept his right side. Look here, I say, I'd better do some lines now; lend us a hand, there's a good chap. Wouldn't it be a tip if old Smiley could write; we could keep him going all day long!"

Master Oakshott had, in fact, become considerably embarrassed at the beginning of the term by one or two accidents, which conspired to put off the operation of the time-table for a short period.

The doctor had received information through some channel of the famous chariot race on opening day, and had solaced the defeated champion with a caning (which he did not mind) and five hundred lines of Virgil (which he greatly disliked). In addition to that, Digby had received fifty lines from Ainger for pea-shooting, which, not being handed in by the required time, had doubled and trebled, and bade fair to become another five hundred before they were done. And now he had received from Railsford—from his beloved friend's future brother-in-law—seven pages of School History to write out, of which he had accomplished one during the detention hour, and had solemnly undertaken to complete the other six before to-morrow. It spoke a good deal for the forbearance and good spirits of the unfortunate baronet that he was not depressed by his misfortunes.

Arthur, too, had come up with every idea of conducting himself as a model boy, and becoming a great moral support to his future brother-in- law. It had pained him somewhat to find that relative was not always as grateful for his countenance as he should have been. Still, he bore him no malice. The time would come when the elder would cry aloud to the younger for aid, and he should get it.

Meanwhile, on this particular evening, Arthur found himself too busy, getting the new study into what he termed ship-shape order, to be able to adopt his friend's suggestion about the lines. His idea of ship- shape did not in every particular correspond with the ordinary acceptation of the term. He had brought down in his trunk several fine works of art, selected chiefly from the sporting papers, and representing stirring incidents in the lives of the chief prize- fighters. These, after endeavouring to take out a few of the creases contracted in the journey, he displayed over the fireplace and above the door, attaching them to the wall by means of garden nails, which had an awkward way of digging prodigious holes in the plaster and never properly reaching the laths behind. Most of the pictures consequently required frequent re-hanging, and by the end of the evening looked as if they, like the shady characters painted on them, had been in the wars.

Then Arthur had produced with some pride a small set of bookshelves, which packed away into a wonderfully small space, but which, when fitted together, were large enough to accommodate as many books as he possessed. The fitting together, however, was not very successful. Some of the screws were lost, and had to be replaced by nails, and having used the side-pieces for the shelves, and the shelves for the sides, he and Dig had a good deal of trouble with a saw and a cunningly constructed arrangement of strings to reduce the fabric into the similitude of a bookcase. When at last it was done and nailed to the wall, it exhibited a tendency to tilt forward the moment anything touched it, and pitch its contents on to the floor.

After much thought it occurred to Herapath that if they turned it upside down this defect would operate in the other direction, and hold the books securely against the wall. So, having wrenched the nails out, and been fortunate enough to find a space on the wall not gaping with wounds in the plaster, they re-erected it inversely. But, alas! although the top shelf now tilted back at the wall, the bottom shelf swung forward an inch or two and let its contents out behind with the same regularity and punctuality with which it had previously ejected them in front.

Dig pronounced it a rotten concern, and voted for smashing it up; but Herapath, more dauntless, determined on one further effort.

He began to drive a large nail vehemently into the floor immediately under the refractory bookcase, and then, tying a string round the bottom shelf, he hitched the other end round the nail and drew the fabric triumphantly into the wall. It was a complete success. Even Dig applauded, and cried out to his friend that another inch would make a job of it.

Another inch did make a job of it, for just as the bottom shelf closed in the top gave a spring forward, pulling the nail along with it, and burying the two mechanics under a cascade of books, plaster, and shattered timber. Arthur and Dig sat on the floor and surveyed the ruin stolidly, while Smiley, evidently under the delusion that the whole entertainment had been got up for his amusement, barked vociferously, and, seizing a Student's Gibbon in his teeth, worried it, in the lightness of his heart, like a rat. At this juncture the door opened, and Railsford, with alarm in his face, entered.

"Whatever is the matter?" he exclaimed.

It was an excellent cue for the two boys, who forthwith began to rub their arms and shoulders, and make a demonstration of quiet suffering.

"This horrid bookcase won't stick up!" said Arthur. "We were trying to put the things tidy, and it came down."

"It's a pretty good weight on a fellow's arm!" said the baronet, rubbing his limb, which had really been grazed in the downfall.

"It is a very great noise on the top of my head," said the master. "I dare say it was an accident, but you two will have to be a great deal quieter up here, or I shall have to interfere."

"We really couldn't help it, Mark—I mean Rails—I mean Mr Railsford," said Arthur, in an injured tone. "There's Dig will get into no end of a row, as it is. He was writing out that imposition for you, and now he's hurt his arm through helping me—brick that he is! I suppose you won't mind if I finish the lines for him?"

Arthur was staking high, and would have been sadly disconcerted had his kinsman taken him at his word.

"Is your arm really hurt, Oakshott?" inquired the master.

"Oh no; not much," said Digby, wincing dramatically, and putting on an air of determined defiance to an inward agony. "I dare say I can manage, after a rest. We had taken some of the books out, so I only had the bookcase and three shelf-loads of books on the top of me! That wasn't so much!"

"How much have you written?" demanded the master.

"Two pages, please, sir."

"This time I will let that do."

"Thanks, awfully!" broke in Arthur; "you're a brick! Dig'll never do it again, will you, Dig?"

"I could do it, you know, if you really wanted," said Dig, feeling up and down his wounded limb.

"That will do!" said Mark, who had already begun to have a suspicion that he had been "done." "Clear up this mess, and don't let me hear any more noise overhead."

When he had gone, the friends embraced in a gust of jubilation.

"No end of a notion of yours!" said Dig. "That leaves the lines for the doctor and the others for Ainger. He'll keep. We'll have him in to tea and dose him with marmalade, and square him up. But, there, I must do the doctor's lines, or I shall catch it!"

And so, despite his wounded arm, he set to work, aided by his friend, and worked off about half the penalty, by which time his arm and elbow were very sore indeed. Dimsdale, who came in later, was bribed with an invitation to jam breakfast in the morning, to help with the remainder, and the same inducement prevailed upon Tilbury. So that by a fine co- operative effort Dig stood clear with the doctor before night was over, and considered himself entitled to a little rest, which he forthwith proceeded to take.

The breakfast-party next morning was a great success on the whole. It was a little marred by the fact that whereas covers were laid for four, just fourteen guests turned up. This was partly Arthur's fault, for, having sallied forth with an invitation in his pocket to anyone who would help his friend out with a few lines, he had dropped them about in a good many other quarters. He had secured the attendance of Simson and Maple of the Shell, and of Bateson and Jukes of the Babies, and, with a view to ingratiate himself with some of his neighbours on the first floor, he had bidden to the banquet Wake, Ranger, Wignet, and Sherriff of the Fifth, and actually prevailed upon Stafford to lend the dignity of a Sixth-form patronage to the reunion.

These heroes were naturally a little disgusted on turning up at the rendezvous to find the room crowded, with scarcely standing space to space, by a troop of hungry and noisy juniors. The good hosts perspired with the heat of the room, and, as guest after guest crowded in, began to look a little anxious at the modest fare on the table, and speculate mentally on how far one loaf, one pot of jam, four pats of butter, a pint coffee-pot, and three-and-a-half tea-cups would go round the lot. At length, when Stafford arrived, and could not get in at the door for the crush, despair seized them.

"You kids had better hook it," said Arthur, to half a dozen of the juniors, who had squeezed themselves into a front rank near the table. "There's not room to-day. Come to-morrow."

Loud were the complaints, not unmingled with threatenings and gibes, of these disappointed Babies.

"What a horrible shame!" exclaimed Jukes, in a very audible voice. "We were here first."

"Do you hear?—cut!" repeated the host.

"Come, along," said Bateson; "what's the use of bothering about a crumb and a half a-piece? I never saw such a skinny spread in all my days."

And in the ten years which comprehended Master Bateson's "days" he had had a little experience of that sort of thing.

