"What's the use of going on fooling?" said Arthur, one evening, when the tension was becoming acute. "Why can't you shut up making an ass of yourself?"

"Look here, Arthur, old man," said the baronet deprecatingly, "I don't want to be jawed by you. It's no business of yours."

"What I can't make out," pursued his friend sarcastically, "is why you haven't tried to smell the chaps out by means of Smiley. Now, if you let Smiley have a good sniff of that bit of rope on your watch-chain, and then turn him out into the square, he'd ferret them out for you."

"I tell you what, old man, if it's coming to a regular row between us two, hadn't you better say so at once, and get done with it?"

"Who says anything about a row? All I say is, you're in a precious good way of getting yourself kicked round the house, the way you're going on; and I don't much mind if I'm asked to lead off."

"You'd better try to kick me, that's all," said Dig.

"I'll see what I can do for you some day. But, I say, Dig, can't you see what a howling ass you're making of yourself?"

"No, I don't know so much about asses as you do," responded Dig.

"Daresay not. If you were in the company of one all day long, as I am, you'd soon throw it up. I tell you, my—"

Here the speaker suddenly broke off and looked affectionately at the troubled face of his old chum.

"Look here, Dig, old man, I don't want to have a row with you, no more do you. I vote we don't."

"Hang a row," said Dig. "But it seems to me, Arthur, you don't care twopence whether the chap's found out or not."

Arthur's face clouded over.

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. I don't see we're called upon to show them up."

"But look what a mess the house is in till they're bowled out. We'll never get hold of a bat all the season."

"Jolly bad luck, I know, but we must lump it, Dig. You must drop fooling about with your clues. Don't get in a wax, now. I've got my reasons."

"Whatever do you mean? Do you know who it was, then? Come in! Who's there?"

The intruder was the Baby Jukes, who carried half a dozen letters in his hand, one of which he presented to the two chums.

"One for you," said he. "They're all the same. Wake gave Bateson and me a penny a-piece for writing them out, and we knocked off twenty. He says he'd have sent you one a-piece, only he knows you've not two ideas between you. Catch hold."

And he departed, smiling sweetly, with his tongue in his cheek, just in time to avoid a Caesar flung by the indignant baronet at his head.

"Those kids are getting a drop too much," said Dig. "They've no more respect for their betters than Smiley has. What's this precious letter?"

The letter was addressed to "Messrs. Herapath and Oakshott," and was signed by Wake of the Fifth, although written in the inelegant hand of Master Jukes the Baby.

"'Central Criminal Court, Grandcourt. The assizes will open this evening in the forum at 6.30 sharp. You are hereby summoned on urgent business. Hereof fail not at your peril.'"

"What do that mean?" again inquired Dig. "What right has Wake to threaten us?"

"Don't you see, Wake, whose father is a pettifogging lawyer, is going to get up a make-believe law court—I heard him talk about it last term— instead of the regular debating evening. The best of it is, we kids shall all be in it, instead of getting stuck on the back bench to clap, as we generally are."

"He's no business to tell us to fail not at our peril," growled Dig. "What will they do?"

"Try somebody for murder, perhaps, or—why, of course!" exclaimed Arthur, "they'll have somebody tried for that Bickers row!"

"By the way," said Dig, returning to the great question on his mind, "you never told me if you really knew who did it."

Arthur's face clouded again.

"How should I know?" said he shortly. "What's the use of talking about it?"

There was something mysterious in Herapath's manner which disturbed his friend. It was bad enough not to be backed up in his own schemes, but to feel that his chum knew something that he did not, was very hard on Sir Digby.

Now he recalled it, Arthur had all along been somewhat reserved about the business. He had made sport of other fellows' theories, but he had never disclosed his own. Yet it was evident he had his own ideas on the subject. Was it come to this, that after all these terms of confidence and alliance, a petty secret was to come between them and cloud the hitherto peaceful horizon of their fellowship?

Digby, perhaps, did not exactly put the idea into these poetical words, but the matter troubled him quite as much.

Now, it is my intention, at this place, generously to disclose to the reader what was hidden from Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, and from everyone else at Grandcourt—namely, that Arthur Herapath was fully persuaded in his own mind that he knew the name of the arch offender in the recent outrage, and was resolved through thick and thin to shield him from detection. He was perfectly aware that in so doing he made himself an accessory after the fact, but that was a risk he was prepared to run. Only it decided him to keep his knowledge to himself.

Arthur was not a particularly sharp boy. His qualities were chiefly of the bull-dog order. He did not take things in with the rapidity of some fellows, but when he did get his teeth into a fact he held on like grim death. So it was now. In the first excitement of the discovery he had been as much at sea and as wild in his conjectures as anybody. But after a little he stumbled upon a piece of evidence which gave him a serious turn, and had kept him serious ever since.

On the morning of the discovery, Arthur, being in the neighbourhood of the "boot-box," thought he would have a look round. There was no fear of his mistaking the place; he had been there before, and seen Mr Bickers come out of the sack. Everything was pretty much as it had been left. The sack lay in the corner where it had been thrown, and the cord, all except the piece which the baronet had secured, was there too. On the dusty floor could clearly be perceived the place where Mr Bickers had rolled about in his uncomfortable shackles during the night, and on the ledge of the dim window which let light into the boot-box from the lobby still stood the tumbler which Arthur himself had officiously fetched an hour or two ago.

One or two things occurred to Arthur which had not previously struck him. One was that the door of the boot-box was a very narrow one, and, closing-to by a spring, it would either have had to be held open or propped open while Mr Bickers was being hauled in by his captors. He found that to hold it open wide he would have to get behind it and shut himself up between it and the stairs. Most likely, all hands being required for securing the victim, the captors would have taken the precaution to prop the door open by some means, so as to be ready for their deep-laid and carefully prepared scheme.

So Arthur groped about and discovered a twisted-up wedge of paper, which, by its battered look and peculiar shape, had evidently been stuck at some time under the door to keep it from closing-to. He quietly pocketed this prize, on the chance of its being useful, and after possessing himself of the sack and cord, and two wax vestas lying on the floor, one of which had been lit and the other had not, he prepared to quit the scene. As he was going up-stairs he caught sight of one other object—not, however, on the floor, but on the ledge of the cornice above the door. This was a match-box of the kind usually sold by street arabs for a halfpenny. Arthur tried to reach it, but could not get at it even by jumping.

"The fellow who put that there must have been over six feet," said he to himself.

With some trouble he got a stick and tipped the box off the ledge, and as he did so it occurred to him that, whereas the dust lay a quarter of an inch thick on the ledge, and whereas the match-box had no similar coating of dust, but was almost clean, it must have been put up there recently. He opened the box and looked inside. It contained wax vestas, with curiously coloured purple heads, which on examination corresponded exactly with the matches he had picked up on the floor of the boot-box.

"Oh," said Arthur to himself, very red in the face, "here's a go!" and he bolted up to his room.

Dig, as it happened, was out, not altogether to his chum's regret, who set himself, with somewhat curious agitation, to examine his booty.

First of all he examined once more the match-box, and satisfied himself that there was no doubt about the identity of its contents with the stray vestas he had picked up. The result was decisive. The box had been placed above the door very recently by someone who, unless he stood on a form or climbed on somebody else's back, must have been more than six feet high. No one puts matches above doors by accident. Whoever put it there must have meant it—and more than that, must have opened it and dropped one out inside the boot-box.

"Now," considered the astute Arthur, "it was pitch dark when Bickers was collared; lights were out, and the fellows thought they'd have a glim handy in case of need. They struck one and spilt one, and shoved the box up there, in case they should want it again. I say! what a clever chap I am! The tall chap this box belongs to did the job, eh?"

An expert might possibly find a flaw in this clue, but Arthur was a little proud of himself.

Next he spread out the sack and inspected the cord. There was not much to help him here, one would suppose, and yet Arthur, being once on a good tack, thought it worth his while to look closely at these two relics.

The sack was not the ordinary type of potato-sack which most people associate with the term, but more like a large canvas pillow-case, such as some article of furniture might be packed in, or which might be used to envelop a small bath and its contents on a railway journey. Arthur perceived that it had been turned inside out, and took the trouble to reverse it. It was riddled with holes, some of them to admit the running cords which had closed round the neck and elbows of the unfortunate Mr Bickers, and some, notably that in the region of the nose, made hastily, with the motive of giving the captive a little ventilation.

Arthur could not help thinking, as he turned the sack outside in, that it would have been nicer for Mr Bickers to have the comparatively clean side of the canvas next to his face instead of the very grimy and travel-stained surface which had fallen to his lot.

But these speculations gave place to other emotions as he discovered two black initials painted on the canvas, and still legible under their covering of dirt and grease. There was no mistaking them, and Arthur gave vent to a whistle of consternation as he deciphered an "M.R."

Now, as Arthur and everybody else knows, "M.R." may mean Midland Railway, but the Midland Railway is not six feet two inches, and does not carry wax vestas about him, or drop them on the floor of the boot- box.

Arthur gaped at those initials for fully three minutes, and then hurriedly hid the sack away in the cupboard.

He had still one more point to clear up. He pulled the wedge of paper out of his pocket and began nervously to unroll it. It was frayed and black where the door had ground it against the floor; but, on beginning to open it, it turned out to be a portion of a torn newspaper. It was a Standard of February 4—two days ago—and Arthur whistled again and turned pale as he saw a stamp and a postmark on the front page, and read a fragment of the address—"...ford, Esquire, Grandcourt."

"That settles it clean!" he muttered to himself. "I say! who'd have thought it!"

