It was evidently a hot match for a scratch one. As far as I could make out, the remnants of last season's Fifteen, amounting to eleven veterans only, were playing the next Fifteen, who, having the best of the wind, were giving a dangerously good account of themselves. They were acute enough to make all the use they could of the favouring element by keeping open order and kicking whenever they had the chance, whereas of course the other side played a tight game, and ran with the ball. Even for a novice like myself, it was interesting to watch a contest of this kind. The Fifteen evidently hoped to rush the thing and carry their goal before half-time deprived them of the wind, whereas the Eleven were mainly concerned to keep on the defensive and risk nothing by over- haste.

Among the veterans I could distinguish the big form of Redwood, always close to the ball, and near him with a shudder I recognised Crofter working hard, while hovering on the wing of the scrimmage was the genial Pridgin, looking as if he would fain be in bed, but, when the time for action came, making it very uncomfortable for the enemy. On the other side I was not long in finding out Tempest, with the glow of enthusiasm on his cheek as now and again he broke through the ruck and sent the ball into quarters. Wales, too, was there, spick and span as usual, playing neatly and effectively, and withal elegantly.

As time wore on it was evident the veterans were being penned closer and closer by their antagonists. Presently a dangerous scrimmage was formed just in front of their goal. For some minutes the ball was invisible, then by an apparently preconcerted movement the forwards of the Fifteen loosened and let it dart back into the open behind them, where lurked Tempest ready to receive it. He did not wait to pick it up, but ran to meet it with a flying kick. For a moment it seemed doubtful whether it would clear the onward rush of Redwood and his forwards. But it did, and rose steadily and beautifully over their heads, and with the wind straight upon it, reached the goal and skimmed over the bar, amid the loud shouts of every one, conspicuous among which was my shrill voice.

Half-time! Now was my chance; and before the shouting had ceased, or the discomfited Eleven had quite realised their misfortune, I darted into the sacred enclosure, and presented the captain with his belt.

"I'm awfully sorry I wasn't in time," said I. "You'd just begun when I got back."

"Thanks, youngster, it's all right," said Redwood, wonderfully cheerful, as it seemed to me; "here, take care of this for me," and he divested himself of the belt he was wearing and donned the new one.

"You'll have the wind with you now," I ventured to observe.

"Yes," said he with a nod, "I think we shall do the trick this time, eh?"

"Rather," said I; and departed elated, not so much to have been spared the rebuke I expected, but to be talked to by such a hero, as if I was not a junior at all, but a comrade.

My chums when I rejoined them were anxious to prevent my being too much puffed up by my exploit.

"Good old Sarah Toady," cried Trimble, as I approached. "Is he coming?"

"Who? Where?" I inquired.

"I thought you were asking Redwood to tea or something."

"No, I wasn't—I only—"

"There's Jarman," cried Langrish. "Run and cadge up to him. Perhaps he'll pat you on the back too."

Despite these taunts I could not fail to notice the depressing effect of the new arrival on the onlookers generally. Mr Jarman, the gymnasium master, was a ruddy, restless-looking man of about thirty-five, with cold grey eyes, and the air of a man who knew he was unpopular, but was resolved to do his duty nevertheless. If I had heard nothing about him before, I should have disliked him at first glance, and instinctively tried to avoid his eye. And yet, as he stood there, talking to Mr Selkirk, the melancholy master of the reputedly "fast" house at Low Heath, he did not look particularly offensive.

"Look out now; they're starting again."

There was no mistaking the veterans now. Their backs were up, and the order had evidently gone out for no quarter to be given to the audacious Fifteen.

Redwood's kick off all but carried the goal from the middle of the field, and from that moment it never got out of the "thirties," as the imaginary line between the two distance flags was called. To Crofter belonged the honour of first wiping off scores with the enemy. And after him Redwood dropped a goal, first from one side line, then from the other. Pridgin, too, scored a smart run in; but, unluckily, the kick fouled the goal post and saved the Fifteen a further disaster then. But before time was called a fourth goal was placed to the credit of the veterans. The vanquished fought gamely to the end. Once or twice Tempest broke away, but for want of effective backing was repulsed. And once a smart piece of dribbling down the touch line by Wales gave the Eleven's half-backs an anxious moment. But that was all. The match ended, as every one expected, in a slashing victory for the old hands, together with a general verdict that Tempest and Wales, at any rate, had won their laurels and were safe for two of the vacant caps.

In the stampede which followed I missed my opportunity of restoring Redwood's property, as he vanished immediately after the game, and my comrades would by no means allow me out of their sight. Indeed, it was not till after evening chapel that I contrived to elude their vigilance and start on my second run to Bridge Street.

But if I eluded them I was less fortunate with another sentinel. For at the gates I encountered the forbidding presence of Mr Jarman.

"What are you doing here?"

"Please, sir, this is Redwood's belt, and I promised to give it to him."

"Go back. What is your name?"

"Jones, sir."

"Whose house are you in?"

"Mr Sharpe's."

"Do not let me find you out of bounds again, Jones."

And he fixed me with his eye as if to impress me with the fact that he would certainly know me again.

"But, sir, Redwood—"

"Did you hear me, sir?"

I capitulated, cowed and indignant. I was beginning to understand what the fellows said about Mr Jarman.

"It's all rot," said the Philosophers, when I confided my grievance to them; "it's not out of bounds before 6:30—and if it was, it's no business of his. It's the house master's business, or the house captain's. If you get lagged by them, all right; but he's got no right to lag fellows, the cad."

In my present humour I was far from disputing the appellation.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CHEAP ADVERTISING EXTRAORDINARY.

I spent a bad quarter of an hour that evening before bed-time in inditing a letter of "explanation" to Crofter. I had come to the conclusion this would be easier and safer than a personal interview, and that the sooner it was done the better. How to do it was another problem. To write a letter in the raggery was out of the question. I tried it, but failed miserably. For either my paper was twitched away from under my pen, or some one looked over my shoulder and pretended to read expressions of endearment which were not there, or some one got under the table and heaved it about tempestuously to the detriment of my handwriting, or some one drew skeleton figures of spider-legged bipeds on the margin of the paper. Worse still, it was evident every word I wrote would be common property, which I did not desire. I had therefore to abandon the attempt till later on; when, finding myself in Pridgin's study, I ventured to inquire if I might write there.

Pridgin was good enough to express admiration of my cheek, but said if I spread one newspaper over his carpet and another over his table-cloth to catch the blots, and didn't ask him how to spell any word of less than four letters, or borrow a stamp, I might.

All which I faithfully undertook to do, and sat down to my delicate task. It took me a long time, considering the result, and I was by no means satisfied with the performance when it was done.

"Dear Crofter," I wrote; but that seemed too familiar, whereas "Dear Sir" from one schoolfellow to another was too formal. So I attempted my explanation in the "oblique oration":—

"Jones iv. is sorry he accidentally told Crofter he was a beast yesterday. He did not know it was him when he saw him, or he would not have told him what Tempest said about him, which was quite unintentional. He also must explain that what he said about his being expelled was in consequence of a dog's death, about which there was a misunderstanding. He hopes Crofter will not tell him he told him, as he would be very angry with him."

"Done?" said Pridgin, who, comfortably ensconced in his easy-chair with his feet upon the window-ledge, was reading a comic paper.

"Yes, thanks," said I, half terrified lest he should demand to read my not too lucid epistle.

"All right. Go and tell Crofter I want him, will you? Look alive, and then cut to bed."

Here was a blow! I had been at all this labour in order to avoid the painful necessity of an interview with Crofter, and here I was as badly off as ever.

"Can't you hear?" said Pridgin as I hesitated.

"If you please, Pridgin," said I, resolved to take the bull by the horns, "I'm awfully sorry, but I don't want Crofter to catch me. The fact is—"

Pridgin's good-humoured reply was to shy a book at me, which I was fortunate enough to miss, but which Tempest, who entered the study at the moment, caught fairly on his forehead.

"Hullo! Are you and the kid playing catch?" said he. "Sorry to disturb you, really; but my fag's skulking somewhere, and I want to borrow yours to take a message to Crofter."

"Was it a plot, or what? I had far better have written in the faggery after all."

"That was exactly the subject about which the kid and I were playing catch just now," said Pridgin. "I asked him to go to Crofter too."

"What, has he been sending you a billet-doux?" said Tempest.

"Well, yes. He seems to be sore I didn't ask him to tea yesterday, and says he's afraid some one has been libelling him, though how he knew I had any one here last night I can't imagine."

"That's funny," said Tempest; "he writes to me to say he is sorry I should take the trouble to call him a beast in public. He understands a fellow's right to his private opinion, he says, and would be sorry not to be allowed his about me, but he thinks it imprudent to shout it out for every one to hear. Just his style."

"I was going to send him word to ask him to come in and make himself a cup of tea out of my pot, just to show there was no ill-feeling," said Pridgin.

"And I was going to say that I hope he won't trouble to think better of me in private then I think of him in public. Though for the life of me I can't imagine what he refers to."

