In our particular department the relaxing of authority was specially apparent. It destroyed some of the interest in our philosophical extravagances; for the dread of coming across the powers that be lends a certain flavour to the routine of a junior boy. It also tended to substitute horseplay and rowdyism for mere fun—greatly to the detriment of our self-respect and enjoyment.

On the whole, then, Sharpe's house had a heavier grudge against Mr Jarman than it suspected.

The worst of the whole business was that Tempest himself seemed not to see the effect of his attitude on the house at large. He did not realise how much the juniors were impressed by what he said and how he looked, or how much his example counted with others of a less imitative turn. He looked upon his grievance as his own affair, and failed to give himself credit for all the influence he really possessed.

One curious result of the upset was that Crofter was now and then to be found in his fellow-seniors' rooms. He had blossomed out as an ardent anti-Jarmanite, and belonged to the party who not only vowed revenge, but was impatient at delay. Tempest's wrongs he seemed to feel as keenly as if they had been his own; and the insults put upon Sharpe's house he took to heart as warmly as any one.

Tempest could hardly help tolerating this effusively-offered sympathy, although he made no profession of liking it, and continued to warn me against having more to do than I could help with Crofter. Pridgin was even less cordial, but his laziness prevented his taking any active steps to cut the connection. Wales, on the other hand, though Tempest's chum, took more kindly to the new-comer, and amused himself now and again by defending him against his detractors.

"The wonder to me is," said Crofter, "Jarman has not caught it before now. We're not the only house he's insulted, although I don't think he's tried it on with any of the others as he has with us."

"Some day he'll find he's sailing a little too near the wind," said Tempest, with a pleasant confusion of metaphors; "and then he'll get bowled out."

"Upon my word, though," said Wales, "I think we've a right to get that extra drill of yours wiped out. It stands against you on the register, and it's a scandal to the house."

"They seem to think it so," observed Pridgin, as just then a loud chorus of war-whoops came up from the region of the faggery. "Somebody had better stop that row!"

"Jarman had better come and do it," said Tempest, laughing. "He's got charge of the morals of Sharpe's house now."

When in due time I returned, somewhat depressed by what I had overheard, to the faggery, I discovered that the particular occasion of the triumphal shout referred to had been a proposal by Langrish to celebrate the approaching Fifth of November by hanging, and, if possible, burning Mr Jarman in effigy, for which purpose an overcoat of mine had already been impounded. I had the greatest difficulty in rescuing it from the hands of the marauders, who represented to me that it was my duty to sacrifice something for the public good.

"Why don't you let them have your coat, then?" I asked.

"Because," was the insinuating reply, "it wouldn't burn as well."

"You won't have mine," I insisted. "But I tell you what; I've got an old hat and pair of boots I—I don't often wear—you can have them."

A shout of laughter greeted this ingenuous offer—but it saved my top- coat. And when in time my flat-topped pot-hat and tan boots were produced, there was general rejoicing. Each Philosopher present tried them on in turn, and finally I was compelled to wear them, as well as my top-coat, for the rest of the evening, and assist in a full-dress rehearsal of the proposed hanging of the discipline master, in which, greatly to my inconvenience, I was made to personate Mr Jarman.

The following day I was enjoying a little hard-earned solitude, and amusing myself by leaning over the bridge and watching the boats below, when a voice at my side startled me.

"Ah, my polite letter-writer, is that you? The very chap I want."

It was Crofter. My instinct at first, especially on the sly reference to my letter of apology, was to fly. On second thoughts it seemed to me wiser to remain. Crofter and Tempest were on better terms now. It would be best to be civil.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Can you steer a boat?"

"A little," said I.

"Does that mean you can run it into the bank every few yards?"

"Oh no, I've often steered Tempest and Pridgin."

"Come along, then; I'm going to have a spin up to Middle-weir."

If there was one thing I enjoyed it was steering a boat, and I was not long in accepting the invitation.

Crofter was not conferring a favour on me; only making a convenience of me. So that I was not in any way making up to him. Our relations were that of senior and fag only; and Tempest's and Pridgin's warnings to beware when he was particularly friendly (even if it had not already been cancelled by the fact that they now frequently had Crofter in their rooms) could hardly apply now.

For all that, I did not feel quite comfortable, and was glad, on the whole, that the embarkation did not take place under the eyes of my patrons.

For some time Crofter sculled on in silence, giving me directions now and again to keep in the stream, or take the boat well out at the corners—which I considered superfluous. Presently, however, when we were clear of Low Heath he slacked off and began to talk.

"I enjoyed that letter of yours," said he; "did you write it all yourself?"

"Yes," said I, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.

"You and Tempest must be quite old chums."

"Yes."

"It's very rough on him, all this business."

"Yes, isn't it?" said I, somewhat won over by this admission.

"The worst of it is, it makes the house run down. I expected we were going to do big things this term."

"It's not Tempest's fault if we don't," said I.

"Of course not. It's Jarman's. Every one knows that. It's rather a pity Tempest takes it so meekly, though. Fellows will think he's either afraid or doesn't care; and neither would be true."

"I should think not."

There was a pause, during which Crofter sculled on. Then he said,—

"Tempest and I don't hit it, somehow. He doesn't like me, does he?"

"Well—no, I don't fancy he does," I admitted.

"I dare say he advises you to fight shy of me, and that sort of thing, eh?"

This was awkward; but I could not well get out of it.

"Yes."

Crofter laughed sweetly.

"I wish he'd let me be friends. I hate to see a fellow coming to grief, and not be allowed to give him a leg-up."

"Tempest's not coming to grief," said I.

"Well, not perhaps that, only it's a pity he's adding to his other troubles by getting head-over-ears in debt. I hear he's been going it pretty well in the shops. You should give him a friendly tip."

This was a revelation to me. I had gathered some time ago, from what Pridgin had said, that there was some fear of it; but I had hoped I had made a mistake.

"Who told you?" said I.

"A good many people are talking about it; including some of the shopmen. It's just one of those things that a fellow himself never dreams anybody knows about till it's public property. That's why I wish I were on good enough terms to give him the tip."

"If he's owing anybody he'll pay," said I, feeling a great sinking in my heart.

"Look out for that stake in the water there; pull your left! Narrow shave that. Of course he means to pay. What I'm afraid of is, Jarman or England or any of them getting to hear of it. Ever since Sweeten last year got turned out of the headship of his house, and afterwards expelled, it's seemed to me to be a risky thing for a fellow to run into debt. These shopmen are such sneaks. If they can't get their money from the fellow, they send their bills in to the house master, and sometimes to the head master; and then it's a precious awkward thing. How are you getting on in your form?"

I had not much spirit to tell him, and if I had there was no time, for just then the swish of a pair of sculls came round the corner behind us, and presently a boat at almost racing speed appeared in sight.

"Pull your right!" said Crofter. "Hallo! it's one of our fellows. Looks like Tempest himself."

I wished myself at the bottom of the river then! What would he think of me if he saw me, and if he knew what I had been listening to?

In my perturbation I over-pulled my line and sent our boat into the bank. Tempest, who evidently was relieving himself with a spin of hard exercise after his fashion, and imagined he had the river to himself, was bearing down straight upon us.

"Hallo, there; keep her out!" shouted Crofter.

Tempest looked round in a startled way, and held water hard to avoid a collision. Then, as he suddenly took in who we were, his face lengthened, and he came to a halt alongside.

"You there, Jones iv.?"

"Yes, would you like me to come and steer you?" said I.

Considering the difficulty into which I had just landed my present boat, it was difficult to natter myself any one would exactly compete for my services. But Tempest answered shortly,—

"Come along."

"Hullo, I say," said Crofter suavely, but with a flush on his cheeks, "he's steering me, Tempest."

"He's doing no good. He's stuck you in the bank already. Come along, Jones."

"I haven't done with him yet," said Crofter, flushing still more deeply as his voice became sweeter. "I want him to stay with me."

"And I don't want him to stay with you," blurted out Tempest, losing his temper. "I've told him so already. He can do as he likes, though."

And he began to dip his sculls again in the water.

"No," said I, "I want to come in your boat, Tempest."

"Come along, then;" and he backed his stern up towards me.

Crofter made no further protest; but greeted my desertion with a mellifluous laugh, which made me more uncomfortable than a storm of objurgations.

Tempest said nothing, but dug his blades viciously in the water, and spun away with grim face and clenched teeth.

For a quarter of a mile he sculled on before he lay on his oars and exclaimed,—

"You young fool!"

"Why," pleaded I, "I didn't think you'd mind. He's been friendly enough to you lately."

"Bah! What do I care what he is to me? I told you to fight shy of the fellow, and there you go and give yourself away to him."

I did not quite like this. Tempest spoke to me as if I had not a soul of my own, and had no right to do anything without his leave.