Then he sat down and went over the incidents of the last twenty-four hours.

Last night—it is sad to have to record it—Arthur had been out in the big square at half-past nine, when he should have been in bed. He had been over to find a ball which he had lost during the morning while playing catch with Dig out of the window. On his way back—he remembered it now—he had had rather a perilous time. First of all he had nearly run into the arms of Branscombe, the captain of Bickers's house, who was inconveniently prowling about at the time, probably in search of some truant of his own house. Then in doubling to avoid this danger he had dimly sighted Mr Bickers himself, taking a starlight walk on Railsford's side of the square. Finally, in his last bolt home, he had encountered Railsford stalking moodily under the shadow of his own house, and too preoccupied to notice, still less to challenge, the truant.

All this Arthur remembered now, and, carrying his mind a day or two further back, he recalled Mr Bickers's uninvited visit to the house— Arthur had painful cause to remember it—and Railsford's evident resentment of the intrusion, and the threatenings of slaughter which had been bandied about between the two houses ever since.

"Why," said Arthur to himself, "it's as clear as a pikestaff. I see it all now. Bickers said it was about a quarter to ten when he was collared. No fellows would be about then, and certainly no one would know that he would be passing our door, except Marky. Marky must have been actually hanging about for him when I passed! What a pity I didn't stop to see the fun! Yes, he'd got his sack ready, and had jammed the door open with this paper, and got his matches handy. Bickers would never see him till he came close up, and then Marky would have the sack on in two twos before he could halloa. My eye! I would never have believed it of Marky. Served Bickers right, of course, and it'll be a lesson to him; but it'll be hot for Marky if he's found out. Bickers says there may have been more than one fellow on the job, but I don't fancy it. If Mark had had anybody, he'd have got me to help him, because it would be all in the family, and I'd be bound to keep it dark. Wouldn't he turn green if he knew I'd twigged him! Anyhow, I'll keep it as close as putty now, and help him worry through. Very knowing of him to go with a candle and let him out this morning, and look so struck all of a heap. He took me in regularly."

Arthur said this to himself in a tone which implied that if Mark had been able to take him in, it was little to be wondered at that all the rest of the house had been hoodwinked.

"Hard luck," thought he condescendingly. "I daren't tell Dig. He's such a gossip, it would be all over the place in a day. Wonder if I'd best let Marky know I've spotted him? Think not. He wouldn't like it, and as long as he's civil I'll back him up for Daisy's sake."

Then, having stumbled on to the thought of home, it occurred to him that since the opening day, when he had sent a postcard to announce his arrival, he had not yet troubled his relatives with a letter this term. It was a chance, while he was in the humour, to polish them off now; so he took up his pen, and thus discoursed to his indulgent sister:—

"Dear Da,—Mark's all right so far. He doesn't hit it with a lot of the chaps, and now and then we hate him, but he lets Dig and me alone, and doesn't interfere with Smiley. I hope you and he keep it up, because it would make me look rather foolish if it was all off, especially as Dimsdale and one or two of the chaps happen to have heard about it, and have bets on that it won't last over the summer holidays.

"I'm getting on very well, and working hard at French. Je suis allant a commencer translater une chose par Moliere le prochain term si je suis bon. There's a howling row on in the house just now. Bickers got nobbled and sacked the other night, and shoved in the boot-box, and nobody knows who did it. I've a notion, but I'm bound to keep it dark for the sake of a mutual friend. It would be as rough as you like for him if it came out. But I believe in assistant un boiteux chien au travers de la stile; so I'm keeping it all dark. Ponsford has been down on us like a sack of coals. They've shoved forward our dinner-hour to one o'clock, so we're regularly dished over the sports, especially as Saturday afternoon has been changed into morning. The house will go to the dogs now, mais que est les odds si longtemps que vous etes heureuses? Dig sends his love. He and I remember the loved ones at home, and try to be good. By the way, do you think pater could go another five bob? I'm awfully hard up, my dear Daisy, and should greatly like not to get into evil ways and borrow from Dig. Can you spare me a photograph to stick up on the mantelpiece to remind me of you always? You needn't send a cabinet one, because they cost too much. I'd sooner have a carte-de-visite and the rest in stamps, if you don't mind. I'm doing my best to give Marky a leg-up. I could get him into a row and a half if I liked, but for your sake I'm keeping it all dark. I hope you'll come down soon. It will be an awful game if you do, and I'll promise to keep the fellows from grinning. Maintenant, il faut que je close haut. Donnez mon amour a mere et pere, et esperant que vous etes tout droit, souvenez me votre aimant frere, Arthur Herapath. Dig envoie son amour a tous."

Daisy might have been still more affected by this brotherly effusion than she was, had not she received a letter by the same post from Mark himself, telling her of his later troubles, and containing a somewhat more explicit narrative of recent events than had been afforded in the letter of his prospective brother-in-law.

"I am, I confess, almost at a loss," said he. "I do not like to believe that anyone in the house can have the meanness to involve us all in this misfortune by his own guilty silence. ... Much depends now on the spirit which my prefects show. I believe, myself, that if they take a proper view of the situation, we may weather the storm. But the new order of things hits them harder than anyone else, for it excludes them from football, cricket, and the sports; and I fear it is too much to expect that they will even try to make the best of it! I begin to feel that a master, after all, if he is to do any good, must be a sort of head boy himself, and I would be thankful if my seniors let me into their confidence, and we were not always dealing with one another at arm's length. All this, I fear, is uninteresting to you; but it means a good deal to me. The flighty Arthur does not appear to be much cast down by our troubles. I wish I could help him to a little of the ballast he so greatly needs. But, although I am the master of this house, I seem scarcely ever to see him. I hear him, though. I hear him this minute. He and his chum occupy the room over me, and when they execute a war dance—which occurs on an average six times a day—it makes me tremble for my ceiling. I have a notion Arthur spends his weekly allowance rather recklessly, and am thinking of suggesting to your father that a reduction might be judicious," etcetera, etcetera.

Had Railsford guessed, as he wrote these rather despondent lines, that his youthful kinsman in the room above was hugging himself for his own astuteness in tracking out his (Railsford's) villainy, he might perhaps have regarded the situation of affairs as still less cheerful. As it was, after the first discovery, the hope had begun to dawn upon the Master of the Shell, as it had already dawned on Barnworth, that some good might even result from the present misfortunes of the house. And as the days passed, he became still more confirmed in the hope, and, with his usual sanguine temper, thought he could see already Railsford's house starting on a new career and turning its troubles to credit.

Alas! Mark Railsford had rough waters still to pass through. And the house, before it was to start on its new career, had several little affairs to wind up and dispose of.

Among others, the Central Criminal Court Assizes were coming on, and the boys were summoned, "at their peril," not to fail in appearing on the occasion.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A "CAUSE CELEBRE."

Wake, of the Fifth, was one of those restless, vivacious spirits who, with no spare time on their hands, contrive to accomplish as much as any ordinary half-dozen people put together. He formed part of the much- despised band of fellows in his form contemptuously termed "muggers." In other words, he read hard, and took no part in the desultory amusements which consumed the odd moments of so many in the house. And yet he was an excellent cricketer and runner, as the school was bound to acknowledge whenever it called out its champions to do battle for it in the playing-fields.

More than that, if anyone wanted anything doing in the way of literary sport—in the concoction of a squib or the sketching of a caricature— Wake was always ready to take the work upon himself, and let who liked take the credit. He had a mania for verses and epigrams; he was reputed a bit of a conjuror, and no one ever brought a new puzzle to Grandcourt which Wake, of Railsford's, could not, sooner or later, find out.

Among other occupations, Wake had for some time past acted as secretary for the House Discussion Society—an old institution which for years had droned along to the well-known tunes—"That Wellington was a greater man than Napoleon," "That Shakespeare was a greater poet than Homer," "That women's rights are not desirable," "That the execution of Charles the First was unjustifiable," etcetera, etcetera. But when, six months ago, Trill, of the Sixth, the old secretary, left Grandcourt, and Wake, at the solicitation of the prefects (who lacked the energy to undertake the work themselves), consented to act as secretary, the society entered upon a new career. The new secretary alarmed his patrons by his versatility and energy. The old humdrum questions vanished almost completely from the programme, and were replaced by such interesting conundrums as "Is life worth living?" "Ought the Daily News to be taken in at the school library?" "What is a lie?" and so on. Beyond that, he boldly appropriated evenings for other purposes than the traditional debate. On one occasion he organised a highly successful reading of Coriolanus, in which the juniors, to their vast delight, were admitted to shout as citizens. Another evening was given to impromptu speeches, every member who volunteered being called upon to draw a subject out of a hat and make a speech upon it there and then. And more than once the order of the day was readings and recitations, in which the younger members were specially encouraged to take part, and stood up gallantly to be shot at by their critical seniors.

Whatever might be said of this novel departure from old tradition, no one could deny that the Discussion Society had looked up wonderfully during the last six months. The forum was generally crowded, and everyone, from prefect to Baby, took more or less interest in the proceedings. No one, after the first few meetings, questioned Wake's liberty to arrange what programme he liked, and the house was generally kept in a pleasant flutter of curiosity as to what the volatile secretary would be up to next.

The "Central Criminal Court" was his latest invention, and it need scarcely be said the idea, at the present juncture, was so startling that a quarter of an hour before the hour of meeting the forum was packed to its fullest extent, and it was even rumoured that Mr Railsford had promised to look in during the evening. It was evident directly to the juniors that the proceedings had been carefully thought out and settled by the secretary, in consultation with some of the wise heads of the house. The room was arranged in close imitation of a court of justice. The bench was a chair raised on two forms at one end; the witness-box and the dock were raised spaces railed off by cord from the rest of the court. Rows of desks represented the seats of the counsel, and two long forms, slightly elevated above the level of the floor, were reserved for the accommodation of the jury. The general public and witnesses-in-waiting were relegated to the rear of the court.