"The fact is. Tempest," said Pridgin, putting his feet up on the window-ledge again, "it's just as well to be above board with Crofter. He's a slippery customer, and if he knows what we think of him, and we know what he thinks of us, we shall get on much better."

"If he'd only give a chap a chance of a row with him," said Tempest; "but he won't. The more down on him you are, the more affectionate he is, and the sweeter he smiles. Ugh!"

"But who on earth has been blabbing to him?" said Pridgin; "not Wales?"

"Wales?" said Tempest; "rather not. He's not that sort."

"I don't think he is," said Pridgin; "and yet, old man—the fact is— I—"

"You don't fancy Wales, I know."

"Hardly that. I don't mind him; but he's more of a pull over you than he has over me. I can't be bothered with his fashions. It's too much grind. But you aren't lazy like me, and—well—you know he runs you into a lot of expense. That picnic last term, for instance. We could have had quite a jolly day for half the cost. Chicken and ham's all very well, but cold boiled eggs are just as good for keeping a chap going."

"But Wales can't stand things not being—"

"Dear!" said Pridgin. "Don't flare up, old chap. You've got your work cut out for you this term, and can't afford to spend all your time paying bills, even if you had the tin."

"All very well for you who've let me in for cocking the house," said Tempest, with a laugh. "Anyhow, you've a right to talk to me like a father. All the same, I fancy you've a little downer on old Wales. He's a good sort of chap, and there's nothing of the eel about him."

"Which brings us back to Crofter," said Pridgin. "Some one has told him that he's not popular in this study, and he doesn't like it. I wonder who our candid friend is."

"It was me," said I, coming out at last with my pent-up confession. "I'm awfully sorry, Tempest. It was this—"

"Take a seat," said Tempest, putting me off in the identical way that Crofter had done yesterday. But I was not to be put off; I took a seat and continued—

"I met him and didn't know who he was, and I mentioned that I'd come from here, and that a tea was going on, and that Crofter was out of it, and the reason was because Tempest thought him a beast. And—I'm awfully sorry, Tempest—I let out to him that we'd been expelled from Dangerfield, and I'd not the least idea it was him."

"He," suggested Pridgin.

"He; and I've just been writing to him to explain."

"Rather a tough job, eh?" said Tempest.

"You may see the letter," said I.

The two seniors read it with a gravity which scarcely seemed genuine.

"I think it may pass," said Tempest, coming out at last with a laugh. "There are only about twelve 'he's' and 'him's' in it, and as it will be absolutely unintelligible it can't possibly do harm."

"If Crofter has the least sense of literary taste, he will frame it," said Pridgin. "I trust no dogs' deaths will occur here."

My confusion was tempered by the relief I felt that they took my indiscretion in such good part, and saw only—what I failed to see myself—the humorous side of the incident.

I begged hard to be allowed to tear up my letter, but this they would by no means allow. On the contrary, I was compelled to address it and stamp it then and there, and place it in the post-box in the hall. Then, with compliments and good wishes, I was dismissed to bed, and left the two friends talking school politics.

I felt a good deal more humbled by the manner in which they had received my confession than if they had, as I had expected, roundly abused me. To be let down easy, as if I was barely responsible for my actions, was not conducive to my vanity; and if that was the object they had in view, it was amply attained. I went to bed on my second night at Low Heath with as little vanity in me as I could decently do with; and even that, as I lay awake for an hour or two, oozed away, and did not return till in a happy moment I fell asleep, and once more, and for a few unconscious hours, became a hero to myself.

The next morning I tumbled out of bed at the call of the bell in no very light-hearted way. First of all, Crofter would receive my letter; secondly, I had still got Redwood's belt; thirdly, I had not done my preparation; and fourthly, I felt concerned about Tempest and his alliance with the expensive Wales. Strangely enough, this last trouble weighed on me most as I dressed.

Tempest, I knew, was not well off. But he was proud, and not the sort of fellow to shirk a thing on account of the cost. I could remember at Dangerfield his spending all his money at the beginning of the term on an absurdly expensive cricket bag, and having to go without spikes in his shoes because he could not afford a set. At Low Heath, where seniors were allowed to run up bills in certain shops, I was certain his ignorance about money matters, added to the friendly encouragements of an exquisite like Wales, would make it all the worse for him. Why, even I knew more about money than he did, and could reckon that if I brought thirteen shillings up at the beginning of the term, I should have just a shilling a week to bless myself with till break-up. Whereas he, I verily believe, would consider that he had thirteen shillings a week. And the worst of it was he would never let any one know how hard up he was, or tolerate any remarks, except from a privileged chum like Pridgin, on the subject.

As I joined my comrades in the faggery, in the fond hope of snatching a precious quarter of an hour for my neglected studies, I found great excitement and jubilation afoot. The printer had sent home the handbills of the Conversation Club.

"That ought to do our business," said Langrish, flourishing one of the documents in my face.

I took it, and read it with mingled pride and concern. It ran as follows:—

Under the distinguished Patronage of the Nobility and Gentry of Low Heath:

*A Philosophical Conversation Club* has been started for conversation on Philosophy, Picnics, and Cross-country Runs. Meetings weekly; to be announced. Subscription: Two shillings in advance; every member to find himself. No town-boys or masters eligible. "Come in your hundreds!!! No questions asked. Evening dress or flannels. The Inaugural Picnic next week. Particulars on receipt of subscription. No connection with any other so-called club in Low Heath! For further particulars apply to the following:

Sarah Jones, Esquire, Pr.Ph.C.C, President. Ted Langrish, Esquire, S.Ph.C.C, Secretary. Wilfred Trimble, Esquire, T.Ph.C.C, Treasurer. Jos. Warminster, Esquire, L.Ph.C.C, Librarian. Tom Coxhead, Esquire, A.Ph.C.C, Auditor. Michael Purkis, Esquire, R.Ph.C.C, Registrar.

P.S.—As the membership is strictly limited to 500, early application is advised. No eligible cash offer refused! Our motto is "Mens sano in corpore sanae."

I naturally bridled up at the record of my own name.

"Look here," said I; "you've stuck it down wrong again."

"Awfully sorry," said Langrish; "the printer chaps made a little slip over the Christian name, but all the rest seems right. It's wonderful how sharp they are, isn't it?"

"But you're going to have it corrected, surely?" said I.

"Why, it would cost a frightful lot!" protested the company. "We might alter it in ink, but that would only call attention to it. Bless you, no one will notice it. They'll put it down to a printer's error."

I was by no means satisfied, but their delight at the whole performance was so unbounded that it was impossible to be as angry as I felt.

"It'll draw, and no mistake," said Trimble, who had evidently never seen his name in print before. "Jolly well drawn up of you, Lang."

"Oh," said Langrish modestly, "when you know what you want to say, it's easy enough to stick it down."

"That's why you stuck down 'Sarah,' I suppose," said I, rather crossly.

"I never knew such a kid as you," retorted Langrish; "you seem to fancy nobody can think of anything but you and your washerwoman."

The conversation was drifting on to dangerous ground, and Warminster promptly changed the subject.

"The thing now will be to put the papers about. I vote we each take a batch and give them round."

"We might shove them under the fellows' doors," said Coxhead.

"The best way will be to do it in Big Hall," said the more practical Purkis. "One or two of us can easily get in ten minutes early, and stick one on every chap's place."

"But suppose you stick one on a day boy's place?" I suggested.

"What's the odds? the paper tells him he's out of it," replied Purkis.

It occurred to me that this would not cheer the day boy very much; still, on the whole, Purkis's suggestion seemed the best.

"I tell you what," said Langrish, "I beg to move and second that the President be authorised to stick round the papers."

"I third and fourth that," said Trimble.

"Carried unanimously," said Langrish.

"Look here, one of you had better do it," said I, feeling a little alarmed at this imposing honour; "you know the way better."

"That's where you've the pull," said Purkis; "you're a new kid, they won't interfere with you. Big Hall's at five, and you can easily slide in at a quarter to, and do the trick. Hullo, there's bell."

School that morning went uncomfortably for me. I escaped being "lagged" for my neglect of preparation, chiefly owing to the friendly prompting I received from Dicky Brown. But it was a time of anxiety and trepidation, and my nerves were somewhat strained before it was over.

The shock of the day, however, awaited me as I got outside on my way to the fields.

A small youth of my own size accosted me.

"I say, are you the new chap?"

"What new chap?"

"The new chap that Redwood told to fetch his belt."

"Yes," said I, turning a little pale.

"All right. You've got to go to him, sharp."

"I tried to give it him back yesterday, really I did; but I was stopped," said I. "Do you think I'll get in a row?"

"I wouldn't be in your shoes, that's all I know," remarked the messenger brutally. "It'll be all the worse if you don't cut."

"Where is he?"

"In the captain's room at the School House."

I went off with my heart in my boots. And I had hoped so much to show up well to Redwood! It was all Jarman's fault, and I wrote down yet another grudge against him in my mental book.