The company being now reduced to eight, to wit, Stafford, the four Fifth-form boys, the two hosts, and Dimsdale, assumed more manageable proportions. There was room at least to move an arm or a leg, and even to shut the door. But when it came to taking seats, it still became evident that the table could by no possibility hold more than six. Another crisis thereupon arose. Dimsdale was regretfully dismissed, and departed scarlet in the face, promising, as he slammed the door, to show "up" his hosts. These amiable worthies, much distressed, and not a whit cooler that the room was now comparatively empty, smiled feebly at this threat, and arranged to sit on one another's laps, so as to bring the company finally down to the capabilities of the table. But at this juncture Stafford, who had grown tired of waiting, and evidently saw little prospect of conviviality in the entertainment, remembered that he had some work to do before morning school, and rose to leave.

"Why, we've not begun yet," gasped his hosts.

"I really must go. Thanks for asking me. I've enjoyed it so much," said the amiable prefect, departing.

"Look here, I say," expostulated Arthur, "you might stay. I'll get some eggs, or a herring, if you'll stop."

But the guest of the morning was beyond reach of these blandishments, and with muttered reflections on human depravity generally, the hosts took a seat at each end of the festive board, and bade the four Fifth- form fellows fall to.

They had already done so. One had cut the loaf, another had meted out the jam, another had poured out the coffee, and another had distributed the butter.

"Have some coffee?" said Wake, pleasantly, to Dig; "very good stuff."

"Thanks," said Dig, trying to look grateful. "I'll wait till there's a cup to spare."

"If you're putting on the eggs," said Ranger, confidentially, to Arthur, "keep mine on an extra fifteen seconds, please. I like them a little hardish."

"Awfully sorry," said Arthur, with a quaver in his voice; "jolly unlucky, but we're out of eggs. Got none in the place."

"Oh, never mind," said Ranger, reassuringly. "The herrings will do quite as well. Stafford may not fancy them, but we do, don't we, you chaps?"

"Rather," said Sheriff, thoughtfully scooping out the last remnants of the jam from the pot.

Arthur looked at the baronet and the baronet looked at Arthur. Things were growing desperate, and at all risks a diversion must be made. What could they do? Dig had a vague idea of creating a scare that Smiley had gone mad; but as the animal in question was at that moment peacefully reposing on the hearth, there seemed little probability of this panic "taking." Then he calculated the possibilities of secretly cutting away one leg of the table, and so covering the defects of the meal by an unavoidable catastrophe. But he had not his penknife about him, and the two table-knives were in use.

Arthur at this point came gallantly and desperately to the rescue.

"I say, you fellows," began he, ignoring the hint about the herrings, "do you want to know a regular lark?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Oakshott, not having the least idea what his friend was going to say, but anxious to impress upon his guests that the joke was to be a good one.

"What is it?" asked Wignet, who never believed in anyone else's capacities for story-telling.

"Why," said Arthur, getting up a boisterous giggle, "you know Railsford, the new master?"

"Of course. What about him?"

"Well—keep it dark, you know. Shut up, Dig, and don't make me laugh, I say—there's such a grand joke about him."

"Out with it," said the guests, who were beginning to think again about the herrings.

"Well, this fellow—I call him Marky, you know—Mark's engaged to my sister, and—"

"Ha ha ha!" chimed in Dig.

"And—he calls her 'Chuckey,' I heard him. Oh, my wig!"

This last exclamation was caused by his looking up and catching sight of Railsford standing at the door.

The Master of the Shell had in fact called up in a friendly way to ask how Sir Digby Oakshott's arm was after the accident of the previous night.



CHAPTER SIX.

WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY.

If Railsford had entertained any lurking hope that his private affairs were sacred in the hands of his prospective kinsman, the little incident recorded at the close of the last chapter did away with the last remnant of any such delusion. He did not say anything about it. He was punctilious to a degree in anything which affected his honour; and as what he had overheard on the occasion in question had been part of a private conversation not intended for his ears, he felt himself unable to take any notice of it. Still, it was impossible for him to regard the faithless Arthur with quite as brotherly an eye as before; and the manner in which that young gentleman avoided him for the next few days, and hung out signals of distress in his presence, showed pretty plainly that these silent reproaches were not being thrown away.

Of course Arthur did every imaginable thing to make matters worse in the house, by way of proving his contrition. He besought Wake not to let the story go about, greatly to the amusement of that young humourist, who had already heard it from half a dozen sources since the beginning of the term. He threatened Dimsdale with all sorts of penalties if he spread the secret any further. Dimsdale, who had long ago informed everyone of his acquaintance, cheerfully promised it should go no further. So anxious was Arthur to make up for his offence, that when one or two fellows spoke to him about it, and asked him if it was true that Railsford and his sister were going to be married, he prevaricated and hedged till he got hopelessly out of his depth.

"Married!" he would reply, scornfully, "fiddlesticks! I tell you there's nothing in it—all jaw! Who told you they were going to be married?"

From utterances like these an impression got abroad in some quarters that Railsford wanted to marry "Chuckey," but "Chuckey" wouldn't have him. So the last end of the story was worse than the first.

Railsford, however, did not hear this latest version of his own romance; and, indeed, had plenty of other things just, at this time to occupy his attention.

Much to his own satisfaction, he received a polite note from Smedley, the captain of the school, to inform him that he had been elected a vice-president of the Athletic Union, and expressing a hope that he would favour the treasurer with the annual subscription now due, and attend a committee on Saturday evening in Mr Roe's house to arrange about the spring sports.

Both requests he gladly complied with. Previous to the meeting he had been present as umpire at a football-match in the meadows between the first twelve against the next twenty. It was a finely-contested battle, and his opinion of Grandcourt rose as he stood and looked on.

It had not occurred to him till he was about to start that his two principal prefects would of course be members of the committee in whose deliberations he was to take part. But he considered he might safely leave the control of the house during his short absence to the keeping of Stafford and Felgate, who, though neither of them the kind of boy to inspire much confidence, had at least the title to be considered equal to the task. After all, it was only for an hour. Possibly no one would know of his absence, and on this the first occasion of his being present at a meeting in whose objects he had so much interest, he felt that his duty to the school had as much claim on him as his duty to his house. So he ran the risk, and went quietly out at the appointed time, in the comfortable assurance that his house was absorbed in preparation, and would never miss him.

The meeting came up to his expectations. He was the only master present, and as such was voted to the chair. He made a little speech he had got ready in case of need, lauding up athletics to the skies, and confessing his own sympathy and enthusiasm for whatever tended towards the physical improvement of Grandcourt. The boys cheered him at every sentence, and when Smedley afterwards welcomed him in the name of the boys, and said they were all proud to have an old "Blue" among their masters, he received quite a small ovation. Then the meeting went heartily to work over the business of the sports.

After an hour and a half's steady work the programme was arranged, the date was fixed, the expenses were estimated, and the vote of thanks was given to the chairman.

"Would you mind umpiring again next Saturday, sir?" asked Smedley, as they parted.

"With all the pleasure in the world—any time," said the master, only wishing he could play in the fifteen himself.

Railsford's house, meanwhile, had celebrated the temporary absence of its ruler in strictly orthodox fashion. Scarcely had he departed, flattering himself that the deluded mice were still under the spell of the cat's presence in their neighbourhood, when the word went round like wildfire, "Coast's clear!" Arthur and the baronet heard it in their study, and flung their books to the four winds and rushed howling down to the common room. The Babies heard it, and kicked over their forms, and executed war-dances in the passages. The Fifth-form "muggers" heard it, and barricaded their doors and put cotton-wool in their ears. Stafford and Felgate heard it, and shrugged their shoulders and wondered when the other prefects would be back.

"There's nobody about. Come on. We can kick up as much row as we like!" shouted the high-principled Arthur. "Who cares for my spooney old brother-in-law, Marky?"

The shout of laughter which followed this noble appeal suddenly dropped into a deadly silence as the lank form of Mr Bickers appeared in the doorway. Arthur rapidly lost himself in the crowd. The two prefects, with flushed faces, elbowed their way into the room as though just arrived to quell the uproar. A few boys snatched up books and flopped down at their desks. But Mr Bickers had too keen an eye to let himself be imposed upon. He had witnessed the scene from a window in his own house, and surmising by the noise that no authority was present to deal with the disorder, had taken upon himself to look in in a friendly way and set things right.

