lace for part of the holidays. If
they only knew the fun he was having what time everybody else was in bed
and asleep! The thought appealed to the humorous side of his nature.
It is possible he might even have forgiven the Doctor, but that his
sense of justice was outraged. Other masters had punished him, but
never unfairly. He knew he had earned such. The extreme and
double-weighted penalty with which the Head had visited a not very grave
offence he could not feel he had earned. Other masters had set him more
than one swingeing imposition, but even when they had spoken sharply
they had always behaved like gentlemen. The Doctor, on the other hand,
had a bullying, overbearing way with him, which was quite unnecessary,
and galling and ungentlemanly to the last degree, he considered. It
might be all right when dealing with some of these cads, thought
Haviland, but he ought to know when to discriminate. No, he could not
forgive the Doctor. The sense of injustice rankled, and festered, and
not the least side of the enjoyment of his new escapades was that he was
"tying knots in Nick's tail," as he put it to himself--and Anthony--
consciously or unconsciously "lifting" from Ingoldsby.

The only misgiving--and it was rather a serious one--that would strike
him was how long the other fellows in the dormitory would manage to hold
their tongues. He did not believe that any among them would willingly
give them away, but the young asses might get chattering. With this in
view, many and oft were the monitions addressed to them by himself and
his accomplice. They were admonished, not only to make no confidences
to those outside, but never even to talk about it among themselves, for
fear of being overheard--in fact, to regard their knowledge as the
cherished secret of some privileged order, of which they had the honour
to be members. This appealed to them more than any other argument, and
it hardly needed Cetchy's from time to time repeated threat: "Any fellow
sneak--I kill him." This threat he would emphasise by the production of
a wicked-looking weapon, which he kept in his box--namely, the half of
an old sheep-shear, with which, spliced on to a short, strong handle, he
had manufactured a very creditable imitation of his native assegai. Nor
did they regard the menace as an entirely futile one, for they had
witnessed an outbreak or two of genuine, though not unprovoked, savagery
on the part of the threatener, which, but