Then my mother had the wit to observe that she hoped it would be equally fine on the day of the Sports, and she was so sorry she would miss them, as she understood Mr Sharpe's house was likely to win a good many of the events, and of course her sympathies were entirely that way.

This went down beautifully, and drew from Coxhead the remark,—

"It's a pity Sar—I mean Jones iv.—is out of it. He might have got the Quarter-mile."

"Are the names down yet?" I asked.

"Yes. We stuck them down to-day," said Langrish.

"Any one else in for the Senior Mile?"

"No; only Tempest and Redwood."

Another pause—everybody evidently meditating what my mother would like to hear next.

My mother meanwhile moved to the sideboard and began to pour out tea.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" she said, with a pleasant smile, to Langrish. How relieved I was she did not call him "Everard" or "dear!"

"Yes, please—can I pass round?" he replied.

It was admirable. I had been in terror lest he would have collared the first cup and stuck to it.

"Thank you, if you will, please. I see they are beginning to get your old house ready for rebuilding."

"It won't be ready this term, though," said Warminster; "it will take—a slice of cake, thanks."

"No sugar for me, thanks," said Coxhead. "I wonder if Jarman will have to pay for it?"

"Does your mater take cream and sugar?" said Purkis to me, in an aside.

"I shouldn't think so," said Langrish, "because he didn't do it on purpose, you know."

"Thank you very much. Do you mind putting it down there? And won't you sit down?" said my mother, setting the example.

"I expect he'd better give up smoking, as he's always setting things on fire," ventured I. "Mother knows about the guy last term, don't you, mother?"

"Yes, indeed," said she, with a laugh, which won over the Philosophers in a body. "That was a lucky escape for everybody. I was horrified."

"Well, old Sar—I mean Jones iv.—"

"I think he understands his nickname better than his real name," said my clever parent.

"Old Sarah," said Langrish, getting rapidly at his ease, "let us in for that. You see (cake up, please), it was this way—"

And he launched forth into an account of that famous adventure, into which the company one by one cut, at my expense, of course, and highly to the diversion of my mother.

Meanwhile the teapot was kept busy, and the jam went its rounds—some of it on to Coxhead's shirt-front—and by the end of it all the Philosophers found themselves comfortably at home.

"I say," said I, when a break came, "how's the club getting on? Anything fresh?"

Langrish glanced round at my mother.

"I've got the minute-book," he said, "would she—"

"Oh, do!" said she. "Is it an account of your meetings? I would like to hear it immensely. Debating societies are such capital things, I think."

"It's a bit down on Sarah, though," said the secretary, dubiously.

"Why, I wasn't there," said I.

"Weren't you? that's all."

"Let's hear it," said my mother, "I dare say he deserves it."

I forgave the dear traitress for giving me away like this, for I felt sure the minutes would save our evening.

"You see," said Trimble, "we try to keep it fair, so it's down on some of the others too. But Sarah gets it a little the hottest."

"I'm used to getting things hot by now," said I; "forge ahead, and sit where I can shy the pillow at you."

Whereupon Langrish moved his chair to a conspicuous place, and read,—

"'A meeting of the Ph.C.C. was held in dormitory on February 1, at 9 p.m.'"

"Why, that's when the fire was," said Trimble.

"Shut—I mean what's that got to do with it?" retorted the secretary.

"Well?" said my mother, taking a stitch or two at her needlework.

"'Owing to the side put on by the ex-president, who was lately, kicked out for being a howling cad, and because he was down in form order—'"

"What a cram!" I interposed; "I was on the second desk, and should have had you down weeks ago if I hadn't been laid up."

"Ha, ha, I like that—you! Did your mater ever hear about corpore being the ablative masculine, eh?"

"No, I never heard about that," said my mother.

"All right—Sarah will tell you—where was I, oh—down in form order, though he's not quite such a crock as Coxhead, who is champion dunce in Low Heath—"

"Me?" exclaimed Coxhead, warm with tea and indignation.

"There you are," said Langrish, "anybody but a champion dunce would have said 'I.' You ask Sarah's mater if they wouldn't."

"Well, you, if you like," said Coxhead; "what about it—"

"Look here, how can I read the minutes when—here we are—'crock as Coxhead, who is champion dunce in Low Heath.'"

"What happened then?" said my mother, looking a little mixed.

"'He was shunted to an outside berth, and was out of it.'"

"I rather think I was in it," said I; "never mind."

"Oh, if you think so, all right. The minutes say you were out of it. 'He'd not begun to snore many minutes with deafening effect, when, as might be expected, Jarman set fire to the show to stop the noise.'"

"Do you think that's why he did it, really?" asked Warminster.

"Look here, young Warminster. I don't think, I—"

"Pity you don't now and then," remarked the newly-elected president.

Langrish looked hard at his colleague, and then glanced at my mother, whose face was bent over her work. Whereupon the secretary threw the minute-book at the president's head, and observed,—

"Look out, Warminster; hand up that book, can't you—it's not yours."

My mother looked up, and Warminster meekly surrendered the book.

"'—Stop the noise. The club then adjourned, all except Sarah, who hung on, contrary to the rules, and is hereby fined 2 shillings 6 pence.'"

"Oh, I say," protested I, "that's rather rough, isn't it?"

"'But,'" proceeded Langrish, "'owing to his mother coming up to buy him off, he is hereby let off with a fie— I mean a warning.'"

"Thank you so much," said my mother, gratefully.

