Chapter 1 Mainly About Fenn
　　"When we get licked tomorrow by half-a-dozen wickets," said JimmySilver, lilting his chair until the back touched the wall, "don't sayI didn't warn you. If you fellows take down what I say from time totime in note-books, as you ought to do, you'll remember that I offeredto give anyone odds that Kay's would out us in the final. I alwayssaid that a really hot man like Fenn was more good to a side thanhalf-a-dozen ordinary men. He can do all the bowling and all thebatting. All the fielding, too, in the slips."Tea was just over at Blackburn's, and the bulk of the house had goneacross to preparation in the school buildings. The prefects, as wastheir custom, lingered on to finish the meal at their leisure. Theseafter-tea conversations were quite an institution at Blackburn's. Thelabours of the day were over, and the time for preparation for themorrow had not yet come. It would be time to be thinking of that inanother hour. Meanwhile, a little relaxation might be enjoyed.
　　Especially so as this was the last day but two of the summer term, andall necessity for working after tea had ceased with the arrival of thelast lap of the examinations.
　　Silver was head of the house, and captain of its cricket team, whichwas nearing the end of its last match, the final for the inter-housecup, and--on paper--getting decidedly the worst of it. After riding intriumph over the School House, Bedell's, and Mulholland's, Blackburn'shad met its next door neighbour, Kay's, in the final, and, to thesurprise of the great majority of the school, was showing up badly.
　　The match was affording one more example of how a team of averagemerit all through may sometimes fall before a one-man side.
　　Blackburn's had the three last men on the list of the first eleven,Silver, Kennedy, and Challis, and at least nine of its representativeshad the reputation of being able to knock up a useful twenty or thirtyat any time. Kay's, on the other hand, had one man, Fenn. After himthe tail started. But Fenn was such an exceptional all-round man that,as Silver had said, he was as good as half-a-dozen of the Blackburn'steam, equally formidable whether batting or bowling--he headed theschool averages at both. He was one of those batsmen who seem to knowexactly what sort of ball you are going to bowl before it leaves yourhand, and he could hit like another Jessop. As for his bowling, hebowled left hand--always a puzzling eccentricity to an undevelopedbatsman--and could send them down very fast or very slow, as hethought best, and it was hard to see which particular brand he wasgoing to serve up before it was actually in mid-air.
　　But it is not necessary to enlarge on his abilities. The figuresagainst his name in _Wisden_ prove a good deal. The fact that hehad steered Kay's through into the last round of the house-matchesproves still more. It was perfectly obvious to everyone that, if onlyyou could get Fenn out for under ten, Kay's total for that inningswould be nearer twenty than forty. They were an appalling side. Butthen no house bowler had as yet succeeded in getting Fenn out forunder ten. In the six innings he had played in the competition up todate, he had made four centuries, an eighty, and a seventy.
　　Kennedy, the second prefect at Blackburn's, paused in the act ofgrappling with the remnant of a pot of jam belonging to some personunknown, to reply to Silver's remarks.
　　"We aren't beaten yet," he said, in his solid way. Kennedy's chiefcharacteristics were solidity, and an infinite capacity for takingpains. Nothing seemed to tire or discourage him. He kept pegging awaytill he arrived. The ordinary person, for instance, would haveconsidered the jam-pot, on which he was then engaged, an emptyjam-pot. Kennedy saw that there was still a strawberry (or it may havebeen a section of a strawberry) at the extreme end, and he meant tohave that coy vegetable if he had to squeeze the pot to get at it. Totake another instance, all the afternoon of the previous day he hadbowled patiently at Fenn while the latter lifted every other ball intospace. He had been taken off three times, and at every fresh attack hehad plodded on doggedly, until at last, as he had expected, thebatsman had misjudged a straight one, and he had bowled him all overhis wicket. Kennedy generally managed to get there sooner or later.
　　"It's no good chucking the game up simply because we're in a tightplace," he said, bringing the spoon to the surface at last with thesection of strawberry adhering to the end of it. "That sort of thing'sawfully feeble.""He calls me feeble!" shouted Jimmy Silver. "By James, I've put a manto sleep for less."It was one of his amusements to express himself from time to time in amelodramatic fashion, sometimes accompanying his words with suitablegestures. It was on one of these occasions--when he had assumed at amoment's notice the _role_ of the "Baffled Despot", in anargument with Kennedy in his study on the subject of the housefootball team--that he broke what Mr Blackburn considered a valuabledoor with a poker. Since then he had moderated his transports.
　　"They've got to make seventy-nine," said Kennedy.
　　Challis, the other first eleven man, was reading a green scoring-book.
　　"I don't think Kay's ought to have the face to stick the cup up intheir dining-room," he said, "considering the little they've done towin it. If they _do_ win it, that is. Still, as they made twohundred first innings, they ought to be able to knock offseventy-nine. But I was saying that the pot ought to go to Fenn. Lotthe rest of the team had to do with it. Blackburn's, first innings,hundred and fifty-one; Fenn, eight for forty-nine. Kay's, two hundredand one; Fenn, a hundred and sixty-four not out. Second innings,Blackburn's hundred and twenty-eight; Fenn ten for eighty. Bit thick,isn't it? I suppose that's what you'd call a one-man team."Williams, one of the other prefects, who had just sat down at thepiano for the purpose of playing his one tune--a cake-walk, of which,through constant practice, he had mastered the rudiments--spoke overhis shoulder to Silver.
　　"I tell you what, Jimmy," he said, "you've probably lost us the pot bygetting your people to send brother Billy to Kay's. If he hadn't keptup his wicket yesterday, Fenn wouldn't have made half as many."When his young brother had been sent to Eckleton two terms before,Jimmy Silver had strongly urged upon his father the necessity ofplacing him in some house other than Blackburn's. He felt that a headof a house, even of so orderly and perfect a house as Blackburn's, hasenough worries without being saddled with a small brother. And on theprevious afternoon young Billy Silver, going in eighth wicket forKay's, had put a solid bat in front of everything for the space of onehour, in the course of which he made ten runs and Fenn sixty. Byscoring odd numbers off the last ball of each over, Fenn had managedto secure the majority of the bowling in the most masterly way.
　　"These things will happen," said Silver, resignedly. "We Silvers, youknow, can't help making runs. Come on, Williams, let's have that tune,and get it over."Williams obliged. It was a classic piece called "The Coon BandContest", remarkable partly for a taking melody, partly for the vastpossibilities of noise which it afforded. Williams made up for hisfailure to do justice to the former by a keen appreciation of thelatter. He played the piece through again, in order to correct themistakes he had made at his first rendering of it. Then he played itfor the third time to correct a new batch of errors.
　　"I should like to hear Fenn play that," said Challis. "You're awfullygood, you know, Williams, but he might do it better still.""Get him to play it as an encore at the concert," said Williams,starting for the fourth time.
　　The talented Fenn was also a musician,--not a genius at the piano, ashe was at cricket, but a sufficiently sound performer for his age,considering that he had not made a special study of it. He was to playat the school concert on the following day.
　　"I believe Fenn has an awful time at Kay's," said Jimmy Silver. "Itmust be a fair sort of hole, judging from the specimens you seecrawling about in Kay caps. I wish I'd known my people were sendingyoung Billy there. I'd have warned them. I only told them not to slinghim in here. I had no idea they'd have picked Kay's.""Fenn was telling me the other day," said Kennedy, "that being inKay's had spoiled his whole time at the school. He always wanted tocome to Blackburn's, only there wasn't room that particular term. Badluck, wasn't it? I don't think he found it so bad before he becamehead of the house. He didn't come into contact with Kay so much. Butnow he finds that he can't do a thing without Kay buzzing round andinterfering.""I wonder," said Jimmy Silver, thoughtfully, "if that's why he bowlsso fast. To work it off, you know."In the course of a beautiful innings of fifty-three that afternoon,the captain of Blackburn's had received two of Fenn's speediest on thesame spot just above the pad in rapid succession, and he now hobbledpainfully when he moved about.
　　The conversation that evening had dealt so largely with Fenn--thewhole school, indeed, was talking of nothing but his great attempt towin the cricket cup single-handed--that Kennedy, going out into theroad for a breather before the rest of the boarders returned frompreparation, made his way to Kay's to see if Fenn was imitating hisexample, and taking the air too.
　　He found him at Kay's gate, and they strolled towards the schoolbuildings together. Fenn was unusually silent.
　　"Well?" said Kennedy, after a minute had passed without a remark.
　　"Well, what?""What's up?"Fenn laughed what novelists are fond of calling a mirthless laugh.
　　"Oh, I don't know," he said; "I'm sick of this place."Kennedy inspected his friend's face anxiously by the light of the lampover the school gate. There was no mistake about it. Fenn certainlydid look bad. His face always looked lean and craggy, but tonightthere was a difference. He looked used up.
　　"Fagged?" asked Kennedy.
　　"No. Sick.""What about?""Everything. I wish you could come into Kay's for a bit just to seewhat it's like. Then you'd understand. At present I don't supposeyou've an idea of it. I'd like to write a book on 'Kay Day by Day'.
　　I'd have plenty to put in it.""What's he been doing?""Oh, nothing out of the ordinary run. It's the fact that he's alwaysat it that does me. You get a houseful of--well, you know the sort ofchap the average Kayite is. They'd keep me busy even if I were alloweda free hand. But I'm not. Whenever I try and keep order and stopthings a bit, out springs the man Kay from nowhere, and takes the jobout of my hands, makes a ghastly mess of everything, and retirespurring. Once in every three times, or thereabouts, he slangs me infront of the kids for not keeping order. I'm glad this is the end ofthe term. I couldn't stand it much longer. Hullo, here come the chapsfrom prep. We'd better be getting back."
Chapter 2 An Evening At Kay's
They turned, and began to walk towards the houses. Kennedy feltmiserable. He never allowed himself to be put out, to any greatextent, by his own worries, which, indeed, had not been very numerousup to the present, but the misfortunes of his friends always troubledhim exceedingly. When anything happened to him personally, he foundthe discomfort of being in a tight place largely counterbalanced bythe excitement of trying to find a way out. But the impossibility ofhelping Fenn in any way depressed him.
　　"It must be awful," he said, breaking the silence.
　　"It is," said Fenn, briefly.
　　"But haven't the house-matches made any difference? Blackburn's alwaysfrightfully bucked when the house does anything. You can do anythingyou like with him if you lift a cup. I should have thought Kay wouldhave been all right when he saw you knocking up centuries, and gettinginto the final, and all that sort of thing."Fenn laughed.
　　"Kay!" he said. "My dear man, he doesn't _know_. I don't supposehe's got the remotest idea that we are in the final at all, or, if hehas, he doesn't understand what being in the final means.""But surely he'll be glad if you lick us tomorrow?" asked Kennedy.
　　Such indifference on the part of a house-master respecting thefortunes of his house seemed to him, having before him the brightexample of Mr Blackburn almost incredible.
　　"I don't suppose so," said Fenn. "Or, if he is, I'll bet he doesn'tshow it. He's not like Blackburn. I wish he was. Here he comes, soperhaps we'd better talk about something else."The vanguard of the boys returning from preparation had passed them,and they were now standing at the gate of the house. As Fenn spoke, alittle, restless-looking man in cap and gown came up. His clean-shavenface wore an expression of extreme alertness--the sort of look a ferretwears as he slips in at the mouth of a rabbit-hole. A doctor, calledupon to sum up Mr Kay at a glance, would probably have said that hesuffered from nerves, which would have been a perfectly correctdiagnosis, though none of the members of his house put his manners andcustoms down to that cause. They considered that the methods hepursued in the management of the house were the outcome of a naturallymalignant disposition. This was, however, not the case. There is noreason to suppose that Mr Kay did not mean well. But there is no doubtthat he was extremely fussy. And fussiness--with the possibleexceptions of homicidal mania and a taste for arson--is quite theworst characteristic it is possible for a house-master to possess.
　　He caught sight of Fenn and Kennedy at the gate, and stopped in hisstride.
　　"What are you doing here, Fenn?" he asked, with an abruptness whichbrought a flush to the latter's face. "Why are you outside the house?"Kennedy began to understand why it was that his friend felt sostrongly on the subject of his house-master. If this was the sort ofthing that happened every day, no wonder that there was dissension inthe house of Kay. He tried to imagine Blackburn speaking in that wayto Jimmy Silver or himself, but his imagination was unequal to thetask. Between Mr Blackburn and his prefects there existed a perfectunderstanding. He relied on them to see that order was kept, and theyacted accordingly. Fenn, by the exercise of considerable self-control,had always been scrupulously polite to Mr Kay.
　　"I came out to get some fresh air before lock-up, sir," he replied.
　　"Well, go in. Go in at once. I cannot allow you to be outside thehouse at this hour. Go indoors directly."Kennedy expected a scene, but Fenn took it quite quietly.
　　"Good night, Kennedy," he said.
　　"So long," said Kennedy.
　　Fenn caught his eye, and smiled painfully. Then he turned and wentinto the house.
　　Mr Kay's zeal for reform was apparently still unsatisfied. He directedhis batteries towards Kennedy.
　　"Go to your house at once, Kennedy. You have no business out here atthis time."This, thought Kennedy, was getting a bit too warm. Mr Kay might do ashe pleased with his own house, but he was hanged if he was going totrample on _him_.
　　"Mr Blackburn is my house-master, sir," he said with great respect.
　　Mr Kay stared.
　　"My house-master," continued Kennedy with gusto, slightly emphasisingthe first word, "knows that I always go out just before lock-up, andhe has no objection."And, to emphasise this point, he walked towards the school buildingsagain. For a moment it seemed as if Mr Kay intended to call him back,but he thought better of it. Mr Blackburn, in normal circumstances apacific man, had one touchy point--his house. He resented anyinterference with its management, and was in the habit of saying so.
　　Mr Kay remembered one painful scene in the Masters' Common Room, whenhe had ventured to let fall a few well-meant hints as to how a houseshould be ruled. Really, he had thought Blackburn would have choked.
　　Better, perhaps, to leave him to look after his own affairs.
　　So Mr Kay followed Fenn indoors, and Kennedy, having watched himvanish, made his way to Blackburn's.
　　Quietly as Fenn had taken the incident at the gate, it neverthelessrankled. He read prayers that night in a distinctly unprayerful mood.
　　It seemed to him that it would be lucky if he could get through to theend of the term before Mr Kay applied that last straw which does notbreak the backs of camels only. Eight weeks' holiday, with plenty ofcricket, would brace him up for another term. And he had been invitedto play for the county against Middlesex four days after the holidaysbegan. That should have been a soothing thought. But it really seemedto make matters worse. It was hard that a man who on Monday would bebowling against Warner and Beldam, or standing up to Trott and Hearne,should on the preceding Tuesday be sent indoors like a naughty childby a man who stood five-feet-one in his boots, and was devoid of anysort of merit whatever.
　　It seemed to him that it would help him to sleep peacefully that nightif he worked off a little of his just indignation upon somebody. Therewas a noise going on in the fags' room. There always was at Kay's. Itwas not a particularly noisy noise--considering; but it had better bestopped. Badly as Kay had treated him, he remembered that he was headof the house, and as such it behoved him to keep order in the house.
　　He went downstairs, and, on arriving on the scene of action, foundthat the fags were engaged upon spirited festivities, partly in honourof the near approach of the summer holidays, partly because--miraclesbarred--the house was going on the morrow to lift the cricket-cup.
　　There were a good many books flying about, and not a few slippers.
　　There was a confused mass rolling in combat on the floor, and thetable was occupied by a scarlet-faced individual, who passed the timeby kicking violently at certain hands, which were endeavouring to draghim from his post, and shrieking frenzied abuse at the owners of thesaid hands. It was an animated scene, and to a deaf man might havebeen most enjoyable.
　　Fenn's appearance was the signal for a temporary suspension ofhostilities.
　　"What the dickens is all this row about?" he inquired.
　　No one seemed ready at the moment with a concise explanation. Therewas an awkward silence. One or two of the weaker spirits even went sofar as to sit down and begin to read. All would have been well but fora bright idea which struck some undiscovered youth at the back of theroom.
　　"Three cheers for Fenn!" observed this genial spirit, in no uncertainvoice.
　　The idea caught on. It was just what was wanted to give a finish tothe evening's festivities. Fenn had done well by the house. He hadscored four centuries and an eighty, and was going to knock off theruns against Blackburn's tomorrow off his own bat. Also, he had takeneighteen wickets in the final house-match. Obviously Fenn was a persondeserving of all encouragement. It would be a pity to let him thinkthat his effort had passed unnoticed by the fags' room. Happy thought!
　　Three cheers and one more, and then "He's a jolly good fellow", towind up with.
　　It was while those familiar words, "It's a way we have in the publicscho-o-o-o-l-s", were echoing through the room in various keys, that asmall and energetic form brushed past Fenn as he stood in the doorway,vainly trying to stop the fags' choral efforts.
　　It was Mr Kay.
　　The singing ceased gradually, very gradually. It was some time beforeMr Kay could make himself heard. But after a couple of minutes therewas a lull, and the house-master's address began to be audible.
　　"...unendurable noise. What is the meaning of it? I will not have it.
　　Do you hear? It is disgraceful. Every boy in this room will write metwo hundred lines by tomorrow evening. It is abominable, Fenn." Hewheeled round towards the head of the house. "Fenn, I am surprised atyou standing here and allowing such a disgraceful disturbance to goon. Really, if you cannot keep order better--It is disgraceful,disgraceful."Mr Kay shot out of the room. Fenn followed in his wake, and theprocession made its way to the house-masters' study. It had been anear thing, but the last straw had arrived before the holidays.
　　Mr Kay wheeled round as he reached his study door.
　　"Well, Fenn?"Fenn said nothing.
　　"Have you anything you wish to say, Fenn?""I thought you might have something to say to me, sir.""I do not understand you, Fenn.""I thought you might wish to apologise for slanging me in front of thefags."It is wonderful what a difference the last straw will make in one'sdemeanour to a person.
　　"Apologise! I think you forget whom it is you are speaking to."When a master makes this well-worn remark, the wise youth realisesthat the time has come to close the conversation. All Fenn's prudence,however, had gone to the four winds.
　　"If you wanted to tell me I was not fit to be head of the house, youneedn't have done it before a roomful of fags. How do you think I cankeep order in the house if you do that sort of thing?"Mr Kay overcame his impulse to end the interview abruptly in order toput in a thrust.
　　"You do not keep order in the house, Fenn," he said, acidly.
　　"I do when I am not interfered with.""You will be good enough to say 'sir' when you speak to me, Fenn,"said Mr Kay, thereby scoring another point. In the stress of themoment, Fenn had not noticed the omission.
　　He was silenced. And before he could recover himself, Mr Kay was inhis study, and there was a closed, forbidding door between them.
　　And as he stared at it, it began slowly to dawn upon Fenn that he hadnot shown up to advantage in the recent interview. In a word, he hadmade a fool of himself.
Chapter 3 The Final House-Match
Blackburn's took the field at three punctually on the followingafternoon, to play out the last act of the final house-match. Theywere not without some small hope of victory, for curious things happenat cricket, especially in the fourth innings of a match. And runs areadmitted to be easier saved than made. Yet seventy-nine seemed anabsurdly small score to try and dismiss a team for, and in view of thefact that that team contained a batsman like Fenn, it seemed smallerstill. But Jimmy Silver, resolutely as he had declared victoryimpossible to his intimate friends, was not the man to depress histeam by letting it become generally known that he consideredBlackburn's chances small.
　　"You must work like niggers in the field," he said; "don't give away arun. Seventy-nine isn't much to make, but if we get Fenn out for afew, they won't come near it."He did not add that in his opinion Fenn would take very good care thathe did not get out for a few. It was far more likely that he wouldmake that seventy-nine off his own bat in a dozen overs.