The captain was alone, and evidently expecting me, as he rose and came to meet me when I appeared.

"Here you are, then, youngster," said he, in a tone which, if it meant a licking, was a very deceptive one.

"I'm very sorry," said I; "I tried to bring the belt round yesterday evening, but—"

"Hang the belt!" said the captain. "That's not what I want you for. Why didn't you tell me what happened at home yesterday afternoon?"

Then it was another row altogether I was in for! What, I wondered, had I done! Surely he didn't suspect me of having pushed his young sister into the water?

"I didn't like, while the match was on. I didn't know Mamie had tumbled in, or I would have stopped her."

"But you fished her out?" he asked.

"I told Annie to take her and dry her," said I, wondering where the blow was going to fall. "You see, she went upstairs for the belt, and it was when she had gone it happened. I don't think it was her fault."

To my amazement Redwood laughed and clapped me on the back.

"You young donkey, don't you know you saved Mamie's life, and I want to say 'Thank you,' to you?"

This unexpected denouement alarmed me almost as much as my previous misgivings.

"Oh no, really I didn't," said I; "she was close to the edge."

"Another inch or two and she would have been in six feet of water," said he. Then, with a friendly laugh, he added—

"You may not have meant to save her life; but you did, and must take the consequences. My mother wants you to come to tea to-morrow. Call here for me after evening chapel, and we'll go together. Good-bye now, and thanks, youngster."

I could hardly tell if I was on my head or my heels as I walked back. It had never occurred to me till now that I had done anything out of the common in fishing Miss Mamie out of her muddy bath. Indeed, I still felt I was getting credit I did not deserve, and blushed to myself. As to the invitation for to-morrow, that seemed to me a burst of glory quite past my present comprehension, and I resolved to treasure it as a secret in my own bosom until at least I had made sure it was not a dream.

Before then, however, I had less pleasant work on hand. My comrades did not fail to remind me several times during the afternoon of my "promise," as they called it, to distribute the Conversation Club circulars in Great Hall, and adjured me not to run it too fine. The consequence was that, at a quarter to five, I was convoyed, with the bundle of papers under my arm, to the door of the dining-hall, and gently shoved inside, with all retreat cut off until my task was done.

Some of the servants who were laying the tables objected to my presence, but on my explaining I had been sent to do it, they allowed me without interruption to lay a copy of the precious document on each of the five hundred plates. I had barely concluded this arduous duty when the bell commenced to ring, and the fellows in twos and threes began to drop in. It was all I could do to affect unconsciousness, as from a modest retreat near the door I marked the effect of the announcement on Low Heath generally. At first there was a note of surprise; then, as one after another read on, a titter, and finally a general laugh, which was only checked by the entrance of the masters and the call to grace.

I had—being a stranger to the place—distributed my favours among the masters quite as liberally as among the boys, and presently, with horror, perceived Dr England rise in his place with his copy in his hand.

"Whew!" whistled Langrish, "there's a row on, I fancy."

"Serve you right if there is," said Trimble. "Why ever did you put them on that table?"

"How was I to know?" groaned I.

"What boy," said the doctor, when silence prevailed, "what boy has been putting this foolish paper round the hall?"

Oh dear! How I wished I was safe at home!

"Please, sir, I did," said I, rising meekly in my place.

"Your name?"

"Jones iv., please, sir."

"Then come at once, Jones iv., and collect them again, every one, and write out two hundred lines. Let dinner proceed now."

If the object of the promoters of the Philosophical Conversation Club had been cheap advertisement, they must have been amply gratified. Hercules never performed any labour equal to mine that afternoon. The masters handed me up their copies gravely and reproachfully; but the Low Heathens generally made sport of my misery. Scarcely one in ten would part with his rare broadside, and those who did made it manifest that they had the contents by heart. The unfortunate "misprint" of my Christian name, moreover, was the occasion for much ribald comment.

When, finally, I reached the quarters of my own particular comrades, I received more kicks than papers. They were unkind enough to say I had mulled the whole thing, and to promise me untold penalties when they got me in the privacy of the faggery.

At last, when the pudding was almost vanishing, I sat down to my hard- earned meal. But it mattered little, for I could have eaten nothing.

Be that as it may, the Philosophical Conversation Club was able to boast that afternoon that it had attracted the attention and interest of every member of the school, from the headmaster down to the junior fag. And few school clubs can boast as much as that!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS.

"Where are you going?" demanded the faggery next afternoon, as I tried to desert them after afternoon chapel. "To take up your lines to England?"

I should have preferred that they had not asked me the question, but having asked it I felt bound to answer.

"No; I'm going to tea at a fellow's."

"Who? The washerwoman's?"

"No; to Redwood's."

I tried to pronounce the name with the unconcern of a man who is in daily communion with heroes, but I fear I betrayed my emotion. At least, their laughter made me think so.

I was instantly greeted with all sorts of mock salutations and obeisances, and, whether I liked it or not, rushed off to the faggery to be tidied up. It was in vain I struggled, and explained that Redwood was waiting for me. They would not be put off.

"You must wash your face for the credit of the Ph.C.C," said Langrish.

"And put on a clean shirt for the credit of your wash—"

Here by a frantic effort I broke loose and made off, followed by the pack in full cry, with shouts of—

"Stop thief!"

"Welsher?"

"Clear the course!" "Hurry up for tea there!" and other exclamations of a similar nature.

It was not certainly a very dignified way of accepting a friend's invitation; still, it would have been worse had I remained in their clutches.

As it was, I only just made the schoolhouse door before Warminster and Coxhead were up to me, and presented myself to my host painfully out of breath and red in the face.

"Been having a trot over?" said he, with a nod.

"Yes, a little," I gasped.

"I'm ready; come along."

My heart sunk within me, as, on reaching the door, I saw my five comrades, all apparently by accident, hovering round to see me go out. They did their best, and very successfully too, to stare me out of countenance, and encourage my blushes by allusions to "Sarah" and my tin sleeve-links, and the smudges on my face, and by cries of "shrimps" and "muffins," and other awkward allusions.

Redwood, as became the cock of the school, affected not to hear their ribald remarks, though he must have caught a word or two, and inquired,—

"Been playing football since you came?"

"No, not yet," said I, painfully aware that Trimble and Langrish were walking behind us critically; "that is, yes, a little."

I was glad when we reached the big gates, and were able to shake off the enemy, who continued audible comments till I was out of earshot, and finally went off on some new quest.

At Number 3, Bridge Street, I found myself, much to my discomfort, quite a hero. Mrs Redwood, a gentle-looking lady, kissed me effusively, so did little Miss Gwen, who having once begun could scarcely be prevailed upon to leave off. The servants smiled approvingly, as did a lady visitor, who shook me by the hand. The only person who did not appear to rejoice to see me was the heroine of the occasion, Miss Mamie, who declined altogether to kiss me, and added I was a naughty big boy to spoil her nice sash, and ought to be sent to bed.

To her mother's protests and brother's encouragement she was quite obdurate. No; she hated me, she said, for spoiling her nice sash, and wild horses would not draw from her a contrary declaration.

After which we were summoned to tea, and I was consoled for this base ingratitude by plum jam and "sally-lunn" and sultana cake and other delicacies, which only a schoolboy, well on in the term, knows how fully to appreciate.

The talk was limited; first because I made it a rule not to talk with my mouth full, and secondly, because, had that difficulty been removed, I had nothing to say. Redwood, fine fellow that he was, did not try to pump me, and the ladies, who kept up most of the talk, most conveniently worded their observations in such a form as not to call for a reply.

After tea, however, I did find myself talking to Mrs Redwood about my mother, and presently to Redwood about Dangerfield and my previous acquaintance with Tempest and Brown.

"Brown iii. is a town-boy," said the captain. "I wish we'd had him in. Is he a member of your wonderful club, by the way?"

I blushed. Of course Redwood had seen that fatal document yesterday!

"Ah—well, you know, that is only for chaps in the school."

"Rather rough on us town-boys," said Redwood, with a laugh.

"I'm sure they'd be delighted to have you," said I.

"Ah, well, our fellows have a club of their own," said he, "although they don't talk philosophy. By the way, is your Christian name correctly printed?" asked he.

"Oh, no," said I; "that was Languish's fault. He says it was a printer's error, but I'm sure he did it on purpose."

"It helps to call attention to the club," said the captain, laughing. "Your lot seems to be fond of its little joke, to judge by the specimens that came to see us off just now."

"I'm awfully sorry," said I; "they do fool about so—I say, I hope you aren't in a wax about it."

He certainly did not look it.

I went up with him to his den, and we had quite a long talk, and somehow without seeming to mean it, he managed to knock a great deal of nonsense out of my head, and incite me to put my back into the work of the term.

"I suppose," said he, "you mean to back up Tempest now he's cock of Sharpe's? You kids can make it pretty hot in a house if you choose."

"Oh, we're all backing up Tempest," said I, "especially now he's got his colours."

"All serene," said the captain; "he'll pull through well, then."