"He was speaking quite kindly about you," persisted I.

Tempest checked the contemptuous exclamation which came to his lips, and said, more earnestly than I had heard him yet,—

"Look here, Jones; that fellow's a cad; and he'll make a cad of you, if you let him. Don't believe a word he says to you, unless he calls you a fool."

"I hope what he's been saying to-day will turn out to be Lies," said I oracularly.

To my disappointment Tempest evinced no curiosity as to my meaning, and relapsed into gloomy silence for the rest of the voyage.

For the first time in my life I felt out of humour with my old Dux. He had no right to treat me like a baby, or dictate to me whom I was to know and whom I was not to know in Low Heath. No doubt he thought he was doing me a good turn, and honestly thought ill of Crofter. But it did not follow he was not doing him an injustice, and demanding that I should join in it.

At any rate, I felt heartily miserable, and wished I had never put foot outside the faggery that day.

About a mile from home Tempest got out on the towing-path, and said he would trot to the school while I paddled the boat home. It was some relief to be left alone; a relief, however, which was considerably tempered by the fear of meeting Crofter, and having to explain matters to him. That difficulty fortunately did not occur, and I got back to the bosom of the Philosophers without further adventure.

In their sweet society I gradually recovered my spirits. Their enthusiasm for Tempest was still unabated, and their avowed contempt for his enemies all the world over was refreshing. A night's reflection further repaired my loyalty. After all, thought I, Tempest meant well by me, and was willing to make an enemy for my sake. He might be wrong, of course; but suppose he was right—

The result of all these inward musings was that I offered Trimble to do Tempest's fagging in his place next morning.

He seemed half to expect me, and the old friendly look was back in his face as he saw me enter.

"I'm sorry I offended you yesterday, Tempest," said I.

"I fancied it was I offended you," said he; "but I couldn't stand seeing you in that cad's clutches."

"Is he really a cad, then?" I asked.

"You don't suppose I asked you into my boat for fun, do you?" said he shortly.

I went on for some time with my work, and then said,—

"Would you like to know what he was saying about you?"

"Not a bit," said he, so decisively that I relapsed again into silence.

"Look here, kid," said he, presently, and with unwonted seriousness. "I'm not a saint, and don't profess to be. And I may not be able to manage my own affairs, to judge by what you and half a dozen other of the fellows seem to think; but I don't want to see you—well, come to grief—and that's what you're likely to do if you let that fellow get hold of you."

"He's not got hold of me," said I, feeling a little hurt once more. "Mayn't I be civil to a fellow, even? Why, he was saying if you—"

"Shut up! didn't I tell you I don't want to hear?" said he.

"Oh, all right."

If he had only vouchsafed to tell me why he disliked Crofter, or if he had given his counsel in a less authoritative way, it would have been different. He would not even let me repeat the friendly remarks Crofter had made about him; and was determined neither to say a good word for the fellow himself, nor let me say one.

The consequence was that our interview ended in my wishing once more I had confined myself to my own quarters and let ill alone.

My companions were not long in discovering that something was on my mind, and in their gentle way tried to cheer me up.

"What's the row—ear-ache?" demanded Trimble.

"He's blue because he's not had lines to-day," suggested Langrish.

"Perhaps his washerwoman has sent in her bill," said Coxhead.

"You'll get kicked out of here, if you look so jolly blue," said Warminster. "It's stale enough this term, without having a chap with a face like a boiled fish gaping at you."

"Look here," said I, resolved to be candid as far as I dare. "I'm in a jolly mess—"

"Never knew you out of it. What's up?" said Langrish.

"Really though, no larks," said I. "Tempest's down on me because I went out with Crofter, and Crofter's down on me because I cut him for Tempest. That's enough to give a chap blues, isn't it?"

"There seems to be a run on Sarah," said Trimble. "Anybody got a halfpenny?"

"What for?" I inquired, as the requisite coin was planked down on the table.

"Heads Tempest, tails Crofter," said Langrish.

It was heads, and I was solemnly ordered to adhere to Crofter.

"We'll square it with Tempest," said they. "He'll probably keep his shutters up for a day or two, but he'll soon get over it."

"But," said I, "I mean to stick to Tempest as well. The fact is, from what I hear,"—little I realised the fatal error I was making!—"he's in rather a bad way himself."

"How?"

"Well, don't tell; but he's owing a lot in the shops; and if he can't pay he'll get shown up."

There was a whistle of dismay at this. Sweeten's fate was still fresh in the memory of some of the faggery.

"We'll have to give him a leg-up," was the general verdict.

"Oh, don't let out I told you!" said I, beginning to get alarmed at the interest my revelation had evoked.

"Who's going to say a word about you? We can back up the cock of our own house, I suppose, without asking your precious leave. You go and black Crofter's boots. We'll see old Tempest through."

This was not at all what I wanted. I had at least hoped to be recognised as Tempest's leading champion in this company. Whereas, here was I coolly shunted, my revelation coolly appropriated, and my services unceremoniously dispensed with. I did not like it at all.

"This dodge about stringing up Jarman's guy," said Trimble, "ought to help our man a bit. It'll show we're taking the matter up. By the way, Sarah's not heard the latest—we're going to blow him up as well as hang him."

And they proceeded to explain that the guy was to be filled chock-full of fireworks and gunpowder, and his tongue to be made of touch-paper. Altogether, he was to be a most dangerous and explosive effigy; and I, as president of the Philosophical Conversation Club, was naturally selected to take charge of him.

I pleaded hard for a sub-committee to assist me, but they would not hear of it.

"It'll only be a day or two," said they, "to the Fifth of November. We'll have his stuffing all in to-morrow—there's almost enough fireworks left over from the picnic to load him. Then you can stow him away quiet somewhere till the day. Couldn't you stick him under your bed?"

"Oh no, he might go off, you know," said I; "or some one might see him. Besides, he'll be too stout to go under."

"Bother!—where can he go, then?"

"I vote we stick him in the lumber room under the gymnasium. Nobody ever goes there, and you can get into it any time by the area outside," said Coxhead.

This was voted an excellent idea. At any rate, if he was discovered or did go off there, the gymnasium was far enough away from Sharpe's.

So, with much rejoicing, the guy was duly loaded with his explosive internals, and clad in an old derelict overcoat of some late senior. My famous hat adorned his hideous head, and my unappreciated tan boots lent distinction to his somewhat incoherent legs. A train of touch-paper connected with a Roman candle was cunningly devised to protrude in the form of a tongue from his mouth, while ginger-beer bottles filled with gunpowder served as hands. And the whole work of art was one dark evening conveyed by me tenderly and deposited among a wilderness of broken forms, empty hampers, and old bottles in the lumber room under the school gymnasium, "to be called for" in a few days time.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

GUNPOWDER TREASON.

One result of my boating excursion was that Crofter ceased to frequent his fellow-seniors' studies. There was no declaration of war, or, indeed, any formal breaking off of relations. But Crofter had sense enough of his own dignity to feel that he had been slighted by Tempest: and Tempest and his friends had no inclination to heal the trouble, or assume an attitude of friendliness they did not feel.

As for me, I found it very hard to steer an even course between the competing parties. Crofter nodded and spoke to me just as usual, and was evidently amused by my panic lest these pacific overtures should be observed or misconstrued by Tempest. Tempest, on the other hand, did not refer again to the subject, but took a little more pains than before to look after me and help me in my work. And an evening or two later, much to my surprise, when I went as usual to "tidy up" in Pridgin's room while Tempest was there too, my lord and master said abruptly,—

"Let my things alone, kid. Tempest appreciates a mess in his place more than I do, so I've swopped you for Trimble."

"What?" said I, in tones of mingled amazement and pleasure. "Am I—"

"You're to go and fetch my blazer," said Tempest, "that I left on the parallel bars in the gymnasium this afternoon. Look alive, or I shall stick to Trimble."

I really began to think there must be something unusually desirable about me, that fellows should be so anxious to possess me. The Philosophers had with one accord sought me for president. Pridgin had wanted me. Crofter had wanted me. Even Redwood had wanted me. And now here was old Tempest putting in his claim! He should have me—I would not be so selfish as to deprive him of the coveted privilege.

In a somewhat "tilted" condition I went off on my errand, not even delaying to announce the great news to my fellow-Philosophers. It was a dark evening, and the gymnasium was some way off. But I knew the way by this time. I had daily walked past the area door and glanced down at the dangerous guy where it lay with its lolling tongue under the grating, to assure myself of its welfare. It was all right up till now, and in two days it would be off my hands.

The square was empty as I crossed it, and, to my satisfaction, I found the gymnasium door unlocked. I groped my way to the corner where the parallel bars stood, and there found the blazer, which I carried off in triumph.