"'When we thought he was pretty well warmed up, we sent Tempest in to fish him out, which he accordingly did, and is hereby elected honorary porter to the club, and is backed to win the Mile.'"

"That's the least he deserves, surely," said my mother, with feeling.

"'Sarah, owing to this unprincipled conduct, has been suspended for a month, and the club hereby hopes some day not far off to see him sus—' no, that's wrong—I mean—"

"Hung," suggested Trimble, in an audible whisper.

"Order—turn him out for saying hung, instead of hanged," said the president.

"Shut up, can't you?" said the secretary, "can't you let me finish the sentence? '—See him sus—susceptible of better emotions.'"

"Hear, hear," said the club, breathing again to see the corner turned.

"I hope that's not all," said my mother.

"That's as far as we've got; but we'll let him down easy in the next," said Langrish.

"The next will have the account of the Sports, I suppose," said my mother.

"If our men win," said Warminster. "We're bound to win the High Jump if Langrish keeps on his form; he did 4 feet 1 and a half inches this afternoon."

"You needn't talk—you're all right for the 100 Yards," said the modest Langrish; "there's no one in, except young Brown of the day cads, who can touch you; and he's sure to go a mucker on the day."

"Don't be too sure of that," said I. "Dicky Brown doesn't go muckers if he can help it."

"There you are—backing the town cads now. I move, and Mrs Jones seconds, that Sarah be, and is hereby, kic—I mean sat upon by the club."

"Oh, don't, please," said my mother, "the bed is not strong enough."

"All right—it's lucky for Sarah. If you were half a chap you'd see we didn't lose the Quarter-mile. Rackstraw will have a look in at it, but it'll puzzle him to beat Flitwick. Walsh is going to cut out for him. So we may just do it; but it'll be a go—eh, paupers?"

Rackstraw and Walsh both protested there would be no difficulty about it if only the track was in good order, and their wind held out, and Flitwick muddled his start, and finished a yard or two behind. We were all prepared to stake the glory of Sharpe's on these trifling conditions.

Presently the preparation bell began to toll, and the party broke up with a cordiality and cheerfulness which contrasted strangely with the solemnity with which it had begun. My mother was politely requested to become an honorary member of the club, and as politely consented, expressing a hope that she might meet with its honourable members many times again.

When they had gone she told me how much she had enjoyed the evening, and how she liked every one of them, and hoped they wouldn't think her rude to have laughed now and then, but really, she said, not being used to it, she could not help it.

Next day she left, and, dismally enough, I made the first use of my liberty to accompany her in the fly to the station. She talked to me, as only she could, about the future, and the spirit in which she thought I would take up once more the work of the term and the thankfulness which she the widow, and I the orphan, could not help feeling to the Heavenly Father, who had saved us both from such peril and sorrow in the past. She urged me to show my gratitude for my escape, by seeking to follow more closely in the footsteps of that Saviour to whom she had so often taught me to look for help and guidance, and at the same time she urged me to pray for the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Her goodness only made my sorrow at parting the greater; and more than any time since I had entered Low Heath, the pangs of home-sickness fell upon me as I saw her into her carriage.

Just before the train started I felt my heart beat suddenly, and the blood rush to my cheeks, as I saw a figure, with one hand in a sling, running up the platform, looking into one carriage after another.

"Mother, here's Tempest!"

Next moment he saw us, and ran up.

"I heard you were going by this train," said he, "and I thought I would like to say good-bye."

"Good-bye, my dear boy, and God bless you once more!"

"The youngster's all right again, I see," said he, putting his hand on my arm. "I'll see he takes care of himself—good-bye."

And the train steamed off, leaving us two on the platform.

"I hope your hand's not awfully bad," said I, breaking a silence of nearly three months in the only way which occurred for the moment.

"Rather not. We'd better cab it back—you're not up to walking yet."

"Thanks awfully, Tempest, for saving—"

"Look here, don't let's get on to that," said he.

"I say," said I, "I was afraid you believed what Crofter said, and thought—"

"You were an ass, Tommy—you always were—I ought to have remembered it. Of course I never believed a word Crofter said—I saw his game. But I was idiot enough to get riled at you for giving yourself away to him. I'm sorry. Now let's forget it. After all, it was the best thing for me that all that row about my bills came out when it did. You did me a better turn than you meant to do. Just like you—if you try to do things the right way, it's all up with everybody. But if you do them your own way, they manage to come round somehow."

"But Crofter's done you out of the captaincy."

"So much the better—I didn't deserve it. I'll get it back some day perhaps, and work it better. Come in to me to tea. Redwood's coming, and old Dicky, too."

"But you're against Redwood for the Mile," said I.

"That's no reason why I shouldn't give him a cup of tea, is it, you young mule?"

The way he said it, and the grip of his hand on my arm, satisfied me that all was square once more between me and my dear old Dux.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A DEAD HEAT.

The few weeks during which I had been laid up had witnessed some curious changes in Low Heath—at least, they seemed curious to me, dropping, as I did, suddenly into them.

First of all, we poor "Sharpers" were all burnt out. The faggery was no more, nor was the hall, or the dormitory. We were being put up temporarily in a town house just outside the school gates, a good deal to the wrath of some of our number, who felt it was putting them down to the level of the day boys. However, the sight of the scaffolding round our old quarters, and the cheery clink of the trowel, reminded us that out exile was not for long, and that in a brand-new faggery, on brand- new chairs, and round a brand-new table, we should shortly resume our pleasant discussions on the deepest questions with which the human mind can occupy itself.