　　"You'd better begin, Kennedy," he continued, "from the top end. Placeyour men where you want 'em. I should have an extra man in the deep,if I were you. That's where Fenn kept putting them last innings. Andyou'll want a short leg, only for goodness sake keep them off theleg-side if you can. It's a safe four to Fenn every time if you don't.
　　Look out, you chaps. Man in."Kay's first pair were coming down the pavilion steps.
　　Challis, goingto his place at short slip, called Silver's attention to a remarkablefact.
　　"Hullo," he said, "why isn't Fenn coming in first?""What! By Jove, nor he is. That's queer. All the better for us. Youmight get a bit finer, Challis, in case they snick 'em."Wayburn, who had accompanied Fenn to the wicket at the beginning ofKay's first innings, had now for his partner one Walton, a large,unpleasant-looking youth, said to be a bit of a bruiser, and known tobe a black sheep. He was one of those who made life at Kay's so closean imitation of an Inferno. His cricket was of a rustic order. He hithard and high. When allowed to do so, he hit often. But, as a rule, heleft early, a prey to the slips or deep fields. Today was no exceptionto that rule.
　　Kennedy's first ball was straight and medium-paced. It was a littletoo short, however, and Walton, letting go at it with a semi-circularsweep like the drive of a golfer, sent it soaring over mid-on's headand over the boundary. Cheers from the pavilion.
　　Kennedy bowled his second ball with the same purposeful air, andWalton swept at it as before. There was a click, and Jimmy Silver, whowas keeping wicket, took the ball comfortably on a level with hischin.
　　"How's that?"The umpire's hand went up, and Walton went out--reluctantly, murmuringlegends of how he had not gone within a yard of the thing.
　　It was only when the next batsman who emerged from the pavilion turnedout to be his young brother and not Fenn, that Silver began to seethat something was wrong. It was conceivable that Fenn might havechosen to go in first wicket down instead of opening the batting, butnot that he should go in second wicket. If Kay's were to win it wasessential that he should begin to bat as soon as possible. Otherwisethere might be no time for him to knock off the runs. However good abatsman is, he can do little if no one can stay with him.
　　There was no time to question the newcomer. He must control hiscuriosity until the fall of the next wicket.
　　"Man in," he said.
　　Billy Silver was in many ways a miniature edition of his brother, andhe carried the resemblance into his batting. The head of Blackburn'swas stylish, and took no risks. His brother had not yet developed astyle, but he was very settled in his mind on the subject of risks.
　　There was no tempting him with half-volleys and long-hops. His mottowas defence, not defiance. He placed a straight bat in the path ofevery ball, and seemed to consider his duty done if he stopped it.
　　The remainder of the over was, therefore, quiet. Billy playedKennedy's fastest like a book, and left the more tempting ones alone.
　　Challis's first over realised a single, Wayburn snicking him to leg.
　　The first ball of Kennedy's second over saw him caught at the wicket,as Walton had been.
　　"Every _time_ a coconut," said Jimmy Silver complacently, as hewalked to the other end. "We're a powerful combination, Kennedy.
　　Where's Fenn? Does anybody know? Why doesn't he come in?"Billy Silver, seated on the grass by the side of the crease, fasteningthe top strap of one of his pads, gave tongue with the eagerness ofthe well-informed man.
　　"What, don't you know?" he said. "Why, there's been an awful row. Fennwon't be able to play till four o'clock. I believe he and Kay had arow last night, and he cheeked Kay, and the old man's given him a sortof extra. I saw him going over to the School House, and I heard himtell Wayburn that he wouldn't be able to play till four."The effect produced by this communication would be most fittinglyexpressed by the word "sensation" in brackets. It came as a completesurprise to everyone. It seemed to knock the bottom out of the wholematch. Without Fenn the thing would be a farce. Kay's would have nochance.
　　"What a worm that man is," said Kennedy. "Do you know, I had a sort ofidea Fenn wouldn't last out much longer. Kay's been ragging him allthe term. I went round to see him last night, and Kay behaved like abounder then. I expect Fenn had it out with him when they got indoors.
　　What a beastly shame, though.""Beastly," agreed Jimmy Silver. "Still, it can't be helped. The sinsof the house-master are visited on the house. I'm afraid it will beour painful duty to wipe the floor with Kay's this day. Speaking at aventure, I should say that we have got them where the hair's short.
　　Yea. Even on toast, if I may be allowed to use the expression. Who isthis coming forth now? Curtis, or me old eyes deceive me. And is notCurtis's record score three, marred by ten chances? Indeed yes. Afastish yorker should settle Curtis's young hash. Try one."Kennedy followed the recipe. A ball later the middle and leg stumpswere lying in picturesque attitudes some yards behind the crease, andCurtis was beginning that "sad, unending walk to the pavilion",thinking, with the poet,"Thou wast not made to play, infernal ball!"Blackburn's non-combatants, dotted round the boundary, shrieked theirapplause. Three wickets had fallen for five runs, and life was worthliving. Kay's were silent and gloomy.
　　Billy Silver continued to occupy one end in an immovable manner, butat the other there was no monotony. Man after man came in, padded andgloved, and looking capable of mighty things. They took guard, pattedthe ground lustily, as if to make it plain that they were going tostand no nonsense, settled their caps over their eyes, and prepared toreceive the ball. When it came it usually took a stump or two with itbefore it stopped. It was a procession such as the school grounds hadnot often seen. As the tenth man walked from the pavilion, foursounded from the clock over the Great Hall, and five minutes later theweary eyes of the supporters of Kay's were refreshed by the sight ofFenn making his way to the arena from the direction of the SchoolHouse.
　　Just as he arrived on the scene, Billy Silver's defence broke down.
　　One of Challis's slows, which he had left alone with the idea that itwas going to break away to the off, came in quickly instead, andremoved a bail. Billy Silver had only made eight; but, as the fullscore, including one bye, was only eighteen, this was above theaverage, and deserved the applause it received.
　　Fenn came in in the unusual position of eleventh man, with anexpression on his face that seemed to suggest that he meant business.
　　He was curiously garbed. Owing to the shortness of the intervalallowed him for changing, he had only managed to extend his cricketcostume as far as white buckskin boots. He wore no pads or gloves. Buteven in the face of these sartorial deficiencies, he looked like acricketer. The field spread out respectfully, and Jimmy Silver moved aman from the slips into the country.
　　There were three more balls of Challis's over, for Billy Silver'scollapse had occurred at the third delivery. Fenn mistimed the first.
　　Two hours' writing indoors does not improve the eye. The ball missedthe leg stump by an inch.
　　About the fifth ball he made no mistake. He got the full face of thebat to it, and it hummed past coverpoint to the boundary. The last ofthe over he put to leg for three.
　　A remarkable last-wicket partnership now took place, remarkable not somuch for tall scoring as for the fact that one of the partners did notreceive a single ball from beginning to end of it, with the exceptionof the one that bowled him. Fenn seemed to be able to do what hepleased with the bowling. Kennedy he played with a shade more respectthan the others, but he never failed to score a three or a single offthe last ball of each of his overs. The figures on the telegraph-boardrose from twenty to thirty, from thirty to forty, from forty to fifty.
　　Williams went on at the lower end instead of Challis, and Fenn madetwelve off his first over. The pavilion was filled with howlingenthusiasts, who cheered every hit in a frenzy.
　　Jimmy Silver began to look worried. He held a hasty consultation withKennedy. The telegraph-board now showed the figures 60--9--8.
　　"This won't do," said Silver. "It would be too foul to get lickedafter having nine of them out for eighteen. Can't you manage to keepFenn from scoring odd figures off the last ball of your over? If onlythat kid at the other end would get some of the bowling, we should doit.""I'll try," said Kennedy, and walked back to begin his over.
　　Fenn reached his fifty off the third ball. Seventy went up on theboard. Ten more and Kay's would have the cup. The fourth ball was toogood to hit. Fenn let it pass. The fifth he drove to the on. It was abig hit, but there was a fieldsman in the neighbourhood. Still, it wasan easy two. But to Kennedy's surprise Fenn sent his partner backafter they had run a single. Even the umpire was surprised. Fenn'spolicy was so obvious that it was strange to see him thus deliberatelyallow his partner to take a ball.
　　"That's not over, you know, Fenn," said the umpire--Lang, of theSchool House, a member of the first eleven.
　　Fenn looked annoyed. He had miscounted the balls, and now his partner,who had no pretensions to be considered a bat, would have to faceKennedy.
　　That mistake lost Kay's the match.
　　Impossible as he had found it to defeat Fenn, Kennedy had never losthis head or his length. He was bowling fully as well as he had done atthe beginning of the innings.
　　The last ball of the over beat the batsman all the way. He scoopedblindly forward, missed it by a foot, and the next moment the offstump lay flat. Blackburn's had won by seven runs.
Chapter 4 Harmony And Discord
What might be described as a mixed reception awaited the players asthey left the field. The pavilion and the parts about the pavilion railswere always packed on the last day of a final house-match, and even innormal circumstances there was apt to be a little sparring between thejuniors of the two houses which had been playing for the cup. In thepresent case, therefore, it was not surprising that Kay's fags took thedefeat badly. The thought that Fenn's presence at the beginning of theinnings, instead of at the end, would have made all the differencebetween a loss and a victory, maddened them. The crowd that seethedin front of the pavilion was a turbulent one.
　　For a time the operation of chairing Fenn up the steps occupied theactive minds of the Kayites. When he had disappeared into the firsteleven room, they turned their attention in other directions. Causticand uncomplimentary remarks began to fly to and fro between therepresentatives of Kay's and Blackburn's. It is not known who actuallyadministered the first blow. But, when Fenn came out of the pavilionwith Kennedy and Silver, he found a stirring battle in progress. Themembers of the other houses who had come to look on at the match stoodin knots, and gazed with approval at the efforts of Kay's andBlackburn's juniors to wipe each other off the face of the earth. Theair was full of shrill battle-cries, varied now and then by a smack ora thud, as some young but strenuous fist found a billet. The fortuneof war seemed to be distributed equally so far, and the combatantswere just warming to their work.
　　"Look here," said Kennedy, "we ought to stop this.""What's the good," said Fenn, without interest. "It pleases them, anddoesn't hurt anybody else.""All the same," observed Jimmy Silver, moving towards the nearestgroup of combatants, "free fights aren't quite the thing, somehow.
　　For, children, you should never let your angry passions rise; yourlittle hands were never made to tear each other's eyes. Dr Watts'
　　_Advice to Young Pugilists_. Drop it, you little beasts."He separated two heated youths who were just beginning a fourth round.
　　The rest of the warriors, seeing Silver and the others, called atruce, and Silver, having read a sort of Riot Act, moved on. Thejuniors of the beaten house, deciding that it would be better not toresume hostilities, consoled themselves by giving three groans for MrKay.
　　"What happened after I left you last night, Fenn?" asked Kennedy.
　　"Oh, I had one of my usual rows with Kay, only rather worse thanusual. I said one or two things he didn't like, and today the old mansent for me and told me to come to his room from two till four. Kayhad run me in for being 'grossly rude'. Listen to those kids. What arow they're making!""It's a beastly shame," said Kennedy despondently.
　　At the school shop Morrell, of Mulholland's, met them. He had beenspending the afternoon with a rug and a novel on the hills at the backof the school, and he wanted to know how the final house-match hadgone. Blackburn's had beaten Mulholland's in one of the early rounds.
　　Kennedy explained what had happened.
　　"We should have lost if Fenn had turned up earlier," he said. "He hada row with Kay, and Kay gave him a sort of extra between two andfour."Fenn, busily occupied with an ice, added no comment of his own to thisplain tale.
　　"Rough luck," said Morrell. "What's all that row out in the field?""That's Kay's kids giving three groans for Kay," explained Silver. "Atleast, they started with the idea of giving three groans. They've gotup to about three hundred by this time. It seems to have fascinatedthem. They won't leave off. There's no school rule against groaning inthe grounds, and they mean to groan till the end of the term.
　　Personally, I like the sound. But then, I'm fond of music."Morrell's face beamed with sudden pleasure. "I knew there wassomething I wanted to tell you," he said, "only I couldn't rememberwhat. Your saying you're fond of music reminds me. Mulholland'scrocked himself, and won't be able to turn out for the concert.""What!" cried Kennedy. "How did it happen? What's he done?"Mr Mulholland was the master who looked after the music of the school,a fine cricketer and keen sportsman. Had nothing gone wrong, he wouldhave conducted at the concert that night.
　　"I heard it from the matron at our place," said Morrell. "She's fullof it. Mulholland was batting at the middle net, and somebody else--Iforget who--was at the one next to it on the right. The bowler sentdown a long-hop to leg, and this Johnny had a smack at it, and sent itslap through the net, and it got Mulholland on the side of the head.
　　He was stunned for a bit, but he's getting all right again now. But hewon't be able to conduct tonight. Rather bad luck on the man,especially as he's so keen on the concert.""Who's going to sub for him?" asked Silver. "Perhaps they'll scratchthe show," suggested Kennedy.
　　"Oh, no," said Morrell, "it's all right. Kay is going to conduct. He'soften done it at choir practices when Mulholland couldn't turn up."Fenn put down his empty saucer with an emphatic crack on the counter.
　　"If Kay's going to run the show, I'm hanged if I turn up," he said.
　　"My dear chap, you can't get out of it now," said Kennedy anxiously.
　　He did not want to see Fenn plunging into any more strife with theauthorities this term.
　　"Think of the crowned heads who are coming to hear you," pleaded JimmySilver. "Think of the nobility and gentry. Think of me. You mustplay.""Ah, there you are, Fenn."Mr Kay had bustled in in his energetic way.
　　Fenn said nothing. He _was_ there. It was idle to deny it.
　　"I thought I should find you here. Yes, I wanted to see you about theconcert tonight. Mr Mulholland has met with an unfortunate accident,and I am looking after the entertainment in his place. Come with meand play over your piece. I should like to see that you are perfect init. Dear me, dear me, what a noise those boys are making. Why_are_ they behaving in that extraordinary way, I wonder!"Kay's juniors had left the pavilion, and were trooping back to theirhouse. At the present moment they were passing the school shop, andtheir tuneful voices floated in through the open window.
　　"This is very unusual. Why, they seem to be boys in my house. They aregroaning.""I think they are a little upset at the result of the match, sir,"said Jimmy Silver suavely. "Fenn did not arrive, for some reason, tillthe end of the innings, so Mr Blackburn's won. The wicket was good,but a little fiery.""Thank you, Silver," replied Mr Kay with asperity. "When I requireexplanations I will ask for them."He darted out of the shop, and a moment later they heard him pouringout a flood of recriminations on the groaning fags.
　　"There was _once_ a man who snubbed me," said Jimmy Silver. "Theyburied him at Brookwood. Well, what are you going to do, Fenn? Goingto play tonight? Harkee, boy. Say but the word, and I will beard thistyrant to his face."Fenn rose.
　　"Yes," he said briefly, "I shall play. You'd better turn up. I thinkyou'll enjoy it."Silver said that no human power should keep him away.
　　* * * * *The School concert was always one of the events of the summer term.
　　There was a concert at the end of the winter term, too, but it was notso important. To a great many of those present the summer concertmarked, as it were, the last flutter of their school life. On themorrow they would be Old Boys, and it behoved them to extract as muchenjoyment from the function as they could. Under Mr Mullholland's rulethe concert had become a very flourishing institution. He aimed at ahigh standard, and reached it. There was more than a touch of theaustere about the music. A glance at the programme was enough to showthe lover of airs of the trashy, clashy order that this was no placefor him. Most of the items were serious. When it was thought necessaryto introduce a lighter touch, some staidly rollicking number wasinserted, some song that was saved--in spite of a catchy tune--by ahalo of antiquity. Anything modern was taboo, unless it were the workof Gotsuchakoff, Thingummyowsky, or some other eminent foreigner.
　　Foreign origin made it just possible.
　　The school prefects lurked during the performance at the doors and atthe foot of the broad stone steps that led to the Great Hall. It wastheir duty to supply visitors with programmes.
　　Jimmy Silver had foregathered with Kennedy, Challis, and Williams atthe junior door. The hall was full now, and their labours consequentlyat an end.
　　"Pretty good 'gate'," said Silver, looking in through the open door.
　　"It must be warm up in the gallery."Across the further end of the hall a dais had been erected. On thisthe bulk of the school sat, leaving the body of the hall to thecrowned heads, nobility, and gentry to whom Silver had referred in hisconversation with Fenn.
　　"It always is warm in the gallery," said Challis. "I lost about twostone there every concert when I was a kid. We simply used to sit andmelt.""And I tell you what," broke in Silver, "it's going to get warmerbefore the end of the show. Do you notice that all Kay's house aresitting in a lump at the back. I bet they're simply spoiling for arow. Especially now Kay's running the concert. There's going to be ahot time in the old town tonight--you see if there isn't. Hark at'em."The choir had just come to the end of a little thing of Handel's.
　　There was no reason to suppose that the gallery appreciated Handel.
　　Nevertheless, they were making a deafening noise. Clouds of dust rosefrom the rhythmical stamping of many feet. The noise was loudest andthe dust thickest by the big window, beneath which sat the men fromKay's. Things were warming up.
　　The gallery, with one last stamp which nearly caused the dais tocollapse, quieted down. The masters in the audience looked serious.
　　One or two of the visitors glanced over their shoulders with a smile.
　　How excited the dear boys were at the prospect of holidays! Youngblood! Young blood! Boys _would_ be boys.
　　The concert continued. Half-way through the programme there was a tenminutes' interval. Fenn's pianoforte solo was the second item of thesecond half.
　　He mounted the platform amidst howls of delight from the gallery.
　　Applause at the Eckleton concerts was granted more for services in theplaying-fields than merit as a musician. Kubelik or Paderewski wouldhave been welcomed with a few polite handclaps. A man in the eleven orfifteen was certain of two minutes' unceasing cheers.
　　"Evidently one of their heroes, my dear," said Paterfamilias toMaterfamilias. "I suppose he has won a scholarship at the University."Paterfamilias' mind was accustomed to run somewhat upon scholarshipsat the University. What the school wanted was a batting average offorty odd or a bowling analysis in single figures.
　　Fenn played the "Moonlight Sonata". A trained musical critic wouldprobably have found much to cavil at in his rendering of the piece,but it was undoubtedly good for a public school player. Of course hewas encored. The gallery would have encored him if he had played withone finger, three mistakes to every bar.
　　"I told Fenn," said Jimmy Silver, "if he got an encore, that he oughtto play the--My aunt! _He is!_"Three runs and half-a-dozen crashes, and there was no further room fordoubt. Fenn was playing the "Coon Band Contest".
　　"He's gone mad," gasped Kennedy.
　　Whether he had or not, it is certain that the gallery had. All theevening they had been stewing in an atmosphere like that of the innerroom of a Turkish bath, and they were ready for anything. It neededbut a trifle to set them off. The lilt of that unspeakable Yankeemelody supplied that trifle. Kay's malcontents, huddled in their seatsby the window, were the first to break out. Feet began to stamp intime to the music--softly at first, then more loudly. The wooden daisgave out the sound like a drum.
　　Other rioters joined in from the right. The noise spread through thegallery as a fire spreads through gorse. Soon three hundred pairs ofwell-shod feet were rising and falling. Somebody began to whistle.
　　Everybody whistled. Mr Kay was on his feet, gesticulating wildly. Hiswords were lost in the uproar.
　　For five minutes the din prevailed. Then, with a final crash, Fennfinished. He got up from the music-stool, bowed, and walked back tohis place by the senior door. The musical efforts of the gallerychanged to a storm of cheering and clapping.
　　The choir rose to begin the next piece.
　　Still the noise continued.