As I emerged from the door and came down the steps, I became aware of two points of light in front of me, and a voice out of the darkness, which caused me to jump almost out of my skin,—

"Who is that?"

It was Mr Jarman's voice—and I could just discern his shadowy form accompanied by that of Mr Selkirk standing before me. The two masters were evidently taking an after-dinner turn with their cigars, and had heard my footsteps.

"Jones iv., sir; I came to fetch Tempest's blazer."

"Who gave you leave?"

"Tempest, sir."

"Take the blazer back where you found it, and tell Tempest if he leaves his things in the gymnasium he must fetch them at proper hours. This is the third time I have had to speak to you, Jones iv. You must attend an extra drill to-morrow, and learn fifty lines by heart. This constant irregularity must be stopped."

So saying, he took his companion's arm and strolled off.

I returned dismally into the dark gymnasium and flung the blazer on to the nearest seat; and then hurried back to report the result of my mission to Tempest.

As I guessed, our poor guy downstairs was likely to be nowhere in the explosion which this last insult called forth.

With clenched teeth Tempest sprang from his seat and snatched his cap.

"It's awfully dark," said I; "if you're going, you'd better take some matches."

"Fetch me some," said he, with a harsh, dry voice. I fled off, and returned with a box of fusees, which the Philosophers had laid in for the approaching celebration of Guy Fawkes' Day.

Tempest snatched them from my hand and strode off. I wished he had let me go with him. I heard his footsteps swing heavily across the quadrangle, as if challenging the notice of the enemy. Whether the enemy heard or answered the challenge I could not say. The steps died away into silence, and I listened in vain for further sign.

Presently I returned to the faggery, where the Philosophers were just preparing to obey the summons to bed.

Hurriedly I recited the event of the evening, and for once was honoured with their rapt and excited attention.

"My eye, what a shame we can't go out and see the fun!" cried Langrish.

"I hope he makes jelly of him," said Trimble. "I'm jolly glad I'm his fag."

This brought on a crisis I had rather feared.

"You're not," said I. "Pridgin has swopped me for you."

"What!" screamed Trimble, taking a running kick at my shins.

"I didn't do it. Shut up. Trim! that's my leg you're kicking. It was Pridgin. Go and kick him," said I.

But Trim was in no mood to listen to reason.

"I always said you were a sneak," snarled he; "now I know it. Come and kick the beast, you fellows. It's all a low dodge. Kick him, I say."

The company showed every disposition to respond to the appeal.

"Look here," said I, "it's not my fault—but if you kick me, I'll tell him about your precious guy, and you can look after him yourself; I shan't. There!"

This rather fetched them. As custodian of that illicit effigy I had my uses, and they hardly cared to dispense with me. So Trimble was ordered not to make an ass of himself, and the discussion went back to Tempest and his blazer.

"I tell you what," said Warminster. "I vote we hang about a bit and cheer him when he comes in. There's no one to lag us for not going to bed, and we may as well stay and back him up."

With which patriotic resolve we resumed our seats and occupied the interval with auditing the accounts of the club—a painful and tedious operation which gave rise to much dispute and recrimination, particularly when it was discovered that on paper we were 25 shillings to the good, whereas in the treasurer's pocket we were 6 shillings to the bad.

The treasurer had a bad quarter of an hour of it, till it was discovered that the auditors had accidentally forgotten to carry the total of one column to the top of the next, an oversight which nearly brought about the dissolution of the club, so fierce was the storm which raged over it.

More than half an hour was spent over these proceedings, and we began to wonder why Tempest had not come back. It was certain he must have been stopped by somebody, or he would have been back in ten minutes. Had he and Jarman had an encounter? Was Mr Jarman at that moment begging for quarter? or was our man answering for his riot to the head master?

Half an hour passed, three-quarters, an hour. Then, just as we were giving him up, hurried footsteps came across the quadrangle, and Tempest, with pale face and disordered guise, carrying his blazer on his arm, entered and passed rapidly to his room. His countenance was too forbidding for us to venture on our promised cheer. Something unusual had happened. How we longed to know what it was!

I was thrust forward to follow him to his study, on the chance of ascertaining, and was on the point of obeying, when a terrific sound broke the silence of the night, and sent us back with white, rigid faces in a heap into the faggery.

The sound proceeded from the direction of the gymnasium—first of all, a dull, spasmodic thunder; then a fierce burst, followed almost immediately by two tremendous reports which shook us to the soles of our boots.

It reminded me of that fearful night at Dangerfield, when Tempest—

I clung on to Langrish, who was next to me, in mute despair, and Langrish in turn embraced Trimble.

"Those," gasped the voice of Coxhead, "were the—ginger—beer—bottles. What—shall—we—do?"

"Cut to bed sharp!" said the resolute though quavering voice of Warminster, "and lie low."

"There won't be much of him left," whispered Trimble, "that's one good thing," as we huddled off our clothes in the dark in the dormitory.

It was a gleam of comfort, certainly. Effigies of that kind, when they do go off, leave few marks of identity behind them.

"Who let it off?" I ventured to ask. "No one knew about it except us."

"Look out! There's somebody coming!"

It was Mr Sharpe, who looked in, candle in hand, to see if any one had been disturbed by the noise. But every one was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unconscious that anything had happened.

"Narrow shave that," said Langrish, when the master had retired.

"I say," said Trimble. "I wonder if Tempest—"

Here he pulled up, but a muffled whistle of dismay took up his meaning.

"If he did, he must have found it out by himself. I never said a word to him," said I.

"You were bound to make a mess of it," said Coxhead. "Why ever couldn't you stick the thing where nobody could find it?"

"So I did; it was leaning up against the cellar wall; no one could possibly get at it."

"Why not? the area door's open."

"No, it ain't. I locked it, and hid the key," said I, triumphantly, "for fear of accident, under the scraper."

"Good old Sarah—that's lucky. But what about the grating in the gymnasium floor? Couldn't you twig it through that?"

"Not unless you were looking for it. And if you could, you couldn't get at it."

"Well," said Trimble, rather brutally, "I hope it's all right, for your sake. Fellows who keep guys must take the consequences. It would have been much safer if you'd kept it under your bed."

"You may keep the next," growled I. "I've done with it."

Considering the probable condition of the luckless effigy at that moment, nobody was inclined to contradict me; and the Philosophers relapsed into gloomy silence, and eventually fell asleep.

I was probably the last to reach that blissful stage. For hours I lay awake, a prey to the most dismal reflections. To do myself justice, my own peril afflicted me at the time—perhaps because I did not realise it—less than Tempest's. Whether he had blown up the guy or not, things would be sure to look black against him, and my recollection of the episode of Hector's death told me he would come out of it badly. How, if he had done it, he had contrived to get at the explosives, I could not fathom. I was sure, even with his grudge against Jarman, he was not the sort of fellow to take a revenge that was either mean or dastardly; and yet—and yet—and yet—

When with one accord we woke next morning it needed no special intimation to be aware that something had happened at Low Heath. Masters and school attendants were talking in groups in the quadrangle. Boys were flitting across in the direction of the gymnasium; and seniors in twos and threes were deferring their morning dip and hovering about in serious confabulation.

"Something up?" said Trimble, with ill-concealed artlessness. "I wonder what it is?"

"Looks like a row of some sort," said Langrish. "What are all the chaps going across to the gym. for, I wonder?"

"Let's go and see," said Coxhead.

"We needn't all go together," said Warminster, significantly. So one by one, casually, and at studied distances from our comrades, the Philosophers dropped into the crowd and made for the scene of last night's accident.

I felt terribly nervous. Suppose some one had been killed, or suppose the gymnasium had been burnt, and suspicion fell on any one, what a fix it would be!

In my distress I met Dicky Brown, full of news.

"Hullo, Jones, I say, have you heard? Some chap's been trying to blow up the gym. in the night, and there's a row and a half on. The front door is smashed, and the floor all knocked to bits. Come and have a look."

"Any one killed or hurt?"

"I've not heard. Didn't you hear the noise?"

"Yes. Our chaps heard a row in the night."

"We could hear it at our place," said Brown. "They say the chap's known who did it, too."

"Who?"

"How do I know? Some chap who's been extra drilled, most likely."

"There's plenty of them," suggested I.

"Well, yes. They say a lot of gunpowder had been stowed in the lumber room just under the door. There, do you see?"

We had reached the scene of the tragedy, and I was able to judge of the mischief which had been done. The door was broken, but whether by the explosion or ordinary violence it was hard to say. The floor and grating over the lumber room were broken away, and one or two windows were smashed. That was all. My first feeling was one of relief that the damage was so slight. I had pictured the whole building a wreck, and a row of mangled remains on stretchers all round. Compared with that, our poor guy had really made a very slight disturbance. Of him I was thankful to be able to observe no trace, except one tan boot and a fragment of a ginger-beer bottle in the area. That indeed was bad enough, but, I argued, the lumber room was full of old cast-off shoes and bottles, and these would probably be set down as fragments of the rubbish displaced by the explosion.