I stayed till it was time for Redwood to go over to the school for a committee of the Sports Club. I did not leave Number 3 without a standing invitation to come in whenever I liked, or without painful apologies for the contumacy of Mamie.

Redwood and I had just reached the bridge when some one confronted us whom I recognised at once as Mr Jarman.

"Ah, Redwood, you've a meeting on. Who's this boy? Ah, I remember— Jones iv. What did I say to you yesterday, Jones?"

"Jones has been to tea at my house," said the captain, with a flush, and looking less amiable than I had yet seen him.

"It's after hours," said Mr Jarman, coolly. "I cautioned him yesterday. A hundred lines, Jones iv., by to-morrow evening."

"It's not his fault," said Redwood; "I gave him leave, sir."

"We need not discuss this, Redwood," said Mr Jarman, and walked away.

I felt quite sufficiently avenged when I saw the captain's face. He strode on some distance in silence, and then said,—

"I'm sorry, youngster. It can't be helped, though. Jarman's strictly in the right, though it's sharp practice. You'd better cut in now. Good night."

"Good night," said I, making off. But he called me back.

"You'd better do the doctor's lines to-night. Leave Jarman's till the morning."

"All right."

And I departed, not a little impressed with the incident.

The captain had disappointed me a little. I should have liked to see him knock Jarman down, or at least openly defy him; whereas he seemed to back him up, although much against his will. The net result to me was that I had three hundred lines to write on my third day at school, and that, for a well-meaning youth, was tribulation enough.

I took Redwood's advice and wrote the doctor's lines that evening, trusting to a chance next forenoon of satisfying the demands of Mr Jarman. To their credit be it said, some of the faggery helped me out with my task, and as we all wrote in the same style of penmanship, namely, a back-handed slope spread out very wide to cover as much ground as possible, it was very difficult when all was done to believe that the performance was a co-operative one.

Before going to bed I told Tempest of my adventure, and had the satisfaction of receiving his complete sympathy.

"That's the worst of Redwood—he'll let it all slide. I wish I'd been with you when it happened. There'd have been a row. There will some day, too."

All which was very consoling to me and helped me to sleep soundly.

But the surprise of surprises happened next morning when I encountered the captain's fag at the door before breakfast with a letter in his hand.

"Here you are," said he, thrusting the document on me. "I don't see why you can't come and fetch your own things instead of me having to run after you."

"You can walk," said I, "I suppose."

I meant to be conciliatory, but he was highly offended and began to kick, and it took some little time to pacify him and induce him to return to the bosom of his house.

When he had gone, I opened the envelope with some little curiosity. What was my astonishment when I found it enclosed one hundred lines written out in a bold clear hand, which it was easy to guess was that of the captain himself!

There was no letter or message; but the explanation was clear enough. Redwood having got me into my row, had, like a gentleman, paid the penalty; and as I realised this I could have kicked myself for the unworthy thoughts I had indulged about him.

I only wished Jarman, to whom in due time I handed the precious document, could have known its history.

He evidently gave me credit for being an excellent writer, and perhaps for having an unusual acquaintance, for a boy of my age, with the works of the Immortal Bard. For Redwood had grimly selected the following passage to write out over and over again for the police-master's benefit: "It is excellent to have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant."

I fear the satire was lost on its victim, and that he meekly concluded I had selected the passage because it happened to be in my lesson for the day, and was probably the first to come to hand.

Tempest laughed when I told him.

"It's all very well," said he, "but it's encouraging the enemy. Redwood's a dear old chap, but he's too much of an anything-for-a-quiet- life fellow for captain. By the way, has Crofter replied to your polite letter?"

"No," said I, "not a word, and I haven't seen him."

"Well, take my advice, kid. If he wants to kick you, consider yourself lucky. If he's extra civil, cut him like mischief. Some day you may thank me for the tip."

It seemed queer advice at the time, but I had occasion to call it to mind later on, as the reader will discover.

By the end of my first week I was pretty well domesticated at Low Heath. My chief regret was that I saw so little of Dicky Brown; and when we did meet the only thing we had in common was our lessons, which were not always congenial topics of conversation.

Dicky was fully imbued with the superiority of the town-boy over the house boy, and irritated me sometimes by his repeated regret that I was not eligible for the junior Urbans.

"What do you do?" I inquired.

"Oh, hosts of things. We go in for geology, and part songs, and antiquities, and all that sort of thing; and have excursions—at least, we're going to have one soon—to look for remains."

"Ah! it's a pity you couldn't come to our picnic next week. It's to be no end of a spree."

"Oh, we've heard all about that," said Dicky, with a grin. "Mens sano in corpore sanae—you should hear some of our chaps yell about that."

"I'm sure it's not a bad motto," ventured I.

"I don't know about that. But it's not the motto, it's the grammar."

I wasn't quite pleased with Dicky for this. It seemed as if he thought he knew more than other people, which I held to be a reprehensible failing in any one—particularly a day boy. I flattered myself that, as an exhibitioner, he had hardly the right to talk to me about grammar. But it was Dicky's way, and I knew he couldn't help it.

For all that, I referred to the subject in the faggery that evening. My comrades were in high glee. Half a dozen subscriptions had come in, with requests to be allowed to join the picnic, and a considerable number of others had asked to be allowed at half price or on the deferred payment system.

"It's going like anything, Sarah," said Langrish, thumping me violently on the back.

"Where's the picnic to be?" I inquired.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said the secretary.

I said I would, and, as president, considered I was entitled to the information.

"We're not as green as we look; are we, you chaps?" said Trimble. "Why, you don't suppose we're going to let out and give you a chance of blabbing to the day-boy cads, do you?"

"I'm not any more likely to blab than you are," said I, warmly.

"All serene. You keep your temper—you'll know time enough."

"Suppose I resigned," said I, feeling I must support my dignity.

"Resign away. We've got your subscription."

"I don't mean I shall," said I; "but—"

"Shut up, and don't disturb the committee meeting."

"If I'm president, I suppose I've a right to speak."

"Not till you're asked."

"All right," said I, playing my trump card desperately. "When you do ask me what's wrong with the grammar of your Latin motto, I sha'n't tell you. Ha, ha!—corpore sanae. You should hear the fellows yell."

The effect of this announcement was electrical, Langrish turned white, and Trimble turned red. The others bit their nails in silence. It was a season of delicious triumph to me. I was master of the situation for once, and resolved to remain so as long as possible.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Warminster, presently.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said I.

"Corpore's feminine, isn't it?" asked Coxhead.

"Common gender, I fancy," said Purkis; "depends on who the chap is."

"You mean if it was Sarah it would be feminine, and if it was one of us it would be masculine," said Langrish.

This was a nasty one for me, but I held my ground.

"You'd better look it up in the dictionary," said I.

This was diplomatic; for although I knew the motto was wrong I could not quite say what it should have been.

After much labour it was decided that corpore was neuter, and that the adjective in consequence must be sanum.

A resolution to that effect was proposed and seconded, but an amendment to the effect that as the document had gone out in the name of the president and every one knew it was his work, it was no business of the present company to help him out of the mess, was carried by a large majority.

With which delightful solution of the difficulty—delightful to every one but myself—we proceeded to the order of the day, which was to arrange the details of our picnic next half-holiday.

My colleagues remained obdurate on the question of revealing the place.

"If the day fellows get wind of it they'll be sure to try to do us," was the unfailing reply.

"Why shouldn't I know as well as you?" demanded I.

Whereupon it was explained that nobody knew where the place was to be yet—nor indeed was he likely to know till the morning of the day, when lots would be drawn.

Every member of the council would then be permitted to write the name of a place on a piece of paper, which would be shuffled in a hat and drawn for—the last paper drawn to be the place. I could not help admiring the elaborateness of the precautions, which had only this drawback, as far as I was concerned, that I did not yet know one place from another.

I casually asked Dicky one day if he knew any of the places round.

"What for, picnics and that sort of thing?" he demanded.

"Well—that sort of thing," said I, anxious not to betray my object too precisely.

"I don't know. I heard some chaps talking about Camp Hill Bottom—where the battle was, you know."

I did not know, but it sounded a likely place, and I made a mental note of it for the eventful day.

Meanwhile there was much to be decided. First, as to the applicants for admission on reduced terms, it was agreed if these brought their fair share of provender, and in consideration of their being taken on the cheap would undertake to row or tow the boats up stream, they might come. Then as to the bill of fare, it was resolved that no one should be allowed to take more than he could carry in his pockets—great-coat pockets not to be used.

Then as to the programme; this was drawn up with a view to combine entertainment and instruction in even quantities. For the entertainment was set down the President's "Inorgural"—the spelling was Langrish's— address, a part song of the committee, and a public open-air debate or conservation on "Beauty." The credit of the last suggestion really belonged to Tempest, whom I unofficially consulted as to some good subjects for philosophical discussion. For the instructive part of the day's proceedings there was to be the dinner, a boat race, a tug of war, and, if funds permitted, a display of fireworks.