　　People began to leave the Hall--in ones and twos first, then in asteady stream which blocked the doorways. It was plain to the dullestintelligence that if there was going to be any more concert, it wouldhave to be performed in dumb show. Mr Kay flung down his baton.
　　The visitors had left by now, and the gallery was beginning to followtheir example, howling as it went.
　　"Well," said Jimmy Silver cheerfully, as he went with Kennedy down thesteps, "I _think_ we may call that a record. By my halidom,there'll be a row about this later on."
Chapter 5 Camp
With the best intentions in the world, however, a headmaster cannotmake a row about a thing unless he is given a reasonable amount oftime to make it in. The concert being on the last evening of term,there was only a single morning before the summer holidays, and thatmorning was occupied with the prize-giving. The school assembled atten o'clock with a shadowy hope that this prize-day would be moreexciting than the general run of prize-days, but they weredisappointed. The function passed off without sensation. Theheadmaster did not denounce the school in an impassioned speech fromthe dais. He did not refer to the events of the previous evening. Atthe same time, his demeanour was far from jovial. It lacked thatrollicking bonhomie which we like to see in headmasters on prize-day.
　　It was evident to the most casual observer that the affair was notclosed. The school would have to pay the bill sooner or later. Buteight weeks would elapse before the day of reckoning, which was acomforting thought.
　　The last prize was handed over to its rightful owner. The last anddullest vote of thanks had been proposed by the last and dullestmember of the board of governors. The Bishop of Rumtifoo (who had beenselected this year to distribute the prizes) had worked off hisseventy minutes' speech (inaudible, of course, as usual), and wasfeeling much easier. The term had been formally declared at an end,and those members of the school corps who were going to camp werebeginning to assemble in front of the buildings.
　　"I wonder why it always takes about three hours to get us off to thestation," said Jimmy Silver. "I've been to camp two years now, andthere's always been this rotting about in the grounds before we start.
　　Nobody's likely to turn up to inspect us for the next hour or so. Ifany gent cares to put in a modest ginger-beer at the shop, I'm withhim.""I don't see why we shouldn't," said Kennedy. He had seen Fenn go intothe shop, and wished to talk to him. He had not seen him after theconcert, and he thought it would be interesting to know how Kay hadtaken it, and what his comments had been on meeting Fenn in the housethat night.
　　Fenn had not much to say.
　　"He was rather worried," he said, grinning as if the recollection ofthe interview amused him. "But he couldn't do anything. Of course,there'll be a row next term, but it can't be helped.""If I were you," said Silver, "I should point out to them that you'd aperfect right to play what you liked for an encore. How were you toknow the gallery would go off like that? You aren't responsible forthem. Hullo, there's that bugle. Things seem to be on the move. Wemust go.""So long," said Fenn.
　　"Goodbye. Mind you come off against Middlesex."Kennedy stayed for a moment.
　　"Has the Old Man said anything to you yet?" he asked.
　　"Not yet. He'll do that next term. It'll be something to look forwardto."Kennedy hurried off to take his place in the ranks.
　　Getting to camp at the end of the summer term is always a nuisance.
　　Aldershot seems a long way from everywhere, and the trains take theirtime over the journey. Then, again, the heat always happens to beparticularly oppressive on that day. Snow may have fallen on the daybefore, but directly one sets out for camp, the thermometer goes upinto three figures. The Eckleton contingent marched into the linesdamp and very thirsty.
　　Most of the other schools were already on the spot, and looked as ifthey had been spending the last few years there. There was nothingparticular going on when the Eckleton warriors arrived, and everybodywas lounging about in khaki and shirt-sleeves, looking exasperatinglycool. The only consolation which buoyed up the spirits of Eckletonwas the reflection that in a short space of time, when theimportant-looking gentleman in uniform who had come to meet them hadsaid all he wanted to say on the subject of rules and regulations,they would be like that too. Happy thought! If the man bucked up andcut short the peroration, there would be time for a bathe in CoveReservoir. Those of the corps who had been to camp in previous yearsfelt quite limp with the joy of the thought. Why couldn't he getthrough with it, and give a fellow a chance of getting cool again?
　　The gist of the oration was apparently that the Eckleton cadets wereto consider themselves not only as soldiers--and as such subject tomilitary discipline, and the rules for the conduct of troops quarteredin the Aldershot district--but also as members of a public school. Inshort, that if they misbehaved themselves they would get cells, and ahundred lines in the same breath, as it were.
　　The corps knew all this ages ago. The man seemed to think he wastelling them something fresh. They began positively to dislike himafter a while.
　　He finished at last. Eckleton marched off wearily, but in style, toits lines.
　　"Dis-miss!"They did.
　　"And about time, too," said Jimmy Silver. "I wish they would tie thatman up, or something. He's one of the worst bores I know. He may befull of bright conversation in private life, but in public he willtalk about his beastly military regulations. You can't stop him. It'sa perfect mania with him. Now, I believe--that's to say, I have a sortof dim idea--that there's a place round about here called a canteen. Iseem to remember such a thing vaguely. We might go and look for it."Kennedy made no objection.
　　This was his first appearance at camp. Jimmy Silver, on the otherhand, was a veteran. He had been there twice before, and meant to goagain. He had a peculiar and extensive knowledge of the ins and outsof the place. Kennedy was quite willing to take him as his guide. Hewas full of information. Kennedy was surprised to see what a number ofmen from the other schools he seemed to know. In the canteen therewere, amongst others, a Carthusian, two Tonbridge men, and aHaileyburian. They all greeted Silver with the warmth of old friends.
　　"You get to know a lot of fellows in camp," explained Jimmy, as theystrolled back to the Eckleton lines. "That's the best of the place.
　　Camp's the best place on earth, if only you have decent weather. Seethat chap over there? He came here last year. He'd never been before,and one of the things he didn't know was that Cove Reservoir's onlyabout three feet deep round the sides. He took a running dive, andalmost buried himself in the mud. It's about two feet deep. He told meafterwards he swallowed pounds of it. Rather bad luck. Somebody oughtto have told him. You can't do much diving here.""Glad you mentioned it," said Kennedy. "I should have dived myself ifyou hadn't."Many other curious and diverting facts did the expert drag from thebonded warehouse of his knowledge. Nothing changes at camp. Once getto know the ropes, and you know them for all time.
　　"The one thing I bar," he said, "is having to get up at half-pastfive. And one day in the week, when there's a divisional field-day,it's half-past four. It's hardly worth while going to sleep at all.
　　Still, it isn't so bad as it used to be. The first year I came to campwe used to have to do a three hours' field-day before brekker. We usedto have coffee before it, and nothing else till it was over. By Jove,you felt you'd had enough of it before you got back. This is Laffan'sPlain. The worst of Laffan's Plain is that you get to know it toowell. You get jolly sick of always starting on field-days from thesame place, and marching across the same bit of ground. Still, Isuppose they can't alter the scenery for our benefit. See that manthere? He won the sabres at Aldershot last year. That chap with him isin the Clifton footer team."When a school corps goes to camp, it lives in a number of tents, and,as a rule, each house collects in a tent of its own. Blackburn's had atent, and further down the line Kay's had assembled. The Kaycontingent were under Wayburn, a good sort, as far as he himself wasconcerned, but too weak to handle a mob like Kay's. Wayburn was notcoming back after the holidays, a fact which perhaps still furtherweakened his hold on the Kayites. They had nothing to fear from himnext term.
　　Kay's was represented at camp by a dozen or so of its members, of whomyoung Billy Silver alone had any pretensions to the esteem of hisfellow man. Kay's was the rowdiest house in the school, and the creamof its rowdy members had come to camp. There was Walton, for one, aperfect specimen of the public school man at his worst. There wasMortimer, another of Kay's gems. Perry, again, and Callingham, and therest. A pleasant gang, fit for anything, if it could be done insafety.
　　Kennedy observed them, and--the spectacle starting a train ofthought--asked Jimmy Silver, as they went into their tent just beforelights-out, if there was much ragging in camp.
　　"Not very much," said the expert. "Chaps are generally too done up atthe end of the day to want to do anything except sleep. Still, I'veknown cases. You sometimes get one tent mobbing another. They loosethe ropes, you know. Low trick, I think. It isn't often done, and itgets dropped on like bricks when it's found out. But why? Do you feelas if you wanted to do it?""It only occurred to me that we've got a lively gang from Kay's here.
　　I was wondering if they'd get any chances of ragging, or if they'dhave to lie low.""I'd forgotten Kay's for the moment. Now you mention it, they arerather a crew. But I shouldn't think they'd find it worth while to rotabout here. It isn't as if they were on their native heath. Peoplehave a prejudice against having their tent-ropes loosed, and they'dget beans if they did anything in that line. I remember once there wasa tent which made itself objectionable, and it got raided in the nightby a sort of vigilance committee from the other schools, and the chapsin it got the dickens of a time. None of them ever came to camp again.
　　I hope Kay's'll try and behave decently. It'll be an effort for them;but I hope they'll make it. It would be an awful nuisance if youngBilly made an ass of himself in any way. He loves making an ass ofhimself. It's a sort of hobby of his."As if to support the statement, a sudden volley of subdued shouts camefrom the other end of the Eckleton lines.
　　"Go it, Wren!""Stick to it, Silver!""Wren!""Silver!""S-s-h!"Silence, followed almost immediately by a gruff voice inquiring withsimple directness what the dickens all this noise was about.
　　"Hullo!" said Kennedy. "Did you hear that? I wonder what's been up?
　　Your brother was in it, whatever it was.""Of course," said Jimmy Silver, "he would be. We can't find out aboutit now, though. I'll ask him tomorrow, if I remember. I shan'tremember, of course. Good night.""Good night."Half an hour later, Kennedy, who had been ruminating over the incidentin his usual painstaking way, reopened the debate.
　　"Who's Wren?" he asked.
　　"Wha'?" murmured Silver, sleepily.
　　"Who's Wren?" repeated Kennedy.
　　"I d'know.... Oh.... Li'l' beast.... Kay's.... Red hair.... G'-ni'."And sleep reigned in Blackburn's tent.
Chapter 6 The Raid On The Guard-Tent
Wren and Billy Silver had fallen out over a question of space. It wasSilver's opinion that Wren's nest ought to have been built a foot ortwo further to the left. He stated baldly that he had not room tobreathe, and requested the red-headed one to ease off a point or so inthe direction of his next-door neighbour. Wren had refused, and, aftera few moments' chatty conversation, smote William earnestly in thewind. Trouble had begun upon the instant. It had ceased almost asrapidly owing to interruptions from without, but the truce had beenmerely temporary. They continued the argument outside the tent atfive-thirty the next morning, after the _reveille_ had sounded,amidst shouts of approval from various shivering mortals who weretubbing preparatory to embarking on the labours of the day.
　　A brisk first round had just come to a conclusion when Walton loungedout of the tent, yawning.
　　Walton proceeded to separate the combatants. After which he rebukedBilly Silver with a swagger-stick. Wren's share in the business heoverlooked. He was by way of being a patron of Wren's, and he dislikedBilly Silver, partly for his own sake and partly because he hated hisbrother, with whom he had come into contact once or twice during hiscareer at Eckleton, always with unsatisfactory results.
　　So Walton dropped on to Billy Silver, and Wren continued his toiletrejoicing.
　　Camp was beginning the strenuous life now. Tent after tent emptieditself of its occupants, who stretched themselves vigorously, andproceeded towards the tubbing-ground, where there were tin baths forthose who cared to wait until the same were vacant, and a good, honestpump for those who did not. Then there was that unpopular job, thepiling of one's bedding outside the tent, and the rolling up of thetent curtains. But these unpleasant duties came to an end at last, andsigns of breakfast began to appear.
　　Breakfast gave Kennedy his first insight into life in camp. Hehappened to be tent-orderly that day, and it therefore fell to his lotto join the orderlies from the other tents in their search for theEckleton rations. He returned with a cargo of bread (obtained from thequartermaster), and, later, with a great tin of meat, which thecook-house had supplied, and felt that this was life. Hithertobreakfast had been to him a thing of white cloths, tables, and foodthat appeared from nowhere. This was the first time he had evertracked his food to its source, so to speak, and brought it back withhim. After breakfast, when he was informed that, as tent-orderly forthe day, it was his business to wash up, he began to feel as if hewere on a desert island. He had never quite realised before whatwashing-up implied, and he was conscious of a feeling of respect forthe servants at Blackburn's, who did it every day as a matter ofcourse, without complaint. He had had no idea before this of theintense stickiness of a jammy plate.
　　One day at camp is much like another. The schools opened the day withparade drill at about eight o'clock, and, after an instruction seriesof "changing direction half-left in column of double companies", andother pleasant movements of a similar nature, adjourned for lunch.
　　Lunch was much like breakfast, except that the supply of jam was cutoff. The people who arrange these things--probably the War Office, orMr Brodrick, or someone--have come to the conclusion that two pots ofjam per tent are sufficient for breakfast and lunch. The unwary devourtheirs recklessly at the earlier meal, and have to go jamless untiltea at six o'clock, when another pot is served out.
　　The afternoon at camp is perfect or otherwise, according to whetherthere is a four o'clock field-day or not. If there is, there are moremanoeuvrings until tea-time, and the time is spent profitably, but notso pleasantly as it might be. If there is no field-day, you can takeyour time about your bathe in Cove Reservoir. And a reallysatisfactory bathe on a hot day should last at least three hours.
　　Kennedy and Jimmy Silver strolled off in the direction of theReservoir as soon as they felt that they had got over the effects ofthe beef, potatoes, and ginger-beer which a generous commissariat haddoled out to them for lunch. It was a glorious day, and bathing wasthe only thing to do for the next hour or so. Stump-cricket, thatfascinating sport much indulged in in camp, would not be at its bestuntil the sun had cooled off a little.
　　After a pleasant half hour in the mud and water of the Reservoir, theylay on the bank and watched the rest of the schools take theirafternoon dip. Kennedy had laid in a supply of provisions from thestall which stood at the camp end of the water. Neither of them feltinclined to move.
　　"This _is_ decent," said Kennedy, wriggling into a morecomfortable position in the long grass. "Hullo!""What's up?" inquired Jimmy Silver, lazily.
　　He was almost asleep.
　　"Look at those idiots. They're certain to get spotted."Jimmy Silver tilted his hat off his face, and sat up.
　　"What's the matter? Which idiot?"Kennedy pointed to a bush on their right. Walton and Perry were seatedbeside it. Both were smoking.
　　"Oh, that's all right," said Silver. "Masters never come to CoveReservoir. It's a sort of unwritten law. They're rotters to smoke, allthe same. Certain to get spotted some day.... Not worth it.... Spoilslungs.... Beastly bad ... training."He dozed off. The sun was warm, and the grass very soft andcomfortable. Kennedy turned his gaze to the Reservoir again. It was nobusiness of his what Walton and Perry did.
　　Walton and Perry were discussing ways and means. The conversationchanged as they saw Kennedy glance at them. They were the sort ofpersons who feel a vague sense of injury when anybody looks at them,perhaps because they feel that those whose attention is attracted tothem must say something to their discredit when they begin to talkabout them.
　　"There's that beast Kennedy," said Walton. "I can't stick that man.
　　He's always hanging round the house. What he comes for, I can't makeout.""Pal of Fenn's," suggested Perry.
　　"He hangs on to Fenn. I bet Fenn bars him really."Perry doubted this in his innermost thoughts, but it was not worthwhile to say so.
　　"Those Blackburn chaps," continued Walton, reverting to anothergrievance, "will stick on no end of side next term about that cup.
　　They wouldn't have had a look in if Kay hadn't given Fenn that extra.
　　Kay ought to be kicked. I'm hanged if I'm going to care what I do nextterm. Somebody ought to do something to take it out of Kay for gettinghis own house licked like that."Walton spoke as if the line of conduct he had mapped out for himselfwould be a complete reversal of his customary mode of life. As amatter of fact, he had never been in the habit of caring very muchwhat he did.
　　Walton's last remarks brought the conversation back to where it hadbeen before the mention of Kennedy switched it off on to new lines.
　　Perry had been complaining that he thought camp a fraud, that it wasall drilling and getting up at unearthly hours. He reminded Waltonthat he had only come on the strength of the latter's statement thatit would be a rag. Where did the rag come in? That was what Perrywanted to know.
　　"When it's not a ghastly sweat," he concluded, "it's slow. Like it isnow. Can't we do something for a change?""As a matter of fact," said Walton, "nearly all the best rags areplayed out. A chap at a crammer's told me last holidays that when hewas at camp he and some other fellows loosed the ropes of theguard-tent. He said it was grand sport."Perry sat up.
　　"That's the thing," he said, excitedly. "Let's do that. Why not?""It's beastly risky," objected Walton.
　　"What's that matter? They can't do anything, even if they spot us.""That's all you know. We should get beans.""Still, it's worth risking. It would be the biggest rag going. Did thechap tell you how they did it?""Yes," said Walton, becoming animated as he recalled the stirringtale, "they bagged the sentry. Chucked a cloth or something over hishead, you know. Then they shoved him into the ditch, and one of themsat on him while the others loosed the ropes. It took the chaps insideno end of a time getting out.""That's the thing. We'll do it. We only need one other chap. Levesonwould come if we asked him. Let's get back to the lines. It's almosttea-time. Tell him after tea."Leveson proved agreeable. Indeed, he jumped at it. His life, hisattitude suggested, had been a hollow mockery until he heard the plan,but now he could begin to enjoy himself once more.
　　The lights-out bugle sounded at ten o'clock; the last post atten-thirty. At a quarter to twelve the three adventurers, who had beenkeeping themselves awake by the exercise of great pains, satisfiedthemselves that the other occupants of the tent were asleep, and stoleout.
　　It was an excellent night for their purpose. There was no moon, andthe stars were hidden by clouds.
　　They crept silently towards the guard-tent. A dim figure loomed out ofthe blackness. They noted with satisfaction, as it approached, that itwas small. Sentries at the public-school camp vary in physique. Theyfelt that it was lucky that the task of sentry-go had not fallen thatnight to some muscular forward from one of the school fifteens, orworse still, to a boxing expert who had figured in the Aldershotcompetition at Easter. The present sentry would be an easy victim.
　　They waited for him to arrive.
　　A moment later Private Jones, of St Asterisk's--for it was he--turningto resume his beat, found himself tackled from behind. Two momentslater he was reclining in the ditch. He would have challenged hisadversary, but, unfortunately, that individual happened to be seatedon his face.
　　He struggled, but to no purpose.
　　He was still struggling when a muffled roar of indignation from thedirection of the guard-tent broke the stillness of the summer night.
　　The roar swelled into a crescendo. What seemed like echoes came fromother quarters out of the darkness. The camp was waking.
　　The noise from the guard-tent waxed louder.
　　The unknown marauder rose from his seat on Private Jones, andvanished.
　　Private Jones also rose. He climbed out of the ditch, shook himself,looked round for his assailant, and, not finding him, hurried to theguard-tent to see what was happening.
Chapter 7 A Clue
The guard-tent had disappeared.
　　Private Jones' bewildered eye, rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven toearth, and from earth to heaven, in search of the missing edifice,found it at last in a tangled heap upon the ground. It was too dark tosee anything distinctly, but he perceived that the canvas was risingand falling spasmodically like a stage sea, and for a similarreason--because there were human beings imprisoned beneath it.
　　By this time the whole camp was up and doing. Figures in_deshabille_, dashing the last vestiges of sleep away with theirknuckles, trooped on to the scene in twos and threes, full of inquiryand trenchant sarcasm.
　　"What are you men playing at? What's all the row about? Can't youfinish that game of footer some other time, when we aren't trying toget to sleep? What on earth's up?"Then the voice of one having authority.
　　"What's the matter? What are you doing?"It was perfectly obvious what the guard was doing. It was trying toget out from underneath the fallen tent. Private Jones explained thiswith some warmth.