Brown, however, and others to whom I spoke, failed to share my view of the slightness of the damage.

"If the fellow's found, it will be a case of the police court for him."

The blood left my face as I heard the awful words. It had never occurred to me yet that the matter was one of more than school concern. Visions of penal servitude and a broken-hearted mother swam before my eyes. Oh, why had I ever left the tranquil seclusion of Fallowfield for this awful place?

As soon as possible I edged quietly out of the crowd, and made my way dismally back to Sharpe's, where I met not a few of our fellows, all eager for news.

I was too sick to give them much information, and sent them to inspect for themselves while I made my way dismally to Tempest's room.

He was up, reading.

"Hullo, youngster," said he, "what's all the row about? What was that noise in the quad, last night? were some of your lot fooling about with fireworks?"

"Don't you know?" gasped I, fairly taken aback with the question. "Why, some one's been trying to blow up the gymnasium!"

"What!" he exclaimed. "Why, I was there, not long before the noise. Who's done it?"

"That's what nobody knows. I'm afraid there'll be a row about it."

"Any fool could tell that," said Tempest, with troubled face.

"I wish you hadn't been there," said I; "they may think it was you."

"Let them," said he, with a laugh which was anything but merry. I was longing to hear what had happened to him last night, but he did not volunteer any information, and I did not care to question him.

Horribly uneasy, I was about to seek the questionable consolations of my comrades, when the school messenger entered with a long face.

"Master Tempest, the head master wants to see you at once."

"All right," said Tempest.

"He said I was to bring you."

"If you want to carry me, you may," said Tempest, with a short laugh; "if not, wait a moment and I'll come. Jones, tell Pridgin I want to speak to him—wait, I'll go to him."

The school messenger looked as if he felt it his duty to take the senior at his word. Had Tempest been a smaller boy, he might have done so. As it was, he repeated,—

"At once, please, sir."

Tempest took no notice, but went across the passage to his friend's room.

When he reappeared in a minute or two, Pridgin was with him, and without taking further notice of the messenger's presence the two walked arm-in- arm out of the house and across the quadrangle.

The news of the summons spread like wildfire. The Philosophers, when in due time they mustered in the faggery after their inspection of the scene of the outrage, were not slow in taking in the seriousness of the situation.

"Of course he's suspected. It's all your fault, you ass, for being such a muff and letting Jarman catch you. You can't do a thing without making a mess of it."

"How could I help it?" I pleaded.

"Couldn't you have fetched his blazer for him without running into that cad's way?"

"What I can't make out," said Langrish, "is how Tempest knew about the guy and was able to let it off."

"I don't believe he did," said I. "I'm sure he didn't."

"You'd believe anything. Things like that don't go off by themselves, do they?"

I was bound to admit they did not, but persisted in my belief that Tempest had nothing to do with it.

But the logic of the Philosophers was irresistible.

"Didn't we see him go over and come back? and didn't it blow up the moment he got into the house?" said Trimble.

"And didn't he go over on purpose to have it out with Jarman?" said Coxhead.

"And hadn't he got his blazer with him when he came back?—so he must have been in the gym.," said Warminster.

"Who else was likely to do it?" said Langrish. "I suppose you'll try to make out Jarman tried to blow himself up?"

"I never said so. All I said was that I'm positive Tempest never did it."

"And all we say is that you're about as big an ass as you look, and that's saving a good deal," chimed in the Philosophers.

How long the wrangle might have gone on I cannot say. For just then the school messenger appeared on the scene once more—this time in quest of me.

"Young Master Jones iv., you're to go to the head master at once."

"What for?" said I, feeling a cold shudder go down my spine.

"Ask a policeman," replied the ribald official. "You've had a short time and a merry one, my young gentleman; but it's over at last."

"But I never—"

"Sharp's the word!" interrupted he.

"You'd better cut," said the Philosophers. "We'll give you a lift if we can."

It was poor consolation, but such as it was I valued it. Never criminal walked to the gallows with as heavy a heart as I followed the school messenger across the quadrangle and past the fated gymnasium to the head master's study.

There I found four people waiting to see me. Tempest looking very sullen, the head master looking very grave, Mr Jarman looking very vicious, and a policeman looking very cheerful.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

BEFORE THE "BEAK."

At the sight of the policeman I gave myself up for lost. The sins and errors of my youth all rose in a hideous procession before me. I recalled vividly the occasion when, years ago, I had borrowed Dicky Brown's "nicker" without acknowledgment, and lost it. I recalled a dismal series of assaults and libels in my guardian's office. I recollected with horror once travelling on a half-ticket two days after my twelfth birthday. Above all, the vision of that ill-favoured effigy under the grating rose gibbering and mocking me to my face, and claiming me for penal servitude, if not for the gallows itself.

How well I remember every detail of that scene as I entered the doctor's study! The bust of Minerva looking askance at me from above the book- case; the quill in the doctor's hand with its fringe all on end; Tempest's necktie crooked and showing the collar stud above; Mr Jarman's eye coldly fixed on me; and the policeman, helmet in hand, standing with his large boots on the hearthrug, the picture of content and prosperity.

"Jones," said the doctor, "we have sent for you to tell us what you did at the gymnasium last night. You were there, I understand, after dark?"

I looked first at the doctor, then at Tempest. I would have given worlds to be able to have two minutes' conversation with him, and ascertain what he wished me to say, if indeed he wished me to say anything at all. The memory of a similar dilemma at Dangerfield only served to confuse me more, and make it impossible to decide how I should act now; while the presence of the policeman drove from my head any ideas that were ever there. Would Tempest like me to say that I went there at his bidding, and if not, how could I explain the matter? I wished I only knew what had been said already, so that at least I might put my evidence on the right side.

"Yes, sir," said I, "I saw Mr Jarman there."

"What were you doing there, eh, young master?" said the policeman.

This was an unexpected attack from the flank of the battle for which I was wholly unprepared. I could have told the doctor, or even Mr Jarman. But to be questioned thus by a representative of the law was too much for my delicate nerves.

"Really, it wasn't me," said I. "I didn't do it, and don't know who did. I only went to get a blazer, and left it there directly Mr Jarman told me to do so."

"A blazer?" said the policeman, with the air of a man who has made a discovery. "What sort of a thing is that? A blazer? Was it alight?"

Here Tempest laughed irreverently, much to the displeasure of the policeman. I was, however, thankful for the cue.

"What," said I, "don't you know what a blazer is? Anybody knows that. It's what you have in the fields."

"Come, young gentleman," said the officer, whom Tempest's laugh had put on his dignity, "no prevaricating. What were you doing with that there blazer?"

"What was I doing with it? Fetching it."

The policeman was evidently puzzled. He wished he knew what a blazer was, but in the present distinguished company did not like to show his ignorance.

"That blazer must be produced," said he; "it'll be evidence."

I looked at Tempest, as the person best able to deal with the matter, and said,—

"I left it in the gym. Mr Jarman made me."

"How long was that before the explosion? Was it alight when you left it?"

"The blazer? Oh no."

"A blazer," explained the head master blandly, "is a flannel jacket. I don't see what use it can be as evidence."

"I suppose," said Tempest jauntily, who was evidently recovering his presence of mind, "he thought it was a lucifer match."

"You'll laugh on the wrong side of your face, young gentleman," said the policeman wrathfully; "this here matter will have to be gone into. There's been a party injured, and it'll be a matter for the magistrate. You'll have to come along with me."

"I tell you," said Tempest, becoming grave once more, "I've had no more to do with it than you have."

"And yet," said Mr Jarman, speaking for the first time, "the explosion took place immediately after you were there, and when it was impossible for any one else to be there."

"I say I know nothing at all about it," said Tempest shortly, "and I don't care what you think."

"Come, Tempest," said Dr England, "no good will be gained by losing temper. It is very necessary to get to the bottom of this business, especially as some one has been injured. It seems almost impossible the explosion could have happened by accident; at the same time, knowing what I do of you, I do not myself believe that you are the boy who would commit an outrage of this sort. As the policeman intends to report the affair to the magistrate, you had better go with him and let him investigate the matter. Don't do yourself injustice by losing your temper. Mr Jarman, your attendance will probably be necessary; and Jones had better go too, although so far he has not thrown very much light on the matter. Constable, if you will take my compliments to Captain Rymer and ask him when he can see us—"

"Beg pardon, sir," said the constable, evidently sore about the blazer, "the young gent must come along with me now. That's my duty, and I can't take no instructions contrary."

