anning. He was not equal to the task of
tackling Linton himself.

Stanning interposed.

"Don't rot, Linton. We haven't much time as it is."

"Sorry," said Linton.

"You've let the house down awfully," said Clayton.

"Yes?" said Sheen.

Linton took the paper out of his pocket, and smoothed it out.

"Seen the _Sporter_?" he asked casually. His neighbour grabbed at
it.

"I thought it hadn't come," he said.

"Good account of Aldershot," said Linton.

He leaned back in his chair as two or three of the senior day-room
collected round the _Sportsman_.

"Hullo! We won the gym.!"

"Rot! Let's have a look!"

This tremendous announcement quite eclipsed the court-martial as an
object of popular interest. The senior day-room surged round the holder
of the paper.

"Give us a chance," he protested.

"We can't have. Where is it? Biddle and Smith are simply hopeless. How
the dickens can they have got the shield?"

"What a goat you are!" said a voice reproachfully to the possessor of
the paper. "Look at this. It says Cheltenham got it. And here we
are--seventeenth. Fat lot of shield we've won."

"Then what the deuce does this mean? 'Honours for St Paul's, Harrow,
and Wrykyn'."

"Perhaps it refers to the boxing," suggested Linton.

"But we didn't send any one up. Look here. Harrow won the Heavies. St
Paul's got the Middles. _Hullo!_"

"Great Scott!" said the senior day-room.

There was a blank silence. Linton whistled softly to himself.

The gaze of the senior day-room was concentrated on that ridge of
purple beneath Sheen's left eye.

Clayton was the first to speak. For some time he had been waiting for
sufficient silence to enable him to proceed with his presidential
duties. He addressed himself to Sheen.

"Look here, Sheen," he said, "we want to know what you've got to say
for yourself. You go disgracing the house--"

The stunned senior day-room were roused to speech.

"Oh, chuck it, Clayton."

"Don't be a fool, Clayton."

"Silly idiot!"

Clayton looked round in pained surprise at this sudden withdrawal of
popular support.

"You'd better be polite to Sheen," said Linton; "he won the
Light-Weights at Aldershot yesterday."

The silence once more became strained.

"Well," said Sheen, "weren't you going to court-martial me, or
something? Clayton, weren't you saying something?"

Clayton started. He had not yet grasped the situation entirely; but he
realised dimly that by some miracle Sheen had