　　"Somebody jumped at me and sat on my head in the ditch. I couldn't getup. And then some blackguard cut the ropes of the guard-tent. Icouldn't see who it was. He cut off directly the tent went down."Private Jones further expressed a wish that he could find the chap.
　　When he did, there would, he hinted, be trouble in the old homestead.
　　The tent was beginning to disgorge its prisoners.
　　"Guard, turn out!" said a facetious voice from the darkness.
　　The camp was divided into two schools of thought. Those who werewatching the guard struggle out thought the episode funny. The guarddid not. It was pathetic to hear them on the subject of theirmysterious assailants. Matters quieted down rapidly after the tent hadbeen set up again. The spectators were driven back to their lines bytheir officers. The guard turned in again to try and restore theirshattered nerves with sleep until their time for sentry-go came round.
　　Private Jones picked up his rifle and resumed his beat. The affair wasat an end as far as that night was concerned.
　　Next morning, as might be expected, nothing else was talked about.
　　Conversation at breakfast was confined to the topic. No halfpennypaper, however many times its circulation might exceed that of anypenny morning paper, ever propounded so fascinating and puzzling abreakfast-table problem. It was the utter impossibility of detectingthe culprits that appealed to the schools. They had swooped down likehawks out of the night, and disappeared like eels into mud, leaving notraces.
　　Jimmy Silver, of course, had no doubts.
　　"It was those Kay's men," he said. "What does it matter aboutevidence? You've only got to look at 'em. That's all the evidence youwant. The only thing that makes it at all puzzling is that they didnothing worse. You'd naturally expect them to slay the sentry, at anyrate."But the rest of the camp, lacking that intimate knowledge of theKayite which he possessed, did not turn the eye of suspicion towardsthe Eckleton lines. The affair remained a mystery. Kennedy, who nevergave up a problem when everybody else did, continued to revolve themystery in his mind.
　　"I shouldn't wonder," he said to Silver, two days later, "if you wereright."Silver, who had not made any remark for the last five minutes, withthe exception of abusive comments on the toughness of the meat whichhe was trying to carve with a blunt knife for the tent, asked for anexplanation. "I mean about that row the other night.""What row?""That guard-tent business.""Oh, that! I'd forgotten. Why don't you move with the times? You'realways thinking of something that's been dead and buried for years.""You remember you said you thought it was those Kay's chaps who didit. I've been thinking it over, and I believe you're right. You see,it was probably somebody who'd been to camp before, or he wouldn'thave known that dodge of loosing the ropes.""I don't see why. Seems to me it's the sort of idea that might haveoccurred to anybody. You don't want to study the thing particularlydeeply to know that the best way of making a tent collapse is to loosethe ropes. Of course it was Kay's lot who did it. But I don't see howyou're going to have them simply because one or two of them have beenhere before.""No, I suppose not," said Kennedy.
　　After tea the other occupants of the tent went out of the lines toplay stump-cricket. Silver was in the middle of a story in one of themagazines, so did not accompany them. Kennedy cried off on the plea ofslackness.
　　"I say," he said, when they were alone.
　　"Hullo," said Silver, finishing his story, and putting down themagazine. "What do you say to going after those chaps? I thought thatstory was going to be a long one that would take half an hour to getthrough. But it collapsed. Like that guard-tent.""About that tent business," said Kennedy. "Of course that was all rotwhat I was saying just now. I suddenly remembered that I didn'tparticularly want anybody but you to hear what I was going to say, soI had to invent any rot that I could think of.""But now," said Jimmy Silver, sinking his voice to a melodramaticwhisper, "the villagers have left us to continue their revels on thegreen, our wicked uncle has gone to London, his sinister retainer,Jasper Murgleshaw, is washing his hands in the scullery sink,and--_we are alone!_""Don't be an ass," pleaded Kennedy.
　　"Tell me your dreadful tale. Conceal nothing. Spare me not. In fact,say on.""I've had a talk with the chap who was sentry that night," beganKennedy.
　　"Astounding revelations by our special correspondent," murmuredSilver.
　　"You might listen.""I _am_ listening. Why don't you begin? All this hesitationstrikes me as suspicious. Get on with your shady story.""You remember the sentry was upset--""Very upset.""Somebody collared him from behind, and upset him into the ditch. Theywent in together, and the other man sat on his head.""A touching picture. Proceed, friend.""They rolled about a bit, and this sentry chap swears he scratched theman. It was just after that that the man sat on his head. Jones sayshe was a big chap, strong and heavy.""He was in a position to judge, anyhow.""Of course, he didn't mean to scratch him. He was rather keen onhaving that understood. But his fingers came up against the fellow'scheek as he was falling. So you see we've only got to look for a manwith a scratch on his cheek. It was the right cheek, Jones was almostcertain. I don't see what you're laughing at.""I wish you wouldn't spring these good things of yours on mesuddenly," gurgled Jimmy Silver, rolling about the wooden floor of thetent. "You ought to give a chap some warning. Look here," he added,imperatively, "swear you'll take me with you when you go on your tourthrough camp examining everybody's right cheek to see if it's got ascratch on it."Kennedy began to feel the glow and pride of the successfulsleuth-hound leaking out of him. This aspect of the case had notoccurred to him. The fact that the sentry had scratched hisassailant's right cheek, added to the other indubitable fact thatWalton, of Kay's, was even now walking abroad with a scratch on hisright cheek, had seemed to him conclusive. He had forgotten that theremight be others. Still, it was worth while just to question him. Hequestioned him at Cove Reservoir next day.
　　"Hullo, Walton," he said, with a friendly carelessness which would nothave deceived a prattling infant, "nasty scratch you've got on yourcheek. How did you get it?""Perry did it when we were ragging a few days ago," replied Walton,eyeing him distrustfully.
　　"Oh," said Kennedy.
　　"Silly fool," said Walton.
　　"Talking about me?" inquired Kennedy politely.
　　"No," replied Walton, with the suavity of a Chesterfield, "Perry."They parted, Kennedy with the idea that Walton was his man still moredeeply rooted, Walton with an uncomfortable feeling that Kennedy knewtoo much, and that, though he had undoubtedly scored off him for themoment, a time (as Jimmy Silver was fond of observing with a sataniclaugh) would come, and then--!
　　He felt that it behoved him to be wary.
Chapter 8 A Night Adventure--The Dethronement Of Fenn
One of the things which make life on this planet more or lessagreeable is the speed with which alarums, excursions, excitement, androws generally, blow over. A nine-days' wonder has to be a bigbusiness to last out its full time nowadays. As a rule the third daysees the end of it, and the public rushes whooping after some otherhare that has been started for its benefit. The guard-tent row, as faras the bulk of camp was concerned, lasted exactly two days; at the endof which period it was generally agreed that all that could be said onthe subject had been said, and that it was now a back number. Nobody,except possibly the authorities, wanted to find out the authors of theraid, and even Private Jones had ceased to talk about it--this owingto the unsympathetic attitude of his tent.
　　"Jones," the corporal had observed, as the ex-sentry's narrative ofhis misfortunes reached a finish for the third time since_reveille_ that morning, "if you can't manage to switch off thatinfernal chestnut of yours, I'll make you wash up all day and sit onyour head all night."So Jones had withdrawn his yarn from circulation. Kennedy's interest indetective work waned after his interview with Walton. He was quite surethat Walton had been one of the band, but it was not his business tofind out; even had he found out, he would have done nothing. It wasmore for his own private satisfaction than for the furtherance ofjustice that he wished to track the offenders down. But he did notlook on the affair, as Jimmy Silver did, as rather sporting; he hada tender feeling for the good name of the school, and he felt thatit was not likely to make Eckleton popular with the other schoolsthat went to camp if they got the reputation of practical jokers.
　　Practical jokers are seldom popular until they have been dead ahundred years or so.
　　As for Walton and his colleagues, to complete the list of those whowere interested in this matter of the midnight raid, they layremarkably low after their successful foray. They imagined thatKennedy was spying on their every movement. In which they were quitewrong, for Kennedy was doing nothing of the kind. Camp does not allowa great deal of leisure for the minding of other people's businesses.
　　But this reflection did not occur to Walton, and he regarded Kennedy,whenever chance or his duties brought him into the neighbourhood ofthat worthy's tent, with a suspicion which increased whenever thelatter looked at him.
　　On the night before camp broke up, a second incident of a sensationalkind occurred, which, but for the fact that they never heard of it,would have given the schools a good deal to talk about. It happenedthat Kennedy was on sentry-go that night. The manner of sentry-go isthus. At seven in the evening the guard falls in, and patrols thefringe of the camp in relays till seven in the morning. A guardconsists of a sergeant, a corporal, and ten men. They are on duty fortwo hours at a time, with intervals of four hours between each spell,in which intervals they sleep the sleep of tired men in theguard-tent, unless, as happened on the occasion previously described,some miscreant takes it upon himself to loose the ropes. The ground tobe patrolled by the sentries is divided into three parts, each ofwhich is entrusted to one man.
　　Kennedy was one of the ten privates, and his first spell of sentry-gobegan at eleven o'clock.
　　On this night there was no moon. It was as black as pitch. It isalways unpleasant to be on sentry-go on such a night. The mindwanders, in spite of all effort to check it, through a long series ofall the ghastly stories one has ever read. There is one in particularof Conan Doyle's about a mummy that came to life and chased people onlonely roads--but enough! However courageous one may be, it isdifficult not to speculate on the possible horrors which may springout on one from the darkness. That feeling that there is somebody--orsomething--just behind one can only be experienced in all its force bya sentry on an inky night at camp. And the thought that, of all thehundreds there, he and two others are the only ones awake, puts a sortof finishing touch to the unpleasantness of the situation.
　　Kennedy was not a particularly imaginative youth, but he lookedforward with no little eagerness to the time when he should berelieved. It would be a relief in two senses of the word. His beatincluded that side of the camp which faces the road to Aldershot.
　　Between camp and this road is a ditch and a wood. After he had been onduty for an hour this wood began to suggest a variety ofpossibilities, all grim. The ditch, too, was not without associations.
　　It was into this that Private Jones had been hurled on a certainmemorable occasion. Such a thing was not likely to happen again in thesame week, and, even if it did, Kennedy flattered himself that hewould have more to say in the matter than Private Jones had had; butnevertheless he kept a careful eye in that direction whenever his beattook him along the ditch.
　　It was about half-past twelve, and he had entered upon the lastsection of his two hours, when Kennedy distinctly heard footsteps inthe wood. He had heard so many mysterious sounds since his patrolbegan at eleven o'clock that at first he was inclined to attributethis to imagination. But a crackle of dead branches and the sound ofsoft breathing convinced him that this was the real thing for once,and that, as a sentry of the Public Schools' Camp on duty, it behovedhim to challenge the unknown.
　　He stopped and waited, peering into the darkness in a futile endeavourto catch a glimpse of his man. But the night was too black for thekeenest eye to penetrate it. A slight thud put him on the right track.
　　It showed him two things; first, that the unknown had dropped into theditch, and, secondly, that he was a camp man returning to his tentafter an illegal prowl about the town at lights-out. Nobody save onebelonging to the camp would have cause to cross the ditch.
　　Besides, the man walked warily, as one not ignorant of the danger ofsentries. The unknown had crawled out of the ditch now. As luck wouldhave it he had chosen a spot immediately opposite to where Kennedystood. Now that he was nearer Kennedy could see the vague outline ofhim.
　　"Who goes there?" he said.
　　From an instinctive regard for the other's feelings he did not shoutthe question in the regulation manner. He knew how he would feelhimself if he were out of camp at half-past twelve, and the voice ofthe sentry were to rip suddenly through the silence _fortissimo_.
　　As it was, his question was quite loud enough to electrify the personto whom it was addressed. The unknown started so violently that henearly leapt into the air. Kennedy was barely two yards from him whenhe spoke.
　　The next moment this fact was brought home to him in a very practicalmanner. The unknown, sighting the sentry, perhaps more clearly againstthe dim whiteness of the tents than Kennedy could sight him againstthe dark wood, dashed in with a rapidity which showed that he knewsomething of the art of boxing. Kennedy dropped his rifle and flung uphis arm. He was altogether too late. A sudden blaze of light, and hewas on the ground, sick and dizzy, a feeling he had often experiencedbefore in a slighter degree, when sparring in the Eckleton gymnasiumwith the boxing instructor.
　　The immediate effect of a flush hit in the regions about the jaw is tomake the victim lose for the moment all interest in life. Kennedy laywhere he had fallen for nearly half a minute before he fully realisedwhat it was that had happened to him. When he did realise thesituation, he leapt to his feet, feeling sick and shaky, and staggeredabout in all directions in a manner which suggested that he fanciedhis assailant would be waiting politely until he had recovered. As wasonly natural, that wily person had vanished, and was by this timedoing a quick change into garments of the night. Kennedy had thesatisfaction of knowing--for what it was worth--that his adversary wasin one of those tents, but to place him with any greater accuracy wasimpossible.
　　So he gave up the search, found his rifle, and resumed his patrol. Andat one o'clock his successor relieved him.
　　On the following day camp broke up.
　　* * * * *Kennedy always enjoyed going home, but, as he travelled back toEckleton on the last day of these summer holidays, he could not helpfeeling that there was a great deal to be said for term. He feltparticularly cheerful. He had the carriage to himself, and he had alsoplenty to read and eat. The train was travelling at forty miles anhour. And there were all the pleasures of a first night after theholidays to look forward to, when you dashed from one friend's studyto another's, comparing notes, and explaining--five or six of you at atime--what a good time you had had in the holidays. This was always apleasant ceremony at Blackburn's, where all the prefects were intimatefriends, and all good sorts, without that liberal admixture of weeds,worms, and outsiders which marred the list of prefects in most of theother houses. Such as Kay's! Kennedy could not restrain a momentarygloating as he contrasted the state of affairs in Blackburn's withwhat existed at Kay's. Then this feeling was merged in one of pity forFenn's hard case. How he must hate the beginning of term, thoughtKennedy.
　　All the well-known stations were flashing by now. In a few minutes hewould be at the junction, and in another half-hour back atBlackburn's. He began to collect his baggage from the rack.
　　Nobody he knew was at the junction. This was the late train that hehad come down by. Most of the school had returned earlier in theafternoon.
　　He reached Blackburn's at eight o'clock, and went up to his study tounpack. This was always his first act on coming back to school. Heliked to start the term with all his books in their shelves, and allhis pictures and photographs in their proper places on the first day.
　　Some of the studies looked like lumber-rooms till near the end of thefirst week.
　　He had filled the shelves, and was arranging the artistic decorations,when Jimmy Silver came in. Kennedy had been surprised that he had notmet him downstairs, but the matron had answered his inquiry with thestatement that he was talking to Mr Blackburn in the other part of thehouse.
　　"When did you arrive?" asked Silver, after the conclusion of the firstoutbreak of holiday talk.
　　"I've only just come.""Seen Blackburn yet?""No. I was thinking of going up after I had got this place doneproperly."Jimmy Silver ran his eye over the room.
　　"I haven't started mine yet," he said. "You're such an energetic man.
　　Now, are all those books in their proper places?""Yes," said Kennedy.
　　"Sure?""Yes.""How about the pictures? Got them up?""All but this lot here. Shan't be a second. There you are. How's thatfor effect?""Not bad. Got all your photographs in their places?""Yes.""Then," said Jimmy Silver, calmly, "you'd better start now to packthem all up again. And why, my son? Because you are no longer aBlackburnite. That's what."Kennedy stared.
　　"I've just had the whole yarn from Blackburn," continued Jimmy Silver.
　　"Our dear old pal, Mr Kay, wanting somebody in his house capable ofkeeping order, by way of a change, has gone to the Old Man andborrowed you. So _you're_ head of Kay's now. There's an honourfor you."
Chapter 9 The Sensations Of An Exile
"What" shouted Kennedy.
　　He sprang to his feet as if he had had an electric shock.
　　Jimmy Silver, having satisfied his passion for the dramatic by theabruptness with which he had exploded his mine, now felt himself atliberty to be sympathetic.
　　"It's quite true," he said. "And that's just how I felt when Blackburntold me. Blackburn's as sick as anything. Naturally he doesn't see thepoint of handing you over to Kay. But the Old Man insisted, so hecaved in. He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. You'd better gonow. I'll finish your packing."This was noble of Jimmy, for of all the duties of life he loathedpacking most.
　　"Thanks awfully," said Kennedy, "but don't you bother. I'll do it whenI get back. But what's it all about? What made Kay want a man? Whywon't Fenn do? And why me?""Well, it's easy to see why they chose you. They reflected that you'dhad the advantage of being in Blackburn's with me, and seeing how ahouse really should be run. Kay wants a head for his house. Off hegoes to the Old Man. 'Look here,' he says, 'I want somebody shuntedinto my happy home, or it'll bust up. And it's no good trying to putme off with an inferior article, because I won't have it. It must besomebody who's been trained from youth up by Silver.' 'Then,' says theOld Man, reflectively, 'you can't do better than take Kennedy. Ihappen to know that Silver has spent years in showing him the straightand narrow path. You take Kennedy.' 'All right,' says Kay; 'I alwaysthought Kennedy a bit of an ass myself, but if he's studied underSilver he ought to know how to manage a house. I'll take him. Adviseour Mr Blackburn to that effect, and ask him to deliver the goods athis earliest convenience. Adoo, mess-mate, adoo!' And there youare--that's how it was.""But what's wrong with Fenn?""My dear chap! Remember last term. Didn't Fenn have a regular scrapwith Kay, and get shoved into extra for it? And didn't he wreck theconcert in the most sportsmanlike way with that encore of his? Thinkthe Old Man is going to take that grinning? Not much! Fenn made aripping fifty against Kent in the holidays--I saw him do it--but theydon't count that. It's a wonder they didn't ask him to leave. Ofcourse, I think it's jolly rough on Fenn, but I don't see that you canblame them. Not the Old Man, at any rate. He couldn't do anythingelse. It's all Kay's fault that all this has happened, of course. I'mawfully sorry for you having to go into that beastly hole, but fromKay's point of view it's a jolly sound move. You may reform theplace.""I doubt it.""So do I--very much. I didn't say you would--I said you might. Iwonder if Kay means to give you a free hand. It all depends on that.""Yes. If he's going to interfere with me as he used to with Fenn,he'll want to bring in another head to improve on me.""Rather a good idea, that," said Jimmy Silver, laughing, as he alwaysdid when any humorous possibilities suggested themselves to him. "Ifhe brings in somebody to improve on you, and then somebody else toimprove on him, and then another chap to improve on him, he ought tohave a decent house in half-a-dozen years or so.""The worst of it is," said Kennedy, "that I've got to go to Kay's as asort of rival to Fenn. I shouldn't mind so much if it wasn't for that.
　　I wonder how he'll take it! Do you think he knows about it yet? Hedidn't enjoy being head, but that's no reason why he shouldn't cut uprough at being shoved back to second prefect. It's a beastlysituation.""Beastly," agreed Jimmy Silver. "Look here," he added, after a pause,"there's no reason, you know, why this should make any difference. Tous, I mean. What I mean to say is, I don't see why we shouldn't seeeach other just as often, and so on, simply because you are in anotherhouse, and all that sort of thing. You know what I mean."He spoke shamefacedly, as was his habit whenever he was serious. Heliked Kennedy better than anyone he knew, and hated to show hisfeelings. Anything remotely connected with sentiment made himuncomfortable.
　　"Of course," said Kennedy, awkwardly.