Somehow, apart from the fire, things weren't going exactly as I had left them. Pridgin was reported to be working hard—a most alarming symptom. It was commonly surmised that he could not stand playing second or third fiddle to Crofter; and as Tempest was apparently content to be second, Pridgin had come to the painful conclusion that the only comfortable place for him in Sharpe's was Number One. It was extremely inconvenient all round; for it made it necessary for Crofter to bestir himself, while of course it seemed to threaten Tempest's chance of recovering his place.

A few of the shrewdest held that Pridgin was merely forcing the pace in order to punish Crofter for his usurpation. It may have been so; but, whatever the motive, it quite upset the normal flow of things at Sharpe's.

Another change was a marked reaction of public opinion in favour of Tempest and against Crofter. This was probably due, in the first place, to Tempest's exploit in rescuing me from the fire; and secondly, to Crofter's caution in declining to enter for the Mile race at the coming Sports. A few weeks had dispelled the little glamour which the latter had derived from his apparently public-spirited conduct last term, and the attitude of the Philosophers had effectually deprived him of any opportunity of exercising his authority, and left him to the enjoyment of an altogether barren honour.

One other change was that Tempest's necessity to live very economically in order to repay his grandfather for advances made, had produced a coolness between him and Wales, who had now retired from the triumvirate, and attached himself to the cause of Crofter.

Lastly, Mr Jarman had suffered a shock, and taken on badly about his accidental part in the recent fire. It had knocked all the vice out of him, for the time being at any rate, and left him quite meek and limp.

Just now, however, the only topic about which any one cared was, as I speedily discovered, the Sports.

Unusual keenness was being displayed everywhere. The seniors were deeply concerned in the issue of the Mile. Would Redwood, who had hitherto held his own easily, save his laurels this time? Would Tempest, with his damaged hand, be able to run his hardest? Would any dark horse, at the last moment, enter to divide the interest? And so on.

Among the middle boys considerable excitement was afoot, especially in Selkirk's house, where it was reported a boy of fifteen and a half was going to beat the senior record in the Jump, and perhaps run the public school record very close.

But the chief excitement was among us juniors. We had modestly set before ourselves the task of winning every event under fifteen for Sharpe's house, to say nothing of pulling the day boys over the chalk in the Tug of War, and generally bringing the Philosophers well before the public notice. The secret of our intention had been well-kept till within a week of the day. We had been taunted with shirking our sports, with being "mugs" and "crocks" and "cripples," with exercising the better part of valour, with being afraid of being laughed at, and so forth. But we heard all with a conscious wink, and went on with our practice round the corner. Then, a week from the day, we literally pelted the list with our names.

Langrish put down for the High Jump, Cricket Ball, Broad Jump, and Hurdles. Warminster set down his name under Dicky Brown's for the Hundred Yards, and next to Griswold's for the Hurdles. Coxhead entered for the Cricket Ball against the crack thrower in Selkirk's, and Rackstraw and Walsh, noble pair of "paupers," put in for the Quarter- mile, which I was to have run against the fleet-footed Flitwick. Altogether it was a big order, and made the other houses look a little blue, as we hoped it would.

The great day came at last—a perfect Sports day, with a light breeze blowing, the track like elastic, the takes-off clean and sharp, and the field crammed with visitors and friends. I had my work cut out for me that day. It would have been far less exertion to run the Quarter-mile. I was to be coat-minder, time-keeper, rubber-down, straight-tipper, clapper-on-the-back, and bottle-holder to the Conversation Club at large, a sort of mixture of parent, footman, and retriever dog, which, flattering as it undoubtedly was to my sense of my own importance, promised no little anxiety and exercise before the day was done.

As I strolled down somewhat early, charged with the pleasing commission of "bagging nine seats in the middle of the front row of the stand and seeing no one collared them," I met Redwood, fresh as a daisy, just returning from a final inspection of the ground.

"Hullo, youngster, you're not running, I hear. What a pity!"

"It doesn't matter," said I. "Do you mind my not backing you for the Mile?"

He laughed, and said he should have thought poorly of me if I had not backed my own man.

"Is his hand all right now?" he asked.

"He says so," said I. "It's worth six yards to you, though."

"You think so, do you?" said he. "By the way, will you do a job for me? My two young sisters awfully want to be on the ground, and they've got leave if some one will look after them. I can't. How would you like to?"

Here was a thunderbolt! I had a fair day's work mapped out for myself as it was. Now I was to be saddled with a pair of teasing young female fidgets, and held responsible for their good behaviour and general comfort! What did people take me for? Why, the Mile itself wouldn't take it out of me half as much.

"All right," said I, "where are they?"

"I'm going home; I'll send them down sharp before the crowd comes. Thanks awfully, youngster."

And off he went, leaving me pretty full up with the cares of this deceitful world.

I proceeded to bag the nine best seats on the stand, which, as nobody else had yet put in an appearance, was easy enough without the trying necessity of sitting on them all at the same time. When the crowd arrived, it would be time enough to consider how I should then have to act.

I had not been long in possession when two dainty little figures in pink bore down hand-in-hand upon me, presumably under the protection of a nurse, who, however, was not in it when it came to racing.

"There's horrid Sarah," remarked Mamie, "who tried to drown me."

"Never mind," said Gladys, "he was nearly burned to death to punish him for being wicked."

"I hate him because he never gives us sweeties," said Mamie.

"Never mind," said Gladys; "Bobby says it's not his fault that he's a mule. I don't like mules though, do you?"

"I hate them," said the uncompromising Mamie.

