nvincing as they promised to be, were brought to a
sudden and premature close by Coker, who slipped behind him and
administered a sharp jog below his back, which jarred his spine and
caused him infinite agony.

"You little brute!" cried Paul, "I could have you up for assault for
that!"

But upon this Coggs did the very same thing only harder. "Last term
you'd have shown fight for much less, Bultitude," they both observed
severely, as some justification for repeating the process.

"Now, perhaps, you'll drop it for the future," said Coker. "Look here!
we'll give you one more chance. This sneaking dodge is all very well for
Chawner. Chawner could do that sort of thing without getting sat upon,
because he's a big fellow; but we're not going to stand it from you.
Will you promise on your sacred word of honour, now, to be a decent sort
of chap again, as you were last term?"

But Mr. Bultitude, though he longed for peace and quietness, dreaded
doing or saying anything to favour the impression that he was the
schoolboy he unluckily appeared to be, and he had not skill and tact
enough to dissemble and assume a familiar genial tone of equality with
these rough boys.

"You don't understand," he protested feebly. "If I could only tell
you----"

"We don't want any fine language, you know," said the relentless Coggs.
"Yes or no. Will you promise to be your old self again?"

"I only wish I could," said poor Mr. Bultitude--"but I can't!"

"Very well, then," said Coggs firmly, "we must try the torture. Coker,
will you screw the back of his hand, while I show him how they make
barley-sugar?"

And he gave Paul an interesting illustration of the latter branch of
industry by twisting his right arm round and round till he nearly
wrenched it out of the socket, while Coker seized his left hand and
pounded it vigorously with the first joint of his forefinger, causing
the unfortunate Paul to yell for mercy.

At last he could bear no more, and breaking away from his tormentors
with a violent effort, he ran frantically down the silent road towards a
house which he knew from former visits to be Dr. Grimstone's.

He was but languidly pursued, and, as the distance was short, he soon
gained a gate on the stuccoed posts of which he could read "Crichton
House" by the light of a neighbouring gas-lamp.

"This is a nice way," he thought, as he reached it breathless and
trembling, "for a father to visit his son's school!"

He had hoped to r