"Very well," said the doctor stiffly; "we will go to Captain Rymer at once."

"Hadn't you better handcuff me?" said Tempest, who appeared to be seized with a wild desire to exasperate the man of the law.

The policeman glared as if he was disposed to take him at his word.

"None of your imperence, I can tell you, my beauty!" said he. "I ain't a-going to stand it—straight. Come, stir yourself."

"It is not necessary," said the head master, "for you to come with us. I give my word that we shall be at the police court immediately. But I wish to avoid the public scandal of one of my boys going through the streets in charge."

"I ain't a-going to let him out of my sight," said the ruffled constable. "I know his style."

Tempest smiled provokingly.

"I'd sooner walk, sir," said he. "If the policeman holds me on one side and Mr Jarman on the other—"

"Silence, sir," said the doctor sternly, while Mr Jarman raised his brows deprecatingly.

"Am I to come too?" said I.

"Yes."

"I should like Pridgin and some of the fellows to be there too, sir," said Tempest. "They saw me just before and just after the explosion."

"It does not seem necessary to have more boys," said Mr Jarman.

"Not to you!" said Tempest hotly; "the fewer you have the better. But if you choose to accuse me, I sha'n't ask you whom to have to speak for me."

"Tempest," said the head master, "you are only doing yourself harm by this. Jones, go and fetch Pridgin, and any of the others he speaks of, to the police court; and kindly do not say a word of what has passed here. How, constable, are you ready?"

The school was fortunately all within doors at the time, so that, except to the few who chanced to be gazing from the windows, the little procession, headed by the doctor and Mr Jarman, with the policeman and Tempest bringing up the rear, passed unobserved.

I was full of apprehensions. Whatever the result, I knew Tempest well enough to be sure that the effect on him would be bad, and would call out in him all that spirit of insubordination and defiance which had before now threatened to wreck his career. A strong sense of responsibility was all that had hitherto held it in check. If that were now shattered—and how could it help being upset by this charge?—it would break out badly and dangerously. I was not long in speeding over to Sharpe's, where I found Pridgin just going over to class.

He heard the doctor's message with a groan of weariness.

"What's the use of my going?—I can't tell them anything," said he.

"You can tell them Tempest never did it," said I.

"If they don't believe him, they won't me. Anyhow, I am coming." Thereupon I was inspired to tell him the secret history of the effigy of Mr Jarman, and my theory as to the cause of the explosion; namely, that Tempest might have dropped a match through the grating, not knowing on what it would fall, and that in the natural perversity of things it had lit on the projecting tongue of the guy.

"You'd better make a clean breast of that guy," said Pridgin, "if you want to get Tempest out of this mess. You'll probably get expelled or flogged, but Low Heath can spare you better than it can Tempest. It strikes me you'd better fetch down one or two of your lot to corroborate you. It sounds too neat a story as it is."

Whereupon I sought out Langrish and Trimble, and had the satisfaction of making their hair stand on end for once. At first they flatly refused to come, and reminded me that, as President of the Conversation Club, the entire responsibility for the guy rested on me.

"All serene," said I, "only come and let them know how Jarman brought it all on. The more we go for him, the better for our man."

They failed to see the force of my logic, but curiosity and love of adventure induced them to venture into the lion's den. On our way, moreover, we captured Dicky Brown, who, to do him credit, was only too eager to come with us and stand by his old Dux.

Contrary to our expectations, when we arrived, instead of finding a crowded court, we were ushered into the magistrate's parlour, where, to judge by appearances, a comfortable little party was going on.

The captain, a cheery old boy, familiar to all Low Heathens for his presence on speech day, sat at a table with his clerk beside him. The doctor and Mr Jarman were also sitting down, and Tempest was standing restlessly near the window. The lodge-keeper's son, with his head bound up (for he was the victim of the explosion, and I suppose, the prosecutor), was standing beside the policeman, cap in hand, on the mat.

At the sight of the three juniors the doctor frowned a little, and Mr Jarman scowled.

"What are these boys doing here?" said the former.

"Please, sir, we thought you wanted to hear how it went off," said Langrish.

"So we do," said the magistrate; "sit down, my lads. Well hear what you have to say in time."

"Please, sir," said Tempest, "may I speak to Pridgin?"

"Certainly, my lad," said the captain again.

So the two friends hastily conferred together in the window, while we stared round with an awestruck, and apparently disconcerting, gaze at the gentlemen on the doormat, who severally represented the majesty of the law and injured innocence.

"Now, then," said the magistrate presently, "let us hear what this is all about. One of your boys, doctor, I see, is charged with attempting to blow up part of the school gymnasium last night, and injuring this poor fellow here. Who makes the charge, by the way? Do you?"

"No," said the doctor, "I understand Mr Jarman does."

"Which is Mr Jarman?" said the captain, looking blandly round. "Ah, you. Well, sir, this is a serious charge to make; let us hear what you have to say. This is not a sworn examination, but what you say will be taken down, and the boy you accuse will have a right to ask any question. Now, sir."

Mr Jarman, thereupon, with very bad grace, for he felt that the magistrate's tone was not cordial, related how he was walking in the court at such and such an hour, when he saw a boy attempting to enter the gymnasium. That he stopped him and demanded his name. That the boy pushed past him and entered the gymnasium. Upon which Mr Jarman turned the key on the outside in order to detain him there, by way of punishment. That the boy began to kick at the door, and after half an hour broke it open and made his escape. That the boy was Tempest, and that scarcely two minutes after he had left, and just after Mr Jarman, having stayed to examine the damage to the door, had turned to go away, the explosion occurred; that he heard a cry from young Sugden, the lodge-keeper's son, who was passing at the time, and was thrown violently forward against the railings, cutting his head badly.

"How do you know the boy was Tempest?" asked the magistrate.

"I recognised him in the dark," said Mr Jarman. "In fact, I expected him."

"Expected him?"

"Yes, he had sent his fag for a jacket just previously, and I had sent the fag back."

"Why?"

"Boys are not allowed to enter the gymnasium after dark."

"Is that a rule of the school?"

"It is my rule."

"Does it apply to senior boys as well as juniors?" asked Tempest.

"I am responsible for the gymnasium, and—"

"That is not the question," said the magistrate. "Have you ever allowed senior boys in the gymnasium after dark?"

"I may have; but I forbade Tempest to enter last night."

"What harm was there in his fetching his coat, if it was not against rules?"

"It was against rules to go in when I told him not."

"Well, well," said Captain Rymer, "that is a matter that need not detain us. Have you any more questions, Mr Tempest?"

"Yes, please, sir. You said you were expecting me, Mr Jarman. What made you do that?"

"I expected, from my knowledge of your conduct, that you would come and try and get the blazer."

"When have I disobeyed you before?"

"You know as well as I do, Tempest."

"Yes, but I don't," said the magistrate. "Answer the question."

Mr Jarman thereupon gave his version of the affair at Camp Hill Bottom.

"The offence being," said the magistrate, "that the boys, Tempest among them, were out, on the afternoon of a holiday, half an hour from the school, with only a one quarter of an hour to get back. You punished the boys, I understand."

"Yes."

"And Tempest took his punishment with the rest."

"Yes."

"I suppose it is a special indignity to a senior boy, captain of his house, to be paraded for extra drill with a lot of small boys, eh, Dr England?"

"I should consider it so," said the doctor.

"I did not feel myself called upon to make any difference," said Mr Jarman.

"Apparently not. And on account of this affair, you say you expected Tempest would attempt to defy you last night?"

Mr Jarman bit his lips and did not reply.

Tempest resumed his questions with a coolness that surprised us.

"You were smoking, I think, Mr Jarman?"

"What if I was?"

"Nothing, only I wanted the magistrate to know it. And you locked me into the gymnasium for half an hour till I kicked myself out. I say you had no right to do that. What did you do while I was inside?"

"I walked up and down."

"Did you try to stop me when I got out?"

"No."

"Why?" asked Tempest, with a sneer that made us all contrast his broad shoulders with the master's slouch.

"I decided to deal with the matter to-day."

"How did you see what I had done to the door in the dark?"

"I saw by the light of a match."

"You say it was two minutes after I left that the explosion took place, and immediately after you left?"

"That's what I said."

"And you were striking matches during the interval?"

"Yes."

"And yet you suggest that it was I who blew the place up?"

"I say it was suspicious, knowing your frame of mind and the passion you were in at the time."

"How could I blow up the place without explosives?"

"There must have been some there already."

"He didn't know anything about that! That was our affair, wasn't it, you chaps?" blurted out Trimble.

"Rather," chimed in all of us.

The sensation in the court at this announcement may be better imagined than described.

The magistrate put on his glasses and stared at us. Mr Jarman looked startled. The doctor looked bewildered.