The question was, as everyone entered, Who is who? Who is to be the judge, and who is to be the prisoner, and who are to be the counsel? This natural inquiry was answered after the usual style of the enterprising secretary. Every one on entering was asked to draw out of a hat a folded slip of paper, which assigned to him the part he was to play, the only parts reserved from the lot being that of judge, which of course was to be filled by Ainger, and that of senior counsels for the prosecution and defence, which were undertaken respectively by Barnworth and Felgate. It was suspected later on that a few of the other parts were also prearranged, but no one could be quite sure of this.

"What are you?" said Dig, pulling a long face over his piece of paper.

"I'm junior counsel for the defence," said Arthur proudly. "What are you?"

"A wretched witness," said the baronet.

"What a spree! Won't I pull you inside out when I get you in the box, my boy!"

There was a call for order, and Ainger, mounting the bench, said,—

"This is quite an experiment, you fellows. It may be a failure, or it may go off all right. It depends on how we do our best. The idea is that a prisoner is to be tried for murder (delight among the juniors). Barnworth, who is the counsel for the prosecution, has prepared the story, and Felgate has been told what the line to be taken against the prisoner is, so that he might prepare his defence. These are the only two who know exactly what they are to do beforehand. All the rest will have to act according to the papers they have drawn. Who has drawn prisoner?"

Amid much laughter Stafford blushingly owned the soft impeachment, and was called upon to enter the dock, which he did, looking rather uncomfortable, and as if he half repented his consent to take a part in the proceedings.

"Now," proceeded Ainger, consulting a paper, "the twelve jurymen are to go into the box there."

The twelve boys with "Jury" on their papers obeyed. They were a motley crew, some being Fifth-form boys, some Shell-fish, and some Babies. And by the odd irony of fate, the one who had drawn the "foreman's" ticket was Jukes, the Baby.

"Now the witnesses go to the back seats there. You'll find on each the name you will be called by, and a short note of what your evidence is to be. You will have to listen very carefully to Barnworth's story, so as to know exactly what it's all about."

There was a laugh at this. Some thought it a trifle queer that witnesses should have to learn what their evidence was to be from notes given them in court and from counsel's speech. But they were young, and did not know much of law courts.

"Of course you must not show one another your notes," said Ainger; "that would spoil all."

"Ta-ta," said the baronet rather dismally to his chum; "they call me Tomkins!"

"The junior counsel for the prosecution, of course, are to sit behind Barnworth, and for the defence behind Felgate. You must listen carefully, as you may have to help in the cross-examination. The rest of the public go to the back; and now we are ready to begin. Usher, call silence in the court."

Tilbury, whose proud office it was to act in this capacity, shouted, "Order, there! shut up!" in a loud voice.

Wake, who acted as clerk, read out the name of the case, "Regina versus Bolts." The jury answered to their names and promised to bring in a true verdict. The prisoner was called upon to plead guilty or not guilty, and answered, "Not guilty"; and then Barnworth rose and opened the case for the prosecution.

"My lord, and gentlemen of the jury," he began; "the prisoner at the bar is charged with the wilful murder of John Smith, on the night of Tuesday, February 4."

This was interesting, for Tuesday, February 4, was the date of the Bickers affair.

"I shall, as briefly as possible, narrate the circumstances of this unfortunate affair. The prisoner, Thomas Bolts, is a workman in the employ of a large firm of engineers in this neighbourhood, in which the murdered man was also engaged as a foreman and overseer. It is unnecessary, gentlemen of the jury, to explain to you that the works in question are divided into several distinct departments, or shops. I need not describe them all, but two of them were the screw department and the boiler department. Smith was foreman and overseer of the screw department, while the prisoner was one of the skilled workmen in the boiler department. For some time past ill-feeling had existed between the men of the boiler department and the deceased on account of his interference with them; and this ill-feeling appears to have culminated a few days before the murder, on account of an intrusion made by Smith into the boiler department, and the alleged assault of one of the men there employed."

Every one saw now what was coming, and pricked up his ears in anticipation. Ainger, who had had as little idea of the turn things were going to take as anybody else, grew fidgety, and wished Wake had shown more discretion. But it was too late to stop the case now.

"This assault occurred, I believe, on the 2nd of February."

"No, the 3rd—the day before," whispered Ranger, who acted as junior counsel for the prosecution.

"I am obliged to my learned friend for correcting me. This occurred on the 3rd, the day before the murder. Now, gentlemen of the jury, I ask your attention to the occurrences which followed. At the time of the assault the prisoner, in the absence of the head foreman, was acting as overseer of his shop, and witnesses will prove that he protested against the behaviour of the deceased, and was in consequence insulted by Smith. I mention this to show that a personal grudge existed between the two men."

Stafford, whose role as prisoner may or may not have been the result of mere accident, began not to like the turn things were taking.

"On the 4th everything went well till the evening, although, it is stated, a formal complaint of Smith's interference was made through the regular, foreman of the boiler-shop, as will appear in evidence. In the evening of that day—that is, about eight o'clock—a meeting of the heads of the various departments was held in a distant part of the works, which was attended by Smith as well as the other foremen. The meeting lasted till 9.30, and Smith was last seen proceeding to his own quarters, in the neighbourhood of the boiler-shop.

"On the morning of the 5th, a workman named Simple, on entering the coal-cellar under the stairs of the boiler-shed, stumbled against a human body, and being frightened, gave an alarm. The foreman of the boiler department, accompanied by the prisoner and one or two other men, proceeded to the spot, and found the body of the deceased lying on the floor among the coals, enveloped in a sack, and bound hand and foot. He was alive at the time, and on being released stated that on passing the door of the boiler-shed, on the previous evening, he had been seized from behind by some person unknown, and after being bound in the sack had been dragged into the cellar and shut up there for the night. He was much exhausted when found, and on the evening of the 5th succumbed to the injuries he had received."

Some of the juniors breathed again. It was very like the story of Mr Bickers, only Mr Bickers was alive and kicking still. It was much more satisfactory for the present purposes to have the fellow out of the way.

"Now, gentlemen of the jury," proceeded Barnworth, putting his hands in his pockets and addressing himself particularly to Jukes, the Baby, "I ask your particular attention to a few facts. At the time of the murder the prisoner, who is usually working in his own shop, was observed to be absent, and no satisfactory account can be given of his whereabouts. Further than that, a witness will prove to you that after the quarrel on the previous day he was heard to say that he would pay the deceased out. It will also be proved that on the same afternoon he procured several yards of cord from a neighbouring shop, which the maker will identify as very like the cord used for binding the murdered man. Finally, on an inquiry made by the head of the firm, on a question being put to each man in the boiler department in succession, it was observed that the accused gave his replies with evident confusion and alarm. For these reasons, gentlemen of the jury, and others which will come out in evidence, I shall ask you by your verdict to find the prisoner guilty of the wilful murder of John Smith."

This seemed a very strong case, and one or two of the jury rather wondered that the judge did not at once direct them to bring in a verdict of "Guilty." However, as it appeared to be the usual thing to hear evidence, they waited.

The first witness called was Job Walker, and, in response to the call, Blyth of the Fifth stepped into the box.

His evidence related to the feud between the murdered, man and the men in the boiler-shop; and he gave an account of the intrusion of Smith on the night of the 3rd and of the quarrel which ensued. Blyth, in fact, related what had happened in the common room at Railsford's that evening, only changing names and places in accordance with Barnworth's story.

When his examination in chief was concluded, Felgate rose and said,—

"I have one or two questions to ask you, Mr Job Walker. You say you were in the boiler-shop during the whole of the evening in question. Where was the proper foreman of the shop at the time?"

"He was out."

"Was work going on as usual in his absence?"

"Pretty much."

"What do you mean by pretty much? Were you working yourself?"

Great delight of the juniors, for Blyth had been one of the chief rioters.

"Well," said he, "perhaps I was a little slack." (Laughter.)

"Who was in charge of the shop at the time?"

"The prisoner and another workman called Flounders."

"And pray were they 'slack,' too, as you call it?"

"Yes—they were no good at all." (Laughter.)

"Were you present when the proper foreman returned?"

"Yes, I was."

"Did he say anything to the prisoner?"

"He seemed in a great rage."

"Did they come to blows?"

"No—but I shouldn't have been surprised if they had."

"That will do, Mr Job Walker."

Barnworth asked another question before Mr Walker stepped down.

"Did you notice what took place between the prisoner and the deceased?"

"Yes. The deceased, when he came in, told the prisoner he was no good, and sent him to his place and took charge of the shop. The prisoner was very angry, and said he would like to pay Smith out."

The general opinion was that Blyth had acquitted himself well, and he was cheered by the public as he stood down.

Timothy Simple was next called, and Simson, rather pale and scared- looking, answered to the name.

The examination of this witness was left to Ranger, who got him to narrate the circumstances of his finding the body of the "deceased" on the morning of the 5th. The unfortunate youth seemed to forget that the trial was a mock one, and coloured up and stammered and corrected himself, as if the life of a fellow-being actually depended on his evidence.

Felgate, after a hurried communication from his junior, only asked a very few questions in cross-examination.

"Did you observe if the body was lying with its head to the door or its feet?"

"I really couldn't say. It was so dark, and I was so horrified."