"Please, Master Jones," said the nurse, "the mistress says will you see the young ladies behave nicely and don't dirty their frocks? Be good girls now," she added, by way of final admonition, as she departed.

I watched her go with the helpless despair of a man on a spar who watches the lifeboat put off with its last load for the shore. The young ladies, almost before nurse was gone, began to run along the rows of chairs, falling down once in twelve, and rapidly toning down the pretty pink of their frocks to a sombre brick hue. I was thankful when the crowd began to drop in, and I was able, by threats of taking them home before the races began, to reduce them at least to the nine seats for which I was responsible. How I wished I had some sweets, in order to reduce them to only three!

By good luck Dicky Brown hove in sight just as I was giving way to despair.

"Dicky, old chap," said I, "if you love me, get sixpennyworth of bulls'- eyes or something. I'd be grateful to you as long as I live."

Dicky looked at me anxiously—evidently concerned for my health. But a jerk of my head in the direction of the two little vixens, who were just then trying to pull a solemn-looking day boy off one of the chairs by main force, satisfied him that the case was an urgent one, and, like a brick, he flew off to the rescue.

The solemn day boy stood his persecution as long as he could, and then rounded sharply on his persecutors.

"Bother you, go away!" he growled.

Whereupon in floods of tears, the Misses Redwood made for me, and insisted on being taken up one on each knee and "cosseted" because of what the big ugly boy had done.

I complied with the energy of despair, conscious that in so doing I was allowing the reserved seats one by one to be usurped, and was at the same time rendering myself a spectacle of contempt to at least eight young persons, whom, in the gap left between the two wet faces which clung to my either cheek, I could see advancing in a body, clad in running drawers and blazers, in our direction.

It was vain for me to try to escape from my false position. The nearer the Philosophers approached, the more maudlin and effusive these unprincipled young females became, flinging their arms tragically round my neck, and bedaubing my face with their dewy kisses.

"Sarah can go it a bit when he likes," said Langrish, with a cheerful guffaw, standing in a conspicuous place, and calling public attention to me in a way which only added to my sorrows.

"Rather. I wondered why he went down so early," said Coxhead.

"Birds of a feather," said the sententious Trimble, "play the fool together. I say, what about our seats, though?"

"They are bagged," said I, getting my face clear for a moment. "I couldn't keep them."

"I dare say. You mean you were so busy spooning about with girls you never thought of it. All right, Miss Molly," said Warminster.

"I think we could squash up a bit here," said I meekly.

"Looks as if you could," said Langrish. "Squash away then." And, to the wrath and indignation of the whole stand, the Philosophers crowded in, in a solid phalanx, and proceeded to accommodate their eight persons in the space usually allotted to two. It took some time for the other seat-holders to appreciate the humour of the manoeuvre, and before then the bell had rung for the first race, and Dicky had returned with the brandy-balls, which he deftly smuggled into my hand as he trotted past.

It was now easy to "square" the Misses Redwood, who for a blessed half- hour cried truce. It was in vain that I suggested that they had better not plaster their faces and frocks more than could be helped with the sticky substance of their succulent pabulum. They contemptuously ignored my right to make any suggestion of the kind, and I finally abandoned them to their fate.

The first few events were trial heats, in which we as a body were not specially interested; but when the bell rang up for the Hundred Yards under fifteen, the Sports had begun for us in earnest.

Leaving the two Daughters of Eve with the bag of brandy-balls between them, I clambered out of my place to perform the last rites for Warminster, who was to carry the colours of Sharpe's against Dicky Brown of the day boys, Muskett of Selkirk's, and another outsider.

It went a little to my heart to be rubbing down somebody else's calves but Dicky's on an occasion like this. But such is life. Patriotism goes before friendship, and times do come when one must wish confusion to one's dearest brother.

So I rubbed down one of Warminster's calves while Trimble rubbed the other, and Langrish gave him a word of advice about his start, and Coxhead arranged to call on him for his spurt twenty yards from the finish. With the exception of the other evening when he arrived at my mother's party I had never seen Warminster so meek and nervous. He behaved exactly as if we were taking a last farewell, and would, I think, have embraced us had we encouraged him to do so.

"Now then," said Langrish, "give us your blazer. Bend well over your toes for the start, and do it all in a breath."

"Run straight on your track, and don't try to take the other chaps' water," said Trimble.

"Don't look round at me when I yell, but bucket all you can," said Coxhead.

"Don't pull up till after the pistol has gone," said I. Then we left him to his work.

And well enough he did it. He and Dicky went off at the start as if they'd been shot out of a double-barrelled gun, Dicky with his head down, our man with his head up. That was what saved him; half-way over Dicky had to get his chin up, and it lost him a sixteenth of a second, and that meant six inches. Selkirk's man made an ugly rush thirty yards from home, but he began it too soon. Warminster wisely waited till he heard Coxhead's shrill "Gee-up" in his ear. Then he laid on and made his six inches eight, and his eight ten, and landed so much in front of Dicky amid cheers which, if the clouds had been a little lower, would have assuredly brought on a shower.

One score to us! I was sorry for Dicky, but it couldn't be helped. "It's your fault," said he, "the brandy-balls did it. I took one, you know; never mind. I say, look at your kids!"