　　"You'll want a refuge," said Silver, in his normal manner, "now thatyou're going to see wild life in Kay's. Don't forget that I'm alwaysat home in my study in the afternoons--admission on presentation of avisiting-card.""All right," said Kennedy, "I'll remember. I suppose I'd better go andsee Blackburn now."Mr Blackburn was in his study. He was obviously disgusted andirritated by what had happened. Loyalty to the headmaster, and anappreciation of his position as a member of the staff led him to tryand conceal his feelings as much as possible in his interview withKennedy, but the latter understood as plainly as if his house-masterhad burst into a flow of abuse and complaint. There had always been anexcellent understanding--indeed, a friendship--between Kennedy and MrBlackburn, and the master was just as sorry to lose his second prefectas the latter was to go.
　　"Well, Kennedy," he said, pleasantly. "I hope you had a good time inthe holidays. I suppose Silver has told you the melancholy news--thatyou are to desert us this term? It is a great pity. We shall all bevery sorry to lose you. I don't look forward to seeing you bowl us allout in the house-matches next summer," he added, with a smile, "thoughwe shall expect a few full-pitches to leg, for the sake of old times."He meant well, but the picture he conjured up almost made Kennedybreak down. Nothing up to the present had made him realise thecompleteness of his exile so keenly as this remark of Mr Blackburn'sabout his bowling against the side for which he had taken so manywickets in the past. It was a painful thought.
　　"I am afraid you won't have quite such a pleasant time in Mr Kay's asyou have had here," resumed the house-master. "Of course, I know that,strictly speaking, I ought not to talk like this about anothermaster's house; but you can scarcely be unaware of the reasons thathave led to this change. You must know that you are being sent to pullMr Kay's house together. This is strictly between ourselves, ofcourse. I think you have a difficult task before you, but I don'tfancy that you will find it too much for you. And mind you come hereas often as you please. I am sure Silver and the others will be gladto see you. Goodbye, Kennedy. I think you ought to be getting acrossnow to Mr Kay's. I told him that you would be there before half-pastnine. Good night.""Good night, sir," said Kennedy.
　　He wandered out into the house dining-room. Somehow, though Kay's wasonly next door, he could not get rid of the feeling that he was aboutto start on a long journey, and would never see his old house again.
　　And in a sense this was so. He would probably visit Blackburn'stomorrow afternoon, but it would not be the same. Jimmy Silver wouldgreet him like a brother, and he would brew in the same study in whichhe had always brewed, and sit in the same chair; but it would not bethe same. He would be an outsider, a visitor, a stranger within thegates, and--worst of all--a Kayite. Nothing could alter that.
　　The walk of the dining-room were covered with photographs of the housecricket and football teams for the last fifteen years. Looking atthem, he felt more than ever how entirely his school life had beenbound up in his house. From his first day at Eckleton he had beentaught the simple creed of the Blackburnite, that Eckleton was thefinest school in the three kingdoms, and that Blackburn's was thefinest house in the finest school.
　　Under the gas-bracket by the door hung the first photograph in whichhe appeared, the cricket team of four years ago. He had just got thelast place in front of Challis on the strength of a tremendous catchfor the house second in a scratch game two days before thehouse-matches began. It had been a glaring fluke, but it had impressedDenny, the head of the house, who happened to see it, and had won himhis place.
　　He walked round the room, looking at each photograph in turn. Itseemed incredible that he had no longer any right to an interest inthe success of Blackburn's. He could have endured leaving all thiswhen his time at school was up, for that would have been the naturalresult of the passing of years. But to be transplanted abruptly andwith a wrench from his native soil was too much. He went upstairs topack, suffering from as severe an attack of the blues as any youth ofeighteen had experienced since blues were first invented.
　　Jimmy Silver hovered round, while he packed, with expressions ofsympathy and bitter remarks concerning Mr Kay and his wicked works,and, when the operation was concluded, helped Kennedy carry his boxover to his new house with the air of one seeing a friend off to theparts beyond the equator.
　　It was ten o'clock by the time the front door of Kay's closed upon itsnew head. Kennedy went to the matron's sanctum to be instructed in thegeography of the house. The matron, a severe lady, whose faith inhuman nature had been terribly shaken by five years of office inKay's, showed him his dormitory and study with a lack of genialitywhich added a deeper tinge of azure to Kennedy's blues. "So you'vecome to live here, have you?" her manner seemed to say; "well, I pityyou, that's all. A nice time _you're_ going to have."Kennedy spent the half-hour before going to bed in unpacking his boxfor the second time, and arranging his books and photographs in thestudy which had been Wayburn's. He had nothing to find fault with inthe study. It was as large as the one he had owned at Blackburn's,and, like it, looked out over the school grounds.
　　At half-past ten the gas gave a flicker and went out, turned off atthe main. Kennedy lit a candle and made his way to his dormitory.
　　There now faced him the more than unpleasant task of introducinghimself to its inmates. He knew from experience the disconcerting wayin which a dormitory greets an intruder. It was difficult to know howto begin matters. It would take a long time, he thought, to explainhis presence to their satisfaction.
　　Fortunately, however, the dormitory was not unprepared. Things getabout very quickly in a house. The matron had told the housemaids; thehousemaids had handed it on to their ally, the boot boy; the boot boyhad told Wren, whom he happened to meet in the passage, and Wren hadtold everybody else.
　　There was an uproar going on when Kennedy opened the door, but it diedaway as he appeared, and the dormitory gazed at the newcomer inabsolute and embarrassing silence. Kennedy had not felt so consciousof the public eye being upon him since he had gone out to bat againstthe M.C.C., on his first appearance in the ranks of the Eckletoneleven. He went to his bed and began to undress without a word,feeling rather than seeing the eyes that were peering at him. When hehad completed the performance of disrobing, he blew out the candle andgot into bed. The silence was broken by numerous coughs, of thatshort, suggestive type with which the public schoolboy loves toembarrass his fellow man. From some unidentified corner of the roomcame a subdued giggle. Then a whispered, "Shut _up_, you fool!"To which a low voice replied, "All _right,_ I'm not doinganything."More coughs, and another outbreak of giggling from a fresh quarter.
　　"Good night," said Kennedy, to the room in general.
　　There was no reply. The giggler appeared to be rapidly approachinghysterics.
　　"Shut up that row," said Kennedy.
　　The giggling ceased.
　　The atmosphere was charged with suspicion. Kennedy fell asleep fearingthat he was going to have trouble with his dormitory before manynights had passed.
Chapter 10 Further Experiences Of An Exile
   Breakfast on the following morning was a repetition of the dormitoryordeal. Kennedy walked to his place on Mr Kay's right, feeling thateveryone was looking at him, as indeed they were. He understood forthe first time the meaning of the expression, "the cynosure of alleyes". He was modest by nature, and felt his position a distincttrial.
　　He did not quite know what to say or do with regard to his newhouse-master at this their first meeting in the latter's territory.
　　"Come aboard, sir," occurred to him for a moment as a happy phrase,but he discarded it. To make the situation more awkward, Mr Kay didnot observe him at first, being occupied in assailing a riotous fag atthe other end of the table, that youth having succeeded, by adexterous drive in the ribs, in making a friend of his spill half acup of coffee. Kennedy did not know whether to sit down without a wordor to remain standing until Mr Kay had time to attend to him. He wouldhave done better to have sat down; Mr Kay's greeting, when it came,was not worth waiting for.
　　"Sit down, Kennedy," he said, irritably--rebuking people on an emptystomach always ruffled him. "Sit down, sit down."Kennedy sat down, and began to toy diffidently with a sausage,remembering, as he did so, certain diatribes of Fenn's against thefood at Kay's. As he became more intimate with the sausage, headmitted to himself that Fenn had had reason. Mr Kay meanwhile poundedaway in moody silence at a plate of kidneys and bacon. It was one ofthe many grievances which gave the Kayite material for conversationthat Mr Kay had not the courage of his opinions in the matter of food.
　　He insisted that he fed his house luxuriously, but he refused to bravethe mysteries of its bill of fare himself.
　　Fenn had not come down when Kennedy went in to breakfast. He arrivedsome ten minutes later, when Kennedy had vanquished the sausage, andwas keeping body and soul together with bread and marmalade.
　　"I cannot have this, Fenn," snapped Mr Kay; "you must come down intime."Fenn took the rebuke in silence, cast one glance at the sausage whichconfronted him, and then pushed it away with such unhesitatingrapidity that Mr Kay glared at him as if about to take up the cudgelsfor the rejected viand. Perhaps he remembered that it scarcelybefitted the dignity of a house-master to enter upon a wrangle with amember of his house on the subject of the merits and demerits ofsausages, for he refrained, and Fenn was allowed to go on with hismeal in peace.
　　Kennedy's chief anxiety had been with regard to Fenn. True, the lattercould hardly blame him for being made head of Kay's, since he had notbeen consulted in the matter, and, if he had been, would have refusedthe post with horror; but nevertheless the situation might cause acoolness between them. And if Fenn, the only person in the house withwhom he was at all intimate, refused to be on friendly terms, his stayin Kay's would be rendered worse than even he had looked for.
　　Fenn had not spoken to him at breakfast, but then there was littletable talk at Kay's. Perhaps the quality of the food suggested suchgloomy reflections that nobody liked to put them into words.
　　After the meal Fenn ran upstairs to his study. Kennedy followed him,and opened conversation in his direct way with the subject which hehad come to discuss.
　　"I say," he said, "I hope you aren't sick about this. You know Ididn't want to bag your place as head of the house.""My dear chap," said Fenn, "don't apologise. You're welcome to it.
　　Being head of Kay's isn't such a soft job that one is keen on stickingto it.""All the same--" began Kennedy.
　　"I knew Kay would get at me somehow, of course. I've been wonderinghow all the holidays. I didn't think of this. Still, I'm jolly gladit's happened. I now retire into private life, and look on. I've takenyears off my life sweating to make this house decent, and now I'mgoing to take a rest and watch you tearing your hair out over the job.
　　I'm awfully sorry for you. I wish they'd roped in some other victim.""But you're still a house prefect, I suppose?""I believe so, Kay couldn't very well make me a fag again.""Then you'll help manage things?"Fenn laughed.
　　"Will I, by Jove! I'd like to see myself! I don't want to do the heavymartyr business and that sort of thing, but I'm hanged if I'm going totake any more trouble over the house. Haven't you any respect for MrKay's feelings? He thinks I can't keep order. Surely you don't want meto go and shatter his pet beliefs? Anyhow, I'm not going to do it. I'mgoing to play 'villagers and retainers' to your 'hero'. If you doanything wonderful with the house, I shall be standing by ready tocheer. But you don't catch me shoving myself forward. 'Thank Heaven Iknows me place,' as the butler in the play says."Kennedy kicked moodily at the leg of the chair which he was holding.
　　The feeling that his whole world had fallen about his ears wasincreasing with every hour he spent in Kay's. Last term he and Fennhad been as close friends as you could wish to see. If he had askedFenn to help him in a tight place then, he knew he could have reliedon him. Now his chief desire seemed to be to score off the human racein general, his best friend included. It was a depressing beginning.
　　"Do you know what the sherry said to the man when he was just going todrink it?" inquired Fenn. "It said, '_Nemo me impune lacessit_'.
　　That's how I feel. Kay went out of his way to give me a bad time whenI was doing my best to run his house properly, so I don't see that I'mcalled upon to go out of my way to work for him.""It's rather rough on me--" Kennedy began. Then a sudden indignationrushed through him. Why should he grovel to Fenn? If Fenn chose tostand out, let him. He was capable of running the house by himself.
　　"I don't care," he said, savagely. "If you can't see what a cad you'remaking of yourself, I'm not going to try to show you. You can do whatyou jolly well please. I'm not dependent on you. I'll make this adecent house off my own bat without your help. If you like looking on,you'd better look on. I'll give you something to look at soon."He went out, leaving Fenn with mixed feelings. He would have liked tohave followed him, taken back what he had said, and formed anoffensive alliance against the black sheep of the house--and also,which was just as important, against the slack sheep, who were goodfor nothing, either at work or play. But his bitterness against thehouse-master prevented him. He was not going to take his removal fromthe leadership of Kay's as if nothing had happened.
　　Meanwhile, in the dayrooms and studies, the house had been holdingindignation meetings, and at each it had been unanimously resolvedthat Kay's had been abominably treated, and that the deposition ofFenn must not be tolerated. Unfortunately, a house cannot do very muchwhen it revolts. It can only show its displeasure in little things,and by an increase of rowdiness. This was the line that Kay's took.
　　Fenn became a popular hero. Fags, until he kicked them for it, showeda tendency to cheer him whenever they saw him. Nothing could paint MrKay blacker in the eyes of his house, so that Kennedy came in for allthe odium. The same fags who had cheered Fenn hooted him on oneoccasion as he passed the junior dayroom. Kennedy stopped short, wentin, and presented each inmate of the room with six cuts with aswagger-stick. This summary and Captain Kettle-like move had itseffect. There was no more hooting. The fags bethought themselves ofother ways of showing their disapproval of their new head.
　　One genius suggested that they might kill two birds with onestone--snub Kennedy and pay a stately compliment to Fenn by applyingto the latter for leave to go out of bounds instead of to the former.
　　As the giving of leave "down town" was the prerogative of the head ofthe house, and of no other, there was a suggestiveness about this modeof procedure which appealed to the junior dayroom.
　　But the star of the junior dayroom was not in the ascendant. Fennmight have quarrelled with Kennedy, and be extremely indignant at hisremoval from the headship of the house, but he was not the man toforget to play the game. His policy of non-interference did notinclude underhand attempts to sap Kennedy's authority. When Gorrick,of the Lower Fourth, the first of the fags to put the ingenious schemeinto practice, came to him, still smarting from Kennedy's castigation,Fenn promptly gave him six more cuts, worse than the first, and kickedhim out into the passage. Gorrick naturally did not want to spoil agood thing by giving Fenn's game away, so he lay low and said nothing,with the result that Wren and three others met with the same fate,only more so, because Fenn's wrath increased with each visit.
　　Kennedy, of course, heard nothing of this, or he might perhaps havethought better of Fenn. As for the junior dayroom, it was obliged towork off its emotion by jeering Jimmy Silver from the safety of thetouchline when the head of Blackburn's was refereeing in a matchbetween the juniors of his house and those of Kay's. Blackburn'shappened to win by four goals and eight tries, a result which thepatriotic Kay fag attributed solely to favouritism on the part of thereferee.
　　"I like the kids in your house," said Jimmy to Kennedy, after thematch, when telling the latter of the incident; "there's no false ideaof politeness about them. If they don't like your decisions, they sayso in a shrill treble.""Little beasts," said Kennedy. "I wish I knew who they were. It'shopeless to try and spot them, of course."
Chapter 11 The Senior Dayroom Opens Fire
Curiously enough, it was shortly after this that the junior dayroomceased almost entirely to trouble the head of the house. Not that theyturned over new leaves, and modelled their conduct on that of the heroof the Sunday-school story. They were still disorderly, but in alesser degree; and ragging became a matter of private enterprise amongthe fags instead of being, as it had threatened to be, an organisedrevolt against the new head. When a Kay's fag rioted now, he did sowith the air of one endeavouring to amuse himself, not as if he werecarrying on a holy war against the oppressor.
　　Kennedy's difficulties were considerably diminished by this change. Ahead of a house expects the juniors of his house to rag. It is whatthey are put into the world to do, and there is no difficulty inkeeping the thing within decent limits. A revolution is another casealtogether. Kennedy was grateful for the change, for it gave him moretime to keep an eye on the other members of the house, but he had noidea what had brought it about. As a matter of fact, he had BillySilver to thank for it. The chief organiser of the movement againstKennedy in the junior dayroom had been the red-haired Wren, whopreached war to his fellow fags, partly because he loved to create adisturbance, and partly because Walton, who hated Kennedy, had toldhim to. Between Wren and Billy Silver a feud had existed since theirfirst meeting. The unsatisfactory conclusion to their encounter incamp had given another lease of life to the feud, and Billy had comeback to Kay's with the fixed intention of smiting his auburn-hairedfoe hip and thigh at the earliest opportunity. Wren's attitude withrespect to Kennedy gave him a decent excuse. He had no particularregard for Kennedy. The fact that he was a friend of his brother's wasno recommendation. There existed between the two Silvers that feelingwhich generally exists between an elder and a much younger brother atthe same school. Each thought the other a bit of an idiot, and thoughequal to tolerating him personally, was hanged if he was going to dothe same by his friends. In Billy's circle of acquaintances, Jimmy'sfriends were looked upon with cold suspicion as officious meddlers whowould give them lines if they found them out of bounds. Thearistocrats with whom Jimmy foregathered barely recognised theexistence of Billy's companions. Kennedy's claim to Billy's goodoffices rested on the fact that they both objected to Wren.
　　So that, when Wren lifted up his voice in the junior dayroom, andexhorted the fags to go and make a row in the passage outsideKennedy's study, and--from a safe distance, and having previouslyensured a means of rapid escape--to fling boots at his door, Billydamped the popular enthusiasm which had been excited by the proposalby kicking Wren with some violence, and begging him not to be an ass.
　　Whereupon they resumed their battle at the point at which it had beeninterrupted at camp. And when, some five minutes later, Billy, fromhis seat on his adversary's chest, offered to go through the sameperformance with anybody else who wished, the junior dayroom came tothe conclusion that his feelings with regard to the new head of thehouse, however foolish and unpatriotic, had better be respected. Andthe revolution of the fags had fizzled out from that moment.
　　In the senior dayroom, however, the flag of battle was still unfurled.
　　It was so obvious that Kennedy had been put into the house as areformer, and the seniors of Kay's had such an objection to beingreformed, that trouble was only to be expected. It was the custom inmost houses for the head of the house, by right of that position, tobe also captain of football. The senior dayroom was aggrieved atKennedy's taking this post from Fenn. Fenn was in his second year inthe school fifteen, and he was the three-quarter who scored mostfrequently for Eckleton, whereas Kennedy, though practically acertainty for one of the six vacant places in the school scrum, was atpresent entitled to wear only a second fifteen cap. The claims of Fennto be captain of Kay's football were strong, Kennedy had begged him tocontinue in that position more than once. Fenn's persistent refusalhad helped to increase the coolness between them, and it had also madethings more difficult for Kennedy in the house.
　　It was on the Monday of the third week of term that Kennedy, at JimmySilver's request, arranged a "friendly" between Kay's and Blackburn's.
　　There could be no doubt as to which was the better team (forBlackburn's had been runners up for the Cup the season before), butthe better one's opponents the better the practice. Kennedy wrote outthe list and fixed it on the notice board. The match was to be playedon the following afternoon.
　　A football team must generally be made up of the biggest men at thecaptain's disposal, so it happened that Walton, Perry, Callingham, andthe other leaders of dissension in Kay's all figured on the list. Theconsequence was that the list came in for a good deal of comment inthe senior dayroom. There were games every Saturday and Wednesday, andit annoyed Walton and friends that they should have to turn out on anafternoon that was not a half holiday. It was trouble enough playingfootball on the days when it was compulsory. As for patriotism, nomember of the house even pretended to care whether Kay's put a goodteam into the field or not. The senior dayroom sat talking over thematter till lights-out. When Kennedy came down next morning, he foundhis list scribbled over with blue pencil, while across it in boldletters ran the single word,ROT.
　　He went to his study, wrote out a fresh copy, and pinned it up inplace of the old one. He had been early in coming down that morning,and the majority of the Kayites had not seen the defaced notice. Thematch was fixed for half-past four. At four a thin rain was falling.
　　The weather had been bad for some days, but on this particularafternoon it readied the limit. In addition to being wet, it was alsocold, and Kennedy, as he walked over to the grounds, felt that hewould be glad when the game was over. He hoped that Blackburn's wouldbe punctual, and congratulated himself on his foresight in securing MrBlackburn as referee. Some of the staff, when they consented to holdthe whistle in a scratch game, invariably kept the teams waiting onthe field for half an hour before turning up. Mr Blackburn, an theother hand, was always punctual. He came out of his house just asKennedy turned in at the school gates.