"Was the key of the cellar always on the outside of the door?"

"Yes, generally; it must have been, because I locked it behind me when I ran out."

"Who would be the last person at night to go to the cellar? Would the foreman go round and lock up?"

"I don't know; I suppose so."

"You wouldn't swear that the foreman did not usually keep the key at night in his own room?"

"No—that is, yes. Do you mean I wouldn't swear he did, or didn't?"

"You would not swear he did not keep it?"

"I don't know."

"But you wouldn't swear he didn't?"

"I couldn't, because if I don't know—"

"If you don't know you couldn't swear he didn't do it. Come, tell the jury, Yes, or No, Mr Simple; it is an important question."

Simson looked up and down. Half a dozen friends were winking at him suggestively from different parts of the court, and he couldn't make out their meaning. At length he perceived Munger nodding his head, and as Hunger had lent him a crib to Ovid the day before, he decided to refer to him.

"Yes," he said.

"I thought so," said Felgate. "Why could you not say that before, Mr Simple?"

And Simson descended from his perch amid laughter and jeers, not quite sure whether he had not committed a crime beside which the offence of the prisoner at the bar was a trifle.

"Call William Tomkins," said Barnworth.

William Tomkins was called, and Dig, with his tawny mane more than usually dishevelled, and an excited look on his face, entered the box. He glared round him defiantly, and then dug his hands into his pockets and waited for his questions.

"Your name is William Tomkins?" began Barnworth.

"Sir William Tomkins, Baronet," said the witness, amidst laughter.

"To be sure, I beg your pardon, Sir William. And what are you, pray?"

"A baronet." (Loud laughter.)

"A baronet in reduced circumstances, I fear. You work in the boiler department of this factory?"

"All right, go on."

Here the judge interposed.

"The witness must remember that he is bound to answer questions properly. Unless he does so I shall order him to be removed."

This somewhat damped the defiant tone of Digby, and he answered the further questions of counsel rather more amiably. These had reference to the discovery of the body on the morning of the 5th, with the details of which the reader is already acquainted. The public began to get a little tired of this constant repetition of the same story, and were about to vote the proceedings generally slow, when a double event served to rouse their flagging attention.

Mr Railsford entered the court as a spectator, and was accommodated with a seat on the bench, beside the judge. At the same moment, Barnworth, having ended his questions, Arthur Herapath, junior counsel for the defence, rose to his feet, and said,—

"Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, have the goodness to look at me and answer a few questions. I would advise you to be careful."

The baronet replied by putting his tongue in his cheek, and giving a pantomimic wave of his fist in the direction of the learned counsel.

"Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, how old are you, my lad?"

"Find out," said Sir William hotly.

"That's what I mean to do. Answer me, sir, or I'll get the beak to run you in for contempt of court."

"Come and do it," said the witness, red in the face.

Here the judge again interposed.

"The learned junior must confine himself to the case before us, or I shall have to ask Mr Felgate to conduct the cross-examination."

"All serene, my lord," rejoined the learned junior, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Of course, if your lordship think the question's not important I won't press it against your lordship's desire. I'm obliged to your lordship for your lordship's advice, and I'll pull your nose, Dimsdale"—this was in a parenthesis—"if you don't shut up. Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, you say you saw the prisoner pulled out of the sack?"

"I never said anything of the sort."

"My lord, I must ask your lordship to commit this man for perjury. He's telling crackers."

"I think he said he saw the murdered man pulled out of the sack," said the judge.

"That's what I said. How came you to say you didn't, eh, sir? Didn't I tell you to be careful or you'd get your hair combed a way you don't fancy? Now, what I want to know is, what's the width of the door of the cellar?"

"Look here," said the witness, "if you want to make an ass of yourself you'd better shut up. What's that got to do with it?"

"It's quite a proper question," said the judge.

"There you are!" said Arthur, delighted. "I'm obliged to your lordship for your lordship's remarks. Now, Sir William Thingamy, what do you mean, sir, by refusing to answer the question? I've a good mind to ask his lordship to send you to penal servitude. Now, what about the door?"

"I don't know anything about it, and I don't care."

"Ha! ha! You'll have to care, my boy. Could two chaps go through it together?"

"Come and try," said the baronet, snorting with wrath.

"You must answer the question, witness," said the judge.

"No; he knows two chaps couldn't. He measured it himself and found it was only twenty-eight inches wide."

"Who measured it?" asked one of the jury.

"Why, Herapath, that idiot there."

Arthur was somewhat sobered by this piece of evidence, as well as by a significant consultation on the bench, which he rather feared might relate to his conduct of the case.

"That's what I wanted to get at," said he. "Now, Sir William, what's the height of that door, eh?"

"What's the good of asking me when you measured it yourself, you duffer? Didn't you tell me yourself it was seven feet two to the top of the ledge?"

"There you are! Keep your hair on! That's what I wanted! Seven foot two. Now suppose you were told a box of wax lights was found stuck upon that ledge, and that two of the matches out of it were found on the floor of the boot-box—cellar, I mean—what should you think?"

"It is hardly evidence, is it, to ask a witness what he would think?" suggested Barnworth.

"Oh, isn't it? Easy a bit, and you'll see what we're driving at, your lordship! I'll trouble your lordship to ask the learned chap not to put me off my run. Come, Mr What's-your-name, what should you think?"

Dig mused a bit, and then replied, "I should think it was a little queer."

"Of course you would! So it is a little queer," said Arthur, winking knowingly at his future brother-in-law. "Now, could you reach up to the top of that ledge, my little man?"

"You be blowed!" responded the baronet, who resented this style of address.

"That means you couldn't. When you're about four feet higher than you are you'll be able to do it. Now could the prisoner reach up to it?"

"No, no more could you, with your boots and three-and-sixpenny Sunday tile on!"

"Order in the court! Really, your lordship, your lordship ought to sit on this chap. Perhaps your lordship's friend on your lordship's right would kindly give him a hundred lines when next he comes across him. Now, Mr Baron, and Squire, and Knight of the Shire, and all the rest of it, I want to know if there's any chap in our house—I mean the boiler- shop—could reach up there? Mind your eye, now!"

"Ainger could by jumping."

"I didn't ask you anything about jumping, you duffer! How tall would a chap need to be to reach up there?"

"About double your measure—over six foot."

"There you are! Now is there any chap in our boiler-shop over six feet?"

"No."

"I knew you'd say that. Think again. What about the foreman?" and he gave a side inclination of his head towards the unconscious Railsford.

"Oh, him! Yes, he's over six foot."

"Go down two places, for saying him instead of he. There you are, my lord, we've got it at last. Bowled the chap out clean, first ball. That's our case, only there's plenty more to be got out first. We'll trouble your lordship to bring the chap in not guilty, when it's all done." And he nodded knowingly to the jury.

Railsford had sat and listened to all this in a state of the completest mystification. Not having heard Barnworth's opening statement, he had no glimmer of a suspicion that the cause celebre occupying the attention of this august assembly was anything but a pleasant fiction from beginning to end, and he had been wondering to himself whether such performances, conducted in the irregular style which he had witnessed, could be of any good. However, coming as a guest (for the master of the house was always a visitor on such occasions), he deemed it best not to interfere just then. He would give Arthur a little friendly advice as to the conduct of a junior counsel later on.

But he was the only unconscious person in the court. The listeners had been quick to pick up the drift of Barnworth's opening story, and equally quick to detect the line of defence taken up by Felgate and his vivacious junior. They kept their eyes fixed most of the time on Railsford, to note how he took it; and when Arthur reached his triumphant climax, some among the juniors fully expected to see their master fall on his knees and plead guilty before the whole court.

Instead of that he laughed, and, turning to the judge, said, in an audible voice,—

"This seems very amusing, but it's all Hebrew to me. Is this the end?"

"I think we've had nearly enough for to-night," said Ainger, who himself felt rather uneasy lest matters should go any further. Not that he laid any stress on Arthur's wonderful discovery—that merely amused him; but he foresaw a danger of the tone of the proceedings becoming offensive, and considered it better to interpose while yet there was time.

"Gentlemen," he said, "as far as the case has gone I think I may say it has been ably conducted and patiently listened to. As our time is nearly up I adjourn the hearing till a future occasion."

"Jolly hard luck," said Arthur to his senior. "I'd got plenty more to come out."

"You've done quite enough for one evening," said Felgate, grinning, "the rest will keep."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET.

Arthur's great hit at the Central Criminal Court was the topic in the junior circles at Railsford's for some days. It was hardly to be expected that Sir Digby Oakshott would share in the general admiration which fell to his friend's lot. That young baronet had a painful sense of having come off second best at the trial, and the relations between the friends became considerably strained in consequence. What made it harder for Dig was that Arthur had suddenly gained quite a prestige among the lower boys of the house, who, without being too curious, arrived at the conclusion that he knew a thing or two about Railsford in connection with the row about Bickers, and was keeping it dark.

Strangely enough, from the same cause, Railsford himself leapt into sudden popularity with his juniors. For if he, argued they, was the man who paid out Bickers for them, then, although it put them to a little inconvenience, they were resolved as one man to back their hero up, and cover his retreat to the best of their ability. The master himself was considerably surprised at the sudden outburst of affection towards himself. He hoped it meant that his influence was beginning to tell home on the minds of his youthful charges; and he wrote cheerfully to Daisy about it, and said he had scarcely hoped in so short a time to have made so many friends among his boys.

"Tell you what," said Arthur one evening, after discussing the virtues of his future kinsman with some of the Shell, "it wouldn't be a bad dodge to get up a testimonial for Marky. I know a stunning dodge for raising the wind."