The "kids" in question had finished the brandy-balls, and, resenting my desertion, had decided to follow me into the open. As I had reached it by swarming over the front of the stand and dropping a foot or so on to the earth, they naturally selected that route as most suitable for them. They had half accomplished it, to the extent of getting over the edge of the low parapet and beginning to lower themselves on the outside, when Mamie's frock caught in a nail, which suspended her between heaven and earth, while Gladys, in her uncertainty whether to scream or assist, had toppled to the ground all of a heap, and solved the difficulty that way. Their screeches almost put our loyal cheers to the blush, and when I rushed up to extricate the one and pick up the other, I was in the centre of a hullaballoo which almost threatened to wreck the Sports. How they quieted down I know not. I believe it was my announced determination to walk them straight home which did it. At any rate, it was clear to me there was no more rubbing down of Sharpe's calves for me that day. I must remain, like Casabianca, on deck, even though it cost us all the events of the day.

It was a thankless task. First of all there was the usual ceremony of "cosseting" and drying tears. Then with a pin I had to mend the rent in Mamie's frock. Then I had to kiss both of Gladys's elbows to make them well, and finally I had to stand a fusillade of chaff and jeers from the Philosophers, which made life a heavier burden that it was already.

At last, to my joy, the bell rang up for the High Jump under fifteen, and public attention was diverted from my lamentable case.

As everybody who knew anything had anticipated, Langrish won this, metaphorically speaking, "on his head." He knocked out the second man (a Selkirker) at 4 feet and half an inch, and went on gamely 2 inches higher, clearing the bar as prettily and daintily as Wales himself might have done in the open event. It was not at all certain he could not have gone higher against an opponent; but having no such spur, he grew careless, and after barely shaking down the bar twice at 4 feet 3 inches, kicked it off awkwardly the third time, and so retired an easy victor, and quite overcome by the applause of the now crowded field.

Then came the event of the day—the Open Mile, for which Tempest and Redwood were the only combatants. I felt myself growing as nervous as if I were running myself.

For my instinct told me that the welfare of Sharpe's more or less hung on the issue. Could Tempest but win, there would be no doubt that he would return to the headship of the house with an eclat which even Crofter would have to yield to. If not, Crofter might still hang on to the reins and claim his doubtful rights.

A complication of an unexpected kind arose now. The Misses Redwood were quite sufficiently au fait with the etiquette of a race-course to know that if their brother ran he must win, and that everybody else must wish him to win. In an unguarded moment I joined in the cheer which greeted Tempest as he appeared stripped for action on his way to the starting- post. This was taken up as a grievous personal affront. The young ladies repudiated and flung me from them with an energy and disgust which quite astonished me. They loudly clamoured for my removal, and failing that, made a concerted retreat from my detested vicinity.

"Nasty horrid Sarah, go away!" they shouted.

Then spying Dicky Brown in the distance, they shrieked on him to deliver them.

"Want to go to Dicky—dear Dicky. Get away from Sarah."

And suiting the action to the word they swarmed over the back of the bench, and started in full cry for the enviable Dicky.

Richard, however, was an old bird for his years, and did not, or pretended not to hear their siren voices, and sheered off into the open just in the nick of time. Whereupon the Misses Redwood redoubled their clamour, and could only be allured back to the shelter of my fatigued wing by my going to them and audibly bawling in their faces, "Bravo, Redwood! go it, Redwood!"

On these terms they surrendered, and the difficulty, at the cost indeed of my reputation as a loyal "Sharper" was temporarily tided over.

It was noticed that Tempest, though cool as ever, was pale, and carried his left hand, while he stood waiting, in the opening of his waistcoat. I saw Redwood go to him and say something, pointing as he did so to the hand. Tempest's reply was a flush and a laugh as he removed his hand from its resting-place, and waved it about at his side.

I did not like it. But it was too late now. Mr Jarman stood ready with his pistol up, the noise of the field suddenly changed to silence, and the two athletes, with arms out, stood straining on the line.

Off! It was a good start, and the pace was startling for a mile. Tempest had the inside track. He seemed to have the advantage in lightness of step, while Redwood's strength was more in length of stride. The first of the four laps was run almost inch for inch. Perhaps Tempest, thanks to his berth, had a foot to the good as they entered on the second. Here our man forged ahead slowly, and gradually drew to a clear lead. But we trembled as we saw it. Would he stay? Apparently he ran as lightly as before, but Redwood, as he lay on at his heels, seemed to be going even easier. However, the half-mile saw Tempest three yards ahead and still going. Then, to our concern, we saw Redwood's stride lengthen a little, and watched inch after inch of the interval shrink, until at the end of the third lap there was scarcely more difference than there had been at the end of the first. Yet our man was still to the front.

And now it was almost difficult for us onlookers to breathe, for the tug was at hand. The fourth lap had scarcely begun when a wild yell called attention to the fact that Tempest was once more "putting it on." What was still more satisfactory was that he was going as well as ever, although in that respect so was Redwood. The gap opened again, the foot grew to a yard, and the yard to half a dozen, and the half-dozen to— At last! It was but two hundred yards from home when Redwood's stride once more lengthened out, and a new shout told us all that the chasm was once more being filled up, inch by inch and foot by foot. Tempest heard the shout and knew what it meant. He, too, lengthened his stride, and seemed as if he was going to answer rush for rush. But our hearts stood still and our tongues clave to the roofs of our mouths as we perceived that it would not come off. He could barely keep up his present pace. Would it see him through? Perhaps half the distance was passed, and Redwood had only recovered a third of his lead. Then the yells broke out. Every one wished he could lend his man an inch, or the hundredth part of an inch. Redwood's rush increased, and the vanishing inches struck panic into our philosophic breasts. Could Tempest but hold out these few yards, we were safe. He would! No! Yes! No, they're all but level another six yards. Then suddenly we saw Tempest fling his hand behind and reel forward with a blind stagger over the tape, and as the simultaneous report proclaimed a dead heat, fall sprawling and helpless on the ground.

