had passed before, not
as prisoners, but as patronised pets who were suffered to amuse the
august tenants with our "lip" until we became too disrespectful,
when we would be ejected with a kick. This morning it struck strange
and cold to hear Bickerton say:

"Here's the little bounder."

I entered, and saw the whole array of Bramhall prefects assembled,
Stanley, their senior, presiding. Bickerton shut the door
ceremoniously.

There were twelve of them, and every man was a blood. They had
reached a solemn age and, in the dignity of their bloodhood, were
quite unaware that they were playing at a mock-trial and enjoying
it. I'm sure none of them would have missed it. Were Stanley alive
now, instead of lying beneath the sea off Gallipoli, he would be
twenty-seven years of age, very junior in his profession, and
therefore much younger than when he was a house-captain of nineteen:
and he would admit that on this famous occasion he and his
fellow-prefects were highly pleased with the transaction entrusted
to them. For at twenty-seven we are people who have been old and now
are young again.

His team sat down two sides of a long table, and himself was
enthroned at the top in front of foolscap and blotting-paper. It was
a splendid tribunal.

I tried to persuade myself that I was perfectly comfortable, and
could, if need be, show my easy conscience by a little old-time
impudence. In reality my heart was fluttering, and a perspiration
had broken out upon my head and the palms of my hands. My brows I
wiped on my sleeve, and my hands I rubbed on the seat of my
trousers. Nor had I lost the headache which asserted itself directly
my long imposition was done. My forehead felt as if it had swollen
and extended the skin across it like elastic. And for the last
twelve hours my face had been warm and burning.

"Now, Rupert Ray," said Stanley, "we want you to own up to this
blooming business of last night. So fire away."

"I don't know what you're gassing about," said I.

"Now don't be sulky. You'll only make matters worse by trying to
bluff us. And goodness knows they're bad enough as it is."

"Oh, to think how we've been disappointed in you!" interposed
Bickerton, who had taken up a position on the fender. "To think how
we've cherished this viper in our bosom!" And he raised his hands in
mock despair.

"Now don't be an ass, Bicky," said Stanley, who deemed that a Court
of Inquiry over which he presided was much too weighty a