the Shadow of Death.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

RODS IN PICKLE FOR RAILSFORD.

Grandcourt assembled after the holidays in blissful ignorance of the
episode narrated in our last chapter. Branscombe's illness had been an
isolated case, and apparently not due to any defect in the sanitary
arrangements of his house. And as no other boy was reported to have
spent his holidays in the same unsatisfactory manner, and as Railsford
himself had managed to escape infection, it was decided by the
authorities not to publish the little misadventure on the housetop. The
captain of Bickers's house was absent on sick leave, and the Master of
the Shell (who had been nursing a stubborn cold during the holidays)
would not be in his place, so it was announced, for a week. That was
all Grandcourt was told; and, to its credit, it received the news with
profound resignation.

True, some of the more disorderly spirits in Railsford's house were
disposed to take advantage of his absence, and lead the much-enduring
Monsieur Lablache, who officiated in his place, an uncomfortable dance.
But any indications of mutiny were promptly stamped upon by Ainger and
the other prefects, who, because they resented monsieur's appointment,
were determined that, come what would, he should have no excuse for
exercising his authority. Monsieur shrugged himself, and had no
objection to the orderly behaviour of the house, whatever its motive,
nor had anyone else whose opinion on such a matter was worth having.

Arthur and Sir Digby, as usual, came back brimful of lofty resolutions
and ambitious schemes! Dig had considerably revised his time-table, and
was determined to adhere to it like a martyr to his stake.

Arthur, though he came armed with no time-table, had his own good
intentions. He had had one or two painful conversations with his
father, who had hurt him considerably by suggesting that he wasted a
great deal of time, and neglected utterly those principles of self-
improvement which had turned out men like Wellington, Dickens, Dr
Livingstone, and Mr Elihu Burritt. Arthur had seldom realised before
how odious comparisons may become. No doubt Wellington, Dickens, and
Company were good fellows in their way, but he had never done them any
harm. Why should they be trotted out to injure him?

He thought he _was_ improving himself. He was much better at a drop-
kick than he had been last year, and Railsford himself had said he was
not as bad at his L