"You see, it was this way," said Trimble, who had been working himself up to the point all through the previous cross-examination. "We had—"

"Wait a moment, my boy," said the magistrate. But the witness was too eager to listen to the remark.

"It was this way. We had a guy belonging to the Ph.C.C, you know, and he was chock-full of fireworks. We were keeping him for Guy Fawkes' Day, you know. You wouldn't have known he was Jarman (Mr Jarman, I mean), to look at him, but he was, and Sarah, being president, offered to look after him. It was too big to stick under the bed, so—"

"So," continued I, "I thought the safest place to stick him would be in the lumber room under the gym.; and I never thought any one would be dropping matches through the grating on his touch-paper tongue. Tempest didn't know anything about it, and—"

"You see," said Langrish, taking up the parable, "we meant to keep it dark, and only the Philosophers were in it; he had on Sarah's hat and boots, and a top-coat we found somewhere about. He'd have never gone off of himself, and he wouldn't have done any harm on the Fifth, when we should have hung and blown him up in the open. Tempest—"

"Tempest," broke in Dicky Brown, putting in his oar, "isn't the kind of chap to do a thing like that on purpose; and it must have been Mr Jarman blew him up by mistake, with one of his matches or the end of a cigar or something—"

"It was a mulish thing of Sarah to stick him there," said Trimble, "but he knows no better, and thought it was all right. So did we, and Pridgin says it was quite an accident, sir, and—"

"And if any one's to get in a row," said I, "we'd better, because he was our guy, and the mistake we made was letting his touch-paper tongue hang out so far. He'd have never blown up if it hadn't been for that."

Here there was a general pause for breath, and the magistrate, who evidently had a sense of humour, said,—

"And pray who is Sarah, my man?"

"That's what they call me when they're fooling; it's not my real name, really, sir. Jones iv. is my real name."

"That's right," said Trimble; "he's only called Sarah because he looks like it. He's not more in it than the rest of us, because he only had to take care of the guy because he was president. We're all sorry the tongue was made so long."

The magistrate did his best to look grave as he turned to Mr Jarman.

"Does this explanation help to clear up the mystery?"

Mr Jarman bit his lips and said,—

"If it is as they say, it may account for the explosion. I certainly dropped several matches through the grating."

"It is as we say, isn't it, you chaps?" said Langrish. "We wouldn't tell a cram about it."

"Rather not!" chimed we.

"Very well. Then I don't see that I can do much good," said the magistrate. "Dr England will know better how to deal with the matter. An accident is an accident after all; and if I may give an opinion, these boys have done quite properly in coming here and telling all about it. Little boys should not be allowed to play with explosives. At the same time, you must allow me to say, Mr Jarman, that it is unfortunate for a master to put himself in the position of being made the subject of an effigy. As for Tempest, there is absolutely nothing against him, unless according to the rules of the school it is an offence for a boy who is locked up in a dark room at night to do his best to get out. It is a great pity the matter was brought to me at all; but as it has been, my advice is to let it rest where it is. Meanwhile, this poor fellow who has been injured has some claim, and I dare say this sovereign will help get him the necessary bandages and plaster for his forehead. Good morning, Dr England; good morning, Mr Jarman. Good day, my lads. Let this be a lesson against touch-paper tongues." So ended the famous affair of Mr Jarman's guy.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

GOING DOWN STREAM.

If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman's guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple magisterial decision.

Mr Jarman, it was rumoured, had a bad quarter of an hour with the doctor that evening, and went about his ordinary work for the next few days with a scowl which boded no good to any one who chanced to cross him, least of all to those of us who had contributed to his defeat.

Tempest, on the other hand, took his victory coolly. He talked it over with his chums, and came to the conclusion that they were quits with the enemy and could afford to leave him alone. But it was plain to see that he had suffered a jar, which found expression in his reckless unconcern for the duties of his position as head of his house, and an increased disinclination to make any exertion for the credit of a school which, he considered, had treated him ill. What troubled me most was to notice that his spirits had flagged, and that he was dropping slowly into the listless indifference which had made Pridgin only a term ago shirk his responsibilities to the school.

Towards us juniors he was utterly easy-going, perhaps in token of his gratitude for the assistance we had rendered him at a critical time; but chiefly, I fear, because he was slack to check anything which seemed to defy constituted authority or promised to give an uneasy time to the representatives of law and order.

To do us credit, we availed ourselves of his licence to the uttermost. Sharpe's rapidly became known as the "rowdy" house at Low Heath, and we grew almost proud of the distinction. Mr Sharpe, an amiable bookworm, made periodical mild expostulations, which were always most deferentially received, and most invariably neglected.

If any reader thinks (as we flattered ourselves at the time) that Mr Jarman was the cause of all this state of things, let me tell him he is as stupid as we young fools then were.

It's all very well to stand up for your rights, but the way to do it is not by letting everything go wrong. If poor old Tempest had taken a bigger view of things, he would have seen that the way to pay Jarman out was by making Sharpe's house the crack house of Low Heath in spite of him. But how hard it is to see just what the right thing is at the time! So I do not propose to throw stones at anybody, whatever the reader may do.

The Philosophers of course duly entered a record of the transactions just related in their minutes, the reading of which occupied the whole of one of the extraordinary general meetings of their club.

One could never say what line Langrish would take up; and I as president always had my qualms in calling upon him to read the minutes of the previous meeting.

On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a "scientific" ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to betoken that it had an owner.

Being capacious, though dirty—for it was evidently in the habit of carrying coal—it struck us generally that in the interests of philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an extraordinary meeting.

Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the bank—"in case some of the day louts should be fooling about," as Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up stream or down.

After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel, Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.

In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot for Jarman. (Cries of "Why don't you?" "What's the use of you?") We didn't intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn't shut up shying bits of coal he'd get one for himself. (Derisive cheers from Coxhead, and more coal.)

Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.

"Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah—" Here an interruption occurred.

"Look here," said I, "you've got to drop that, Langrish. I've told you already I'm not going to stand it."

"Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?"

I explained that I was particularly referring to Sarah.

"Oh, all serene," said the secretary. "We'll start again."

"Owing to the asinine mulishness of S—H, and three between—"

"No—that won't do," said I, fiercely.

"Owing to the asinine mulishness of—" here the speaker pointed at me with his thumb—"of the asinine mule in the chair—"

I was weak enough to let this pass, and the applause with which it was received quite carried the secretary off his feet. When he got on them again he resumed,—

"Jarman's guy was mulled all through. Even Trimble couldn't have made a bigger mess of it."

Here Trimble mildly interposed, but Langrish, who had hooked one arm through a ring in the side of the vessel, and had a firm grip with his feet up against a rib in front of him, was inflexible.

"A bigger mess of it," he repeated, when at last he was free to proceed. "It was stuck just under the grating of the gym., and was neatly blown up by Jarman at 8:15 on November 2. The cost of the fireworks was four- and-six, which the asinine mule, as it was his fault, is going to hand over to the club, or know the reason why."

I said I would know the reason why. Whereupon a long Socratic argument ensued.

"Do you mean to say it wasn't your fault?" demanded Langrish.

"I couldn't tell Jarman would drop his cigar down."

"But if you'd tried you couldn't have stuck him in a better place."

"That's what I thought. What have you got to growl at?"

"You offered to put it in a safe place."

"No, I didn't. I didn't want to have it at all."

"But you did have it; you can't deny that."

"No—but—"

"Hold on. And you stuck it there under the grating."

"Well, and if I did—"

"And that's how Jarman's cigar got on to it."

"Yes—but—"

"And that's how it blew up, wasn't it? You haven't the cheek to say that wasn't the way it blew up?"

"Of course it was; only—"

"Therefore, if you hadn't stuck it there it wouldn't have blown up. You can't deny that?"

"I don't say that. What I say—"

"Therefore, it was you who blew it up; and it's you've got to pay for the fireworks, Q.E.D.; and if you don't shut up, young Sarah, you'll get your face washed."

I felt I was the victim of a very one-sided argument, but the popular verdict was so manifestly in favour of the secretary, that I was constrained to allow the point to pass.

"—reason why," resumed Langrish. "There was a bit of a row, and the doctor and some of the chaps were had up before the beak. We got on all serene till a howling chimpanzee whose name is Sarah—"

"There you are again," said I. "I'll pay you now."

"What are you talking about? I never mentioned you—did I, you chaps?"

"Rather not," chimed in the Philosophers assembled.

"Of course," said Langrish, "if whenever you hear of a howling chimpanzee you think you're being referred to, we can't help it, can we?"

The cheers which greeted this unanswerable proposition convinced me I had given myself away for once.

"—howling chimpanzee, whose name's Sarah, put in his oar and spoilt the whole thing."