"Silence!" he cried, closing the door behind him, and walking two steps into the room. "Where is Mr Railsford?"

"Out, sir," said Stafford.

"And the prefects?"

"Felgate and I are prefects, sir. The other two are out."

"And you two have allowed this noise and disorder to go on for half an hour?"

"We were going to stop it," said Felgate, faltering.

"By looking on and applauding?" responded the master. "You forget that from one of my windows everything that goes on here is plainly visible, including those who stand at the door and look on when they ought to know better. Go to your rooms, you two."

"We are in charge of the house, sir," mildly protested Felgate.

"I am in charge of the house," thundered Mr Bickers. "Obey me, and go."

They withdrew, chafing, crestfallen, and very uncomfortable.

"Now," said Mr Bickers, when the door was again closed, "Arthur Herapath, come here."

Mr Bickers's knowledge of the names of the boys in other houses was quite phenomenal. Arthur, with hanging head and thumping heart, slunk forward.

"So, sir," said Mr Bickers, fixing him with his eye, "you are the model boy whom I heard proclaiming as I came in that you could make as much noise as you liked, and called your absent master by an insulting name."

"Please, sir," pleaded the unlucky Arthur, "I didn't mean it to be insulting. I only called him Marky, because he's my brother-in-law—I mean he's going to be."

"That's right, Mr Bickers," said the baronet, nobly backing up his friend; "he's spoo— I mean he's engaged to Daisy, Herapath's sister."

"Silence, sir," said the master with a curl of his lips. "Herapath, come here, and hold out your hand."

So saying, he took up a ruler from a desk close at hand.

"Please, sir," expostulated Arthur—he didn't mind a cane, but had a rooted objection to rulers—"I really didn't—"

"Hold out your hand, sir!"

There was no denying Mr Bickers. Arthur held out his hand, and was there and then, before half his house, admonished six times consecutively, with an emphasis which brought the tears fairly into his hardened eyes.

"Now go, all of you, to your studies, and continue your preparation. I shall remain in the house till Mr Railsford returns, and report what has occurred to him."

When half an hour later the Master of the Shell, full of his athletic prospects, returned to his quarters, he was gratified as well as surprised by the dead silence which reigned, His astonishment was by no means diminished when on entering the common room he encountered Mr Bickers pacing up and down the floor amidst the scared juniors there assembled.

Railsford, with all his follies, was a man of quick perception, and took in the whole situation at a glance. He understood why Mr Bickers was there, and why the place was so silent. Still more, he perceived that his own authority in the house had suffered a shock, and that a lesson was being read him by the man whom, of all his colleagues, he disliked the most.

"Good-evening," said Mr Bickers, with a show of friendliness.

Mark nodded.

"I am glad to be able to render up your house to you in rather better order than I found it. If you'll take my advice, Railsford, you will not venture out, in the evening specially, leaving no one in authority. It is sure to be taken advantage of."

Railsford bit his lips.

"I ought to be much obliged to you," said he coldly. "As it happens, I did not venture out without leaving anyone in authority."

"If you mean Stafford and—what is his name?—Felgate—I can't congratulate you on your deputies. They were, in fact, aiding and abetting the disorder, and I have sent them to their rooms as incompetent. I would advise you to relieve them of their office as soon as you can."

"Thank you for your advice," said Railsford, whose blood was getting up. "I will make my own arrangements in my own house."

"Of course, my dear fellow," replied Bickers, blandly, "but you should really find two better men than those. There was no attempt to stop the disorder (which had been going on for half an hour) when I arrived. I had to castigate one of the ringleaders myself—Herapath by name, claiming kinship with you, by the way. I'm not sure that you ought not to report him to Dr Ponsford."

It was all Railsford could do to listen quietly to this speech, drawled out slowly and cuttingly by his rival. He made a desperate effort to control himself, as he replied—

"Don't you think, Mr Bickers, you might with advantage go and see how your own house is getting on in your absence?"

Mr Bickers smiled.

"Happily, I have responsible prefects. However, now you are back—and if you are not going out again—I will say good-night."

Railsford said "Good-night," and disregarding the proffered hand of his colleague, walked moodily up to his own room.

He may be excused if he was put out and miserable. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. And yet the mariner in which the rebuke had been administered was such as no man of spirit could cheerfully endure. The one idea in his mind was, not how to punish the house for its disorder, but how to settle scores with Bickers for restoring order; not how to admonish the incompetent prefects, but how to justify them against their accuser.

He sent for the four prefects to his room before bed hour. Ainger and Barnworth, it was plain to see, had been informed of all that had happened, and were in a more warlike mood even than their two companions.

"I hear," said Railsford, "that there was a disturbance in the house while I was away for a short time this evening. Ainger and Barnworth of course were out too, but I should like to hear from you, Stafford and Felgate, what it was all about."

Stafford allowed Felgate to give his version; which was, like most of Felgate's versions, decidedly apocryphal.

"There was rather a row, sir," said he, "among some of the juniors. Some of them were wrestling, I fancy. As soon as we saw what was going on, Stafford and I came to stop it, when Mr Bickers turned up and sent us to our rooms. We told him we had been left in charge by you, but he would not listen."

"Very annoying!" said the master.

"It's rather humiliating to our house, sir," said Ainger, "if our prefects are not to be allowed to deal with our own fellows."

"I agree with you," said Mark, warmly. "I have no reason whatever for doubting that they can and will do their duty when—"

He had intended to say "when they are not interfered with," but deemed it more prudent to say, "when occasion requires."

"We could easily have stopped the row, sir," said Stafford, "if we had been allowed to do so."

"I have no doubt of it," said the master. "I am glad to have had this little explanation. The honour of our house is of common interest to all of us."

A week ago this speech would have seemed a mere commonplace exhortation, but under present circumstances it had a double meaning for those present.

"He's a brick," said Ainger, as they returned to their studies. "He means to back us up, after all, and pay Bickers out."

"What surprises me," said Barnworth, "is that Stafford, the bull-dog, did not invite the intruder out into the square and impress the honour of our house with two black marks on each of his eyes."

"I'm just as glad," said Felgate, "it's all happened. We shouldn't have got Railsford with us if—"

"If you'd done your duty, and stopped the row the moment it began," said Ainger; who, with all his jealousy for his house, had no toleration for humbug, even in a prefect whose cause he espoused. So Railsford's house went to bed that night in a warlike mood.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE SESSION OF MASTERS AND AN OUTRAGE.

It is to be feared that Mark Railsford, Moral Science man though he was, had yet to learn the art of applying his philosophy to his own circumstances, or he would never have committed the serious error, on the day following the event recorded in the last chapter, of writing the following foolish note to Mr Bickers:—

"February 1.

"Sir,—Referring to the unpleasant topic of our conversation last night, I have since consulted my prefects on the matter, and made other inquiries as to what took place here during my temporary absence at the athletic meeting. The report I have received, and which I am disposed to credit, differs materially from your own version. In any case, allow me to say that I require no assistance in the management of my house. When I do, I shall ask for it. Meanwhile I shall continue to consider the interference of anyone, whatever his motives, as an impertinence which I, although the junior master at Grandcourt, shall have no hesitation in resenting to the utmost of my power. I trust these few lines may obviate any future misunderstanding on a point about which I feel very strongly.

"Yours, etcetera,

"M. Railsford."

Mr Bickers was hardly the man to neglect the opportunity afforded by this letter for a crushing reply; and accordingly he spend a pleasant hour that same afternoon in concocting the following polite rejoinder:—

"February 1.

"Dear Railsford,—Many thanks for your note just to hand. I can quite believe that the version of yesterday's proceedings which you are disposed to credit, given by your prefects (two of whom were absent, and the other two participators in the disturbance), differs materially from my own. Such diversities of opinion are not uncommon in my experience. As to the management of your house, I assure you in what I did yesterday I had no intention of assisting you. In fact, you were not there to assist. It was because you were not, that my duty to the school suggested that I should attempt to do what you would have done infinitely better, I am aware, had you been on the spot. Under similar circumstances I should do the same again, in face of the uncomfortable knowledge that thereby I should be guilty of an impertinence to the junior master at Grandcourt. It is kind of you to take steps to make your meaning quite clear on this matter.