The cheers died on our lips, for it was surely something more than exhaustion or broken wind. Redwood was beside him in a moment, and drew his head on his knee. It was a dead faint—not from fatigue, but from pain.

His burned and blistered hand, which he had so carefully concealed from everybody, and of which he had made so little, betrayed the secret plainly enough.

For once his pride and determination had overrated his physical strength. He had calculated on just being able to win the race. All he had done was just to save it, at a price which, as it turned out, was to cost him weeks of illness, and even threaten the loss of a hand.

The news of his calamity spread like wildfire, and put an end, as far as I at least was concerned, to the sports for the day.

We heard later in the day that he was in the Sanatorium in a high fever. Next day he was delirious, and the notice on the board told us that the doctor considered his condition dangerous. The next day, his old grandfather, the only relative he had, came down, and the next, summoned by my urgent message, my dear mother. Then for a day or two we were kept in suspense, till one happy afternoon the bulletin reported a change for the better, and presently the welcome news came that all danger was past.

For me at least that was the happiest day of my life, except perhaps that a week later when my mother as a special privilege allowed me to see him for a moment.

He was sitting up in bed, smiling but pale.

"Tell me," he said, "I've never heard yet, did I win the Mile?"

"Dead heat," said I.

"What time?"

"Four four and a half."

"A record, isn't it? It was worth the grind."

I had my doubts, but knew better than to say so.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A GOOD SHOW-UP ALL ROUND.

It was the last day but one of the Summer term, and the Philosophers were in a ferment. The lists were to be out in the afternoon, and a score of events were to be decided by them. Was I to get on to the top form of my division, and if so, was it Langrish or Purkis who was to be displaced? Or was I, after all my grind, to yield a place to the truculent Coxhead?

More than that, was Warminster to be beaten after all by a day boy called Dicky Brown, who, amid all the changes and distractions of the term, had stuck doggedly to his work, and was reported a hot man for the head place in the junior division?

All this was exciting enough, but it was as nothing to the tussle at the head of the school.

Pridgin's alarming burst of work in the Easter term had, contrary to all expectation, not died out. Every one prophesied he would sicken of it. Wales laughed at him. Crofter smiled sweetly. Tempest inquired frequently after his health, and even Redwood knocked off some of his extra cricket to keep pace with it.

"What are you trying to do?" asked Tempest one day, as his friend looked in.

"Nothing, my dear fellow, only amusing myself, I assure you."

"You have a queer idea of fun. Do you know, I've hardly been out on the river all the term, owing to you."

"Don't let me prevent you, old chap. The exercise will do you good."

Tempest laughed.

"I hope yours will do you good. But two can play at your game."

"Two! Half a dozen.—I've not got my knife into you, though."

"Who? Crofter?"

"Rather. I see no other way of taking it out of him. He shirks sports, and takes his pound of flesh out of the captaincy, although he knows he's no right to it, and no one, not even the rowdies in the faggery, respects him."

"That's why we're going steady," said I, "just to rile him."

"The only way to take it out of him is to make him sit up, and harry him," said the amiable Pridgin. "I only hope, though, it won't land me head of the house. I'm depending on you to beat me. But I'm not going to play second fiddle to Crofter."

"It will serve you right if it does land you head," responded Tempest. "If it does, we'll have to keep you up to the mark and see you don't shirk."

"Don't say that, old chap, or I shall jack it up," said Pridgin, putting his feet upon the window-ledge. "Besides, does it occur to you that Redwood's leaving, and that the second man up, if he's one of us, is left not only captain of Sharpe's but captain of Low Heath?"

"I know," said Tempest quietly, "but they say Leslie of Selkirk's is in the running for that."

"Stuff and nonsense!" retorted Pridgin. "Tempest of Sharpe's is the man for my money."

Tempest laughed again; but it was a sort of laugh which did not bode well for Leslie of Selkirk's.

This talk had been a fortnight ago. Since then the examinations had come and gone. The Philosophers, sobered and perspiring, had been spread out at two-desk intervals on three fatal days in the large hall, with day boys to right of them and Selkirkers to left, writing for their lives, and groaning over questions which only a fiend could have devised, and only a double-first could have answered. How I had got on, I could no more tell than the man in the moon. My comrades, when we compared notes afterwards, cheerfully assured me that, out of some fifty questions on the three days, I had possibly got half a question right, but that that was doubtful, and depended on the particular crib the examiner swore by. Redwood, to whom I confided some of my answers, thought rather more hopefully of my case, and told me to keep my spirits up. Tempest said that if he were to cuff me for every discreditable blunder I had made, I should have ear-ache for a month. Dicky, on the other hand, confessed that he wished he could believe he had done as well as I.

As for the other Philosophers, general discouragement was the order of the day. It was moved and seconded that Coxhead be kicked for having made "amnis" feminine, and having translated the French "impasse" as "instep." And Trimble was temporarily suspended from the service of the Conversation Club because he had put a decimal dot in the wrong place. Public feeling ran so high that any departure from the rules of syntax or algebra was regarded as treason against the house, and dealt with accordingly.

On the whole, therefore, we were glad when the time of suspense came to an end.

