at up with his eyes very wide open
as the figure repeated--

"What do you mean by it? Get out of this!"

The speaker was a big boy, whom Heathcote, in the midst of his
bewilderment, recognised as having seen at the Fifth-form table in Hall.

"What's the matter?" faltered the new boy.

"The matter! you impudent young beggar. Come, get out of this. I'll
teach you to play larks with me. Get out of my bed."

Heathcote promptly obeyed.

"I didn't know--I was told it was where I was to sleep," he said.

"Shut up, and don't tell lies," said the senior, taking off his slipper
and passing his hand down the sole of it.

"Really I didn't do it on purpose," pleaded Heathcote. "I was told to
do it."

The case was evidently not one for argument. As Heathcote turned round,
the silence of the night hour was broken for some moments by the echoes
of that slipper-sole.

It was no use objecting--still less resisting. So Heathcote bore it
like a man, and occupied his leisure moments during the ceremony in
chalking up a long score against his friend the junior.

"Now, make my bed," said the executioner when the transaction was
complete.

The boy obeyed in silence--wonderfully warm despite the lightness of his
attire. His comfort would have been complete had that junior only been
there to help him. The Fifth-form boy insisted on the bed being made
from the very beginning--including the turning of the mattress and the
shaking of each several sheet and blanket--so that the process was a
lengthy one, and, but for the occasional consolations of the slipper,
might have become chilly also.

"Now, clear out," said the owner of the apartment.

"Where am I to go?" asked Heathcote, beginning to feel rather forlorn.

"Out of here!" repeated the senior.

"I don't--"

The senior took up the slipper again.

"Please may I take my clothes?" said Heathcote.

"Are you going or not?"

"Please give me my trou--"

He was on the other side of the door before the second syllable came,
and the click of the latch told him that after all he might save his
breath.

Heathcote was in a predicament. The corridor was dark, and draughty,
and he was far from home; what was he to do? "Three courses," as the
wise man says, "were open to him." Either he might camp out where he
was, and by the aid of door-mats and carpet extemporise a bed till the
morning; or he might commence a demonstration against the door from
which he had just been