May I suggest that we refer the matter to the session of masters, or, if you prefer it, to Dr Ponsford? I believe the masters meet to-night. Unless I hear from you, I shall conclude you are as anxious as I am to have the matter thoroughly gone into by a competent tribunal, to obviate any future misunderstanding on a point on which you naturally feel strongly.

"Believe me, my dear Railsford,

"Yours, very truly,

"T. Bickers."

Mark was entertaining company when this uncomfortable letter arrived, in the person of Monsieur Lablache, the French master. It would be difficult to say what there was in the unpopular foreigner which attracted the Master of the Shell. It may have been a touch of Quixotic chivalry which led him to defy all the traditions of the place and offer his friendship to the best-hated person in Grandcourt; or it may have been a feeling that monsieur was hardly judged by his colleagues and pupils. However it was, during the short time the term had run, the two men had struck up an acquaintance which perplexed a great many spectators and displeased a great many more.

"I think you should be careful with Lablache," said Grover to his friend. "Not that I know anything against him, but his reputation in the school is rather doubtful."

"I suppose the reputation of all detention masters is doubtful," said Railsford, laughing; "yours or mine would be if we had his work to do. But a man is innocent till he is proved guilty in England, isn't he?"

"Quite so," said Grover. "I don't want to set you against him, for, as I say, I know nothing of him. All I mean, is, that you must be prepared to share a little of his unpopularity if you take up with him. That's all."

"I'll take my chance of that," said Railsford.

The first time Monsieur Lablache appeared in Railsford's house, in response to an invitation from the new master to come and take coffee, there was considerable excitement in the house. The juniors considered their liberty was at stake, and hissed their master's guest down the corridors. The Shell boys presumed still further, and raised a cry of "Turn him out!" and some even attempted to hustle him and trip him upon the stairs.

But the most curious incident of that untriumphal progress was when Munger, the cad of the Fifth, confronted monsieur in the lobby outside Railsford's room with the shout, "He's going to raise money on his old clothes at last!" The brutal words (for monsieur was very shabbily attired) were scarcely uttered when Railsford's door suddenly opened and Munger was sent reeling across the lobby under a blow which echoed through the house. The Master of the Shell, white with rage, stood there with a look on his face which sent the few loiterers packing to their dens, and made Munger only sorry the wall against which he staggered did not open and let him through.

"Come here, you—you boy!"

Munger advanced, scarcely less pale than his master.

"Apologise to Monsieur Lablache—here, down on your knees—for behaving like a blackguard, and saying what you did!"

"No, it is no matter," began monsieur, with a shrug, when Mark checked him by a gesture almost as intimidating as that by which he had just summoned the offender.

"You hear me?" he said to the boy.

Munger went down on his knees and repeated whatever he was told; and would have called himself by still worse names, had he been requested. It didn't matter much to Munger!

"Now tell me your name?"

"Munger."

"Your form?"

"Fifth."

The master turned on his heel and ushered his guest into the room, leaving Munger to rub his cheek, and wonder to himself how he ever came to stand being knocked about in the way he had been that afternoon.

This had happened a day or two ago. Since then, whatever the house thought, no one was bold enough to molest the French master publicly in Railsford's, unless it was perfectly certain Mr Railsford was out of the way.

It would be a mistake to say the two masters had become devoted friends. Monsieur Lablache's chief attraction in Railsford's eyes was that he was looked down upon by the other masters, and persecuted by the boys; while the French master was so unused to notice of any kind, that he felt a trifle suspicious that the kindness of his new acquaintance might be in some way a snare. However, a little mutual mistrust sometimes paves the way to a good deal of mutual confidence; and after a few days the two men had risen considerably in one another's esteem. When Railsford, on the evening in question, crushed Mr Bickers's note up in his hand, with an angry exclamation, monsieur said—

"Voila, mon cher Railsford, you do not get always billets-doux?"

Monsieur had heard, of course, as everyone else had, of the new master's matrimonial prospects.

"No," said Railsford, gloomily; "not always," and he pitched Mr Bickers's letter into the grate as he spoke.

"Perhaps," said monsieur, "you do not always write them. I advise you to not answer that letter."

"Why?" said Railsford, "how do you know what that letter is?"

"I do not know; but I think that it does need no answer."

Railsford laughed. "You are setting up as a soothsayer, monsieur. Suppose I tell you that letter does need an answer, quickly?"

"Then, I say, somebody else will answer it better than you will."

Railsford picked the crushed-up letter off the coals just in time to save it from the flames.

"How should you answer it, monsieur?"

Monsieur slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed it out.

"Meester Beekaire!" said he, with a twist of his moustache, as he recognised the writing. "You mean that I read it?"

"Certainly, if you like."

The Frenchman read the document through, and then pitched it back into the fire.

"Well?" said Railsford.

"Well, my good friend, it seems you do not know Meester Beekaire as well as others."

"Is that all?" said Railsford, a little nettled.

"The masters' meeting is to-night, is it not?"

"So he says."

"You shall go?"

"Of course."

"It will not be pleasant times for you, for you will need to make speeches, my good friend."

"Look here," said Railsford, who was getting a little impatient of these enigmatical utterances, "I fancied you could give me some advice; if you can't, let us talk about something more pleasant."

"I do give you advice. I say to you, go to the meeting, and say you did wrong, and will not do it again—"

"What!" thundered Mark, in a voice which made Arthur and the baronet in the room overhead jump out of their chairs.

"My kind Railsford, it is only my advice. You have been in the wrong. I say to you, as a brave man, do not make yourself more wrong. Meester Beekaire would help you very much to make yourself more wrong. Do not let him help you, I say."

Unpalatable as it was, there was some force in his visitor's advice, which Railsford was bound to admit. Poor monsieur was not a shining example of successful dealing with his fellow-masters. Still, out of the mouth of the simple one may sometimes hear a home truth.

The masters' session was a periodical conference of the Grandcourt masters, half social, half business, for the purpose of talking over matters of common school interest, discussing points of management, and generally exchanging ideas on what was passing in the little world of which they were the controllers. Dr Ponsford rarely, if ever, put in an appearance on such occasions; he had the greatest faith in holding himself aloof from detail, and not making himself too accessible either to master or boy. Only when the boys could not settle a matter for themselves, or the masters could not settle it for them, he interfered and settled it without argument and without appeal. It was never pleasant when the doctor had to be called in, and the feeling against such a step contributed very largely to the success of the school's self-government.

Railsford by this time knew most of his fellow-masters to speak to, but this was the first occasion on which he had met them in their corporate capacity, and had he not been personally interested in the proceedings he would felt a pleasant curiosity in the deliberations of this august body.

Mr Bickers was already there, and nodded in a most friendly way to the Master of the Shell on his arrival. Grover and Mr Roe welcomed their new colleague warmly, and began at once to compare notes as to school- work. A few minutes later Monsieur Lablache, a little smarter than usual, came in, and having bowed to the company generally—a salute which no one seemed to observe—subsided on a retired seat. Railsford, to the regret perhaps of some of his friends, presently walked across and took a seat beside him, and the meeting began.

"Before we come to business," began Mr Roe, who by virtue of his seniority occupied the chair, "I am sure the meeting would wish me to express their pleasure at seeing Mr Railsford among us for the first time, and to offer him a hearty welcome to Grandcourt."

"Hear, hear," said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers's voice was conspicuous.

Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice, and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman.

"They do not know of your scrape," said monsieur, cheerfully. "I would tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his little speech."

Railsford glared round at his companion, and felt his heart thumping at the prospect of the task before him.

"There are one or two matters," began Mr Roe, "to bring before—"

Railsford rose to his feet and said, "Mr Roe, and gentlemen—"

There was a dead silence at this unexpected interruption, broken only by an encouraging cheer from Mr Bickers.

Supposing the new master was about to acknowledge the compliment just paid him by a set speech, Mr Roe put down his agenda paper and said, "Mr Railsford."

