wearying of the ceremony of running a gauntlet of all the legs along the
table before it was half over, made a hasty selection of what seemed to
him the mildest pair within reach, and clutching at them convulsively,
hung on for dear life.

The owner of the limbs in question was Ranger, a prefect of his house
and more or less of a grandee at Fellsgarth. As he was unaware of the
cause of the excitement around him, this sudden assault from below took
him aback, and he started up from his chair in something as near a panic
as a Fellsgarth prefect could be capable of. Naturally his parasite
followed him.

To Ranger's credit, he took in the situation rapidly, and did not abuse
his opportunities.

"What's this?" he demanded, lifting up Fisher minor, with his hair all
on end and the pocket-comb still in his hand, by the coat-collar. "Who
does this belong to?"

No one in particular owned the object in question.

"What are you?" asked the prefect.

"I'm Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow."

"So I should suppose. Afraid of the draughts, I suppose."

"It was Wally and his brother put me there. I didn't mean--"

"Oh--Wally, was it? Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn't leave your
property about like this. It's against rules. Here, hook on, and don't
go chucking it about any more."

"All serene," said the twin. "Come along, kid. Done with my comb? You
look ever so much better form now; doesn't he, you chaps? How came you
to lose your way downstairs?"

Fisher minor owned himself utterly unable to account for the
misadventure, and discreetly remained silent until the signal was given
to return thanks and separate every boy to his own house.

As he was wandering across the court, very dismal and apprehensive of
what more was in store for him, a lean youth with a pale face and very
showily attired accosted him.

"Hullo, kid, are you a new chap?"

"Yes," replied Fisher minor, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

"What side are you on?"

Fisher stared interrogatively.

"Well, then, are you Modern or Classic?"

"I don't know, really," said Fisher minor, wishing he knew which he
ought to proclaim himself. Then making a bold venture, he said, "I
believe Modern."

"Good job for you," said the youth; "saves me the trouble of kicking
you. Can you lend me a bob? I'll give it you back to-morrow as soon as
I've unpacked."

It did strike Fisher minor as queer that any one should pack shillings
up i