　　"Well, Kennedy," he said from the depths of his ulster, the collar ofwhich he had turned up over his ears with a prudence which Kennedy,having come out with only a blazer on over his football clothes,distinctly envied, "I hope your men are not going to be late. I don'tthink I ever saw a worse day for football. How long were you thinkingof playing? Two twenty-fives would be enough for a day like this, Ithink."Kennedy consulted with Jimmy Silver, who came up at this moment, andthey agreed without argument that twenty-five minutes each way wouldbe the very thing.
　　"Where are your men?" asked Jimmy. "I've got all our chaps out here,bar Challis, who'll be out in a few minutes. I left him almostchanged."Challis appeared a little later, and joined the rest of Blackburn'steam, who were putting in the time and trying to keep warm by runningand passing and dropping desultory goals. But, with the exception ofFenn, who stood brooding by himself in the centre of the field,wrapped to the eyes in a huge overcoat, and two other house prefectsof Kay's, who strolled up and down looking as if they wished they werein their studies, there was no sign of the missing team.
　　"I can't make it out," said Kennedy.
　　"You're sure you put up the right time?" asked Jimmy Silver.
　　"Yes, quite."It certainly could not be said that Kay's had had any room for doubtas to the time of the match, for it had appeared in large figures onboth notices.
　　A quarter to five sounded from the college clock.
　　"We must begin soon," said Mr Blackburn, "or there will not be lightenough even for two twenty-fives."Kennedy felt wretched. Apart from the fact that he was frozen to anicicle and drenched by the rain, he felt responsible for his team, andhe could see that Blackburn's men were growing irritated at the delay,though they did their best to conceal it.
　　"Can't we lend them some subs?" suggested Challis, hopefully.
　　"All right--if you can raise eleven subs," said Silver. "They've onlygot four men on the field at present."Challis subsided.
　　"Look here," said Kennedy, "I'm going back to the house to see what'sup. I'll be back as soon as I can. They must have mistaken the time orsomething after all."He rushed back to the house, and flung open the door of the seniordayroom. It was empty.
　　Kennedy had expected to find his missing men huddled in a semicircleround the fire, waiting for some one to come and tell them thatBlackburn's had taken the field, and that they could come out nowwithout any fear of having to wait in the rain for the match to begin.
　　This, he thought, would have been the unselfish policy of Kay's seniordayroom.
　　But to find nobody was extraordinary.
　　The thought occurred to him that the team might be changing in theirdormitories. He ran upstairs. But all the dormitories were locked, ashe might have known they would have been. Coming downstairs again hemet his fag, Spencer.
　　Spencer replied to his inquiry that he had only just come in. He didnot know where the team had got to. No, he had not seen any of them.
　　"Oh, yes, though," he added, as an afterthought, "I met Walton justnow. He looked as if he was going down town."Walton had once licked Spencer, and that vindictive youth thought thatthis might be a chance of getting back at him.
　　"Oh," said Kennedy, quietly, "Walton? Did you? Thanks."Spencer was disappointed at his lack of excitement. His news did notseem to interest him.
　　Kennedy went back to the football field to inform Jimmy Silver of theresult of his investigations.
Chapter 12 Kennedy Interviews Walton
"I'm very sorry," he said, when he rejoined the shivering group, "butI'm afraid we shall have to call this match off. There seems to havebeen a mistake. None of my team are anywhere about. I'm awfully sorry,sir," he added, to Mr Blackburn, "to have given you all this troublefor nothing.""Not at all, Kennedy. We must try another day."Mr Blackburn suspected that something untoward had happened in Kay'sto cause this sudden defection of the first fifteen of the house. Heknew that Kennedy was having a hard time in his new position, and hedid not wish to add to his discomfort by calling for an explanationbefore an audience. It could not be pleasant for Kennedy to feel thathis enemies had scored off him. It was best to preserve a discreetsilence with regard to the whole affair, and leave him to settle itfor himself.
　　Jimmy Silver was more curious. He took Kennedy off to tea in hisstudy, sat him down in the best chair in front of the fire, andproceeded to urge him to confess everything.
　　"Now, then, what's it all about?" he asked, briskly, spearing a muffinon the fork and beginning to toast.
　　"It's no good asking me," said Kennedy. "I suppose it's a put-up jobto make me look a fool. I ought to have known something of this kindwould happen when I saw what they did to my first notice.""What was that?"Kennedy explained.
　　"This is getting thrilling," said Jimmy. "Just pass that plate.
　　Thanks. What are you going to do about it?""I don't know. What would you do?""My dear chap, I'd first find out who was at the bottom of it--there'sbound to be one man who started the whole thing--and I'd make it myaim in life to give him the warmest ten minutes he'd ever had.""That sounds all right. But how would you set about it?""Why, touch him up, of course. What else would you do? Before thewhole house, too.""Supposing he wouldn't be touched up?""Wouldn't _be!_ He'd have to.""You don't know Kay's, Jimmy. You're thinking what you'd do if thishad happened in Blackburn's. The two things aren't the same. Here theman would probably take it like a lamb. The feeling of the house wouldbe against him. He'd find nobody to back him up. That's becauseBlackburn's is a decent house instead of being a sink like Kay's. If Itried the touching-up before the whole house game with our chaps, theman would probably reply by going for me, assisted by the wholestrength of the company.""Well, dash it all then, all you've got to do is to call a prefects'
　　meeting, and he'll get ten times worse beans from them than he'd havegot from you. It's simple."Kennedy stared into the fire pensively.
　　"I don't know," he said. "I bar that prefects' meeting business. Italways seems rather feeble to me, lugging in a lot of chaps to helpsettle some one you can't manage yourself. I want to carry this jobthrough on my own.""Then you'd better scrap with the man.""I think I will."Silver stared.
　　"Don't be an ass," he said. "I was only rotting. Youcan't go fighting all over the shop as if you were a fag. You'd loseyour prefect's cap if it came out.""I could wear my topper," said Kennedy, with a grin. "You see," headded, "I've not much choice. I must do something. If I took no noticeof this business there'd be no holding the house. I should be ragged todeath. It's no good talking about it. Personally, I should prefertouching the chap up to fighting him, and I shall try it on. But he'snot likely to meet me half-way. And if he doesn't there'll be aninteresting turn-up, and you shall hold the watch. I'll send a kidround to fetch you when things look like starting. I must go now tointerview my missing men. So long. Mind you slip round directly I sendfor you.""Wait a second. Don't be in such a beastly hurry. Who's the chapyou're going to fight?""I don't know yet. Walton, I should think. But I don't know.""Walton! By Jove, it'll be worth seeing, anyhow, if we _are_ bothsacked for it when the Old Man finds out."Kennedy returned to his study and changed his football boots for apair of gymnasium shoes. For the job he had in hand it was necessarythat he should move quickly, and football boots are a nuisance on aboard floor. When he had changed, he called Spencer.
　　"Go down to the senior dayroom," he said, "and tell MacPherson I wantto see him."MacPherson was a long, weak-looking youth. He had been put down toplay for the house that day, and had not appeared.
　　"MacPherson!" said the fag, in a tone of astonishment, "not Walton?"He had been looking forward to the meeting between Kennedy and hisancient foe, and to have a miserable being like MacPherson offered asa substitute disgusted him.
　　"If you have no objection," said Kennedy, politely, "I may want you tofetch Walton later on."Spencer vanished, hopeful once more.
　　"Come in, MacPherson," said Kennedy, on the arrival of the long one;"shut the door."MacPherson did so, feeling as if he were paying a visit to thedentist. As long as there had been others with him in this affair hehad looked on it as a splendid idea. But to be singled out like thiswas quite a different thing.
　　"Now," said Kennedy, "Why weren't you on the field this afternoon?""I--er--I was kept in.""How long?""Oh--er--till about five.""What do you call about five?""About twenty-five to," he replied, despondently.
　　"Now look here," said Kennedy, briskly, "I'm just going to explain toyou exactly how I stand in this business, so you'd better attend. Ididn't ask to be made head of this sewage depot. If I could have hadany choice, I wouldn't have touched a Kayite with a barge-pole. Butsince I am head, I'm going to be it, and the sooner you and yoursenior dayroom crew realise it the better. This sort of thing isn'tgoing on. I want to know now who it was put up this job. You wouldn'thave the cheek to start a thing like this yourself. Who was it?""Well--er--""You'd better say, and be quick, too. I can't wait. Whoever it was. Ishan't tell him you told me. And I shan't tell Kay. So now you can goahead. Who was it?""Well--er--Walton.""I thought so. Now you can get out. If you see Spencer, send him here."Spencer, curiously enough, was just outside the door. So close to it,indeed, that he almost tumbled in when MacPherson opened it.
　　"Go and fetch Walton," said Kennedy.
　　Spencer dashed off delightedly, and in a couple of minutes Waltonappeared. He walked in with an air of subdued defiance, and slammedthe door.
　　"Don't bang the door like that," said Kennedy. "Why didn't you turnout today?""I was kept in.""Couldn't you get out in time to play?""No.""When did you get out?""Six.""Not before?""I said six.""Then how did you manage to go down town--without leave, by the way,but that's a detail--at half-past five?""All right," said Walton; "better call me a liar.""Good suggestion," said Kennedy, cheerfully; "I will.""It's all very well," said Walton. "You know jolly well you can sayanything you like. I can't do anything to you. You'd have me up beforethe prefects.""Not a bit of it. This is a private affair between ourselves. I'm notgoing to drag the prefects into it. You seem to want to make thishouse worse than it is. I want to make it more or less decent. Wecan't both have what we want."There was a pause.
　　"When would it be convenient for you to be touched up before the wholehouse?" inquired Kennedy, pleasantly.
　　"What?""Well, you see, it seems the only thing. I must take it out of someone for this house-match business, and you started it. Will tonightsuit you, after supper?""You'll get it hot if you try to touch me.""We'll see.""You'd funk taking me on in a scrap," said Walton.
　　"Would I? As a matter of fact, a scrap would suit me just as well.
　　Better. Are you ready now?""Quite, thanks," sneered Walton. "I've knocked you out before, andI'll do it again.""Oh, then it was you that night at camp? I thought so. I spotted yourstyle. Hitting a chap when he wasn't ready, you know, and so on. Now,if you'll wait a minute, I'll send across to Blackburn's for Silver. Itold him I should probably want him as a time-keeper tonight.""What do you want with Silver. Why won't Perry do?""Thanks, I'm afraid Perry's time-keeping wouldn't be impartial enough.
　　Silver, I think, if you don't mind."Spencer was summoned once more, and despatched to Blackburn's. Hereturned with Jimmy.
　　"Come in, Jimmy," said Kennedy. "Run away, Spencer. Walton and I arejust going to settle a point of order which has arisen, Jimmy. Willyou hold the watch? We ought just to have time before tea.""Where?" asked Silver.
　　"My dormitory would be the best place. We can move the beds. I'll goand get the keys."Kennedy's dormitory was the largest in the house. After the beds hadbeen moved back, there was a space in the middle of fifteen feet oneway, and twelve the other--not a large ring, but large enough for twofighters who meant business.
　　Walton took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. Kennedy, who was stillin football clothes, removed his blazer.
　　"Half a second," said Jimmy Silver--"what length rounds?""Two minutes?" said Kennedy to Walton.
　　"All right," growled Walton.
　　"Two minutes, then, and half a minute in between.""Are you both ready?" asked Jimmy, from his seat on the chest ofdrawers.
　　Kennedy and Walton advanced into the middle of the impromptu ring.
　　There was dead silence for a moment.
　　"Time!" said Jimmy Silver.
Chapter 13 The Fight In The Dormitory
Stating it broadly, fighters may be said to be divided into twoclasses--those who are content to take two blows if they can givethree in return, and those who prefer to receive as little punishmentas possible, even at the expense of scoring fewer points themselves.
　　Kennedy's position, when Jimmy Silver called time, was peculiar. Onall the other occasions on which he had fought--with the gloves on inthe annual competition, and at the assault-at-arms--he had gone in forthe policy of taking all that the other man liked to give him, andgiving rather more in exchange. Now, however, he was obliged to alterhis whole style. For a variety of reasons it was necessary that heshould come out of this fight with as few marks as possible. To beginwith, he represented, in a sense, the Majesty of the Law. He wastackling Walton more by way of an object-lesson to the Kayitemutineers than for his own personal satisfaction. The object-lessonwould lose in impressiveness if he were compelled to go about for aweek or so with a pair of black eyes, or other adornments of a similarkind. Again--and this was even more important--if he was badly markedthe affair must come to the knowledge of the headmaster. Being aprefect, and in the sixth form, he came into contact with the Headevery day, and the disclosure of the fact that he had been engaged ina pitched battle with a member of his house, who was, in addition toother disadvantages, very low down in the school, would be likely tolead to unpleasantness. A school prefect of Eckleton was supposed tobe hedged about with so much dignity that he could quell turbulentinferiors with a glance. The idea of one of the august body loweringhimself to the extent of emphasising his authority with the bareknuckle would scandalise the powers.
　　So Kennedy, rising at the call of time from the bed on which he sat,came up to the scratch warily.
　　Walton, on the other hand, having everything to gain and nothing tolose, and happy in the knowledge that no amount of bruises could dohim any harm, except physically, came on with the evident intention ofmaking a hurricane fight of it. He had very little science as a boxer.
　　Heavy two-handed slogging was his forte, and, as the majority of hisopponents up to the present had not had sufficient skill to discounthis strength, he had found this a very successful line of action.
　　Kennedy and he had never had the gloves on together. In thecompetition of the previous year both had entered in their respectiveclasses, Kennedy as a lightweight, Walton in the middles, and both,after reaching the semi-final, had been defeated by the narrowest ofmargins by men who had since left the school. That had been in theprevious Easter term, and, while Walton had remained much the same asregards weight and strength, Kennedy, owing to a term of hard bowlingand a summer holiday spent in the open, had filled out. They were nowpractically on an equality, as far as weight was concerned. As forcondition, that was all in favour of Kennedy. He played football inhis spare time. Walton, on the days when football was not compulsory,smoked cigarettes.
　　Neither of the pair showed any desire to open the fight by shakinghands. This was not a friendly spar. It was business. The first movewas made by Walton, who feinted with his right and dashed in to fightat close quarters. It was not a convincing feint. At any rate, it didnot deceive Kennedy. He countered with his left, and swung his rightat the body with all the force he could put into the hit. Walton wentback a pace, sparred for a moment, then came in again, hittingheavily. Kennedy's counter missed its mark this time. He just stoppeda round sweep of Walton's right, ducked to avoid a similar effort ofhis left, and they came together in a clinch.
　　In a properly regulated glove-fight, the referee, on observing theprincipals clinch, says, "Break away there, break away," in a sad,reproachful voice, and the fighters separate without demur, being verymuch alive to the fact that, as far as that contest is concerned,their destinies are in his hands, and that any bad behaviour in thering will lose them the victory. But in an impromptu turn-up like thisone, the combatants show a tendency to ignore the rules so carefullymapped out by the present Marquess of Queensberry's grandfather, andrevert to the conditions of warfare under which Cribb and Spring wontheir battles. Kennedy and Walton, having clinched, proceeded towrestle up and down the room, while Jimmy Silver looked on from hiseminence in pained surprise at the sight of two men, who knew therules of the ring, so far forgetting themselves.
　　To do Kennedy justice, it was not his fault. He was only acting inself-defence. Walton had started the hugging. Also, he had got theunder-grip, which, when neither man knows a great deal of the scienceof wrestling, generally means victory. Kennedy was quite sure that hecould not throw his antagonist, but he hung on in the knowledge thatthe round must be over shortly, when Walton would have to loose him.
　　"Time," said Jimmy Silver.
　　Kennedy instantly relaxed his grip, and in that instant Walton swunghim off his feet, and they came down together with a crash that shookthe room. Kennedy was underneath, and, as he fell, his head came intoviolent contact with the iron support of a bed.
　　Jimmy Silver sprang down from his seat.
　　"What are you playing at, Walton? Didn't you hear me call time? It wasa beastly foul--the worst I ever saw. You ought to be sacked for athing like that. Look here, Kennedy, you needn't go on. I disqualifyWalton for fouling."The usually genial James stammered with righteous indignation.
　　Kennedy sat down on a bed, dizzily.
　　"No," he said; "I'm going on.""But he fouled you.""I don't care. I'll look after myself. Is it time yet?""Ten seconds more, if you really are going on."He climbed back on to the chest of drawers.
　　"Time."Kennedy came up feeling weak and sick. The force with which he had hithis head on the iron had left him dazed.
　　Walton rushed in as before. He had no chivalrous desire to spare hisman by way of compensation for fouling him. What monopolised hisattention was the evident fact that Kennedy was in a bad way, and thata little strenuous infighting might end the affair in the desiredmanner.
　　It was at this point that Kennedy had reason to congratulate himselfon donning gymnasium shoes. They gave him that extra touch oflightness which enabled him to dodge blows which he was too weak toparry. Everything was vague and unreal to him. He seemed to be lookingon at a fight between Walton and some stranger.
　　Then the effect of his fall began to wear off. He could feel himselfgrowing stronger. Little by little his head cleared, and he began oncemore to take a personal interest in the battle. It is astonishing whata power a boxer, who has learnt the art carefully, has of automaticfighting. The expert gentleman who fights under the pseudonym of "KidM'Coy" once informed the present writer that in one of his fights hewas knocked down by such a severe hit that he remembered nothingfurther, and it was only on reading the paper next morning that hefound, to his surprise, that he had fought four more rounds after theblow, and won the battle handsomely on points. Much the same thinghappened to Kennedy. For the greater part of the second round hefought without knowing it. When Jimmy Silver called time he was in asgood case as ever, and the only effects of the blow on his head were avast lump underneath the hair, and a settled determination to win orperish. In a few minutes the bell would ring for tea, and all hisefforts would end in nothing. It was no good fighting a draw withWalton if he meant to impress the house. He knew exactly what Rumour,assisted by Walton, would make of the affair in that case. "Have youheard the latest?" A would ask of B. "Why, Kennedy tried to touchWalton up for not playing footer, and Walton went for him and wouldhave given him frightful beans, only they had to go down to tea."There must be none of that sort of thing.
　　"Time," said Jimmy Silver, breaking in on his meditations.
　　It was probably the suddenness and unexpectedness of it that tookWalton aback. Up till now his antagonist had been fighting strictly onthe defensive, and was obviously desirous of escaping punishment asfar as might be possible. And then the fall at the end of round onehad shaken him up, so that he could hardly fight at all at theirsecond meeting. Walton naturally expected that it would be left to himto do the leading in round three. Instead of this, however, Kennedyopened the round with such a lightning attack that Walton was allabroad in a moment. In his most scientific mood he had never had theremotest notion of how to guard. He was aggressive and nothing else.
　　Attacked by a quick hitter, he was useless. Three times Kennedy gotthrough his guard with his left. The third hit staggered him. Beforehe could recover, Kennedy had got his right in, and down went Waltonin a heap.
　　He was up again as soon as he touched the boards, and down againalmost as soon as he was up. Kennedy was always a straight hitter, andnow a combination of good cause and bad temper--for the thought of thefoul in the first round had stirred what was normally a more or lessplacid nature into extreme viciousness--lent a vigour to his left armto which he had hitherto been a stranger. He did not use his rightagain. It was not needed.
　　Twice more Walton went down. He was still down when Jimmy Silvercalled time. When the half-minute interval between the rounds wasover, he stated that he was not going on.
　　Kennedy looked across at him as he sat on a bed dabbing tenderly athis face with a handkerchief, and was satisfied with the success ofhis object-lesson. From his own face the most observant of headmasterscould have detected no evidence that he had been engaged in a vulgarfight. Walton, on the other hand, looked as if he had been engaged inseveral--all violent. Kennedy went off to his study to change, feelingthat he had advanced a long step on the thorny path that led to thePerfect House.