"Good idea," said Tilbury, "I'm game."

"Let's give it him soon, to get him in a good-humour, next week," suggested someone.

"No, we'd better do it just before the Easter holidays," replied Arthur; "that'll start him well for next term."

That evening the differences between the two friends were patched up. Dig, under a pledge of secrecy, was initiated into the whole mystery of the sack, and the wedge of paper, and the wax vestas, promising on his part to respect his friend's reputation in the matter of the "fifty-six billion Snowball."

The baronet was fully impressed with the importance of his friend's disclosures.

"It's a regular case," said he. "I never thought it of him. We must keep it dark and give him a leg out."

"I fancy so," said Arthur. "It's a sort of family affair, you see. It's half a pity he can't know that we've bowled him out and are sticking to him. But I suppose it's best not to let him suspect it."

"No—better keep it all dark. He'll know all about it some day."

And the two confederates went to bed happy that night, in the consciousness that they were restored to one another's confidence, and that they were standing between their miscreant "kinsman" and the punishment which properly belonged to his crime. On the following morning a notice appeared on the common room door, signed by Ainger, summoning the house to meet after tea on particular business. The important business had no connection with the affaire Bickers, but was the captain's first move towards pulling up the house to the proud position he designed for it.

"Now, you fellows," said he, in the course of a short spirited speech, "I needn't tell you that our house is down on its luck this term. (Cheers.) We are in the black books of the doctor, as you know—and we can't well help it. Somebody in the house thinks fit to tell a lie, and gets us all into trouble; but we aren't going down on our knees to that person or any other sneak to help us when we mean to help ourselves. (Loud cheers.) Now this is one way I propose we help ourselves. We are, you all know, cut out of the sports, and school cricket, and all that sort of thing. (Shame!) Very well; but they can't prevent our getting up house sports of our own, and a house eleven, and showing that we aren't going to be put down. (Applause.) I mean to train hard myself, and run the mile if I can in quicker time than Smedley or anyone else in the School sports; and unless I'm mistaken Barnworth means to show that Railsford's house can jump an inch higher than any other house at Grandcourt, even though we don't get a prize for it (tremendous cheers); and I am not so sure if Wake doesn't press their second man pretty close. (Bravo, Wake!) You youngsters will have to do your share. We want a Railsford's fellow to lick the time of every event in the School sports. (Loud cheers.) We may not be able to do it in all; but we'll know the reason why, if we don't. (So we will!) You'll have to sit up, some of you, if you're going to do it. But of course you'll do that. (Rather!) Railsford's sports will be held this day three weeks—just a week after the School sports. So we shall know what we've got to beat. That's one thing I've got to say. Every boy here should enter for some event or other, and see he wins it. (Applause.) The next thing is this. Cricket is coming on; it begins the Saturday after the sports. We aren't going to be done out of our cricket to please anybody! (Tremendous enthusiasm and waving of caps.) We intend to turn out as stiff a house eleven as ever played in the fields, and some fine day you fellows will see Railsford's play the School and win. (Applause.) Yes, and we'll have a second eleven, too. (Rather! from the juniors.) Mr Railsford is going to back us up. (Cheers.) He played in his college eleven at Cambridge, and he's promised to give up all his Saturdays to the end of the term to coach us. (Three cheers for Railsford.) Now the last thing—"

"Whatever else can there be?" said the baronet, in a perspiration of fervour.

"Some of you may open your eyes when I mention it, but I know you won't funk it. We mean to get hold of all the School prizes at Grandcourt this term, if we can. (Sensation.) Yes, you may gape, but it's a fact! Of course, I can't beat Smedley for the gold medal. (Yes, have a try!) Rather! I mean to try; and Smedley will have to put on steam. (Loud cheers.) Then Stafford is going to cut out Branscombe—(Boo-hoo!)—for the Melton Scholarship, and Barnworth will get the vacant Cavendish Scholarship, and Wake and Ranger and Sherriff and Wignet are going to walk off with all the Fifth-form prizes; and Herapath will pull off the Swift Exhibition, and Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet.—(tremendous cheers)—will win the Shell History medal."

"I say!" said the baronet, mopping his face vehemently; "that's the first I've heard about that!"

"Yes, and our Babies are going to show the way, too!" continued the captain; "and on prize-day we'll crowd up and cheer them when they toddle up to take their prizes. (Laughter and cheers.) That's all I want to say. (Laughter and applause.) Some of you will say I'm cracked. (No!) I'm not! Railsford's is going in and going to win, and if you all back up—(So we will I)—we shall do it easily. (Cheers.) Don't let us brag too much. The school will find out what we are up to soon enough without our blowing trumpets. Oh, there's one thing more," continued the captain—"positively the last—(laughter)—about this row we're all in. It was a caddish thing, whoever did it, to maul a man about in the dark when he couldn't defend himself—(cheers)—and a low thing, whoever did it, to tell a lie about it. (Cheers.) But my advice is, let the beggar alone. He's an enemy to our house, but we aren't going to make ourselves miserable on his account. Let him alone. Don't go poking and sniffing about to try to smell him out. (Arthur blushed violently here.) Think of something better. In spite of him we're going to make Railsford's the cock house at Grandcourt! That will be the best way to pay him out, and it will take us all our time to do it, without dirtying our fingers over him."

Ainger concluded amidst a burst of cheers which quite took him aback, and the meeting dispersed enthusiastically to talk over the wonderful programme, and take the first steps towards carrying it out.

The captain's words came upon most of the fellows as a surprise that there could be any other way out of their present misfortunes than by submitting to them tamely and giving up the glory of their house as a bad job. The audacious proposal first took their breath away, and then took possession of them. They would have their revenge; and here was a way open to them. It scarcely occurred to any but the experienced seniors that there would be any difficulty in making Ainger's bold predictions true. Arthur for instance, having heard it publicly announced that he was about to win the Swift Exhibition, thought and behaved as if the prize were already in his hands.

"Twenty pounds a-year for three years," said he complacently, to his ally. "Not a bad pot. Tell you what, Dig, well get a tandem tricycle, my boy, with the first year's money. Hope they'll pay it in advance, don't you? then we can get it after break-up, and have some ripping spins in the summer holidays. Better fun than fooling about in Switzerland with Marky and Daisy. We'll either get that, or I know a jolly little boat Punter has for sale at Teddington, with a towing-line and double sculls, and a locker under the stern seat for grub. He wanted L22 for it, but I expect he'll come down the L2 for ready money. Perhaps it would be better to buy it this summer, and get the tricycle with next year's money. I've a good mind to write to Punter to-night."

"Hadn't you better get the Exhibition first?" suggested the baronet.

"Of course I mean to get it," said Arthur, rather nettled; "I fancy Ainger's as good a judge of what a chap can do in that line as you are."

"I don't know," replied Dig; "he said I was going to get the History Medal, but I'm not so sure if I shall."

"Well, I did think he was letting out a bit when he said that," replied Arthur, with a chuckle. "Never mind, we'll go halves in the Exhibition."

It must be admitted that the prospect of his coming academical success did not appreciably affect Arthur Herapath's studies during the present term. Four-and-a-half months is a long time to look ahead in a schoolboy's career; and, as it happened, the captain's speech had suggested other matters in the immediate future, which for the time being absorbed not only Arthur's attention but everyone else's.

That evening, a list of events for the House sports was exhibited on the common room door, with space below each for the names of intending competitors. It was noticed that the list corresponded in every particular with the list of the School sports to be held a week earlier, and that the compiler (who was detected by the handwriting to be Barnworth) had already written in brackets the names of those who had entered for each of the events in the School sports. Every one, therefore, in Railsford's, could see, not only what he was going in for, but who the competitors were whom he was expected to beat.

A good beginning had already been made before the list came under the notice of the juniors. For the High Jump, which this year, for some reason or other, had been looked forward to as one of the principal events, the signature of Barnworth stood boldly underneath the dreaded names of Smedley and Clipstone. More than that, Wake, too, had entered himself in the lists against these great competitors. The entries for the Mile were scarcely less interesting. Smedley was to run for the School, and, still more formidable, the long-legged Branscombe. Against them now appeared the names of Ainger and Stafford, and the plucky Ranger of the Fifth, and so on down the list, for all the big events, the prefects and the redoubtable Fifth-form "muggers" of Railsford's had set their challenge, and the hearts of the juniors swelled big within them as they crowded round the board to write their names against the lesser contests.

Arthur and the baronet adopted the simple and modest method of entering themselves for everything; and it was not till Maple hinted something about the entrance fees mounting up to about a sovereign a-piece that they drew in their horns and limited their ambitions to the long jump under fifteen, the junior hurdle race, and the quarter-mile under sixteen. The other Shell-fish followed suit. Tilbury, of course, put himself down for throwing the cricket-ball under fifteen. Indeed, some of his admirers thought he might even venture to throw against the seniors; only Felgate already had his name down for that event. Dimsdale undertook the hundred yards under fifteen against several strong opponents; and, on the whole, among them, the boys of the Shell contrived to make a strong show on the list for every event within their reach. When the turn came for the Babies, they evinced equal spirit, and divided the list among them with a fierceness which augured ill for the Babies of the other houses whose claims they challenged.

Ainger and Barnworth strolled down later on to examine the list, and now suggested a few alterations. The baronet for instance, was called upon to enter for the second class of kicking the football contest, and Arthur was moved from the quarter-mile to the half-mile, because a good man was wanted there to beat Smythe, of the School-House, whereas Sherriff could very well be trusted to take care of the quarter-mile for Railsford's house.