How matters had gone with the seniors it was even more difficult to surmise than it had been in our case. The day after the end of their exams., Redwood and Tempest, with Pridgin to cox, rowed twelve miles down stream and back, and returned cheerful and serene, and even jocular. Leslie of Selkirk's also spent a pleasant afternoon in the school laboratory, whistling to himself as he mixed up his acids. Crofter and Wales mooned about under the trees in the field somewhat limply, but showed no outward signs of distress. Altogether, speculation was baffled, and it was almost irritating to find the chief actors in the drama refusing to take the momentous question seriously.

"How did you get on?" I asked Tempest.

"You'll hear to-morrow," said he; "so shall I."

"Do you think you'll beat Leslie?"

"Either that, or he'll beat me, or it'll be a dead heat," said he.

There was no dealing with frivolity of this kind; and Tempest, ever since his recovery last term, had been rapidly regaining all his old frivolity and lightheartedness.

It was a trying ordeal on "Result" day, sitting patiently in hall till the doctor made up his mind to appear. All the school was there. There was an unusual spirit of orderliness afoot. The few irresponsible ones, who, with nothing to lose, tried to get up a disturbance, were promptly squashed by the grim, anxious competitors to whom the coming results meant so much. We Philosophers huddled together for comfort, but not a joke travelled down the line. We sat and drummed our fingers on the desk before us, and wondered why on earth the doctor, on a day like this, should take such an unearthly time to put on his cap and gown.

At last he appeared, paper in hand, and glasses on nose. I could see Dicky just in front of me catch a quick breath, and Tempest up in the front brush his hair back with his fingers; and there arose before my mind in horrible review all the palpable blunders of my own examination papers.

"Lower school," began the doctor in a hard, dry, unemotional voice. "Aggregate form order—out of a possible 1000 marks, Brown iii., day boy, and Jones iv., Mr Sharpe's, bracketed first with 853 marks."

What! me? bracketed top with Dicky? Go along with you! But a huge thump on the back from Warminster, followed by a huger from Langrish; the vision of Dicky's consciously blushing cheeks, as Flitwick performed the same office for him; and, above all, a nod across the room from Redwood, and a grin from Tempest, convinced me that there was something in it after all. Of course it was a mistake, and when the marks came to be counted again it would be put right. But while it lasted it wasn't bad. What was the doctor saying?

"A very good performance, both of you; and the result of honest hard work."

It was true then? There was no humbug about it? Oh, I must write to my mother this very afternoon.

"Warminster, Mr Sharpe's second, 836, good also; Corderoy, Mr Selkirk's, third, 815; Langrish, Mr Sharpe's, fourth, 807; Trimble, Mr Sharpe's, sixth, 796; Purkis, Mr Sharpe's, seventh, 771; Coxhead, Mr Sharpe's, eighth, 734—(Mr Sharpe's boys have worked excellently this term);—Quin, day boy, ninth, 699; Rackstraw, Mr Sharpe's, tenth, 678."

And so the list went on. I was too much lost in the wonder of my own success to appreciate all at once the glorious significance of the whole result. But as the Philosophers crowded in a little closer on one another, and the friendly nudge went round, it began to dawn on me. Every one of our men had given a good account of himself, even Coxhead and the "pauper" Rackstraw! Not one of the old gang but was eligible for the club; not one but had done something to "put the day boys and Selkirk's and everybody else to bed," as Langrish said.

"Just like your side," said the latter to me, "trying to make out you'd made a mess of it. You can only make a mess of it, young Sarah, when you try not to; when you do try you can't do it." And with another thump on the back our excellent secretary gave me to know he bore me no malice, but on the contrary was pleased to favour me with his general approbation.

But more was yet to come. Compared with the "aggregates," the details of how we had passed each examination were more or less tame, and we were impatient to get on to the senior results.

The middle school had to come first. As a rule we were not greatly concerned in them, except as belonging to the division into which some of us would probably be promoted next term. But such as they were, they kept up the credit of Sharpe's. A Selkirker did indeed head the list, but after him a string of four of our fellows followed; after them a day boy, and then two more "Sharpers."

More back patting, crowding up, conscious blushes, and congratulations.

Then the doctor put down one paper and took up another; and every one knew what was coming.

"Upper school," read the doctor in exactly the same voice, as if this announcement were of no more importance than any other. "Aggregate form order—out of a possible 1000 marks, Redwood, captain of the school, and day boy, 902."

We were obliged to interrupt a little here. There would not be many more chances of cheering old Redwood, and we couldn't afford to chuck them away. So we cheered, and gave the doctor time to polish up his glasses and take a sip of water.

"Your cheers," said he, when at last we had relieved ourselves, "are well-deserved. In addition to this capital result, Redwood takes the Low Heath scholarship to Trinity, where, I almost venture to prophesy, we shall hear even greater things of him some day."

More cheers. But we were too impatient to hear what came next to interpose too long a delay.

"Tempest, Mr Sharpe's, second, 888; all the more gratifying when we remember the causes which interrupted his school work for a time last term."

We fairly gave ourselves away now! Sharpe's had reached the top of the tide with a vengeance. There was an end to all uncertainty as to who would be its captain; and there was the glorious certainty that the captain of Sharpe's would also be captain of Low Heath. Three cheers! Rather.

But still we could not, till the rest of the list was read, give ourselves up to cheering for as long as we should have liked. So we allowed the doctor to proceed.

"Pridgin, Mr Sharpe's, third, 869—very close."

Good old Pridgin! All his discomfort had not been for nothing. He had "taken it out of" Crofter, after all. By how much?

"Leslie, Mr Selkirk's, fourth, 832. Wales, Mr Sharpe's, fifth, 801. Crofter, Mr Sharpe's, sixth, 769."