"If you will allow me," began Mark, rather breathlessly, "I would like to refer to a matter which personally concerns myself. I should not venture to do it in this way, immediately after your kind welcome, if I did not feel it to be my duty. Yesterday, gentlemen, an unfortunate incident occurred in my house—('Hear, hear,' and a smile from Mr Bickers). I went—"

"Excuse me," said the chairman, "may I explain to Mr Railsford, as he is a new member here, that our practice is invariably to take up any questions in order of the seniority of the masters present. Mr Smith, I believe, has a motion on the paper—"

Poor Railsford subsided, full of confusion, stripped of his good resolutions, abusing himself for his folly, and wishing Monsieur Lablache and his advice at the bottom of the sea.

What Mr Smith and the other masters who followed had to say he neither heard nor cared. His determination to admit his own error had oozed away, and he resolved that if his story was to be kept waiting, it should be none the sweeter, when it did come, for the delay.

Several topics were discussed pleasantly, with a view to elicit the opinion of the meeting on small questions of policy and discipline.

Presently Mr Roe turned to Bickers. "I think you said you had some question to ask, Mr Bickers?"

"Oh, well, yes. Mine's quite a hypothetical point, though," began Mr Bickers, airily. "I just wanted to ask, supposing one of us becomes aware of a riot in a neighbouring house, during the absence of the master of that house, and ascertains, moreover, that the prefects on duty, so far from making any attempt to control the disorder, are participating in it, I presume there can be no question that it would be the duty of anyone of us to interfere in such a case? It's quite a hypothetical case, mind, but it might occur."

"Certainly, I should say, if you were quite sure the proper house authorities were not there to enforce order," said Mr Roe.

"Of course," said Grover; "but it's rather an unlikely case, isn't it?"

"It occurred in my house last night," broke in Railsford, hotly. "I was at the Athletic Union, and two of my prefects; the other two were left in charge. Mr Bickers took upon himself to interfere in my absence, and I have written to tell him that I consider his action impertinent, and resent it. In reply, he writes—"

"A private letter," interposed Mr Bickers hurriedly, evidently not relishing the prospect of having his effusion read.

"It was not marked 'private,' but I can quite understand the writer would not like to hear it read aloud here. All I wish to say is that his hypothetical case is no more hypothetical than his interference was in the affairs of my house; and that if he asks my opinion on the matter, I shall tell him he would do better to mind his own business!"

Railsford sat down, very hot, and painfully conscious that he had not exhibited the moderation and temper which he had promised himself to observe.

An embarrassed silence ensued. Mr Roe, a man of peace, frowned, and turned inquiringly to Bickers.

Bickers stroked his beard and smiled, and said nothing.

"Do you wish to say anything?" asked the chairman.

"By no means. Mr Railsford has said all I could wish said far more eloquently than I could. Shall we go on to the next business, Mr Chairman?"

As for Railsford, the further proceeding had no interest for him, and he vanished the moment the meeting was over, without speaking to anyone.

As Mr Bickers walked off towards his house, he really felt a little sorry for his fellow-master, who had let himself down by so paltry an exhibition of temper thus early in his career. However, no doubt he would take to heart to-night's lesson, and do himself more justice in future. Mr Bickers, in the fulness of his heart, took a little round of the big square on his way home, with the double intent of giving himself the air, and perchance intercepting, for the good of the school, one or more youthful night-birds in their truant excursions. This was a kind of sport in which Mr Bickers was particularly successful, and which, therefore (as became a successful sportsman), he rather enjoyed. To his credit be it said, he was strictly impartial in his dealings; whether the culprit belonged to his own house (as often happened) or to another's, he was equally down upon him, and was never known to relax his penalties for the most plausible excuse set up by his ingenious victims.

To-night it seemed as if he would return without a "bag" at all, and he was about to resign himself to his disappointment, when his quick eyes detected in the darkness a hovering shadow moving ahead of him in the direction of Railsford's house. It vanished almost immediately, but not before the master had caught a faintly uttered "Hist!" which betrayed that he had to deal with more than one truant. He quickened his pace a little, and came once more in view of the phantom slinking along by the wall at a pace which was not quite a run. Rather to Mr Bickers's surprise the fugitive passed the door of Railsford's, and made straight on towards the chapel, slackening pace as he did so.

"A decoy," said the knowing master to himself. "Employed to draw me on while the rest make good their retreat. There is a touch of generosity in the decoy which one is bound to admire; but on this occasion, my young friend, you are dealing with rather too aged a bird to be caught—"

At this moment he had come up to the door of Railsford's, and before his soliloquy had been able to advance by another word he seemed to see sparks before his eyes, while at the same moment his feet went from under him, and something was drawn over his head. The bag, or whatever it was, was capacious; for the neck of it descended to his waist, and closed by the magic of a slip-knot round his mouth and elbows before he had the presence of mind to shout or throw out his arms. To complete his misfortune, as he tried to raise himself, another noose was snugly cast around his feet, and thus gagged and pinioned, silently, rapidly, and dexterously, Mr Bickers found himself in a situation in which, he could positively aver, he had never stood—or lain—before.

The thought did flash through his sack-enveloped head, that his assailants, whoever they were, must have rehearsed this little comedy carefully and diligently for a day or two, in order to arrive at the perfection displayed in the present performance. He also made a mental calculation that three, possibly four, fellow-beings were engaged on the job, of whom two were strong, and two were small; one of the latter possibly being the decoy whom he had so lately apostrophised.

Not a syllable was uttered during the ceremony; and the victim recognising his position, had the good sense to remain cool and not waste his time and dignity in a fruitless struggle.

The pinioning being complete, and a small hole being considerately opened in the sack in the region of the nose for purposes of respiration, he was hauled up one or two steps, dragged one or two feet, deposited on the board floor of the shoe-cupboard, and, after a few mild and irresolute kicks, left to his own meditations, the last sound which penetrated into the sack being the sharp turning of a key on the outside of his dungeon door.

"So," soliloquised Mr Bickers, after discovering that he was unhurt, though uncomfortably cramped, "our friend Railsford is having one lodger more than the regulation number to-night. This will make another hypothetical case for the next session of masters!"



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE DOCTOR HAS A WORD OR TWO WITH RAILSFORD'S HOUSE.

Railsford's house was not famous for early risers. The chapel-bell in winter began to ring at 7.30, and "call-over" was at 7.45. Between these two periods, but chiefly at the 7.45 end, most of the rising in the house was accomplished. Master Simson, the Shell-fish, was in for the hundred yards under fourteen at the sports; and being a shy youth who did not like to practise in public, he had determined to rise before the lark and take a furtive spin round the school track while his schoolfellows and enemies slept. It was a cold, raw morning, and before he was fully arrayed in his flannels he had had more than one serious idea of relapsing into bed. Be it said to his credit, he resisted the temptation, and gallantly finished his toilet, putting on an extra "sweater" and pea-jacket to boot—for he had seven pounds to run off between now and the sports. He peered out of the window; it was dark, but a patter on the panes showed him that a light sleet was falling outside. If so, being of a frugal mind, he would not run in his new shoes, but in his old boots.

Now, his old boots were in the cupboard under the staircase by the front door. And the reader understands at last why it is I have taken so much trouble to describe Master Simson's movements on this particular morning.

It was so rare an event for any boy to be up at six o'clock on a winter morning in Railsford's, that no one had ever thought about making a rule to prevent the early birds leaving the house at that hour, if they could succeed in getting out. Simson, who had interest with the cook, believed he could get an exeat through the kitchen window; meanwhile he must get his boots. He armed himself with a match—the last one in the box—and quietly felt his way along the corridor and down the stairs. There was a glimmer of light from under the maids' door as he passed, which told him they were up and that he would not have long to wait downstairs. At the foot of the stairs he turned sharp round, and following the wall with his hand, came at length on the familiar handle of the "boot-box." To his surprise the door was locked, but the key was on the outside.

"A sell if I hadn't been able to get in," said he to himself, opening the door.

Now Simson, like a cautious youth, aware of the frailty of matches, wisely resolved to penetrate as far as possible into the interior of the cupboard, in the direction in which he knew his particular boots to be, before striking a light.

But at the first step he tripped on something and fell prostrate over a human carcase, which emitted a muffled gasp and moved heavily as he tumbled upon it. Then there went up a yell such as curdled the blood of half Railsford's as they lay in their beds, and made the domestics up- stairs cling to one another in terror, as if their last moment had come.