"If it hadn't been for me," protested I, "you'd none of you have been there at all."

"The magistrate," proceeded Langrish, not heeding the interruption, "treated him with the contempt he deserved, and gave him a caution which he'll remember to the end of his days."

"I don't remember it now," I growled.

"Turn him out for interrupting," shouted the secretary.

"You'd better not try," snarled I, preparing to contest my seat. But Langrish, eager to continue, went on,—

"The rest of us pulled Tempest through easy. If Trim hadn't dropped his 'h's,' and—"

Here there was a real row. Trim rose majestic and outraged, and hurled himself on the secretary; and for a quarter of an hour at least, any casual passer-by glancing at the apparently empty barge in mid-stream, would have come to the conclusion that it was swaying from side to side rather more violently than the force of the current seemed to warrant.

Trimble's "h's" took a long time to avenge, and by the time it was done most of us were pretty much the colour of the coal-dust in which we had searched for them.

Langrish was about to proceed with his luckless minutes when Warminster, who had happened to peep above board for the sake of fresh air, exclaimed,—

"Hullo, we're adrift!"

Instantly all hands were on board, and we discovered that our gallant barge, probably during the last argument, had slipped her boathook at the stern, and that the rope which held our prow had evidently been slipped for us by a couple of youths wearing the town-boy ribbon, whom we could descry at that moment strolling innocently up the towing-path, apparently heedless of our existence.

The great lumbering barge was going down stream side on, about half-way between either bank, at the breakneck speed of a mile an hour. We had lost our boathook, and had nothing whatever to navigate our craft with. Worst of all, at the end of the long reach, coming to meet us, we could see another barge, towed by a horse, which could certainly never pass up in safety.

We were in for it, and had evidently nothing to do but peer, with our grimy faces over the gunwale, at our impending doom. About a hundred yards off the men in charge of the opposition barge became aware of our presence, and a hurried interchange of polite observations took place between the skipper at the helm and the driver on the tow-path, the result of which was that their tow-rope was cast off and hauled ashore; and man and horse, accompanied by a dangerous-looking dog, advanced at a quick pace to meet us.

The rope was hurriedly gathered up in a coil and thrown across our bows, and we were invited to hitch the loop at the end over the hook on our front thwart. The horse was then put in motion, and the downward career of our ark suffered an abrupt check, as we found ourselves rudely lugged in towards the bank.

The situation was an awkward one, for not only was the skipper of the opposition barge landed, and awaiting us with an uncomplimentary eagerness on the bank, but the driver, whip in hand, was standing beside him, and the dog, showing his teeth, beside him.

"Kotched yer, are we?" said the former, with a deplorable profuseness of unnecessary verbiage, as he jumped on board. "We tho't as much. Lend me that there whip, Bill."

"You tip 'em over, Tom; I'll make 'em jump."

Escape was impossible. Our exits were in the hands of the enemy. We made one feeble attempt to temporise.

"We're sorry," said I, in my capacity as spokesman. "We didn't know it was your boat, really."

"You knows it now," said the proprietor. "Over you go, or I'll 'elp yer."

What I was it a case of being pitched overboard? We looked round desperately for hope, but there was none. We might by a concerted action have tackled one man, but the other on the bank, with the whip and the dog, was a formidable second line to carry. It needed all our philosophy to sustain us in the emergency.

"Come, wake up," shouted the man. "'Ere, Tike, come!"

Whereupon, to our terror, the dog leapt up on to the barge, and jumped yapping in our midst.

"T'other side, if you please," said the bargee, as I prepared dismally to take my header on the near side. "Wake 'im up, Tike!"

I needed no waking up; and giving myself up for lost, bounded to the other side of the barge, and made a floundering jump overboard. Luckily for us the Low Heathens could swim to a man, and if all that we were in for was to swim round that hideous barge and get ashore, we should have been easily out of it. But we had yet to reckon with the man and the whip, who in his turn made every preparation to reckon with us.

I was the first to taste his mettle. He had me twice before I could get clear, and I seem to feel it as I write. One by one the luckless and dripping Philosophers ran the gauntlet of that fatal debarkation, which was by no means alleviated by the opprobrious hilarity of our two castigators and the delighted yappings of Tike.

At last it was all over, and, dripping and smarting, we collected our shattered forces a quarter of a mile down the towing-path, and hastily agreed that as a meeting-place for Philosophers a barge was not a desirable place. It was further agreed, that if we could catch the day boys who were the source of all our woes (for if our barge had not been let adrift, we could have sheered off in time), we would do to them as we had been done by.

By good or ill luck, we had scarcely arrived at this important decision when a defiant shout from a little hill among the trees close by apprised us that we were not the only occupants of the river bank; and worse still, that whoever the strangers were, they must have been witnesses of our recent misfortunes—a certainty which made us feel anything but friendly.

"Who are they?" said Langrish.

"Suppose it's those Urbans," said Coxhead. "I heard they were going to excavate somewhere this way."

"I vote we go and see," said Trimble, who was evidently smarting not a little.

So we went and saw, and it was even as Coxhead had surmised; for as we approached, shouts of—

"Who got licked with a whip?"

"What's the price of beauty?"

"Why don't you dry your clothes?" fell on our ears.

"Yah—we dare you to come down and have your noses pulled!" shouted we.

"We dare you to come up and have your hair curled!" shouted they.

We accepted the invitation, and stormed the hill. The battle was short and sharp. We were fifteen to ten, and had a grievance. I found myself engaged with Dicky Brown, who, though he did himself credit, was hampered by a scathelful of stones, which he fondly hoped might turn out to be fossils, on his back. I grieve to say I made mincemeat of Dicky on this occasion. In a few minutes the hill was ours, and the enemy in full retreat.

We remained a short time to celebrate our victory, and then adjourned to the school, a little solaced in our spirits.

The day's troubles, however, were not over, for at the door of Sharpe's house, reinforced by half a dozen recruits, stalked the Urbans, thirsting for reprisals, and longing to wipe out scores.

Then ensued a notable battle. We failed to dislodge the enemy by a forward attack, and for some time it seemed as if our flank movements would be equally unsuccessful. At length, by a great effort, we succeeded in cutting off a few of them from the main body, and were applying ourselves to the task of annihilating the rest when Tempest appeared on the scene.

He looked fagged and harassed, and was evidently not much interested in our battle. A row was now too common a thing in Sharpe's to be an event, and he allowed it to proceed with complete unconcern.

Just, however, as he was taming to enter the house, Mr Jarman came up.

It was almost the first time we had met officially since our encounter in the magistrate's room, and as with one accord we ceased hostilities and stared at him, one or two of the more audacious of our party indulged in a low hiss.

"Come in, you fellows, at once," said Tempest, turning on his heel.

"Wait, you boys," said Mr Jarman, taking out his pencil. "Wait, Tempest."

But Tempest did not wait, nor did we, but made a deliberate rush into our house, and in less than a minute were safely stowed away in our several studies, secure from all immediate arrest.

It was an act of open rebellion such as Sharpe's had not yet ventured on. There was no excuse that any of us had not heard the order. We had, and had disobeyed it. And in the present instance Tempest had headed us. What would be the consequence?

We were not destined to know till next morning, when a notice appeared on the board stating that Mr Sharpe's house having been reported for riotous conduct and disobedience to orders, the head master would meet the boys in the hall at eleven o'clock.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

HALTING BETWEEN TWO OPINIONS.

There was no mistaking the doctor's meaning this time. Sharpe's had had a long rope, but had come to the end of it at last. I would not for the world have confessed it at the time, but I was half glad a crisis had come. My conscience had smitten me more than once about my work. I had fooled away the good chance with which I had entered Low Heath. Fellows far below me in scholarship had got ahead of me by force of steady plodding, while I was wasting my time. The good resolutions which I had brought up with me had one by one fallen overboard, and I had been content enough to take my place among the rowdies without an effort.

I had counted all through on Tempest's backing up. If he had been keen on the credit of the house, I felt I could have been so too. If he had been down on me for my neglect of work, I felt I should have stuck to it. As it was, slackness reigned supreme. Tempest was slack because he was out of humour. Pridgin was slack because he was lazy. Wales was slack because he wanted to be in the fashion. And all of us were slack because our betters set us the example. It needs no little courage for a single boy to attempt to stem the drift of slackness in a school house. A dull, dogged boy like Dicky Brown might have done it; but I could not afford to be peculiar, and therefore succumbed, against my judgment, to the prevalent dry rot.

Now that a crisis had come I hoped Tempest might, if not for his own sake, for ours, pull up, and take his house in hand, as he well could do if he chose. A short conversation I overheard as I was fagging in his study that morning, however, was not encouraging.

"What's it to be," said Wales, "a lecture or a row?"