What concerned me chiefly in the arrangements was that I, as president, was held responsible for everything of a difficult or hazardous nature. For instance, I was sent down to select the two boats, and drive a bargain for their hire. Then again, when, owing to the prompt payment of two or three of the "paupers" (as the applicants for reduced terms were politely styled) rather than submit to the terms imposed, it was discovered that half-a-crown of the club funds remained unused, it was I who was sent into Low Heath to buy squibs and Roman candles; and it was I who was appointed to take charge of the explosives in my hat-box under my bed till the time arrived for letting them off.

I began to be anxious about my numerous responsibilities (to which, by the way, was added that of replying in the negative on the question of Beauty), for every day something fresh was put on my shoulders, and every day I found my school work falling into arrears.

Tempest and Pridgin both mildly hinted to me that I didn't seem to be knocking myself up with work, and succeeded in making me uncomfortable on that score. What concerned me still more was to find that Dicky Brown, although not an exhibitioner, kept steadily above me in class, and put me under frequent obligations by helping me out of difficulties.

Never mind, thought I, it will soon be all right—when once the Conversation Club picnic is over.

The morning of the eventful day dawned at last; fair on the whole, but not brilliant. The faggery was astir early, and before breakfast the solemn ceremony of drawing lots for the scene of our revels took place. I faithfully set down Camp Hill Bottom on my paper and committed it to the hat.

Tempest, who chanced to look in with an order for his fag, was requested as a favour to officiate as drawer, which he good-naturedly did. It was anxious work while he pulled out the first five papers and tossed them unopened into the fireplace. Then he drew the sixth and opened it.

"Camp Hill Botton," he read.

Every one seemed pleased, first, because every one had written it on his paper, and secondly, because it was the only really good place for a river picnic.

"There's one comfort about it," said Tempest, as we thanked him for his services, "we shall have a little quiet in this house for an hour or two. Take care of yourselves. Good-bye."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE PICNIC AT CAMP HILL BOTTOM.

Jorrocks, the school boatman, was a careful person, and suited his accommodation to his company. He knew something about the expeditions of "learned societies" to Camp Hill Bottom and elsewhere, and the conclusion he had evidently come to, was that the boats best suited for their purpose were craft broad in the beam and deep in draught, in which it would be possible to argue out any subject without danger to life or limb.

By a coincidence which afforded more pleasure to my fellow-voyagers than to me, one of the two boats reserved for the use of the Conversation Club was named the Sarah, the other rejoicing in the inappropriate name of Firefly. I was, of course, voted to a place of honour in the former, along with Langrish, Trimble, and seven other Philosophers of the same kidney; while Coxhead, Warminster, and Purkis took official charge of the Firefly, with an equal number of passengers.

It was noticeable, by the way, that at starting it was impossible for any two boys to sit close together, by reason of the stoutness of their pockets, which stood out on either side like rope buoys on the side of a penny steamer. Indeed, some of the party seemed to me to be exceeding the limits laid down by the committee; as, not only were they prominent on either side, but unusually stout in front, which led one to suspect that they had converted their entire waistcoats into pockets for the time being, and stowed the with provisions. But as the chief delinquents in this respect were the members of the executive committee, it was hardly for us to take official notice of it.

A hitch occurred at starting, owing to the uneven distribution of the "paupers" in the two boats. The Sarah boasted of six of these, whereas the Firefly only possessed one, who, when called upon to fulfil his part of the bargain and row the whole company up stream single-handed, showed an inclination to "rat." The crew of the Firefly also began to be concerned as to the length of the voyage under such conditions, and clamoured for at least two of our "paupers"; a claim which Trimble and Langrish indignantly repudiated. At length, however, after a little judicious splashing and a threat to go off on a picnic of their own, the point was yielded, and two of our "paupers" were ignominiously ejected to make room for an equal number of passengers.

This being done, the question arose as to whether we should row up stream or tow. It was decided to proceed by the latter method, at least until the towing-path became impracticable. Whereupon both bands of "paupers" were turned ashore and harnessed to the end of their respective rope, and the rest of us settled down to enjoy our well- earned leisure, and stimulate the exertions of our tugs with friendly exhortations.

I regret to say that the philosophy of our galley-slaves failed to sustain them in their arduous efforts. They began well. The Sarah led the way, the Firefly following close in our wake. As long as the friendly emulation between the two teams endured, we made fair progress. But when it was discovered that the Firefly had meanly hitched itself on to the stern of the Sarah, and was permitting our four "paupers" to pull the whole cavalcade, a difference of opinion arose. The Firefly tugs, having nothing to do, amused themselves by peppering the inoffensive crew of the Sarah with pebbles from the bank; while the outraged pullers of the Sarah, finding themselves tricked, struck work altogether, and alter pulling our head round into a bed of tall bulrushes, cast off the yoke and went for their fellow-"paupers." To add to the general confusion, a real barge, towed by a real horse, came down to meet us, threatening with its rope to decapitate the whole of our party, and, whether we liked it or not, to drag us back to Low Heath.

In the midst of all this trouble, I, as president, was loudly and angrily appealed to to "look out" and "make them shut up," and "port the helm, you lout," as if it was all my fault! I tried to explain that it wasn't, but nobody would trouble to listen to me. How we avoided the peril of the barge I really cannot tell. It lumbered past us in a very bad temper, deluging us as it did so with the splashing from its suddenly slackened rope, and indulging in remarks on things in general, and schoolboys in particular, which were not pleasant to listen to, and quite impossible to repeat.

However, as has been truly said, a common danger is often a common blessing. And it turned out so in the present case. The mutinous "paupers" brought their arguments on the bank to a close; and it was decided for the rest of the way to attach the Firefly officially to the Sarah, and allow the seven tugs to pull the lot. They were quite sufficiently alive to their own interests to see each pulled his fair share; and the progress we made, although not racing speed, was, compared at any rate with our bad quarter of an hour in the bulrushes, satisfactory.

No further adventure happened till Langrish pointed to a wooded hill a quarter of a mile further up stream, and said—

"That's Camp Hill. Jump in, you chaps, and row."

Whereupon the tugs, glad to be relieved, came on board, the two boats cast loose, and the oars were put out.

"Botheration," said Trimble; "there's a boat ahead of us."

"Only some fisherman—he won't hurt," said Langrish.

But as we approached the spot we perceived, not one boat only, but two, drawn up under the trees, and both empty. What was worse, they were Low Heath boats, and bore the name of Jorrocks on their sterns.

The committee looked glum as our party stepped ashore and proceeded to make fast our boats to the trees.

"Why can't Jorrocks send his excursionists somewhere else?" growled Langrish; "I shouldn't wonder if they've bagged the Bottom."

The Camp Hill Bottom was a curious dell among the trees, almost in the shape of a basin, with heather and gorse all round the top, and beautiful velvety grass in the hollow. For a picnic it was an ideal place: close to the water, sheltered from the wind, with plenty of room to sit round, and an expanse of delightful heath and wood behind and on either side.

It was on this heath, the legend went, that one of the most furious battles in the Wars of the Roses was fought, and the Camp Hill marked the place where Earl Warwick's standard waved during the engagement. The Bottom was popularly supposed to have been hollowed out by some monks, as a burial place for the slain; but their benevolent intention had been thwarted by the swoop of a band of marauders, who preferred robbing the slain to burying them, and left most of the monks dead in their own grave.

There is little sign now of this tragic story about the quiet grass- grown hollow, with its fringe of overhanging bushes and carpet of mossy velvet.

Just at present, however, as we made our way to the spot, we had something more important on our minds than Earl Warwick and the unlucky monks. What if the Bottom was already bagged by a crowd of common holidaymakers, and all our carefully planned picnic was to be spoiled by their unwelcome intrusion?

It was too true. As we advanced we could hear sounds of revelry and laughter, interspersed with singing and cheers. Who could it be? The voices sounded suspiciously youthful. Suppose—just suppose that the—

Yes! It was too true! As we reached the edge and looked down on the coveted dell the first sight which greeted our eyes was a party of Low Heathens, sporting the day boys' colours spread out luxuriously on one of the sloping banks, solacing themselves with provender and songs and leap-frog!

I never saw twenty Philosophers look more blank than we did when slowly we realised the horror of the situation. We were done! There could be no doubt that the enemy had got wind of our purpose and had deliberately forestalled us; and was now only waiting to enjoy our discomfiture, and make merry over our disappointment.

As to the possibility of their being as sick at the sight of us as we were at the sight of them, it never even occurred to one of us.

Our first impulse was to eject them by force. Our next was to expostulate. Our third was to ignore them.

"Come on, you chaps," said Langrish, leading the way to the bank facing that in the occupation of the enemy, "here's our place. Squat down and make yourselves comfortable."

The Philosophers followed the cue, and, apparently unaware of the presence of any strangers, took possession of their slope, and tried to be as jolly as possible.

"I wonder where the day-boy cads go for their tucks," said Trimble in an audible voice, evidently intended for the opposition. "Some one was saying they were trying to get up a kids' club; ha, ha! I'd like to see it."

