xcited attention.

"My eye, what a shame we can't go out and see the fun!" cried Langrish.

"I hope he makes jelly of him," said Trimble. "I'm jolly glad I'm his
fag."

This brought on a crisis I had rather feared.

"You're not," said I. "Pridgin has swopped me for you."

"What!" screamed Trimble, taking a running kick at my shins.

"I didn't do it. Shut up. Trim! that's my leg you're kicking. It was
Pridgin. Go and kick him," said I.

But Trim was in no mood to listen to reason.

"I always said you were a sneak," snarled he; "now I know it. Come and
kick the beast, you fellows. It's all a low dodge. Kick him, I say."

The company showed every disposition to respond to the appeal.

"Look here," said I, "it's not my fault--but if you kick me, I'll tell
him about your precious guy, and you can look after him yourself; I
shan't. There!"

This rather fetched them. As custodian of that illicit effigy I had my
uses, and they hardly cared to dispense with me. So Trimble was ordered
not to make an ass of himself, and the discussion went back to Tempest
and his blazer.

"I tell you what," said Warminster. "I vote we hang about a bit and
cheer him when he comes in. There's no one to lag us for not going to
bed, and we may as well stay and back him up."

With which patriotic resolve we resumed our seats and occupied the
interval with auditing the accounts of the club--a painful and tedious
operation which gave rise to much dispute and recrimination,
particularly when it was discovered that on paper we were 25 shillings
to the good, whereas in the treasurer's pocket we were 6 shillings to
the bad.

The treasurer had a bad quarter of an hour of it, till it was discovered
that the auditors had accidentally forgotten to carry the total of one
column to the top of the next, an oversight which nearly brought about
the dissolution of the club, so fierce was the storm which raged over
it.

More than half an hour was spent over these proceedings, and we began to
wonder why Tempest had not come back. It was certain he must have been
stopped by somebody, or he would have been back in ten minutes. Had he
and Jarman had an encounter? Was Mr Jarman at that moment begging for
quarter? or was our man answering for his riot to the head master?

Half an hour passed, three-quarters, an hour. Then, just as we were
giving him up, hurried footsteps came across the quadrangle, and
Tempest, with pale face and disorde