kicking up a row if there's no one to pull you
up. I'm getting sick of rows."

Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks. He could not
be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.

"Fact is," continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one
foot on the corner of the fender, "I've half a notion to go in for being
steady this term, old man, just for a change."

As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under
him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.

Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, "Rather a rum
start, isn't it?"

"Well," said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by
the treacherous fender, "I don't see what else there is to do. Any chap
can fool about. I'm fagged of fooling about; ain't you?"

"I don't know," said Cusack, doubtfully. "It's not such a lark as it
used to be, certainly."

"What do you say to going it steady this term?" asked Pilbury.

"Depends on what you mean by `steady.' If you mean never going out of
bounds or using cribs, I'm not game."

"Oh, I don't mean that, you know," said Pilbury. "What I mean is,
shutting up rows, and that sort of thing."

"What can a fellow do?" asked Cusack, dubiously.

"Oh, lots to do, you know," said Pilbury--"dominoes, you know, or
spellicans. I've got a box at home."

"Jolly slow always playing dominoes," said Cusack, "or spellicans."

"Well, then, there's--"

"Hold hard!" broke in Cusack, struck with a sudden idea. "What's the
name of the thing old Philpot's always at?"

"What, chemistry? Jolly good idea, old man! Let's go in for that."

"Not a bad lark," said Cusack--"lots of explosions and things. Philpot
told me he could make Pharaoh's serpents, and smells like rotten eggs.
We'll get him to coach us, eh, Pil?"

"I'm game," said Pil, no less delighted than his friend at this happy
thought.

And, full of their new idea of "going it steady," the two worthies
forthwith sallied out and made hue and cry for Philpot.

Unless Philpot in his leisure moments was engaged in some predatory
expedition, or happened to be serving a term of imprisonment in the
detention room, it was a pretty safe guess to look for him in the
laboratory, where as an ardent student of science he was permitted to
resort, and within certain limits practise for himself. Philpot himself
bore the office of "second under bottle-washer" in