who asked the number of the sum after I had
put it on the board."

"Swine!" hissed somebody. I fancy it was Edgar Doe.

"I'm here, sir," replied I from his side, white.

Pennybet, who all this time had kept his mouth agape and
impersonated the village idiot, laid down his pen, closed his book,
and disposed himself to watch out the matter. He was always callous
when in pursuit of his object; and his object now was to suck the
humour out of my painful position. He put his elbow on the desk,
rested his head at a graceful angle on the palm of his hand, and
half closed his Arab eyes. He looked like an earnest parson posing
for a photograph.

Our engaging little master, having bent me over and arranged me for
punishment, gave me ten strokes instead of the usual six--the number
of the sum had been "ten."

When I rose from my bended posture, how I hated Carpet Slippers, and
was happy in my hate! I hated the silkiness of his chestnut beard; I
hated the sheen of his pink cranium; I hated his soft rotundity and
his little curvilinear features; I hated, above all, his poisonous
speeches. As I walked to my seat, my body stinging still, I resolved
to go to war with Fillet. I declared with all a child's power of
make-believe that a state of war existed between Rupert Ray and
Carpet Slippers. War, then, war, open or understood!

And when that class closed, no boy was more forcedly loud and lively
than I: no boy shut his books with greater claps; no boy banged his
desk more carelessly. Nor would I listen to sympathising friends,
but laughed out in Fillet's hearing: "You don't think I care, do
you?"

Fillet noticed my ostentatious display of indifference and perhaps
felt apprehensive of the latent devil that he had aroused, but his
inward comment, I doubt not, was: "We'll see who's going to be
master here. He can feel the weight of my hand again, if he likes.
We can't let a bad-spirited little boy have all his own way. I think
we'll break his defiance. I think we will." And possibly, as he said
it, he sucked in his breath with satisfaction. Fillet realised that
it was War and the first shots had been exchanged.

Sec.3

This was the preliminary skirmish. Real and bloody battle was joined
twenty-four hours later. But, in the meantime, there was an
early-evening lull which enclosed a delightful cricket match. A team
of junior Kensingtonians, that included Doe and myself, was going
across Kensingtowe High Road to play the Fir