"A row, I hope," said Tempest wearily.

"What's wrong, old chap?" asked Pridgin.

"Nothing. Out of curl, that's all," said Tempest, trying to assume a laugh.

"You're not going to cave in to Jarman at this time of day," said Wales, "are you?"

"Do you think it likely?" said Tempest.

"I tell you what I don't like," said Pridgin presently; "that's the way Crofter's lately taken to do the virtuous."

"That's not the worst of him," said Wales; "but he's been chumming up with Jarman. I've met them twice lately walking together."

"I suppose he's got his eye on the headship of the house," said Tempest, "when I get kicked out."

"Look here, old chap," responded Pridgin, looking really anxious, "it's not to come to that, surely. It would be intolerable to have him over us. Come what will, you must stick to us."

"All very well," said Tempest dismally; "that's England's affair more than mine. If knuckling under to Jarman is a condition, I'm out of it, and Crofter is welcome to it."

This was all; and it was bad enough. When the summons to assemble in hall came, I went there in a state of dejection, feeling that the fates were all against me, and that the new leaf I hoped for was several pages further on yet.

My fellow-Philosophers, I regret to say, neither shared in nor appreciated my forebodings.

"Look at that ass Sarah, trying to look virtuous," said Trimble. "Just like him, when there's a row on."

"I'm not trying to look virtuous," said I; "I'm sick of all these rows, though."

"Pity you aren't sick when you're getting us into them, instead of after. You know you've been at the bottom of every row there's been on this term."

This sweeping statement was not calculated to allay my discomfort.

"Don't tell lies," said I.

"No more we are. Who got us into that mess at Camp Hill Bottom? Sarah did. Who landed us in the row about Jarman's guy? Old Sarah. Who played the fool with that barge and got us all licked? Cad Sarah. Who started the shindy last night that's fetched us all in here? Lout Sarah. Who's going to be expelled? Howling Sarah. And who'll be a jolly good riddance of bad rubbish? Chimpanzee Sarah. There you are. Make what you like of it, and don't talk to us."

This tirade took my breath away. I knew it said more than it meant. Still, it wasn't flattering, and it taxed my affection sorely to sit quietly and hear it out. But, somehow, to-day I was too anxious and worried to care much what anybody said.

Fortunately the entrance of the doctor, Mr Sharpe, and Mr Jarman, made further discussion for the time being unnecessary—and a gloomy silence fell over the assembly.

Dr England was evidently worried. Secretly, I believe, he was bored by the whole affair, and wished Mr Sharpe and his prefects could manage the affairs of their own house. Perhaps, too, the fact that Mr Jarman was once more the complainant had something to do with his lack of humour.

"Now, boys," said he, "this is an unusual and unpleasant interview, and I heartily wish it were not necessary. When a whole house is reported for rowdiness, it shows, I'm afraid, that the sense of duty to the school is in a bad way. This is not the first occasion this term on which this house has been reported, but I have previously refrained from interfering, in the hope that the good feeling of the boys themselves would assert itself and make any action of mine unnecessary. I am sorry it has not been so. As to the scrimmage in the quadrangle yesterday, I am not disposed to make too much of that; at any rate, that weighs less with me than what I understand to have been a deliberate act of disobedience to the master, who quite properly interfered to restore order; disobedience, I am sorry to say, encouraged, if not instigated, by the head boy of the house. I hope there may be some mistake about this. Will the boys who were engaged in the fight stand up?"

The Philosophers rose to a man, with a promptitude which was almost aggressive. Bother it all, why should we be backward in admitting that we had gone for those day boys, and "put them to bed" for once?

"I ask you boys to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell you to wait till he spoke to you?"

"I did, sir," said Langrish.

"So did I," said Trimble.

"We all did," said I.

"And why did you not obey?"

"Tempest told us to come in, so we did," said I.

"That's right, sir," said Coxhead.

And the others assented.

"Very well," said the doctor. "Tempest, I ask you to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell the boys to wait?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you tell them, in spite of that, to come in?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"Because I'm head of the house, and I'm responsible for the order of my house."

"I am glad to hear you think so," said the doctor drily. "Have you always been equally jealous for the order of your house this term, Tempest?"

This was a "facer," as we all felt. Tempest flushed and glanced up at the head master.

"No, sir, I have not," he said.

The doctor was a chivalrous man, and did not try to rub in a sore. Tempest had made a damaging admission against himself, and might be left alone to his own sense of discomfort.

Unluckily, however, Mr Jarman stood by, and the matter could hardly be allowed to drop.

"As regards the incident last night," said the doctor, "you know quite well, all of you, that no boy, even the head of his house, has the right to set his authority against that of a master. Your conduct was an insult to him, and requires an apology. These small boys may have considered they were not doing wrong in obeying you. Tempest, but you can plead no such ignorance. I expect you to apologise to Mr Jarman."

A struggle evidently passed through Tempest's mind. His conscience had been roused by what the doctor had said, and his manner of saying it. Had the apology been demanded for any one else but Mr Jarman, he could have given it, and in one word have put himself on the side of duty. But apologise to Jarman! "If Mr Jarman wants me to tell a lie," said he, slowly, "I'll say I'm sorry. I can't apologise to him."

"Come, Tempest," said the doctor, evidently disconcerted at this threatened difficulty, "you must be aware of the consequences, if you refuse to do this."

"I know, sir, but I can't help it. I can't apologise to Mr Jarman."

Dead silence followed, broken only by the hard breathing of the Philosophers. The doctor twirled the tassel of his cap restlessly. Mr Sharpe looked straight before him through his glasses. Mr Jarman stroked his moustache and smiled. Tempest stood pale and determined, with his eyes on the floor.

"I shall not prolong this scene," said the doctor at last. "For the remaining week of this term the boys concerned in yesterday's disturbance are forbidden to appear in the playing fields. You, Tempest, will have a day to think over your determination. Come to me in my house this time to-morrow."

"I'd sooner it were settled now," said Tempest respectfully and dismally. "I cannot apologise."

"Come to me this time to-morrow," repeated the doctor. "As to the other boys of the house, I want you to understand that you are all concerned in the wellbeing of your house. If, as I fear, a spirit of insubordination is on foot, and your own proper spirit and loyalty to the school is not enough to stamp it out, I must use methods which I have never had to use yet in Low Heath. It may need courage and self- sacrifice in a boy to stand up against the prevailing tone, but I trust there is some of that left even in this misguided house. Now dismiss."

It had been a memorable interview. The doctor might have stormed and raged, and done nothing. As it was, he had talked like a quiet gentleman, and made us all thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.

And yet, as we all of us felt, everything now depended on Tempest. If he surrendered he might count on us to fall in line and make up to him for all he had sacrificed on our behalf. If he held out, and refused his chance, we too refused ours and went out with him! If only any one could have brought home to him how much depended on him!

Yet who could blame him for finding it impossible to apologise to Jarman, who had persecuted him all the term with a petty rancour which, so far from deserving apology, had to thank Tempest's moderation that it did not receive much rougher treatment than it had? He might go through the words of apology, but it would be a farce, and Tempest was too honest to be a hypocrite.

There was unwonted quiet in Sharpe's house that afternoon. Fellows were too eagerly speculating as to the fate in store for them to venture on a riot. The Philosophers, of course, stoutly advocated a policy of "no surrender"; but one or two of us, I happened to know, would have been unfeignedly glad to hear that Tempest had squared matters with his pride, and left himself free to take our reform in hand.

Tempest himself preserved a glum silence until after afternoon chapel, when he said to me,—

"Isn't this one of Redwood's evenings, youngster? I'll go with you if you're going."

The Redwoods had given me an open invitation to drop in any Thursday evening to tea and bring a friend. I had been several times with Dicky, and once, in great triumph, had taken Tempest as my guest. It had been a most successful experiment. Not only had Tempest taken the two little girls (and therefore their mother) by storm, but between him and Redwood had sprung up an unexpected friendship, born of mutual admiration and confidence. Since then he had once repeated the visit, and to-night, to my great satisfaction, proposed to go again.

To me it was a miniature triumph to carry off the hero of Sharpe's from under the eyes of his house, and on an occasion like the present, to a destination of which he and I alone knew the secret.

I flattered myself that, in spite of their mocking comments, the Philosophers were bursting with envy. It is always a rare luxury to be envied by a Philosopher; and I think I duly appreciated my blessings, and showed it in the swagger with which I marched my man under the faggery window.

Tempest was depressingly gloomy as we walked along, and my gentle reminder that we could not take the short cut across the playing fields, after the doctor's prohibition, but should have to walk round, did not tend to cheer him up. I half feared he would propose to walk over, in defiance of all consequences. Possibly, if he had been alone, he would have done so, but on my account he made a grudging concession to law and order.