Mr Railsford presently arrived on the scene, and went into the whole programme enthusiastically, and in a way which won him friends among the boys, more even than his reputed authorship of the Bickers outrage had lately done. He invited any boys who chose during the next few days to try over their event in his presence, and suggested that a record of the times should be carefully kept, with a view to ensure that each trial should beat the last.

More than that, he offered a prize for the best all-round record in the house; and proposed that, although they were not rich enough to give prizes for each event, any boy who beat the School record in his competition should receive back his entrance fee. This practical suggestion gave much satisfaction.

"Of course," said he, to one or two of those round him, "it is harder to run against time than against another fellow. You must make up your minds for that; and I would advise you to try to get the two best in our house to enter for each event, so as to get the spur of a close race. Our times are sure to be the better for it."

Boys liked him for that word "our." It sounded like a common cause, and they were quick to hail the first symptom of such feeling in a master.

The next fortnight witnessed a smart athletic fever in the house. Of course, it soon spread abroad what Railsford's was up to, and the School form generally improved in consequence. In fact, when the day arrived for the School sports, it was generally felt that Grandcourt had rarely come on to the ground better up to the mark. Alas! Grandcourt came on to the ground in two halves, and on two different days. When the boys of the school-House, Roe's, Bickers's, and Grover's turned out to the starting-post, Railsford's, chafing like greyhounds in the leash, turned in to their penitential dinner.

"Never mind," said Ainger, as the distant shouts were wafted from the playing-fields into the common room, "it will be our turn to-day week!"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A FLY IN THE OINTMENT.

Ainger's prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled. While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle even to the captain. Others said it was because he could not win anything even if he tried. Others darkly hinted that he was one of the authors of the house's present disgrace; and others whispered that there was no love lost between Railsford and his fourth prefect. In this last conjecture the gossips were right. Felgate and the Master of the Shell had not hit it from the first day of their acquaintance; and within the last few days an occurrence had taken place which had brought the two into violent collision.

Railsford on leaving his room one afternoon had been attracted by the noise of groans and weeping at the far end of the passage. Going in the direction of the melancholy sounds, he discovered Bateson, the Baby, with a face as white as a sheet, huddled up all of a heap, the picture of misery and tribulation.

"What is the matter?" inquired the master.

The sufferer did not hear him at first; but on a repetition of the question he looked up and groaned.

"Oh, I'm dying! I'm so ill! Oh, what shall I do?"

Railsford was alarmed. The boy looked so white, and trembled all over. He stooped down to lift him up; but Bateson blubbered.

"Don't touch me, please. Oh, I'm dying!" and rolled over, groaning.

It was no time for parleying. Railsford lifted him up in his arms and looked at him. There were beads of perspiration on his face, and a flavour of strong tobacco about his jacket. Bateson had been smoking. The master carried him downstairs and out into the square, where he set him on his feet. The cool air instantly revived the unhappy boy, and what it left undone a short and sharp fit of sickness completed.

"You're better now," said Railsford, when this little ceremony was over.

Bateson was fain to admit it.

"How many more cigars have you got about you?" inquired the master, as he stalked with the delinquent at his heels into his room, and closed the door.

The Baby was pale this time with terror, not with tobacco. He tremblingly turned out his trousers pockets, and produced a big cigar of which about a quarter had been consumed.

"That's all, really, sir," he faltered.

Railsford took the cigar and sniffed it. In his old college days he would not like to say he had not smoked as good a one himself.

"Very well," said he, handing it back to the astonished Baby. "Now, Bateson, sit down on that chair. Here are some matches. You must finish this cigar to the end before you leave this room."

The wretched Bateson turned green and began to howl.

"Oh no, please sir! Don't say that, sir! It will kill me! Please, Mr Railsford!"

Railsford quietly lit a match, and handed it to the boy. Bateson fairly went down on his knees, and grovelled at the master's feet.

"Oh, Mr Railsford! I'll promise never to touch one again—I really will if you'll only let me off. I should die if you made me. Oh, please!"

Railsford blew out the match and told the boy to get up.

"I never did it before," whimpered Bateson—it was hardly necessary to say that. "I didn't know it was any harm. Felgate said it would do me good. Please, Mr Railsford, may I put it in the fire? I'll never touch such a beastly thing again."

And as Railsford said nothing to prevent it, he flung the origin of his evils into the fire.

"Now go to your room," said the master. "And don't be so foolish again."

Bateson departed, marvelling that he had not been thrashed for his crime, but pretty effectually cured of any ambition to renew his narcotic experiments. Railsford, had he been anyone else but Master of the House, would have enjoyed this little adventure. As it was, he did not like it, for it could scarcely end where it had. He astonished Felgate that evening by a visit to his study.

"Felgate," said he, "I wish to know your reason for giving Bateson a cigar to smoke."

"I give Bateson a cigar, sir?"

"Do you deny it, Felgate?" demanded the master sternly.

"Oh," said the prefect, with a forced laugh, "I believe there was some joke about a cigar. He had a great fancy to try one."

A scornful look came into Railsford's face as he said, "Do you really suppose, Felgate, any good is gained by not telling the truth at once?"

"The truth, sir?" said Felgate, firing up as uncandid persons always do when their veracity is questioned. "I don't understand you, sir."

"You understand me perfectly," said Railsford. "You know that it is against rules for boys to smoke here."

"I wasn't smoking," said Felgate.

"No. You encouraged another boy to do what you dared not do yourself; that is hardly creditable in a prefect."

Felgate shifted his ground.

"There's nothing wrong in smoking," said he; "lots of fellows do it."

"I do it myself," said Railsford bluntly, "but what has that to do with this matter? You, as a monitor, are on your honour to observe the rules of the school, and see that others observe them. You break them yourself, and encourage others to break them. Is there nothing wrong in that?"

Felgate said nothing, and jauntily took up a book.

"Put down that book, and bring me all the cigars or tobacco you have, at once."

Railsford said this quietly and firmly. He had lost his shy, hesitating manner with his prefects; and now, when, for the first time, he was in collision with one of their number, he showed himself a stronger man than Felgate, at any rate, had given him credit for being. The prefect looked for a moment as if he would resist. Then he sullenly went to his locker and produced a case containing four cigars.

"These are all you have?"

Felgate nodded.

"They are confiscated by the rules of the school," said Railsford. "They will be returned to you after breaking-up. I wish I were able to return them to you now, and rely on your honour not to repeat your offence."

"I don't want them back," said Felgate, with a sneer. "You may smoke them yourself, sir."

He repented of the insult before it had left his lips. Railsford, however, ignored it, and quietly taking the cigars from the case, took them away with him, leaving the case on the table. Felgate's impulse was to follow him and apologise for his ill-bred words. But his evil genius kept him back; and before bed-time arrived he not only repented of his repentance, but reproached himself for not saying a great deal more than he had. Felgate had a wonderful gift of self-delusion. He knew he had acted wrongly and meanly. "And yet," he argued, "smoking is no crime, and if the school rules make it one, it doesn't follow that I'm a sinner if I have a whiff now and then. He admits he smokes himself. He doesn't call himself a sinner. Easy enough for him to be high and mighty. One law for him and another for me."

Poor young Bateson had a sorry time of it for the next week. In his terror at the prospect of having to smoke that awful cigar to the bitter end, he had scarcely known what he was saying; and it was not until Felgate charged him with being a sneak that he realised he had said anything to compromise his senior. Felgate was not one of the vulgar noisy sort of bullies, but a good deal worse. He made the wretched Baby's life miserable with all sorts of exquisite torture. He hounded him on to break rules, and then caught him red-handed, and held over his head threats of exposure and punishment. He passed the word round the house that the boy was a tell-tale, and little was the mercy poor Bateson got either from friend or foe when that became known. Nor did Felgate, in his revengeful whims, omit the orthodox functions of the bully. Only he took care to perform such ceremonies in private, for fear of a mishap. But in these precautions he unluckily reckoned without his host.

Railsford, after what had happened, was hardly likely to consider Bateson's lot a happy one, and kept a sharp look-out to prevent any mischief coming to the luckless Baby on account of his confessions. For some days, no sign of any such trouble came under the master's notice; and he was beginning to congratulate himself that Felgate had taken a proper view of his delinquencies, and was taking the only manly course of making amends, when the smouldering fires broke out unexpectedly and fiercely. Master Bateson was one of those practical young gentlemen who believe in having a shilling's worth for a shilling; and when after a day or two he heard himself called a sneak from every corner of the house, it occurred to him, "What's the use of being called a sneak if I'm not one?" Whereupon he marched off to Railsford, and informed him that Felgate had twice screwed his arm; once made him catch hold of a poker at the hot end—the proof whereof he bore on his hand—had once made him stand in the corner on one foot for the space of an hour by the clock; and had half a dozen times threatened him that unless he did something wrong he would accuse him of theft or some other horrible crime to the doctor. By reason of which ill-usage and threats, he, the deponent, went in bodily fear of his life.

"Oh, and please, Mr Railsford, be sure and not let him know I told you, or he'll kill me!"

Railsford had another uncomfortable interview with Felgate after this. Felgate as usual began by impugning the junior's veracity, but on the master's proposing to send for the boy, and let him repeat his story there and then, he sullenly admitted that he might have played practical jokes on his tender person of the kind suggested. When Railsford said the matter was a serious one, the prefect smiled deprecatingly, and said it was not pleasant to him to be spoken to in this manner, and that if Mr Railsford wished to punish him he would be glad to have it over and done with. Railsford said that the question in his mind was whether he would allow Felgate to continue a prefect of the house. Whereupon Felgate promptly changed colour and dropped his sneer entirely.