"Such a joke, Quin," said a voice over the way, evidently pitched to carry across to us. "You know those kids in Sharpe's? they've started a society. What do you think their motto is? Oh my, it's a screamer!"

"What is it?" asked the voice of Quin.

"Keep it dark. I wouldn't like it to get out I told you. It's Mens sani in corpore sanorum, or something like that. You should have seen Redwood yell over it."

"Now, you fellows, let's have our grub," said Langrish encouragingly. "Chaps must eat, you know. Corpore sanum is our motto, you know. Ha, ha! What do you think I heard one of the day louts call it? Corpore sanorum!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" shrieked we.

"Ho! ho! ho!" shrieked the Urbans.

In the midst of which hilarities we produced our provender (greatly to the relief of our pockets), and fell to. The operation evidently did not pass unheeded by the other side.

"I say, Flitwick," cried some one, "do you know what Philosophers eat?"

"No; what?"

"I never knew till just now. Inky bread and cold bacon-fat sandwiches, or else sherbet, if their tongues are long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottles."

"Have some of this fizzing pork pie, Jones?" asked Coxhead ostentatiously.

"Thanks. You have some of my sardines," replied I.

"Rummy name for a chap, Sarah, isn't it?" said the voice of the captain's fag opposite. "There's a new chap in Sharpe's house this term, one of the biggest mules you ever saw—his name's Sarah."

"What," replied his friend—"is he an ugly little cad with a turn-up nose, and yellow kid gloves, that gets lines every day from the doctor, and can't kick a football as high as his own head? Rather! I know him."

It was impossible to go on much longer at this rate. The atmosphere was getting warm all round, and the storm evidently might break at any moment.

Fortunately for them, the Urbans, of their own accord, averted the peril.

"If you've done lunch," said Quin, "we'd better get to business. Our fellows go in for something besides tuck, don't they, Flitwick?"

"Rather," said Flitwick; "we haven't got a Latin motto that won't parse, but we meet to improve our minds, not stuff our bodies. I vote Mr Quin takes the chair."

"All serene," said Quin, perching himself on a hamper. "I now call upon Mr Brown iii. to read us his paper on 'Remains.'"

This was the first mention of my old comrade. During the interchange of courtesies during lunch he had kept steadily silent, anxious, no doubt, to spare my feelings. But now his chance was come. It was reserved to him to show off the Urbans on their intellectual side.

But before he could come to the front and clear his throat for action, Langrish had loudly called the Philosophers to order.

"Now, you fellows," said he, "we have our programme to get through, and we are not going to give it up, even if our place of meeting was swarming with day idiots. Mr President, you had better lead off."

Thus called upon, I loudly summoned Mr Philosopher Trimble to open the debate on the subject of "Beauty," venturing to add,—

"Some fellows, I've been told, discuss subjects they know nothing about, such as 'Remains,' and that sort of thing; but the Conversation Club makes a point of sticking to what they are familiar with, and that is why we speak to-day of Beauty."

It would not be easy to give a verbatim report of the proceedings which followed, for each party was evidently more attentive to what fell from the other side than to what fell from its own. And each speaker was evidently less concerned to impress his friends than his enemies.

But any one who had chanced to stand on the ridge above, half-way between the two parties, would have heard a medley somewhat of the following kind,—

"Gentlemen, in addressing you on the subject of remains—"

"—I need hardly explain what we mean when we speak of beauty—"

"—Remains are things dug up out of the earth where they—"

"—make a great mistake in calling things people eat, beautiful. In fact—"

"very few of them are to be found unless you know where they are, but—"

"When we talk of a beautiful face we mean a face that is—"

"—plastered over with mud and grime, and hardly recognisable till it is scraped clean, or—"

"people differ very much about it—what one person thinks beautiful, another—"

"generally digs for with spades and shovels, and may spend days—"

"—trying to look less ugly than they really are—"

"—some people find this quite impossible and have to employ persons to—"

"make personal remarks about their neighbours—"

"gentlemen,—"

"I need not remind you that among the Urbans—"

"are to be found some of the most hideous types of ugliness imaginable— what we need is—"

"—a little common sense to enable us to tell the difference between shams—"

"—like ourselves and the baboons, which is not always easy. In conclusion, gentlemen, I beg to point to our—"

"—dirty hands and faces, which no one who is really interested in hunting for remains of his native—"

"—ugliness ought to be ashamed of."

And so on.

We were too busy cheering our own orator and listening to the enemy's to take in the full humour of the medley at the time. The opening speeches were evidently prepared beforehand (a good part of them possibly copied bodily out of some book). But, as soon as the chairman on either side declared the subject open for discussion, the interest thickened.

Flitwick led off on "Remains," whereas it fell to my lot to reply on "Beauty." By a little sharp practice, I got the lead, which, as it happened, turned out more to the enemy's profit than my own.

"Gentlemen," shouted I, for the breeze made it necessary to speak out, "I beg to disagree with all that the last speaker has said."

"Gentlemen," came the answering voice of Flitwick, "in consequence of a donkey braying somewhere near, I fear I shall find it difficult to make myself heard."

"When people have nothing to say," continued I, "the less they try to say the better."

"I will not imitate the idiots who call themselves Philosophers, and yet don't know what gender a simple Latin word like corpore is."

"It is sad to think how many afflicted ones there are, close to us, who cannot possibly be as big fools as they look, or look as big fools as they are."

"The one kind of remains you can't find are the remains of a Philosopher's lunch. 'Greedy' is a mild word to use for their sickening gluttony."

"If you want to look for beauty, gentlemen, you should look anywhere but straight in front of you." (Cheers.)

"Gentlemen, as I hear some geese quacking, as well as the donkey braying, I find it difficult to say what I want." (Laughter.)

"I deny that there is any beauty in the laugh of a pack of hyenas."

"If there was anybody here called Sarah," continued Flitwick, wandering farther and farther from his point, "who has been brought up in a girls' school, and wears tan boots and lavender gloves in school (loud and derisive shouts), and is well-known as the dunce of his house (hear, hear), I should advise him never to look in the looking-glass if he is afraid of chimpanzees."

This was too much for the pent-up feelings of the Philosophers—not that they particularly resented Flitwick's facetious allusions to myself—but in my capacity as President of the Club they felt called upon to support me.

"Shut up, cheap-jack!" cried Trimble defiantly. We had given ourselves away at last!

"Hullo," cried Flitwick, "there's somebody here! I wonder if those little cads of Sharpe's have found out our place?"

"Your place!" thundered Warminster. "You knew it was ours. And we mean to kick you out."

"Ho! ho! when are you going to begin?" shouted the twenty Urbans.

"Now," yelled the twenty Philosophers.

A battle now seemed imminent, as fierce and disastrous as that fought four centuries before on the adjoining heath. The blood of both parties was up, and I might even have found myself engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with my old chum Dicky, had not Tempest unexpectedly appeared on the scene, like a bolt out of the blue.

He was pushing along his bicycle, and had evidently been attracted to the Bottom by the noise.

"What's up?" he inquired, taking advantage of the temporary silence.

"Those day-boy cads have come and bagged our places and spoiled our fun," said we.

"No, it's your kids who have come and stopped ours," protested the enemy.

"And you're all going down into the middle to have a mill," said Tempest. "Just as you like. But why don't you try a tug of war across instead? You're pretty evenly matched, and I'll umpire!"

It was not a bad idea, and took beautifully. The only drawback was, that Tempest being a Sharper, was presumably prejudiced in favour of the Philosophers. However, he had the reputation of being addicted to fair play.

"The side that's pulled down," said he, "clears out, and goes somewhere else; and the side that wins I'll photograph in a group."

It was a tremendous prize to offer, and served to stimulate both teams to the uttermost. We had a rope with us which easily stretched across the dell, and admitted the twenty pairs of hands on either side to grasp it. Tempest carefully saw that neither side started with the least advantage, and waited till we were all ready before giving the signal.

A tug of war in which each side is ranged up the steep slope of a hollow is very different work from a tug on the level, as we soon found out. Indeed, as soon as the rope was stretched, those lowest down were hanging on to it by their finger tips, while those higher up were obliged to sit down to get within anything like reach. Under these circumstances the contest was short and sharp, and ended in a draw. For each side lost its footing the moment the strain was applied, and almost before Tempest had given the signal, the whole forty of us were sprawling in a confused heap on the grassy floor of the Bottom.

This abortive contest had the effect (which probably Tempest intended) of smoothing over, to some extent, the angry dispute which was on foot, and which was still further allayed by his undertaking to take a monster joint photograph of the two clubs, provided we stood or sat still for the process.

After that, he good-naturedly remained at our invitation, to officiate as judge in some impromptu sports, in which, once again, the rival parties proved most evenly matched. Finally, as evening was drawing on, he consented just to witness a hurried display of our joint fireworks, after which, he told us, we must at once take to our boats and repair home.