Simson, with every hair on his head erect, made a frantic dive out of that awful den, banging the door and locking it behind him in a frenzy of fright. Then he dashed up-stairs, and plunged, as white as his shirt, into the dormitory.

Another yell signalised his arrival. Not his, this time, but the joint performance of the other occupants of the room, who, sitting up with their chins on their knees, half petrified by the horror of the first shriek, now gave themselves up for lost when the door broke open in the dark, and a gasping something staggered into the room.

"There's some—bo—dy been mur—dered," gasped Simson, "in the bo—ot- box!"

Everybody was on his feet in a moment.

"Murdered?"

"Yes," said Simson, wonderfully comforted by the noise and general panic. "I got up early, you know, to have a grind on the track, and went to get my boots, and—I—I fell over it!"

"Over what?"

"The bo—od—y," whispered Simson.

"Has anybody got a light?" shouted Arthur.

But at that moment a light appeared at the door, and Ainger came in.

"What's all this row—what's the matter?"

"Simson says somebody's been murdered in the boot-box," replied Arthur. "I say, hadn't we better go and see?"

It was a practical suggestion. The corridor was already full of half- dressed inquirers, and a moment later Mr Railsford's door opened. The story was repeated to him.

"Come with me, Ainger," said he, quietly; "the rest of you return to your dormitories, and remain there."

Arthur, seized by a noble desire not to leave his future kinsman unprotected in such an hour of peril, elected to disregard this last order, and, accompanied by his henchman, followed the candle at a respectful distance down the stairs.

"There's no blood on the stairs," observed the baronet, in a whisper.

"They've left the key in the door," muttered Arthur.

"Hold the light," said Railsford, turning the key, and entering.

Prostrate on the ground, bound hand and foot, and enveloped down to the waist in a sack, lay the figure of a man, motionless, but certainly not dead, for sounds proceeded from the depths of the canvas. In a moment Railsford had knelt and cut the cords round the prisoner's feet and hands, while Ainger drew the sack from the head.

Arthur gave a whistle of consternation as the features of Mr Bickers came to light, pale and stern. The sudden sight of Medusa's head could hardly have had a more petrifying effect. The victim himself was the first to recover. Stretching his arms and legs in relief, he sat up, and coolly said,—

"Thank you."

"Whatever does all this mean?" exclaimed Railsford, helping him to rise, for he was very stiff and cramped.

"That I cannot say. Kindly reach my hat, Ainger."

"Who has done this?"

"That, too, I cannot say. I can walk, thank you."

"Won't you come to my room and have something? You really must," said Railsford, taking his arm.

Mr Bickers disengaged his arm, and said coldly, "Thank you, no; I will go to my own, if you will open the door."

Arthur at this moment came up officiously with a glass of water, which Mr Bickers drank eagerly, and then, declining one last offer of assistance, went slowly out towards his own house.

Railsford retired to his room and threw himself into his chair in a state of profound dejection. Mysterious as the whole affair was, one or two things were clear. The one was that his house was disgraced by this criminal and cowardly outrage, the other was that the situation was made ten times more difficult on account of the already notorious feud between himself and the injured master. His high hopes were once more dashed to the ground, and this time, it almost seemed, finally.

Mark Railsford was no coward, yet for half an hour that morning he wished he might be well out of Grandcourt for ever. Then, having admitted cooler counsels, he dressed and went to the captain's study.

"Call the other prefects here, Ainger. I want to talk to you."

The seniors were not far off, and speedily assembled.

"First of all," said the master, who perceived at a glance that it was not necessary for him to explain the gravity of the situation, "can any of you give me any information about this disgraceful affair?"

"None, sir," said Ainger, a little nettled at the master's tone; "we have talked it over, and, as far as we are concerned, it's a complete mystery."

"Have you any reason to suspect anybody?"

"None at all, sir."

"You know, all of you, I needn't tell you, that the credit of the house is at stake—in fact, it's gone till we find the offenders. Mr Bickers will naturally report the matter to Dr Ponsford, and I am going to the doctor for the same purpose. I wished to consult you before taking any step, because this is a matter in which we must work together."

"Certainly, sir," said Ainger, speaking for the rest.

"What I mean is, that no personal feeling must come between us and the duty we all owe to Grandcourt to see this wrong put right; you understand me?"

"Yes," said the downright Ainger; "we none of us like Mr Bickers, but we must find out the fellows who scragged him, all the same."

"Exactly; and I am glad to hear you say that. There is one other matter. Two of you, Stafford and Felgate, recently felt specially aggrieved by something which Mr Bickers said to you. You must forget all that now, and remember only that your duty to the whole school requires that you should do everything in your power to help to put an end to this scandal."

"Of course we shall," said Felgate, curtly, in a tone which Railsford did not consider particularly encouraging.

However, having opened his mind to his lieutenants, he went away straight to the doctor's. Mr Bickers was leaving just as he entered, and Railsford read in his looks, as he brushed past, no great encouragement to hope that things would soon be made right.

"Mr Bickers," said he, advancing almost in front of his colleague, "I must tell you how distressed I am at what has occurred. I—"

"Yes, it is trying for you," said the injured master, drily. "Excuse me, though; I want my breakfast."

It was not easy to feel cordial sympathy with a man like this. However, there was nothing for it but to go and lay his case before the doctor, and Railsford entered accordingly.

Dr Ponsford was at breakfast, and asked his visitor to take a seat.

"You have come to tell me that Mr Bickers's assailants are discovered?" said he.

"I wish I could," said Railsford. "I have only had time to speak to my prefects."

"Two of whom are not to be trusted, and profess a personal spite against Mr Bickers."

This was just like the doctor. He gave other people information and never wanted any himself.

"I know, of course, what you refer to. I have not myself found any reason to consider Felgate or Stafford untrustworthy. Mr Bickers says—"

"I know what Mr Bickers says; but what do you say?"

"Well, sir, frankly, I do not feel quite sure of Felgate; and Stafford is too amiable to say 'no' to anybody."

"Now let me hear about the affair this morning."

Railsford gave a careful account of the discovery of Mr Bickers in the boot-box, and was conscious that the doctor, although he gave little sign of it, was not quite blind to the unfortunate position in which he, as the new master of the offending house, was placed.

"Have a call-over of your house at ten o'clock, Mr Railsford. I will come."

This announcement was about as cheerful a one in Grandcourt as an appointment made by the Court of the Inquisition would have been, once upon a time, in Spain, Railsford rose to go.

"You had better stop and have breakfast here," said the doctor, ringing the bell for another cup. During the meal no further reference was made to the event of the morning, but Railsford was drawn out as to his work and the condition of his house generally, and was painfully aware that the doctor was making the best of his time to reckon him up. He only wished he could guess the verdict. But on this point he received no light, and went off presently charged with the unpleasant task of summoning his house to answer for themselves at the bar of the head- master.

It was a curious spectacle, the crowd of boys which assembled in the common room that morning at Railsford's. Some were sulky, and resented this jumbling of the innocent and guilty. Some were so anxious to appear guileless and gay, that they overdid it and compromised themselves in consequence. Some were a little frightened lest an all- round flogging should be proposed. Some whispered mysteriously, and looked askance at one or two fellows who had been "mentioned" as possibly implicated. Some, like Arthur and the baronet, with Simson squeezed in between them, looked knowing and important, as though horses and chariots would not drag their secret out of them. Ainger looked pale, and his big chest went up and down in a manner which those who knew him felt to be ominous. Stafford looked alternately solemn and sneering, according as he turned to the captain or Felgate. And Barnworth alone looked comfortable, and, apparently, had not an idea what all the excitement was about.

At ten o'clock Railsford entered in his cap and gown, and Ainger immediately began to call over the roll. Every one answered to his name except Maple of the Shell, who was away at his father's funeral, and Tomkins the Baby, who had been so scared by the whole affair, that he had turned sick during breakfast, and retired—with the dame's permission—to bed.