"I'm sure," said he, "I had no intention of hurting him. I may have been a trifle inconsiderate, but I didn't suppose—he didn't complain to me, so I could hardly know he minded it."

"I can have very little confidence in a prefect who acts as you have done, Felgate."

"You may depend on me, sir, not to touch him again."

"I want to depend on more than that," said the master. "As a prefect, you hold a position of influence in the house. If that influence is badly used—"

"I don't think you will have to complain any more," said Felgate.

"I sincerely hope not—for you may be sure another offence of this kind could not possibly be passed over. For the present I shall say no more about this, and shall do my best to treat you with the same confidence as heretofore. Just now we need all to work together for the good of our house and the school; and the boys are sure to look to the prefects to help them. Good-night, Felgate."

The grimace with which the prefect returned the salute, after the door closed, might have convinced Railsford, had he seen it, that he had done no good either to himself, the house, or the prefect by his leniency. As it was, he was destined to make the discovery later on. Felgate, to all appearances, resumed his old ways in the house. He let young Bateson alone, and kept to himself his feud with the master. He even attempted to pretend a languid interest in the new ambitions of his fellow-prefects, and at Ainger's request entered his name for one of the events in the sports list. Railsford observed with some relief that he appeared to recognise the force of the rebuke which had been administered him, and with characteristic hopefulness was tempted to look upon the incident as ended.

It was by no means ended. Felgate, to all appearance docile and penitent, nursed his wrath within him, and kept his eye open, with all the keenness of a sportsman, to the slightest opening for a revenge. In a quiet way he continued to do a great deal in the house to thwart the spirit of enterprise which was at present knitting all factions together. He sneered in a superior way at the enthusiasm all round him, and succeeded in making one or two of the fellows a little ashamed of their own eagerness.

The funds for Railsford's testimonial came in slowly. The result of a fortnight's hard work was only four shillings and threepence, and to get even that wretched sum Arthur had made himself temporary enemies all over the house. He wrote an urgent letter to Daisy, to "shell out" something, and strove to work on the feelings of his parents to assist him to do honour to their future son-in-law. Meanwhile he conceived the wild project of approaching the prefects on the subject. Unluckily for everybody, he made his first attempt with Felgate.

"A testimonial for Marky?" inquired that worthy. "What for?"

"Well, you know he's been pretty civil since he came, and he's backed us up in that row about Bickers, you know. We thought we'd get him a ring, you know. He's spoons on my sister Daisy, and Dig and I thought it would fetch him if we stuck 'Chuckey'—that's the pet name he calls her—on it. Don't you think it would be a good dodge? He'd be sure to be pleased if he saw your name on the list of subscribers, Felgate."

"I'm certain of that," said Felgate, laughing, "and if only I'd got any tin I'd be delighted. By the way, I fancy I did see a sixpence kicking about somewhere."

"Thanks, awfully. That'll be a stunning lift. He's sure to be extra civil to you after it."

"Oh, I see. Bribery, is it?" said Felgate, laughing. "And what particular reason have you for getting Mr Chuckey a testimonial?"

"Ha, ha!" said Arthur, who felt bound to laugh at the senior's joke. "Jolly good name for him. Oh, some of the fellows think he's backed us up, you know, about Bickers and all that. Thanks awfully for the sixpence, Felgate. I'll be sure and stick your name at the top of the list. I say, when's that trial adjourned to?"

"I don't know. By the way, youngster, what a smart barrister you made that evening. Where did you pick it all up?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, feeling rather flattered. "Dig and I went and heard a chap tried at the Old Bailey once. It was rather slow. But, I say, do you really think I doubled up Dig well? He was awfully wild."

"I don't wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, getting a little "tilted" with all this flattery from a senior. "It was a notion I had."

"Not half a bad notion," said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. "Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge."

"That's just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there."

"Of course, unless someone got on a chair."

"I thought of that," responded Arthur grandly; "only there were one or two other things to come out if I'd had time. I say, do you know when it's adjourned to?"

"I don't know. I hope not for long. I'd like to hear what else you've got. I could never make up such things to save my life."

"Perhaps I didn't make them up," said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness.

"You don't mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor."

"Can't I, though, I can!" said Arthur, "and something else too. Suppose we'd found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name—eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to—eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn't it?"

"My word, youngster; you're a sharp one. But I suppose it's all make- up!"

"Not a bit of it," said Arthur, flushed by his triumph.

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Felgate sceptically.

"I'll show it you now," said Arthur, "if you'll promise to keep it dark. I'm not making up a bit of it."

"If you aren't, all I can say is—Where are they?"

"Come and see," said Arthur, leading the way to his study.

Dig was out on leave in the village.

"There you are," said Arthur, when he had opened his locker and produced the precious relics. "There's the match-box. Have you ever seen any others of the same kind? I have."

"I fancy I saw one once," said Felgate.

"Belonging to a fellow six foot two who could reach up to the ledge?"

Felgate nodded.

"Now look at that paper—a bit of the Standard: there's part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy's fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there's the sack—precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren't they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don't blame him if he did scrag old Bickers—very good job; and as it happens, it don't hurt our house very much now we're going to get all the sports; and I'm booked for the Swift Exhibition—L20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that's one reason why we're going to give him the testimonial— though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won't you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it."

"Don't you be afraid of me, youngster," said Felgate. "I'd advise you to take good care of those things. We'll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don't go saying too much about it till then. Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from 'A Friend.' I must go now, young 'un."

He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CHALLENGING THE RECORD.

On the Monday before Railsford's sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a document which lay on the table between them.

It was Smedley's report of the School sports held the Saturday before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader.

"'The Mile Race. Smedley 1, Branscombe 2. Time 4 minutes 50 seconds.' Whew!" said Ainger, "I can't beat that; 4.52 is the shortest I've done it in, and I doubt if I could do that again."

"Fiddlesticks! If you don't do it in 4.48 you deserve to be sent home to the nursery. But do you see Branscombe gave up before the end? That's odd. I rather thought he was the better man of the two."

"Branscombe seems to be down on his luck altogether this term," said Ainger. "I fancy he hasn't a very sweet time at Bickers's."

"But he ought to have won the mile, for all that. He's got the longest legs in Grandcourt, and used to have the best wind."

"Gone stale," said Ainger, "and growing too fast. Why, he must be as tall as Railsford already; and he's good for an inch or so more."

"Poor beggar! But what about the high jump?"

"High jump? Smedley and Clipstone a tie, 5 feet 41/2."

"Thank you," said Barnworth. "I may as well scratch at once. I once jumped that, but that was in the days of my youth."

"Fiddlesticks! If you don't clear 5 feet 5, you deserve to be sent home to a daily governess," said Ainger, laughing. "And, by the way, I hear Wake has been jumping finely lately. Mind he doesn't do it for you."

"Wake had better mind his own business," responded Barnworth. "I, a prefect and a very great person in this house, should greatly resent it if a Fifth-form fellow beat me at the jump. Upon my word I'd give him 100 lines."

"'Cricket-ball. Clipstone 77 yards.' What a poor throw! Felgate is sure to beat that, at any rate."

"Not if he can help," said Barnworth. "In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it. Unless you do, we lose it."

"Do you mean he'd throw short on purpose?"

"My dear fellow, you are just beginning to perceive what anybody who isn't a born simpleton would have seen for himself a week ago."

Ainger's brow clouded. "I'll enter myself, then," said he.

"No you won't; enter Stafford. Stafford won't get the mile, which you will. A little success may keep him with us; otherwise the odds are he may go over to the enemy—alias your friend Felgate."

Ainger wrote Stafford's name down there and then.

In this way the two friends went through the list. It was a strong record to beat, and if they were doubtful of themselves they were still more doubtful of some of their juniors.

For instance, Arthur, if he meant to win the long jump under sixteen, would have to clear 15 feet 8 inches; and Dimsdale, to secure the 100 yards under fifteen, would have to do it in 13 seconds. Tilbury was safe for the cricket-ball in his class; and Arthur, if he took care, might beat Smith's record for the Shell half-mile. Most of the other events were decidedly doubtful, and it was evident the week which remained would need to be used well, if the ambitious attempt of Railsford's house was to succeed. By no means the least interested peruser of the list when presently it was posted up on the common room door Railsford himself.

For a week or two past he had been as nearly happy as he could be in the congenial work of training and encouraging the youthful athletes of his house. He had felt drawn to them and they to him by quite a new bond of sympathy. He spared himself in nothing for the common cause, and his enthusiasm was, as might be expected, contagious.

"There are one or two of these records we shall not beat," said the master to Ainger; "but the majority of them we should be able to manage."

He spoke so hopefully that Ainger's spirits went up decidedly. A final overhaul of the list was made, and the times registered compared with the times on the School list. In one or two cases Railsford advised that a second man should be run with a good start, in order to force the pace, and through one or two names belonging to hopeless triflers or malcontents he quietly passed his pencil.

"I see Stafford has entered for the cricket-ball," said he, "as well as Felgate; how is that?"

"We should lose the cricket-ball otherwise," said Ainger. "Felgate may do his best if someone is against him, but he won't if he's the only man in for us. He has no interest in sports."

Railsford's face clouded.

"Is Stafford the best man to enter? Should not you or Barnworth go in?"

"I think not, sir. Stafford made some good practice yesterday, and can beat the School record as it is."