It was an imposing display. Twelve Roman candles were set up at regular distances round the hollow, with a fellow in charge of each. Two rockets were set in position, one on either side, and green and red lights alternately were planted on the banks above. At a given signal from Tempest, all were simultaneously lit, and in a perfect blaze of glory, accompanied by a babel of cheers, we concluded our programme.

At least, not quite. One unrehearsed incident was yet to come. For, as the smoke cleared off and the noise ceased, and our eyes once more grew accustomed to the twilight, we became aware of the presence of Mr Jarman, standing in our midst!



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

EXTRA DRILL.

Mr Jarman must have felt flattered at the gloomy dead silence which fell on Philosophers and Urbans alike as we looked round and saw him. It was of course impossible to believe he had found us by accident, still less that he had come with any friendly purpose.

He advanced into the middle of the Bottom, watch in hand.

"This is contrary to rules," said he. "It is now a quarter-past six, and you are half an hour from Low Heath. In addition to which I have already said that fireworks are only to be had with leave. Tempest, you should have put an end to this. You will kindly send me in the name of every boy here. And each of you boys must attend an extra drill to- morrow and write out one hundred lines—except," added he, catching sight of me, "except Jones iv., whom I have already had to punish, and who must write two hundred lines."

It was a study to watch Tempest's face during this speech. It was all he could do to wait to the end.

"It's not fair," said he, with pale cheeks and angry brow. "It's a half-holiday, and boys always get half an hour's grace."

"That is not the rule," said the master.

"It's the practice, sir. Half these boys are in my house, and I have given them leave to stay. I also allowed the fireworks."

"Tempest, we will speak of this presently—"

"No, sir," blurted out Tempest, "the fellows have done nothing wrong; and if they have, I'm responsible to Dr England about it."

Mr Jarman was not the man to give himself away in a public discussion, and coolly walked off, observing—

"I shall expect the list of names to-night, Tempest."

Tempest's reply was a short, defiant laugh, which made the master turn a moment, as if about to notice it. But he departed silently, and left us to recover as well as we could from the surprise of the whole scene.

The general opinion was that the policeman had met his match at last in Tempest; and the more enthusiastic of us tried to express our feelings in words. But Tempest was by no means inclined to discuss the situation.

"Shut up," he replied angrily, when I ventured to applaud his courage. "Cut back to school at once, and don't speak to me."

This was a blow to some of the party, who had calculated on a general revolt, to be headed by the rock of Sharpe's house in person, and celebrated by general orgies on the spot.

"I sha'n't do my lines, shall you?" said Dicky, as we trotted down to the boats.

"Rather not. And I don't think our chaps will turn up for extra drill."

"Just like old Tempest," said Brown. "He enjoys a row of this kind."

"He didn't look as if he did," remarked I. "Perhaps that was because such a lot of day chaps are mixed up in it."

Brown looked a little glum at this.

"He needn't bother about us unless he likes," said he. "We can take care of ourselves, I fancy."

Luckily at this stage we reached the boats, and further discussion was interrupted.

The voyage home was comparatively uneventful. It was of course enlivened by a desultory race with the Urbans all the way, in which, I regret to say, Mr Jorrocks's boats received a few scratches, owing to the desire of each boat to take the water of its opponent before it was clear ahead. The town-boys unrighteously claimed in the end to have won by a quarter of a length, but as in passing our leader they had pulled away one of our bow oars and further turned the nose of the Sarah into the bank, we stoutly resisted their claim, and a very lively argument ensued, in which Mr Jorrocks lost a good deal of varnish, and most of the combatants became rather wet. However, we were back in school within half an hour of embarking, which on the whole was not a bad record.

Curiosity to know what Tempest would do prevented us from so much as thinking of our "lines." I took an early opportunity of presenting myself in Pridgin's study, feeling sure I should be likely to hear something of the matter there.

As it happened, Tempest and Wales were there too, in deep confabulation.

"Look here, old chap," Pridgin was saying, "don't spoil your term for a parcel of yelping young puppies like this kid here and his lot. They're not worth it."

"For all that," said Wales, "it's a question of whether the cock of a house is to be allowed his rights or not."

"It's more a question whether Jarman is to be allowed his rights," said Tempest. "I quite agree that these young muffs are a nuisance, and it's all the more aggravating to be dragged into a mess by them. But he'd no right to interfere."

"Strictly speaking, I suppose he was right," said Pridgin. "There is a rule about juniors being in by 6:30; although every one knows half an hour's grace is given on half-holidays. And I suppose he's right about the fireworks."

"You think I ought to cave in?" asked Tempest.

"I don't say that. But I'd let the matter alone."

"We shall never stop Jarman at that rate," said Wales. "I should say fight it out."

"All very well for you and me," said Pridgin, "who are comfortably out of it. But it means a big job for old Tempest. He'll have to bear the brunt of it."

"I can't well drop it when he's told me to give him a list of the youngsters present," said Tempest.

"You certainly are not called upon to give him a list of the day boys."

"Well, as I only know one of them, it wouldn't be easy. If he'd only lagged me, and given me extra drill and lines, it wouldn't have been so bad. But it was playing it low down to—"

Here came a knock at the door, and the school messenger entered with a letter.

"No answer," said he, handing it to Tempest.

It was plain to see by the flush on Tempest's face as he read it that it contained anything but pleasant news.

"It's from Jarman," said he, throwing it down on the table.

Wales took it up and read it.

"Mr Jarman informs Tempest that the list of names required in connection with this afternoon's incident will not be required, as Mr Jarman already has it. Tempest will please attend the extra drill with the other boys of his house to-morrow, as his conduct this afternoon was neither respectful nor a good example to others."

"Whew!" exclaimed Pridgin, rising, for a wonder, out of his chair; "that's a nasty one, if you like. He's taken you at your word, old man. Who's given the list of names? Did you, you young sweep?" he demanded of me.

"Oh no," said I, glad to be recognised under any term of endearment. "I wouldn't think of doing such a thing. But I'll tell you what I think."

"Really, Jones iv., it's nice to know you do think; but, if you don't mind, we would rather not hear. If you know anything, let us hear it, but spare us your thoughts."

Pridgin was rather crushing sometimes.

"I meant we were marked off by the porter at the lodge as we came in," said I. "Perhaps that's how he's got the names."

"Evidently," said Pridgin, "he's had you for once. Tempest. He guessed there'd be a bother about the list, and he has taken the wind out of your sails. You'll attend extra drill, of course."

"Certainly."

"So that," said Wales, "all you will score by the affair will be a public disgrace before the juniors."

Tempest's half dismal, half wrathful face was answer enough.

"We sha'n't consider it a disgrace," said I.

"Thank you very much, Jones iv. If that is so, we shall feel it was worth living for to have your approbation. Now you had better go and write out your lines."

"What?" said I. "I thought we were none of us going to do that."

"I have warned you once against the perils of thinking. It's a bad habit for little boys. Off you go, or you won't get your poena done in time."

"What am I to tell the others?" I inquired.

"You may tell them it's a fine evening. Cut—do you hear?"

It was a great come-down. The Philosophers thought so when I reported the case. Some were inclined to be angry with Tempest, others to pity him; and every one was unanimous, I do not know why, in expressing a burning desire to kick me.

The expectation of a general revolt, headed by Tempest in person, and reinforced by the Urbans, faded dismally away as the company saw itself going down to "knock off" Mr Jarman's lines.

"This comes," said Langrish, rather illogically, I thought, "of getting mixed up with the day-boy cads. I knew it would land us in a mess, and so it has."

"Anyway, they're in the mess too," said Trimble.

"It's a little rough on Tempest having to show up for them as well as for us," said I.

"Shut up, and let a fellow write his lines, can't you?" growled Coxhead. "When we want Sarah's advice we'll ask for it."

The reader will gather from this that the Philosophers were in bad tempers, and that their president was in imminent danger of losing his.

At noon next day, when most of the school was turning out after morning class into the fields, a melancholy band might have been seen dropping in, in irregular order, at the door of the school gymnasium. All except one were juniors. Some looked as if they were used to the thing, other betrayed the shy and self-conscious embarrassment of the first delinquents. None looked cheerful, not a few looked savage. The exception in point of age was a well set-up, square-shouldered, proud- faced senior, who entered with an air of reckless disgust which was not comfortable to look at, and might be dangerous if provoked. None of us spoke to Tempest, and he vouchsafed no sign of recognition of us.

A squad of the school volunteers, chiefly composed of smart boys from Mr Selkirk's house, were concluding drill as we entered, and of course took stock of our dejected looks and of Tempest's unwonted appearance as they filed out.

"A row on, eh?" whispered one, as he passed us.

"It doesn't look like fun, does it?" snarled Langrish.

"Where does Tempest come in?" persisted the inquirer.

"By the door; and the sooner you get out by it the better."

"Ha, ha!—poor little naughty boys. An extra drill will do you good. Come on, you chaps. Let's leave them to enjoy themselves. They'll get used to it in time. Ho, ho!"

"Fall in!" called Mr Jarman.

