t
the Head took his after-dinner cheroot to Flint's study; but he so
often began an evening in a prefect's room that nobody suspected when he
drifted in pensively, after the knocks that etiquette demanded.

"Prefects' meeting?" A cock of one wise eye-brow.

"Not exactly, sir; we're just talking things over. Won't you take the
easy chair?"

"Thanks. Luxurious infants, you are." He dropped into Flint's big
half-couch and puffed for a while in silence. "Well, since you're all
here, I may confess that I'm the mute with the bowstring."

The young faces grew serious. The phrase meant that certain of their
number would be withdrawn from all further games for extra-tuition. It
might also mean future success at Sandhurst; but it was present ruin for
the First Fifteen.

"Yes, I've come for my pound of flesh. I ought to have had you out
before the Exeter match; but it's our sacred duty to beat Exeter."

"Isn't the Old Boys' match sacred, too, sir?" said Perowne. The Old
Boys' match was the event of the Easter term.

"We'll hope they aren't in training. Now for the list. First I want
Flint. It's the Euclid that does it. You must work deductions with me.
Perowne, extra mechanical drawing. Dawson goes to Mr. King for extra
Latin, and Venner to me for German. Have I damaged the First Fifteen
much?" He smiled sweetly.

"Ruined it, I'm afraid, sir," said Flint. "Can't you let us off till the
end of the term?"

"Impossible. It will be a tight squeeze for Sandhurst this year."

"And all to be cut up by those vile Afghans, too," said Dawson.
"Wouldn't think there'd be so much competition, would you?"

"Oh, that reminds me. Crandall is coming down with the Old Boys--I've
asked twenty of them, but we shan't get more than a weak team. I don't
know whether he'll be much use, though. He was rather knocked about,
recovering poor old Duncan's body."

"Crandall major--the Gunner?" Perowne asked.

"No, the minor--'Toffee' Crandall--in a native infantry regiment. He was
almost before your time, Perowne."

"The papers didn't say anything about him. We read about Fat-Sow, of
course. What's Crandall done, sir?"

"I've brought over an Indian paper that his mother sent me. It was
rather a--hefty, I think you say--piece of work. Shall I read it?" The
Head knew how to read. When he had finished the quarter-column of close
type everybody thanked him politely.

"Good for the old Coll.!" said Perowne. "Pity he wasn't in time to save
Fat-S