During the next few days every spare moment at Railsford's house was used in preparing for the great trial of Saturday. Nor, strange to say, did the school-work suffer in consequence. The idlers in the Shell, being in the way of spurts, took a sudden spurt of interest in class— partly for fear of being excluded by detention or otherwise from Saturday's celebration, and partly because the healthy condition of their bodies had begotten for the time being a healthier condition of mind. Arthur and the baronet actually knew their syntax for two days running, and the astounding phenomenon of a perfectly empty detention- room occurred on both the Friday and the Saturday. The latter event was specially satisfactory to Railsford, as he was able to secure the services of Monsieur Lablache as assistant-judge—not exactly a popular appointment, but, failing any better, one which fellows had to make the best of.

The house rose that Saturday morning with a full sense of the crisis which was upon it. Despite Felgate's sneers, and the jealous ridicule which floated in from outside on their efforts, they felt that they stood face to face with a great chance. Their reputation as a house was on its trial; they were boycotted by the doctor, and held up as a warning to evil-doers. They resolved to make themselves a warning to good and evil-doers alike that day, and show the doctor and everyone else that the spirit was not yet knocked out of them.

The half-holiday at Railsford's, as we have said, began under the new regime immediately after breakfast, and ended at one o'clock, so that the farce of morning school did not interpose to chill the ardour of the combatants. The whole house assembled in flannels in honour of the occasion. The weather was very much like what the School had had a week ago; if anything, the ground was hardly in quite as good condition. At any rate, it was felt that, as far as externals went, the test between the two days' performances would be a fair one. True, there was something a little chilly about the empty field. The usual inspiriting crowd of partisan spectators was absent, and the juniors of Railsford, who usually had to fight for front places, felt it a little dismal when they discovered that they could occupy any position they liked—even the ladies' stand.

Arthur was very angry with himself for not getting Daisy down for the occasion. Her presence would have lent undoubted prestige both to himself and Dig, as well as to Railsford; and if she could have given the prizes afterwards it would have been a magnificent family affair. He bemoaned this omission to Railsford himself as he walked down with him to the fields. However, just before proceedings begun, the wished- for excitement was supplied by three most unexpected arrivals on the course. The first was that of the doctor's niece, who, having watched the School sports a week ago with great interest, and being secretly rather sorry for the misfortunes which had over taken Railsford's house, saw no reason why she should not take her accustomed place in the stand to-day. The boys were just in the mood to appreciate this little act of chivalry, and as she shyly walked up to the pavilion, they welcomed her with a cheer which brought the blushes to her cheeks and a smile of half-frightened pleasure to her lips. Boys who had seen her every day for the last three months in chapel suddenly discovered that she was simply charming; they greeted her much as mortals in distress would greet the apparition of the good fairy, and fifty champions there and then were ready to do battle for her, and only wished they had the chance.

The excitement of this arrival was hardly passed when another figure appeared on the scene, hardly less important or less popular. This was no other than Smedley, the School captain, who had asked and obtained special leave from Mr Roe to be present as representing the school on the occasion. He was still indignant at the disabilities imposed upon the rival house; and though he by no means wished it success in its ambitious project of beating the School record, his sense of fair play told him that if no one was on the ground to represent the other houses, they would compete at a disadvantage. If it went out that the School captain had been present, everyone, at any rate, would have to admit there had been fair play and no opening for dispute, whatever the result might be. So Smedley, although it might be to see his own record beaten, came down to the fields that morning. There was a little uncertainty as to his reception at first, for Railsford's was in an Ishmaelitish mood, and was ready to call everybody an enemy who wasn't on its side.

But when Ainger was heard to say—

"Hurrah! he's a regular brick to come and back us up like this!" everybody jumped to the correct view of Smedley's motives, and cheered him scarcely less enthusiastically than they had just now cheered their "Queen of Love and Beauty."

"I only wish he was in his flannels," said Arthur, "and would run the mile against us. It would be something like to lick him off his own stride."

Arthur was rather proud of his athletic slang. What he meant was that he would sooner see Ainger win the mile against Smedley himself than against Smedley's time.

"Never mind, he's going to be the judge, do you see? I say, old man, you and I'll have to sit up now."

This was the universal effect of the captain's presence. Perhaps he hardly realised himself what an advantage his presence was conferring on his rivals.

The first event on the programme was the Babies' hundred yards, for which our friends Bateson and Jukes were entered, with the serious record of twenty-two seconds to beat. They were both a little pale and nervous with the excitement of opening the ball, and looked round wistfully, first at Railsford, then at Smedley, where he stood, watch in hand, at the winning-post, and then up at the ladies' stand.

"Now, youngsters," said Railsford, "do your very best. You ought both of you to run it under twenty seconds. Are you ready now? Off!"

The flood-gates were opened now; and from this moment till the end of the sports Railsford's kept up a continual roar. Both Bateson and Jukes had little difficulty in registering a double victory for their house. Bateson covered the ground in nineteen seconds and Jukes in twenty-one. While the cheers for this initial victory were in full cry, the third of that morning's apparitions came upon the scene. This was no other than Mr Bickers, at sight of whom a chill fell upon the assembly. What did he want there? Hadn't he done them harm enough? Who asked him to come? Why wasn't he making his own fellows miserable instead of coming here and spoiling their fun?

Mr Bickers, after looking round him, and taking in the scene generally, walked up to the ladies' stand. Fellows dropped back sullenly to make room for him, although one or two pretended not to notice him and continued to stand and shout "Bateson!" "Jukes," until he pushed them aside.

"Good-morning, Miss Violet," said he, lifting his hat. "I did not expect to see you here."

"Didn't you, Mr Bickers? I'm going to see all the events. They have just run the first race, and Bateson and Jukes have both beaten the boy in your house who won last week. Haven't you a programme? Mr Railsford will give you one."

"Thank you. I'm not staying long. It will be rather dull for you, will it not?"

"Dull!" said Miss Phyllis, laughing. "I don't think it dull, thank you."

Mr Bickers walked slowly into the enclosure, watched by everyone. Railsford greeted him with a nod, and then walked off to the starting- post to prepare for the next race. The prefects of the house looked another way, and Smedley was busy comparing his watch with that of monsieur.

"Smedley," said Mr Bickers, "how come you to be here? You ought to be in your house."

"I have an exeat, sir," said the captain.

"From the doctor?"

"From Mr Roe."

"Mr Roe can scarcely be aware that I have refused a similar application to boys in my own house."

Smedley made no reply to this observation, about which he had nothing to say.

"You had better go in, Smedley. I will explain to Mr Roe."

Smedley looked at him in blank astonishment. It sounded more like a jest than sober earnest.

"I have my master's exeat" he said; "if he or the doctor cancels it I shall go in at once, sir."

It was Mr Bickers's turn to stare now. He had overdone it for once in a way. His genius for interference had carried him a step too far; and with a "Very good, Smedley," in terms which were meant to be ominous, he turned away and proceeded to where Railsford was.

It was to speak to Railsford that he had come out into the fields that morning. His interviews with Miss Violet and the captain had been by the way. Railsford was busy marshalling the competitors for the Shell quarter-mile, of whom there was an unusual number. He was too much engrossed to notice Mr Bickers until that gentleman called him by name.

"I want a word with you, Railsford," said Mr Bickers.

"Now then, toe the line and be ready. Be careful about fouling. Are you ready?"

"Railsford, I want a word with you."

Railsford looked sharply round and perceived who the intruder was.

"I can't speak to you now, Mr Bickers, I'm busy. Now, boys, are you all ready? Off!"

And he started to run beside the race. Mr Bickers put as cheerful a face on this little rebuff as he could, and presently walked across to the winning-post to make another attempt. The race had been well won by Tilbury, who had beaten the School record hollow, and shown himself a long way ahead of his fellow-runners. He of course came in for an ovation, which included a "Well run" from Smedley, and a "Bravo, indeed" from Railsford, which he valued specially. It was while he was receiving these friendly greetings that Mr Bickers once more approached Railsford.

"Now you have a moment or two to spare," he began.

"I've not a moment to spare," said Railsford, irritated. "What do you want?"

"I want you to look at this letter. It concerns you."

And he produced an envelope from his pocket.

"Give it to me," said Railsford. "I'll read it when I have time."

"No, thank you. I want you to—"

"Ring the bell for the high jump," said Railsford, turning his back. At the signal the whole company closed in a solid phalanx round the poles. For the high jump was one of the great events of the day. Mr Bickers became mixed up in the crowd, and saw that it was hopeless to attempt further parley. He turned on his heel, and the fellows made a lane for him to pass out. As he got clear, and began slowly to retreat to his own house, the boys raised a loud defiant cheer. But whether this was to hail his departure or to greet the appearance of Barnworth and Wake, ready stripped for the fray, it would be difficult to say. But whichever it was, Mr Bickers seemed by no means discomfited. He turned and caught sight of the head and shoulders of his rival towering among his boys, and he smiled to himself and tapped the letter in his hand.

"Not a moment to spare!" said he to himself. "Good. We can wait. You may not be in such a hurry to get rid of me when you do read it; and your dear boys may change their minds about their hero, too," added he, as a fresh cheer, mingled with a "Huzza for Railsford," was wafted across the fields.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

MR. BICKERS PREFERS THE DOOR TO THE WINDOW.

The history of the great events of Railsford's sports were so faithfully chronicled at the time by Arthur Herapath in a long letter to his sister Daisy, that it would be presumption on my part, with that valuable document lying before me, to attempt to narrate in my own words what has been so much more vivaciously described by my young friend. Arthur was great at letter-writing, especially to his sister. And there is small doubt that, with the aid of a slang dictionary and a little imagination on her own part, that sympathetic young person was usually able to catch the drift of her young brother's rollicking lucubrations.