Chapter 14 Fenn Receives A Letter
But the step was not such a very long one after all. What it amountedto was simply this, that open rebellion ceased in Kay's. When Kennedyput up the list on the notice-board for the third time, which he didon the morning following his encounter with Walton, and wrote on itthat the match with Blackburn's would take place that afternoon, histeam turned out like lambs, and were duly defeated by thirty-onepoints. He had to play a substitute for Walton, who was rather toobattered to be of any real use in the scrum; but, with that exception,the team that entered the field was the same that should have enteredit the day before.
　　But his labours in the Augean stables of Kay's were by no means over.
　　Practically they had only begun. The state of the house now wasexactly what it had been under Fenn. When Kennedy had taken over thereins, Kay's had become on the instant twice as bad as it had beenbefore. By his summary treatment of the revolution, he had, so tospeak, wiped off this deficit. What he had to do now was to begin toimprove things. Kay's was now in its normal state--slack, rowdy in anunderhand way, and utterly useless to the school. It was "up to"Kennedy, as they say in America, to start in and make somethingpresentable and useful out of these unpromising materials.
　　What annoyed him more than anything else was the knowledge that ifonly Fenn chose to do the square thing and help him in his work, thecombination would be irresistible. It was impossible to make anyleeway to speak of by himself. If Fenn would only forget hisgrievances and join forces with him, they could electrify the house.
　　Fenn, however, showed no inclination to do anything of the kind. Heand Kennedy never spoke to one another now except when it wasabsolutely unavoidable, and then they behaved with that painfulpoliteness in which the public schoolman always wraps himself as in agarment when dealing with a friend with whom he has quarrelled.
　　On the Walton episode Fenn had made no comment, though it is probablethat he thought a good deal.
　　It was while matters were in this strained condition that Fennreceived a letter from his elder brother. This brother had been atEckleton in his time--School House--and had left five years before togo to Cambridge. Cambridge had not taught him a great deal, possiblybecause he did not meet the well-meant efforts of his tutor half-way.
　　The net result of his three years at King's was--_imprimis_, acricket blue, including a rather lucky eighty-three at Lord's;secondly, a very poor degree; thirdly and lastly, a taste forliterature and the drama--he had been a prominent member of theFootlights Club. When he came down he looked about him for someoccupation which should combine in happy proportions a small amount ofwork and a large amount of salary, and, finding none, drifted intojournalism, at which calling he had been doing very fairly ever since.
　　"Dear Bob," the letter began. Fenn's names were Robert Mowbray, thesecond of which he had spent much of his time in concealing. "Just aline."The elder Fenn always began his letters with these words, whether theyran to one sheet or eight. In the present case the screed was notparticularly long.
　　"Do you remember my reading you a bit of an opera I was writing? Well,I finished it, and, after going the round of most of the managers, whochucked it with wonderful unanimity, it found an admirer in Higgs, theman who took the part of the duke in _The Outsider_. Luckily, hehappened to be thinking of starting on his own in opera instead offarce, and there's a part in mine which fits him like a glove. So he'sgoing to bring it out at the Imperial in the spring, and by way oftesting the piece--trying it on the dog, as it were--he means to tourwith it. Now, here's the point of this letter. We start at Eckletonnext Wednesday. We shall only be there one night, for we go on toSouthampton on Thursday. I suppose you couldn't come and see it? Iremember Peter Brown, who got the last place in the team the year Igot my cricket colours, cutting out of his house (Kay's, by the way)and going down town to see a piece at the theatre. I'm bound to admithe got sacked for it, but still, it shows that it can be done. All thesame, I shouldn't try it on if I were you. You'll be able to read allabout the 'striking success' and 'unrestrained enthusiasm' in the_Eckleton Mirror_ on Thursday. Mind you buy a copy."The rest of the letter was on other subjects. It took Fenn less than aminute to decide to patronise that opening performance. He was neverin the habit of paying very much attention to risks when he wished todo anything, and now he felt as if he cared even less than usual whatmight be the outcome of the adventure. Since he had ceased to be onspeaking terms with Kennedy, he had found life decidedly dull. Kennedyhad been his only intimate friend. He had plenty of acquaintances, asa first eleven and first fifteen man usually has, but none of themwere very entertaining. Consequently he welcomed the idea of a breakin the monotony of affairs. The only thing that had broken it up tothe present had been a burglary at the school house. Some enterprisingmarauder had broken in a week before and gone off with a few articlesof value from the headmaster's drawing-room. But the members of theschool house had talked about this episode to such an extent that therest of the school had dropped off the subject, exhausted, anddeclined to discuss it further. And things had become monotonous oncemore.
　　Having decided to go, Fenn began to consider how he should do it. Andhere circumstances favoured him. It happened that on the evening onwhich his brother's play was to be produced the headmaster was givinghis once-a-term dinner to the house-prefects. This simplified matterswonderfully. The only time when his absence from the house was at alllikely to be discovered would be at prayers, which took place athalf-past nine. The prefects' dinner solved this difficulty for him.
　　Kay would not expect him to be at prayers, thinking he was over at theHead's, while the Head, if he noticed his absence at all, wouldimagine that he was staying away from the dinner owing to a headacheor some other malady. It seemed tempting Providence not to takeadvantage of such an excellent piece of luck. For the rest, detectionwas practically impossible. Kennedy's advent to the house had oustedFenn from the dormitory in which he had slept hitherto, and, therebeing no bed available in any of the other dormitories, he had beenput into the spare room usually reserved for invalids whose invalidismwas not of a sufficiently infectious kind to demand their removal tothe infirmary. As for getting back into the house, he would leave thewindow of his study unfastened. He could easily climb on to thewindow-ledge, and so to bed without let or hindrance.
　　The distance from Kay's to the town was a mile and a half. If hestarted at the hour when he should have been starting for the schoolhouse, he would arrive just in time to see the curtain go up.
　　Having settled these facts definitely in his mind, he got his bookstogether and went over to school.
Chapter 15 Down Town
Fenn arrived at the theatre a quarter of an hour before the curtainrose. Going down a gloomy alley of the High Street, he found himselfat the stage door, where he made inquiries of a depressed-looking manwith a bad cold in the head as to the whereabouts of his brother. Itseemed that he was with Mr Higgs. If he would wait, said thedoor-keeper, his name should be sent up. Fenn waited, while thedoor-keeper made polite conversation by describing his symptoms to himin a hoarse growl. Presently the minion who had been despatched to theupper regions with Fenn's message returned. Would he go upstairs,third door on the left. Fenn followed the instructions, and foundhimself in a small room, a third of which was filled by a hugeiron-bound chest, another third by a very stout man and adressing-table, while the rest of the space was comparatively empty,being occupied by a wooden chair with three legs. On this seat hisbrother was trying to balance himself, giving what part of hisattention was not required for this feat to listening to some storythe fat man was telling him. Fenn had heard his deep voice booming ashe went up the passage.
　　His brother did the honours.
　　"Glad to see you, glad to see you," said Mr Higgs, for the fat man wasnone other than that celebrity. "Take a seat."Fenn sat down on the chest and promptly tore his trousers on a jaggedpiece of iron.
　　"These provincial dressing-rooms!" said Mr Higgs, by way of comment.
　　"No room! Never any room! No chairs! Nothing!"He spoke in short, quick sentences, and gasped between each. Fenn saidit really didn't matter--he was quite comfortable.
　　"Haven't they done anything about it?" asked Fenn's brother, resumingthe conversation which Fenn's entrance had interrupted. "We've beenhaving a burglary here," he explained. "Somebody got into the theatrelast night through a window. I don't know what they expected to find.""Why," said Fenn, "we've had a burglar up our way too. Chap broke intothe school house and went through the old man's drawing-room. Theschool house men have been talking about nothing else ever since. Iwonder if it's the same crew."Mr Higgs turned in his chair, and waved a stick of grease paintimpressively to emphasise his point.
　　"There," he said. "There! What I've been saying all along. No doubt ofit. Organised gang. And what are the police doing? Nothing, sir,nothing. Making inquiries. Rot! What's the good of inquiries?"Fenn's brother suggested mildly that inquiries were a good beginning.
　　You _must_ start somehow. Mr Higgs scouted the idea.
　　"There ought not to be any doubt, sir. They ought to _know_. ToKNOW," he added, with firmness.
　　At this point there filtered through the closed doors the strains ofthe opening chorus.
　　"By Jove, it's begun!" said Fenn's brother. "Come on, Bob.""Where are we going to?" asked Fenn, as he followed. "The wings?"But it seemed that the rules of Mr Higgs' company prevented anyoutsider taking up his position in that desirable quarter. The onlyplace from which it was possible to watch the performance, except bygoing to the front of the house, was the "flies," situated near theroof of the building.
　　Fenn found all the pleasures of novelty in watching the players fromthis lofty position. Judged by the cold light of reason, it was notthe best place from which to see a play. It was possible to gain onlya very foreshortened view of the actors. But it was a change aftersitting "in front".
　　The piece was progressing merrily. The gifted author, at first silentand pale, began now to show signs of gratification. Now and again hechuckled as some _jeu de mots_ hit the mark and drew a quick gustof laughter from the unseen audience. Occasionally he would nudge Fennto draw his attention to some good bit of dialogue which wasapproaching. He was obviously enjoying himself.
　　The advent of Mr Higgs completed his satisfaction, for the audiencegreeted the comedian with roars of applause. As a rule Eckleton tookits drama through the medium of third-rate touring companies, whichcame down with plays that had not managed to attract London to anygreat extent, and were trying to make up for failures in themetropolis by long tours in the provinces. It was seldom that an actorof the Higgs type paid the town a visit, and in a play, too, which hadpositively never appeared before on any stage. Eckleton appreciatedthe compliment.
　　"Listen," said Fenn's brother. "Isn't that just the part for him? It'sjust like he was in the dressing-room, eh? Short sentences andeverything. The funny part of it is that I didn't know the man when Iwrote the play. It was all luck."Mr Higgs' performance sealed the success of the piece. The houselaughed at everything he said. He sang a song in his gasping way, andthey laughed still more. Fenn's brother became incoherent withdelight. The verdict of Eckleton was hardly likely to affect Londontheatre-goers, but it was very pleasant notwithstanding. Like everyplaywright with his first piece, he had been haunted by the idea thathis dialogue "would not act", that, however humorous it might be to areader, it would fall flat when spoken. There was no doubt now as towhether the lines sounded well.
　　At the beginning of the second act the great Higgs was not on thestage, Fenn's brother knowing enough of the game not to bring on hisbig man too soon. He had not to enter for ten minutes or so. Theauthor, who had gone down to see him during the interval, stayed inthe dressing-room. Fenn, however, who wanted to see all of the piecethat he could, went up to the "flies" again.
　　It occurred to him when he got there that he would see more if he tookthe seat which his brother had been occupying. It would give him muchthe same view of the stage, and a wider view of the audience. Hethought it would be amusing to see how the audience looked from the"flies".
　　Mr W. S. Gilbert once wrote a poem about a certain bishop who, whilefond of amusing himself, objected to his clergy doing likewise. Andthe consequence was that whenever he did so amuse himself, he wasalways haunted by a phantom curate, who joined him in his pleasures,much to his dismay. On one occasion he stopped to watch a Punch andJudy show,And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally.
　　The disgust and panic of this eminent cleric was as nothing comparedwith that of Fenn, when, shifting to his brother's seat, he got thefirst clear view he had had of the audience. In a box to the left ofthe dress-circle sat, "laughing all hyaenally", the followingdistinguished visitors:
　　Mr Mulholland of No. 7 College Buildings.
　　Mr Raynes of No. 4 ditto,andMr Kay.
　　Fenn drew back like a flash, knocking his chair over as he did so.
　　"Giddy, sir?" said a stage hand, pleasantly. "Bless you, lots of gentsis like that when they comes up here. Can't stand the 'eight, theycan't. You'll be all right in a jiffy.""Yes. It--it is rather high, isn't it?" said Fenn. "Awful glare, too."He picked up his chair and sat down well out of sight of the box. Hadthey seen him? he wondered. Then common sense returned to him. Theycould not possibly have seen him. Apart from any other reasons, he hadonly been in his brother's seat for half-a-dozen seconds. No. He wasall right so far. But he would have to get back to the house, and atonce. With three of the staff, including his own house-master, rangingthe town, things were a trifle too warm for comfort. He wondered ithad not occurred to him that, with a big attraction at the theatre,some of the staff might feel an inclination to visit it.
　　He did not stop to say goodbye to his brother. Descending from hisperch, he hurried to the stage door.
　　"It's in the toobs that I feel it, sir." said the door-keeper, as helet him out, resuming their conversation as if they had only justparted. Fenn hurried off without waiting to hear more.
　　It was drizzling outside, and there was a fog. Not a "Londonparticular", but quite thick enough to make it difficult to see whereone was going. People and vehicles passed him, vague phantoms in thedarkness. Occasionally the former collided with him. He began to wishhe had not accepted his brother's invitation. The unexpected sight ofthe three masters had shaken his nerve. Till then only the romantic,adventurous side of the expedition had struck him. Now the risks beganto loom larger in his mind. It was all very well, he felt, to think, ashe had done, that he would be expelled if found out, but that all thesame he would risk it. Detection then had seemed a remote contingency.
　　With three masters in the offing it became at least a possibility. Themelancholy case of Peter Brown seemed to him now to have a morepersonal significance for him.
　　Wrapped in these reflections, he lost his way.
　　He did not realise this for some time. It was borne in upon him whenthe road he was taking suddenly came to an abrupt end in a blank wall.
　　Instead of being, as he had fancied, in the High Street, he must havebranched off into some miserable blind alley.
　　More than ever he wished he had not come. Eckleton was not a town thattook up a great deal of room on the map of England, but it made up forsmall dimensions by the eccentricity with which it had been laid out.
　　On a dark and foggy night, to one who knew little of its geography, itwas a perfect maze.
　　Fenn had wandered some way when the sound of someone whistling apopular music-hall song came to him through the gloom. He had neverheard anything more agreeable.
　　"I say," he shouted at a venture, "can you tell me the way to the HighStreet?"The whistler stopped in the middle of a bar, and presently Fenn saw afigure sidling towards him in what struck him as a particularlyfurtive manner.
　　"Wot's thet, gav'nor?""Can you tell me where the High Street is? I've lost my way."The vague figure came closer.
　　"'Igh Street? Yus; yer go--"A hand shot out, Fenn felt a sharp wrench in the region of hiswaistcoat, and a moment later the stranger had vanished into the fogwith the prefect's watch and chain.
　　Fenn forgot his desire to return to the High Street. He forgoteverything except that he wished to catch the fugitive, maltreat him,and retrieve his property. He tore in the direction whence came thepatter of retreating foot-steps.
　　There were moments when he thought he had him, when he could hear thesound of his breathing. But the fog was against him. Just as he wasalmost on his man's heels, the fugitive turned sharply into a streetwhich was moderately well lighted. Fenn turned after him. He had justtime to recognise the street as his goal, the High Street, whensomebody, walking unexpectedly out of the corner house, stood directlyin his path. Fenn could not stop himself. He charged the man squarely,clutched him to save himself, and they fell in a heap on the pavement.
Chapter 16 What Happened To Fenn
Fenn was up first. Many years' experience of being tackled at fullspeed on the football field had taught him how to fall. The stranger,whose football days, if he had ever had any, were long past, had gonedown with a crash, and remained on the pavement, motionless. Fenn wasconscious of an ignoble impulse to fly without stopping to chat aboutthe matter. Then he was seized with a gruesome fear that he hadinjured the man seriously, which vanished when the stranger sat up.
　　His first words were hardly of the sort that one would listen to fromchoice. His first printable expression, which did not escape him untilhe had been speaking some time, was in the nature of an officialbulletin.
　　"You've broken my neck," said he.
　　Fenn renewed his apologies and explanations.
　　"Your watch!" cried the man in a high, cracked voice. "Don't standthere talking about your watch, but help me up. What do I care aboutyour watch? Why don't you look where you are going to? Now then, nowthen, don't hoist me as if I were a hod of bricks. That's right. Nowhelp me indoors, and go away."Fenn supported him while he walked lamely into the house. He wasrelieved to find that there was nothing more the matter with him thana shaking and a few bruises.
　　"Door on the left," said the injured one.
　　Fenn led him down the passage and into a small sitting-room. The gaswas lit, and as he turned it up he saw that the stranger was a manwell advanced in years. He had grey hair that was almost white. Hisface was not a pleasant one. It was a mass of lines and wrinkles fromwhich a physiognomist would have deduced uncomplimentary conclusionsas to his character. Fenn had little skill in that way, but he feltthat for some reason he disliked the man, whose eyes, which were smalland extraordinarily bright, gave rather an eerie look to his face.
　　"Go away, go away," he kept repeating savagely from his post on theshabby sofa on which Fenn had deposited him.
　　"But are you all right? Can't I get you something?" asked theEckletonian.
　　"Go away, go away," repeated the man.
　　Conversation on these lines could never be really attractive. Fennturned to go. As he closed the door and began to feel his way alongthe dark passage, he heard the key turn in the lock behind him. Theman could not, he felt, have been very badly hurt if he were able toget across the room so quickly. The thought relieved him somewhat.
　　Nobody likes to have the maiming even of the most complete stranger onhis mind. The sensation of relief lasted possibly three seconds. Thenit flashed upon him that in the excitement of the late interview hehad forgotten his cap. That damaging piece of evidence lay on thetable in the sitting-room, and between him and it was a locked door.
　　He groped his way back, and knocked. No sound came from the room.
　　"I say," he cried, "you might let me have my cap. I left it on thetable."No reply.
　　Fenn half thought of making a violent assault on the door. Herefrained on reflecting that it would be useless. If he could break itopen--which, in all probability, he could not--there would be troublesuch as he had never come across in his life. He was not sure it wouldnot be an offence for which he would be rendered liable to fine orimprisonment. At any rate, it would mean the certain detection of hisvisit to the town. So he gave the thing up, resolving to return on themorrow and reopen negotiations. For the present, what he had to do wasto get safely back to his house. He had lost his watch, his cap withhis name in it was in the hands of an evil old man who evidently borehim a grudge, and he had to run the gauntlet of three house-mastersand get to bed _via_ a study-window. Few people, even after thedullest of plays, have returned from the theatre so disgusted witheverything as did Fenn. Reviewing the situation as he ran with long,easy strides over the road that led to Kay's, he found it devoid ofany kind of comfort. Unless his mission in quest of the cap shouldprove successful, he was in a tight place.
　　It is just as well that the gift of second sight is accorded to butfew. If Fenn could have known at this point that his adventures wereonly beginning, that what had taken place already was but as theoverture to a drama, it is possible that he would have thrown up thesponge for good and all, entered Kay's by way of the front door--afterknocking up the entire household--and remarked, in answer to hishouse-master's excited questions, "Enough! Enough! I am a victim ofFate, a Toad beneath the Harrow. Sack me tomorrow, if you like, butfor goodness' sake let me get quietly to bed now."As it was, not being able to "peep with security into futurity," heimagined that the worst was over.
　　He began to revise this opinion immediately on turning in at Kay'sgate. He had hardly got half-way down the drive when the front dooropened and two indistinct figures came down the steps. As they did sohis foot slipped off the grass border on which he was running todeaden the noise of his steps, and grated sharply on the gravel.
　　"What's that?" said a voice. The speaker was Mr Kay.
　　"What's what?" replied a second voice which he recognised as MrMulholland's.
　　"Didn't you hear a noise?""'I heard the water lapping on the crag,'" replied Mr Mulholland,poetically.