And painfully conscious not only that a few of the volunteers were hanging about to look on, but that the school porter was at the moment conducting a party of visitors through the building, we obeyed listlessly and dismally. Tempest taking his place at the end of the line.

"Are these some of the volunteers?" we heard one of the lady spectators ask.

"No, madam. This is an extra drill for breach of rules," replied the official.

"Number from the right," cried Mr Jarman.

We numbered.

"Answer to your names," said the discipline master, producing a paper. We could not help noticing that Tempest's name was mixed in along with ours, and that no difference was made on account of his age or status. We were then formed into double rank, and fours, and open order, and put through a hideous series of extension exercises, irksome enough at any time, but under present circumstances specially so. I heard Dicky Brown beside me groan as he stood leaning over with his left knee bent, his right leg stretched out behind, and his two arms doubled up at his side.

"I wonder they don't all kick," he whispered.

"Not easy like this," said I.

"How Tempest must be enjoying it!" Dick murmured.

"Poor beggar! it's a nasty dose for him."

But if Mr Jarman counted on any protest or resistance from his senior victim, he was disappointed. Tempest went patiently and impassively through the drill with the rest of us; but, as we could see, with a blazing eye fixed all the while on the master. But I could guess the struggle that was going on in my friend's breast. Mr Jarman may have flattered himself he was "taking it out of him", Dicky and I knew better.

We all took our cue from Tempest that morning, and any inclination to rebel or mutiny was suppressed. We contented ourselves with glaring at our tormentor, and denying him the excuse he probably desired of prolonging the agony. My impression is that Mr Jarman was never so happy as when he realised that he was absolute master of the situation. The Roman emperors were not in it with him.

"Attention! Front!" said he at last, when the proceedings were becoming dull even to him. "Stand at ease! Attention! Stand at ease! Attention! Left turn! Dismiss! As you were! Dismiss!"

It was a prolonged insult, and we knew it. But Tempest stood it, and so, consequently, did we. But as we filed from the place we felt that Mr Jarman's turn would come some day.

Tempest, contrary to general expectation, evinced no haste to leave the scene of his tribulation. There was yet a quarter of an hour to next bell, and this he evidently decided to spend, as he had the right to do, where he was. Mr Jarman was evidently annoyed to find, not only that the senior was apparently unaffected by the humiliation through which he had passed, but that now the drill was over he evinced an entire unconcern in the master's presence.

Tempest was one of the best gymnasts in the school, and it was always worth while to watch him on the trapeze and horizontal bar. So the Philosophers and Urbans, by one consent, trooped back into the gymnasium to look on, and (what must have been particularly annoying to the master, because he had no authority to stop it) to cheer. How we did cheer, and what good it did us! Had Tempest been the meanest of performers, and done nothing but swing with his legs doubled up under him from one ring to the next, we should have applauded. But to-day his flights were terrific. No fellow was less given to show off, and he probably objected to our applause as much as Mr Jarman. But he was bound to relieve his feelings somehow, and the trapeze was just what he wanted.

When finally the bell rang, and we were hoarse with cheering (which was our way of relieving our feelings) he came to earth decidedly better for his exercise.

Mr Jarman evidently was impressed, and, to our surprise, even ventured on a compliment.

"You did that well, Tempest."

Tempest's reply was to walk away, putting on his coat as he went.

It was plain to see by the angry twitch of Mr Jarman's mouth that the shaft of this public snub had gone home, and we who looked on and witnessed it all had little need to tell ourselves that civil war had already been declared.

It is hardly necessary to state that the extraordinary meeting of the Conversation Club that evening was lively, and that there was no lack of a topic. Besides our own contingent, a few of the outsiders, including Muskett and Corderoy from Selkirk's house, and a few of the "paupers," dropped in. As the faggery would only conveniently hold six persons, and as at least twenty were present, it was considered advisable to adjourn to the shoe-room, where, in the dim light of a small candle, several particularly revolutionary motions were discussed, the company sitting on the floor for the purpose.

The meeting opened by my calling on Langrish to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.

"The inaugural picnic of the Ph.C.C. was held the other day. Present, all the usual lot and seven paupers. The president had chartered the Sarah and Firefly, two of the vilest crocks at Jorrocks's."

"He said they were the best they had got," I explained.

"Shut up, or you'll be kicked out, young Sarah."

"I've a right to speak."

"No, you haven't—unless you hold your tongue."

"If I held my tongue, I couldn't possibly speak," I explained.

"Turn him out!" cried the paupers. Whereat I subsided.

"The paupers," continued the minutes, "had beastly little go in them, and ought to have had a meal of hay before starting (interruption), and will be badly kicked if they don't shut up. The Firefly had the best of the race up." (Here there were most indignant protests from the crew of the gallant Sarah; and the question was argued out with some energy on the floor of the shoe-room before Langrish could proceed.)

"Nature was dressed in her most pristine colours, and the incandescent hues of the autumn leaves brought cries of enjoyment out of the mouths of the Ph.C.C, except the paupers, whose mouths were too full for utterance."

This paragraph was not likely to pass unchallenged. Coxhead impeached its grammar, Trimble its taste, and the paupers its accuracy, and a very heated argument ensued, at the end of which it was agreed to let the door stand open a few minutes to get rid of the dust.

"Arrived at Camp Hill, a flock of jibbering apes were discovered, headed by the president's arch-enemy. Brown iii."

"No, he's not my enemy," protested I. "I never said so."

"The minutes say so. They're more likely to be right than you."

"But I like Dicky Brown," said I.

"That sounds like poetry," said Warminster, "ho, ho!

"I like Dicky Brown, His cheek is so cool, And if I don't kick him You call me a fool."

"I can do that whether you kick him or not," said I, quite unmoved by this brilliant impromptu.

Here I was compelled to vacate the chair for a few moments, in order to discuss the matter further with Warminster. On order being restored, the minutes proceeded—

"The Philosophers soon made it too hot for these mules, and they were only allowed to stay on the ground as it amused us to see their idiotic sniggers. The paper on 'Beauty' was rot, and invoked well-deserved hisses."

"Say that again," ejaculated the outraged Trimble.

"That! there you are," said Langrish hurriedly. But Trimble had more to say on the subject, and once again the meeting became warm and dusty.

"Order, please; let's hear the rest," said I, when both had been brushed down by their friends.

"As for Sarah's speech in reply, it was the drivellingest balderdash you ever heard. It made the club blush."

"That speaks well for it," I suggested mildly.

The meeting did not seem to know how exactly to take this, but concluded it was meant to be complimentary, and contented themselves with ordering me to "shut up" if I didn't want to be kicked out.

"Tempest (loud cheers) turned up presently and backed us up (cheers). The baboons weren't in it in the sports. We pulled off the tug of war on our heads (cheers), and their speeches were even drivellinger than Trim's and Sarah's. (Interruption.) Just at the end a howling sneak and cad and outsider called Jarman came, and lagged us all, including Tempest. (Groans.) Our president behaved like a mutton-head throughout. Going home, the Philosophers led by several miles. The meeting then adjourned for extra drill in the gym. to-day, and mean to pay Jarman out." (Cheers.)

The patriotic sentiment with which the minutes concluded did away with any little difference arising earner is the evening, and they were carried unanimously.

It was then moved, seconded, thirded, fourthed, and fifthed, "that Jarman be, and is hereby, hung, and ought to be kicked."

It was further agreed, "that Tempest be elected an Honorary Philosopher, and be let off entrance fee."

Also, "that the town cads are about the biggest outsiders going."

Also, "that Trimble be requested to wash his face."

This last was not carried without some opposition, Trimble's amendment, "that you be hung," being lost only by a narrow minority. Finally it was resolved unanimously—

"That the Philosophers' Conversation Club make it hot all round for any one who doesn't want to kick Jarman or back up Tempest."

With which highly satisfactory piece of business accomplished, we adjourned to our own studies, and finally to bed.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL.

It was plain to be seen that Tempest, although he had borne his humiliating penalty like a man, had been badly bruised by it. Not that he broke out into any wild rebellion, or tried to make for himself a party to avenge his wrongs; but he seemed to have either lost interest in his work as house captain, or to enjoy disturbing the sensibilities of his friends by a reckless indifference to its affairs.

The story of his "extra drill" had become public property in Low Heath. Most of the fellows sympathised with him, but could not understand why he had not appealed to the head master. A few, a very few, suggested that he had come badly out of the business; but no one particularly cared to discuss the matter with him.

To Pridgin and Wales he insisted that it was no use referring to Dr England. The Head was bound to support his policeman.

"Why not get Redwood to take it up?" suggested Pridgin.

"Redwood! He wouldn't go a yard out of his way. What does it matter to him—a day boy? No, old chap, we can take care of ourselves. There'll be a return match one day!"

It concerned me to hear my old friend talk like this; still more to notice how he began to lose grip in Sharpe's house. No news flies so fast in a school as that of a responsible head boy being slack or "out of collar." And when once it is known and admitted, it takes a good deal to keep the house from going slack and "out of collar" too.