A cool hundred between them! We had the decency not to rub it in too hard. It was clear by the disconcerted look in the face of our so- called captain that he was more surprised than any one. He smiled, of course, and leant across to pat Pridgin on the back. But that was just his way—we knew well enough that it cloaked a bitter mortification, and why worry the poor beggar with letting him see we noticed it?

So we waited till we got outside, and then let ourselves loose on Tempest and Pridgin, and positively injured our voices with cheering.

That afternoon in the faggery our jubilant review of the situation was combined with a wind-up meeting of the Conversation Club for the term.

"Jolly good show for us," said Langrish. "Crofter's pretty sick, but it'll do him good. I move and third, and Sarah seconds and fourths, that we send him a resolution of condolence."

"Better let him alone," suggested I.

"Shut up, or you'll get jolly well kicked out of the club," said the secretary. "If you don't want to be civil, it's no reason why we shouldn't." I had imagined I was on the whole more concerned for Crofter's feelings than they, but, putting it in the way they did, I could hardly resist. So the following resolution was solemnly drawn up and ordered to be conveyed to "The late Mr Crofter."

"That this meeting of the Philosophical Conversation Club is hereby jolly glad to see Tempest cock of the house again, with Pridgin second man up. It hereby condoles with Crofter in the jolly back seat he has got to take, and is sorry he shirked the Mile. It begs to inform him that he is a hundred and eighteen marks behind Tempest, and trusts he will in future obey the house captain, to whom all applications for exeats and extra leave are to be addressed. Crofter need not trouble to reply, as the club only desires to have communication with the cock of the house."

This done, I was ordered to take the chair as the new president, and called upon the secretary to read the minutes.

These were short and to the point,—

"'A general meeting of the Conversation Club was held on Monday in the Examination Hall. With his usual mulishness, Sarah thought he'd have a cut in, and it was resolved to give him a chance. Thanks to the drivelling idiotcy of Warminster, who doesn't even know the feminine genitive of corpus, he scraped through; and, as he couldn't do much worse than Coxhead, he did a shade better.'"

"All very well," growled Coxhead, "he did a jolly sight better than you."

"'Coxhead, who is hereby expelled for using slang, was, as usual, down with the paupers at the bottom. A town cad called Brown, who managed to conceal his cribs, came out first, and it was decided to tack Sarah on to him. Trimble, as might be expected, came a cropper in his English grammar—'"

"A cram! They never examined us in it!"

"There you are; you don't even know it when you see it—'came a cropper in his English grammar.'"

"I tell you I didn't," expostulated Trimble. "Shut up."

"Shut what up?"

"Yourself."

"Come and shut me."

A warm argument ensued, which knocked over the table, and was only composed by my reminding the club that we didn't want to disturb the peace of the new cock of the house on his first night.

"All right," said Langrish, "where was I?—'English grammar. Purkis, not having paid his subscription, naturally came out too low to be classed, but to give him a lift he was allowed to be stuck in between Trim and Coxhead, who being outsiders at the best of times, had plenty of room for another.'"

"All very well—what sort of howler did you come?" asked the outraged Purkis.

"'It being considered well to stick one Selkirker into the list, the hon. secretary made room for Corderoy, and is hereby thanked on his retirement.'"

"Hullo!" said I, "don't say that, Langrish."

"Fact is," said Langrish, dropping the minutes, "I've got to. I've gone down, you see."

"Oh, but you've worked like a cart-horse. I move, Trim seconds, Warminster thirds, Coxhead fourths, Purkis fifths, and the paupers sixth, that old Lang be and hereby is perpetual secretary of the Ph.C.C., and that it's all rot his retiring."

"Oh, all serene," said Langrish, evidently pleased. "That's your look- out. Where was I?—'thanked on his retirement, but as nobody else can read his writing, he is hereby asked to hang on, which he hereby does. The meeting then adjourned.'"

We decided to celebrate the evening by a state tea, as which the usual loyal and patriotic toasts were given; of which I will only trouble the reader with one, that delivered by Warminster, the late president.

"It's a sell, of course, getting down; but we all had a good look in, and Sal's come out best man this once. We aren't going to jack it up though, and he'll have to mind his eye (cheers). After all, what with the mess he made over Tempest's bills (loud cheers), and the shindy about the guy, and all that rot about the barge, he's shown he's fit for the job (laughter). But he'll have to make a good show-up for Sharpe's now, or we'll let him know. We've scored a bit of a record, and we don't want to fool it away (loud cheers), and any fellow who doesn't put it on doesn't deserve to be a Ph.C.C. or anything like (prolonged applause). Gentlemen, with these remarks I beg to give the health of 'the army and navy and reserve forces' (loud cheers)."

The "reserve forces" were the most striking feature, after all, about the wind-up of the Conversation Club that night.

Before I went to bed I looked in at Tempest's study, where, to my delight, I found Dicky Brown.

"Hullo, I was just coming to fetch you," said the new captain. "Don't you think this a pretty good show for old Plummer?"

"Rather," said Dicky. "I wonder how he's getting on!"

"And I wonder if the pond is full up again yet."

"By the way," said Tempest, "I've never hided you for collaring that pistol of mine. I may as well do it now."

"Fire away," said I; "I don't mind taking a licking from the captain of Low Heath."

"It sounds queer, doesn't it?" said Tempest, disarmed by this compliment. "Between you and me, kids, I think we ought to be able to make the thing work next term."

"Rather," said I, "only we shall have to keep sitting up to do it."

"So much the better," said they.

THE END.