During the call-over the doctor had entered and seated himself at the master's desk. His quick eye took in each boy as he uttered his "Adsum," dwelling longer on some than on others, and now and then turning his glance to the master and senior prefect. When it was all over and Ainger had handed in the list, the head-master took his eyeglass from his eye, laid the list on the desk before him, and said—

"Boys, this is an unusual and unpleasant visit. You know the object of it; you know the discredit which at present lies on your house and on Grandcourt, and you know what your duty is in the matter. If any boy here does not know what I mean, let him stand up."

It was as much as the life of anybody present was worth to respond to this challenge. One or two who could never hear a good story too often would not have objected if somebody else had demanded further information. But for their own part, their discretion outdid their curiosity, and they retained their seats amidst a dead silence.

"Very well. Now I will put a question to you as a body. It is a very serious question, and one which no honest boy here, if he is able to answer it, can afford to evade. A great deal more depends on your answer than the mere expulsion of one or more wrong-doers. You boys are the guardians of the honour of your house. The only honourable thing at a time like this is to speak the truth, whatever the consequences. The question I ask is this— Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? I will wait for two minutes, that you may understand the importance of the question, before I call for an answer."

Dead silence. The boys for the most part looked straight before them with heightened colour, and watched the slow progress of the minute-hand of the clock.

"I repeat the question now," said the doctor, when the allotted time had run—"Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? If so, let him stand up."

The silence which followed was broken to some by the thumping of their own hearts. But no one rose; and a sense of relief came to all but Railsford, who felt his spirits sink as the prospect of a near end to his trouble receded.

"Every boy here," said the doctor, slowly, "denies all knowledge of the affair?"

Silence gave consent.

"Then," continued the head-master, more severely, putting up his eyeglass, and handing the list to Ainger, "I shall put the question to each boy separately. Call over the list, and let each boy come up and answer."

Ainger began by calling out his own name, and forthwith walked up to the master's desk.

"Do you know anything whatever of this affair?" asked the doctor, looking him full in the face.

"No, sir," said Ainger, returning the look, after his fashion, half defiantly.

The next name was called, and its owner marched up to the desk and uttered his denial. Railsford, as he stood scanning keenly the face of each boy in turn, felt that he was watching the action of some strange machine. First Ainger's clear voice. Then the short "Adsum," and the footsteps up to the desk. Then the doctor's stern question. Then the quick look-up and the half-defiant "No, sir," (for they all caught up the captain's tone). And, finally, the retreating footsteps, and the silence preceding the next name.

There was no sign of faltering; and, wherever the secret lurked, Railsford saw little chance of it leaking out. A few boys, indeed, as was natural, gave their replies after their own fashion. Barnworth looked bored, and answered as though the whole performance was a waste of time. Arthur Herapath was particularly knowing in his tone, and accompanied his disclaimer with an embarrassing half-wink at his future kinsman. Felgate said "No" without the "sir," and swaggered back to his place with an ostentatious indifference which did not go unnoted. The baronet, who was nothing if not original, said nothing, but shook his head.

"Reply to the question, sir!" thundered the doctor, ominously.

Whereat Sir Digby, losing his head, said, "No, thank you, sir," and retired, amid some confusion.

Simson, when interrogated, mildly added to his "No, sir" the explanatory sentence, "except finding him there when I went for my boots"; and Munger, the cad, added to his answer, "but I'll try to find out," with a leer and an oily smile, which Ainger felt strongly tempted to acknowledge by a kick as he passed back to his place. Stafford, painfully aware that he was one of the "mentioned" ones, looked horribly confused and red as he answered to his name, and satisfied several of the inexpert ones present that it was hardly necessary to look further for one of the culprits.

So the call-over passed, and when once more Ainger handed in the list Railsford seemed further than ever from seeing light through the cloud which enveloped it. The doctor's brow darkened as he took once more his glass from his eye.

"This is very serious," said he, slowly. "When I came here it was with the painful feeling that the house contained boys so cowardly and unprincipled as to waylay a defenceless man in the dark, and to treat him as Mr Bickers has been treated. But it is tenfold worse to believe that it contains boys cowardly enough to involve the whole house in their own disgrace and punishment. (Sensation.) I will not mince matters. Your house is deeply disgraced, and cannot pretend to rank any longer with the other houses, who at least have a good name, until you have yourselves made this matter right. It rests with you to retrieve your credit. Meanwhile—"

Everybody took a long breath. The occasion was as when the judge puts on the black cap before passing sentence of death.

"Meanwhile the house will cease to dine in Hall, but will dine in this room at one o'clock daily; and on Saturdays, instead of taking the half- holiday in the afternoon, you will take it in the morning, and assemble for school at twelve o'clock. I still trust that there may be sufficient self-respect among you to make this change only of slight duration; or that," and here the doctor's tone grew bitter, and his mouth gathered sarcastically—"at least self-interest may come to your assistance, and make it possible to return to the old order."

And he stalked from the room.

"Let us off easy, eh?" said the baronet.

"Easy?" fumed Arthur; "he might as well have given us a bit of rope a- piece and told us to go and hang ourselves! Look at Ainger; do you suppose he thinks we've been let off easy?"

The captain's face left no doubt on that question.



CHAPTER NINE.

AINGER HAS A CRUMPET FOR TEA, AND SMEDLEY SINGS A SONG.

Railsford for a brief moment had shared the opinion of his distinguished pupil, that the doctor had let the house off easily. But two minutes' reflection sufficed to undeceive him. The house was to dine daily at one o'clock in Railsford's. That meant that they were to be cut off from all association with the rest of the school out of school hours, and that just when all the rest turned out into the playing-fields they were to sit down at their disgraced board. The half-holiday regulation was still worse. For that meant nothing short of the compulsory retirement of his boys from all the clubs, and, as far as athletics went, their total exclusion from every match or contest open to the whole school.

The house was slower at taking in the situation of affairs than the master. With the exception of Ainger, on whom the full significance of the doctor's sentence had flashed from the first, there was a general feeling of surprise that so big a "row" should be followed by so insignificant a retribution.

"Who cares what time we have dinner," said Munger to some of his admirers, "as long as we get it after all? Now if old Punch (this was an irreverent corruption of the head-master's name current in certain sets at Grandcourt)—if old Punch had stopped our grub one day a week—"

"Besides," broke in another, "we'll get things hotter than when we dined in hall."

"A precious sight hotter," said Arthur, wrathfully. "What are we to do at beagle-time to-morrow? Just when the hounds start we've got to turn in to dinner. Bah!"

This was the first practical illustration of the inconvenience of the new regime, and it instantly suggested others.

"We'll be stumped," said Tilbury, "if this goes on after cricket starts—it'll be all up with any of us getting into one of the School matches."

"I suppose," said Ranger of the Fifth, "this will knock all of us out of the sports, too?"

Fellows looked blank at the suggestion. Yet a moment's reflection showed that Ranger was right. One o'clock was the daily training hour in the playing-fields, and Saturday afternoon four weeks hence was the date fixed for the School sports.

It took some days for Railsford's house to accommodate itself to the new order of things imposed upon it. Indeed, it took twenty-four hours for Grandcourt generally to comprehend the calamity which had befallen the disgraced house. When one o'clock arrived on the first afternoon, and neither Ainger, Wake, Wignet, Tilbury, Herapath, nor the other familiar frequenters of the playing-field, put in an appearance, speculation began to pass about as to the cause of their absence. Some of Bickers's boys knew there had been a "howling shine" about something. But it was not till Smedley, impatient to settle some question relating to the sports, sent his fag to fetch Ainger that it became generally known what had happened. The fag returned with an important face.

"Such a go!" said he, in reply to his chief's inquiry; "there's a feast going on at Railsford's! Smelt fine! I saw them through the door, but couldn't go in, because Railsford was there. Ainger and all the lot were tucking in. The beef was just going in, so they've only just started."

"Jolly shame!" said someone who overheard this announcement; "we never get feasts in our house! I suppose Railsford thinks he'll get his chaps in a good-humour by it. It's not fair unless everybody does it."

"It'll be hall-time before they've done. We'd better not wait," said one of the Sixth. "I wonder what it all means?"

"I heard Ponsford had been down rowing them about something this morning—something some of them had been doing to Bickers, I believe."

"Very likely; Bickers looked as green as a toad this morning, didn't he, Branscombe?"

"He did look fishy," said Branscombe, shortly, "but I say, Smedley, hadn't we better measure off without Ainger, and get him to see if he approves afterwards?"

So the work went on without the representatives of Railsford's house, and the bell rang for school-dinner before any of the missing ones had put in an appearance.

The mystery was heightened when in Hall the fifty seats usually occupied by Railsford's boys stood empty; and no inquiry was made from the masters' table as to the cause of the defection. It was noticed that Mr Railsford himself was not present, and that Mr Bickers still looked upset and out of sorts.

"Have you any idea what the row is?" said Smedley to Branscombe as the company stood round the tables, waiting for the doctor.

"How should I know? You'd better go and ask up there."

Smedley did. As the doctor entered, he marched up to meet him, and said,—

"None of Mr Railsford's house are here yet, sir."

"Quite right. Call silence for grace and begin," said the doctor, slowly.

For the rest of the day Railsford's seemed to be playing hide and seek with the rest of the school, and it was not till late in the evening that the mystery was cleared up.

"Come and let's see what it's all about," said Smedley to Branscombe.

Both the seniors had been fretting all the afternoon with a sense of something gone wrong at Grandcourt, the former with just a little indignation that he, the captain of the school, should be kept in the dark, along with everybody else, on the subject.

"I ought to work," said Branscombe; "you go and tell me what's up."

"Why, I thought you were as anxious as anyone to know?"

"So I am," said Branscombe, who to do him justice looked thoroughly worried; "but you know while there's this row on between the two houses I—I don't care to go over there without being asked."

"I asked you, didn't I?" said Smedley. "You're not afraid of being eaten up, are you? Never mind. I'll brave the wild beasts myself, and let you know how I get on."

It was the rule at Grandcourt that after dark no boy from one house might enter another without permission. Smedley therefore went straight to Railsford.

"May I go and see Ainger, please, sir?"

"Certainly. And, Smedley," said the master, as the captain retired, "look in here for a moment as you go out. I want to see you about the sports."

Smedley found Ainger alone, and heard from him a full, true, and particular account of the day's events.

The captain's wrath was unbounded.

"What!" he exclaimed, "cut all of you out of the sports and everything! I say, Ainger, it must be stopped, I tell you. I'll go to the doctor."

"Might as well go to the unicorn over the gate," said Ainger.

"Can't you find the fellows?"

"That's just it. There's not even a fellow in the house I can suspect so far."

"You feel sure it's one of your fellows?"

"It couldn't be anyone else. Roe's and Grover's fellows never come over our side, and never have anything to do with Bickers. And it's hardly likely any of Bickers's fellows would have done it. In fact, ever since Bickers came in here the other night and thrashed one of our fellows, the two houses have been at daggers drawn."

"So Branscombe said. He didn't seem to care about coming in with me. I asked him."

"I don't wonder. Some of the young fools down there would give him a hot reception for no other reason than that he belongs to Bickers's house."

"I don't fancy he's proud of that distinction," said Smedley, laughing. "But, I say, can't anything be done?"

"Nothing; unless Railsford can do anything."

"Railsford asked me to go in and see him. Come, too, old man."

But Railsford had nothing to suggest. He explained dejectedly the effect of the doctor's sentence. It meant that his house was out of everything in the playing-fields; and that, as for himself, he was as much excluded as his boys. And he confirmed Ainger's opinion that it was utterly useless to appeal further to the doctor.

"It would be only fair, sir," said Smedley, "for you to take back the prize and subscription you offered for the sports."

"Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the master. "If I cannot take part in the sports in person, at least I would like to have some finger in the pie."

That was all that passed.

"I like Railsford," said Smedley; "he's genuinely cut up."

"It's awfully rough on him," replied Ainger.

The two friends said good-bye.

"By the way, Smedley," said Ainger, calling the captain back, "I may as well tell you, we are going to have our revenge for all this."

"What!" said Smedley, rather alarmed. "Surely you're not going to—"

"To roast the doctor? No. But we're going to make this the crack house of the school in spite of him."

Smedley laughed.

"Good! You've a busy time before you, old man. I'll promise to keep it dark—ha! ha!"

"You may think it a joke, dear old chap," said Ainger, standing at the door and watching his retreating figure, "but even the captain of Grandcourt will have to sit up by-and-by."

Smedley, the brave and impetuous, walked straight from Railsford's to the doctor's. He knew his was a useless mission, but he wasn't going to shirk it. The doctor would snub him and tell him to mind his own affairs; "but"—so said the hero to himself—"what do I care? I'll tell him a piece of my mind, and if he like to tell me a piece of his, that's only fair. Here goes!"

The doctor was engaged in his study, said the servant; but if Mr Smedley would step into the drawing-room he would come in a few minutes. Smedley stepped into the dimly-lighted drawing-room accordingly, which, to his consternation, he found already had an occupant. The doctor's niece was at the piano.

Smedley, for once in a way, behaved like a coward, and having advanced a step or two into the room, suddenly turned tail and retreated.

"Don't go, Mr Smedley," said a pleasant voice behind him. "Uncle will be here in a minute."

"Oh, I—good-evening, Miss Violet. I'm afraid of—"

"Not of me, are you? I'll go if you like," said she, laughing, "and then you'll have the room to yourself."

"Oh no, please. I didn't mean that. Won't you play or sing something, Miss Violet?"

So Miss Violet sang "Cherry Ripe," and then, the doctor not having yet put in an appearance, Smedley asked if she would mind playing the accompaniment of "Down among the Dead Men," as he would like to try it over.

The young lady cheerfully complied, and when presently the head-master stalked into the room he was startled, and possibly a little amused, to be met with the defiant shout of his head boy,—

"And he that will this health deny, Down among the dead men—down among the—"

He was shaking his fist above his head, after the fashion of the song at the school suppers, when he suddenly stopped short at the sight of the doctor, and realised the horror of the situation.

"Go on, Mr Smedley," said Miss Violet, "finish the verse. We shan't be a moment, uncle."

But Smedley could as soon have finished that verse as fly up the chimney. So the doctor's niece finished it for him, and then, with a "Good-night, Mr Smedley; thank you very much for the song," she tripped out of the room, leaving the hero to his fate.

It was not a very terrible fate after all.

"You and my niece have been having quite a concert," said the doctor.

"I hope I did not disturb you, sir. Miss Violet was so kind as to play some accompaniments for me while I was waiting for you."

"You want to see me. What is it, Smedley?"

Smedley till this moment had forgotten the object of his delicate mission, and now, suddenly recalled to business, felt less taste than ever for his task. Still he must go through with it.

"It was about Mr Railsford's house, sir."

"That, Smedley, is not a subject for discussion."

"I know, sir. All I mean is that the whole school will suffer."

"That increases the responsibility of those who can rectify all by owning their misconduct."

"Won't it be possible to make some exceptions, sir? Our School sports will go all to pieces without Ainger and Barnworth and some of their fellows."

"You must see they do not go to pieces, Smedley," said the doctor; "it would be unworthy of the school if they did. As for Mr Railsford's boys, I have said what I had to say to them, and have nothing more to add."

"But Mr Railsford himself, sir," began the captain, desperately playing his last card; "we hoped he—"

"It is a most unfortunate thing for everyone," said the doctor—"I include myself and you and Mr Railsford. We are called upon to make a sacrifice, and there should be no question about our being willing, all of us, to make it for the good of the school. Good-night, Smedley, good-night."

Smedley walked back, humming "Cherry Ripe" to himself, and feeling decidedly depressed about things in general.



CHAPTER TEN.

ARTHUR PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER.

Sir Digby Oakshott, of Oakshott Park, Baronet, was down on his luck. His heart had been set on saving his house single-handed by a brilliant discovery of the miscreants to whom it owed its present disgrace.

It had been a busy week for him. He had had three or four fights a day with outraged suspects, and had not invariably got the best of them. Besides, in his devotion to the public service his private duties had been neglected, and the pile of impositions had grown with compound interest. Worst of all, his own familiar friend had lifted up his heel against him, and had openly gibed at his efforts. This was "the most unkindest cut of all," and Sir Digby felt it deeply.