　　"It was over there," persisted Mr Kay. "I am certain I heardsomething--positively certain, Mulholland. And after that burglary atthe school house--"He began to move towards the spot where Fenn lay crouching behind abush. Mr Mulholland followed, mildly amused. They were a dozen yardsaway when Fenn, debating in his mind whether it would not bebetter--as it would certainly be more dignified--for him to rise anddeliver himself up to justice instead of waiting to be discoveredwallowing in the damp grass behind a laurel bush, was aware ofsomething soft and furry pressing against his knuckles. A soft purringsound reached his ears.
　　He knew at once who it was--Thomas Edward, the matron's cat, ever astaunch friend of his. Many a time had they taken tea together in hisstudy in happier days. The friendly animal had sought him out in hishiding-place, and was evidently trying to intimate that the best thingthey could do now would be to make a regular night of it.
　　Fenn, as I have said, liked and respected Thomas. In ordinarycircumstances he would not have spoken an unfriendly word to him. Butthings were desperate now, and needed remedies to match.
　　Very softly he passed his hand down the delighted animal's back untilhe reached his tail. Then, stifling with an effort all the finerfeelings which should have made such an act impossible, headministered so vigorous a tweak to that appendage that Thomas, withone frenzied yowl, sprang through the bush past the two masters andvanished at full speed into the opposite hedge.
　　"My goodness!" said Mr Kay, starting back.
　　It was a further shock to Fenn to find how close he was to the laurel.
　　"'Goodness me,Why, what was that?
　　Silent be,It was the cat,'"chanted Mr Mulholland, who was in poetical vein after the theatre.
　　"It was a cat!" gasped Mr Kay.
　　"So I am disposed to imagine. What lungs! We shall be having theR.S.P.C.A. down on us if we aren't careful. They must have heard thatnoise at the headquarters of the Society, wherever they are. Well, ifyour zeal for big game hunting is satisfied, and you don't propose tofollow the vocalist through that hedge, I think I will be off. Goodnight. Good piece, wasn't it?""Excellent. Good night, Mulholland.""By the way, I wonder if the man who wrote it is a relation of ourFenn. It may be his brother--I believe he writes. You probably rememberhim when he was here. He was before my time. Talking of Fenn, how doyou find the new arrangement answer? Is Kennedy an improvement?""Kennedy," said Mr Kay, "is a well-meaning boy, I think. Quitewell-meaning. But he lacks ability, in my opinion. I have had to speakto him on several occasions on account of disturbances amongst thejuniors. Once I found two boys actually fighting in the juniordayroom. I was very much annoyed about it.""And where was Kennedy while this was going on? Was he holding thewatch?""The watch?" said Mr Kay, in a puzzled tone of voice. "Kennedy wasover at the gymnasium when it occurred.""Then it was hardly his fault that the fight took place.""My dear Mulholland, if the head of a house is efficient, fightsshould be impossible. Even when he is not present, his influence, hisprestige, so to speak, should be sufficient to restrain the boys underhim."Mr Mulholland whistled softly.
　　"So that's your idea of what the head of your house should be like, isit? Well, I know of one fellow who would have been just your man.
　　Unfortunately, he is never likely to come to school at Eckleton.""Indeed?" said Mr Kay, with interest. "Who is that? Where did you meethim? What school is he at?""I never said I had met him. I only go by what I have heard of him.
　　And as far as I know, he is not at any school. He was a gentleman ofthe name of Napoleon Bonaparte. He might just have been equal to thearduous duties which devolve upon the head of your house. Goodnight."And Fenn heard his footsteps crunch the gravel as he walked away. Aminute later the front door shut, and there was a rattle. Mr Kay hadput the chain up and retired for the night.
　　Fenn lay where he was for a short while longer. Then he rose, feelingvery stiff and wet, and crept into one of the summer-houses whichstood in Mr Kay's garden. Here he sat for an hour and a half, at theend of which time, thinking that Mr Kay must be asleep, he started outto climb into the house.
　　His study was on the first floor. A high garden-seat stood directlybeneath the window and acted as a convenient ladder. It was easy toget from this on to the window-ledge. Once there he could open thewindow, and the rest would be plain sailing.
　　Unhappily, there was one flaw in his scheme. He had conceived thatscheme in the expectation that the window would be as he had left it.
　　But it was not.
　　During his absence somebody had shot the bolt. And, try his hardest,he could not move the sash an inch.
Chapter 17 Fenn Hunts For Himself
Nobody knows for certain the feelings of the camel when his proprietorplaced that last straw on his back. The incident happened so long ago.
　　If it had occurred in modern times, he would probably have contributeda first-hand report to the _Daily Mail._ But it is very likelythat he felt on that occasion exactly as Fenn felt when, after a nightof unparalleled misadventure, he found that somebody had cut off hisretreat by latching the window. After a gruelling race Fate had justbeaten him on the tape.
　　There was no doubt about its being latched. The sash had not merelystuck. He put all he knew into the effort to raise it, but without ahint of success. After three attempts he climbed down again and,sitting on the garden-seat, began to review his position.
　　If one has an active mind and a fair degree of optimism, the effect ofthe "staggerers" administered by Fate passes off after a while. Fennhad both. The consequence was that, after ten minutes of grey despair,he was relieved by a faint hope that there might be some other wayinto the house than through his study. Anyhow, it would be worth whileto investigate.
　　His study was at the side of the house. At the back were the kitchen,the scullery, and the dining-room, and above these more studies and acouple of dormitories. As a last resort he might fling rocks and othersolids at the windows until he woke somebody up. But he did not feellike trying this plan until every other had failed. He had no desireto let a garrulous dormitory into the secret of his wanderings. Whathe hoped was that he might find one of the lower windows open.
　　And so he did.
　　As he turned the corner of the house he saw what he had been lookingfor. The very first window was wide open. His spirits shot up, and forthe first time since he had left the theatre he was conscious oftaking a pleasure in his adventurous career. Fate was with him afterall. He could not help smiling as he remembered how he had felt duringthat ten minutes on the garden-seat, when the future seemed blank anddevoid of any comfort whatsoever. And all the time he could have gotin without an effort, if he had only thought of walking half a dozenyards.
　　Now that the way was open to him, he wasted no time. He climbedthrough into the dark room. He was not certain which room it was, inspite of his lengthy residence at Kay's.
　　He let himself down softly till his foot touched the floor. After amoment's pause he moved forward a step. Then another. At the thirdstep his knee struck the leg of a table. He must be in thedining-room. If so, he was all right. He could find his way up to hisroom with his eyes shut. It was easy to find out for certain. Thewalls of the dining-room at Kay's, as in the other houses, werecovered with photographs. He walked gingerly in the direction in whichhe imagined the nearest wall to be, reached it, and passed his handalong it. Yes, there were photographs. Then all he had to do was tofind the table again, make his way along it, and when he got to theend the door would be a yard or so to his left. The programme seemedsimple and attractive. But it was added to in a manner which he hadnot foreseen. Feeling his way back to the table, he upset a chair. Ifhe had upset a cart-load of coal on to a sheet of tin it could not, soit seemed to him in the disordered state of his nerves, have made morenoise. It went down with an appalling crash, striking the table on itsway. "This," thought Fenn, savagely, as he waited, listening, "iswhere I get collared. What a fool I am to barge about like this."He felt that the echoes of that crash must have penetrated to everycorner of the house. But no one came. Perhaps, after all, the noisehad not been so great. He proceeded on his journey down the table,feeling every inch of the way. The place seemed one bristling mass ofchairs. But, by the exercise of consummate caution, he upset no moreand won through at last in safety to the door.
　　It was at this point that the really lively and exciting part of hisadventure began. Compared with what was to follow, his evening hadbeen up to the present dull and monotonous.
　　As he opened the door there was a sudden stir and crash at the otherend of the room. Fenn had upset one chair and the noise had nearlydeafened him. Now chairs seemed to be falling in dozens. Bang! Bang!
　　Crash!! (two that time). And then somebody shot through the windowlike a harlequin and dashed away across the lawn. Fenn could hear hisfootsteps thudding on the soft turf. And at the same moment otherfootsteps made themselves heard.
　　Somebody was coming downstairs.
　　"Who is that? Is anybody there?"It was Mr Kay's voice, unmistakably nervous. Fenn darted from the doorand across the passage. At the other side was a boot-cupboard. It washis only refuge in that direction. What he ought to have done was toleave the dining-room by the opposite door, which led _via_ acorridor to the junior dayroom. But he lost his head, and instead ofbolting away from the enemy, went towards him.
　　The stairs down which Mr Kay was approaching were at the end of thepassage. To reach the dining-room one turned to the right. Beyond thestairs on the left the passage ended in a wall, so that Mr Kay wasbound to take the right direction in the search. Fenn wondered if hehad a pistol. Not that he cared very much. If the house-master wasgoing to find him, it would be very little extra discomfort to be shotat. And Mr Kay's talents as a marksman were in all probability limitedto picking off sitting haystacks. The important point was that he hada candle. A faint yellow glow preceded him down the stairs. Playinghide-and-seek with him in the dark, Fenn might have slipped past insafety; but the candle made that impossible.
　　He found the boot-room door and slipped through just as Mr Kay turnedthe corner. With a thrill of pleasure he found that there was a keyinside. He turned it as quietly as he could, but nevertheless itgrated. Having done this, and seeing nothing else that he could doexcept await developments, he sat down on the floor among the boots.
　　It was not a dignified position for a man who had played for hiscounty while still at school, but just then he would not haveexchanged it for a throne--if the throne had been placed in thepassage or the dining-room.
　　The only question was--had he been seen or heard? He thought not; buthis heart began to beat furiously as the footsteps stopped outside thecupboard door and unseen fingers rattled the handle.
　　Twice Mr Kay tried the handle, but, finding the cupboard locked,passed on into the dining-room. The light of the candle ceased toshine under the door, and Fenn was once more in inky darkness.
　　He listened intently. A minute later he had made his second mistake.
　　Instead of waiting, as he should have done, until Mr Kay had retiredfor good, he unlocked the door directly he had passed, and when amuffled crash told him that the house-master was in the dining-roomamong the chairs, out he came and fled softly upstairs towards hisbedroom. He thought that Mr Kay might possibly take it into his headto go round the dormitories to make certain that all the members ofhis house were in. In which case all would be discovered.
　　When he reached his room he began to fling off his clothes withfeverish haste. Once in bed all would be well.
　　He had got out of his boots, his coat, and his waistcoat, and wasbeginning to feel that electric sensation of triumph which only coniesto the man who _just_ pulls through, when he heard Mr Kay comingdown the corridor towards his room. The burglar-hunter, returning fromthe dining-room in the full belief that the miscreant had escapedthrough the open window, had had all his ardour for the chaseredoubled by the sight of the cupboard door, which Fenn in his hurryhad not remembered to close. Mr Kay had made certain by two separatetrials that that door had been locked. And now it was wide open. Ergo,the apostle of the jemmy and the skeleton key must still be in thehouse. Mr Kay, secure in the recollection that burglars never showfight if they can possibly help it, determined to search the house.
　　Fenn made up his mind swiftly. There was no time to finish dressing.
　　Mr Kay, peering round, might note the absence of the rest of hisclothes from their accustomed pegs if he got into bed as he was. Therewas only one thing to be done. He threw back the bed-clothes, ruffledthe sheets till the bed looked as if it had been slept in, and openedthe door just as Mr Kay reached the threshold.
　　"Anything the matter, sir?" asked Fenn, promptly. "I heard a noisedownstairs. Can I help you?"Mr Kay looked carefully at the ex-head of his house. Fenn was afinely-developed youth. He stood six feet, and all of him that was notbone was muscle. A useful colleague to have by one in a hunt for apossibly ferocious burglar.
　　So thought Mr Kay.
　　"So _you_ heard the noise?" he said. "Well, perhaps you hadbetter come with me. There is no doubt that a burglar has entered thehouse tonight, in spite of the fact that I locked all the windowsmyself. Your study window was unlocked, Fenn. It was extremelycareless of you to leave it in such a condition, and I hope you willbe more careful in future. Why, somebody might have got in throughit."Fenn thought it was not at all unlikely.
　　"Come along, then. I am sure the man is still in the house. He washiding in the cupboard by the dining-room. I know it. I am sure he isstill in the house."But, in spite of the fact that Fenn was equally sure, half an hour'ssearch failed to discover any lurking evil-doer.
　　"You had better go to bed, Fenn," said Mr Kay, disgustedly, at the endof that period. "He must have got back in some extraordinary manner.""Yes, sir," agreed Fenn.
　　He himself had certainly got back in a very extraordinary manner.
　　However, he _had_ got back, which was the main point.
Chapter 18 A Vain Quest
After all he had gone through that night, it disturbed Fenn verylittle to find on the following morning that the professionalcracksman had gone off with one of the cups in his study. Certainly,it was not as bad as it might have been, for he had only abstractedone out of the half dozen that decorated the room. Fenn was a finerunner, and had won the "sprint" events at the sports for two yearsnow.
　　The news of the burglary at Kay's soon spread about the school. Mr Kaymentioned it to Mr Mulholland, and Mr Mulholland discussed it at lunchwith the prefects of his house. The juniors of Kay's were among thelast to hear of it, but when they did, they made the most of it, tothe disgust of the School House fags, to whom the episode seemed inthe nature of an infringement of copyright. Several spiritedby-battles took place that day owing to this, and at the lower end ofthe table of Kay's dining-room at tea that evening there could be seenmany swollen countenances. All, however, wore pleased smiles. They hadproved to the School House their right to have a burglary of their ownif they liked. It was the first occasion since Kennedy had become headof the house that Kay's had united in a common and patriotic cause.
　　Directly afternoon school was over that day, Fenn started for thetown. The only thing that caused him any anxiety now was the fear lestthe cap which he had left in the house in the High Street might riseup as evidence against him later on. Except for that, he was safe. Theheadmaster had evidently not remembered his absence from the festiveboard, or he would have spoken to him on the subject before now. If hecould but recover the lost cap, all would be right with the world.
　　Give him back that cap, and he would turn over a new leaf with arapidity and emphasis which would lower the world's record for thatperformance. He would be a reformed character. He would even go to theextent of calling a truce with Mr Kay, climbing down to Kennedy, andoffering him his services in his attempt to lick the house into shape.
　　As a matter of fact, he had had this idea before. Jimmy Silver, whowas in the position--common at school--of being very friendly with twopeople who were not on speaking terms, had been at him on the topic.
　　"It's rot," James had said, with perfect truth, "to see two chaps likeyou making idiots of themselves over a house like Kay's. And it's allyour fault, too," he had added frankly. "You know jolly well youaren't playing the game. You ought to be backing Kennedy up all thetime. Instead of which, you go about trying to look like a Christianmartyr--""I don't," said Fenn, indignantly.
　　"Well, like a stuffed frog, then--it's all the same to me. It'sperfect rot. If I'm walking with Kennedy, you stalk past as if we'dboth got the plague or something. And if I'm with you, Kennedysuddenly remembers an appointment, and dashes off at a gallop in theopposite direction. If I had to award the bronze medal for drivellinglunacy in this place, you would get it by a narrow margin, and Kennedywould be _proxime_, and honourably mentioned. Silly idiots!""Don't stop, Jimmy. Keep it up," said Fenn, settling himself in hischair. The dialogue was taking place in Silver's study.
　　"My dear chap, you didn't think I'd finished, surely! I was onlytrying to find some description that would suit you. But it's no good.
　　I can't. Look here, take my advice--the advice," he added, in themelodramatic voice he was in the habit of using whenever he wished toconceal the fact that he was speaking seriously, "of an old man whowishes ye both well. Go to Kennedy, fling yourself on his chest, andsay, 'We have done those things which we ought not to have done--' No.
　　As you were! Compn'y, 'shun! Say 'J. Silver says that I am a rotter. Iam a worm. I have made an ass of myself. But I will be good. Shake,pard!' That's what you've got to do. Come in."And in had come Kennedy. The attractions of Kay's were small, and heusually looked in on Jimmy Silver in the afternoons.
　　"Oh, sorry," he said, as he saw Fenn. "I thought you were alone,Jimmy.""I was just going," said Fenn, politely.
　　"Oh, don't let me disturb you," protested Kennedy, with winningcourtesy.
　　"Not at all," said Fenn.
　　"Oh, if you really were--""Oh, yes, really.""Get out, then," growled Jimmy, who had been listening in speechlessdisgust to the beautifully polite conversation just recorded. "I'llforward that bronze medal to you, Fenn."And as the door closed he had turned to rend Kennedy as he had rentFenn; while Fenn walked back to Kay's feeling that there was a gooddeal in what Jimmy had said.
　　So that when he went down town that afternoon in search of his cap, hepondered as he walked over the advisability of making a fresh start.
　　It would not be a bad idea. But first he must concentrate his energieson recovering what he had lost.
　　He found the house in the High Street without a great deal ofdifficulty, for he had marked the spot carefully as far as that hadbeen possible in the fog.
　　The door was opened to him, not by the old man with whom he hadexchanged amenities on the previous night, but by a short, thickfellow, who looked exactly like a picture of a loafer from the pagesof a comic journal. He eyed Fenn with what might have been meant foran inquiring look. To Fenn it seemed merely menacing.
　　"Wodyer want?" he asked, abruptly.
　　Eckleton was not a great distance from London, and, as a consequence,many of London's choicest blackguards migrated there from time totime. During the hopping season, and while the local races were on,one might meet with two Cockney twangs for every country accent.
　　"I want to see the old gentleman who lives here," said Fenn.
　　"Wot old gentleman?""I'm afraid I don't know his name. Is this a home for old gentlemen?
　　If you'll bring out all you've got, I'll find my one.""Wodyer want see the old gentleman for?""To ask for my cap. I left it here last night.""Oh, yer left it 'ere last night! Well, yer cawn't see 'im.""Not from here, no," agreed Fenn. "Being only eyes, you see," hequoted happily, "my wision's limited. But if you wouldn't mind movingout of the way--""Yer cawn't see 'im. Blimey, 'ow much more of it, I should like toknow. Gerroutovit, cawn't yer! You and yer caps."And he added a searching expletive by way of concluding the sentencefittingly. After which he slipped back and slammed the door, leavingFenn waiting outside like the Peri at the gate of Paradise.
　　His resemblance to the Peri ceased after the first quarter of aminute. That lady, we read, took her expulsion lying down. Fenn wasmore vigorous. He seized the knocker, and banged lustily on the door.
　　He had given up all hope of getting back the cap. All he wanted was toget the doorkeeper out into the open again, when he would proceed toshow him, to the best of his ability, what was what. It would not bethe first time he had taken on a gentleman of the same class and asimilar type of conversation.
　　But the man refused to be drawn. For all the reply Fenn's knockingproduced, the house might have been empty. At last, having tired hiswrist and collected a small crowd of Young Eckleton, who looked as ifthey expected him to proceed to further efforts for their amusement,he gave it up, and retired down the High Street with what dignity hecould command--which, as he was followed for the first fifty yards bythe silent but obviously expectant youths, was not a great deal.
　　They left him, disappointed, near the Town Hall, and Fenn continued onhis way alone. The window of the grocer's shop, with its tins ofpreserved apricots and pots of jam, recalled to his mind what he hadforgotten, that the food at Kay's, though it might be wholesome (whichhe doubted), was undeniably plain, and, secondly, that he had run outof jam. Now that he was here he might as well supply that deficiency.
　　Now it chanced that Master Wren, of Kay's, was down town--withoutleave, as was his habit--on an errand of a very similar nature. Waltonhad found that he, like Fenn, lacked those luxuries of life which areso much more necessary than necessities, and, being unable to gohimself, owing to the unfortunate accident of being kept in by hisform-master, had asked Wren to go for him. Wren's visit to thegrocer's was just ending when Fenn's began.
　　They met in the doorway.
　　Wren looked embarrassed, and nearly dropped a pot of honey, which hesecured low down after the manner of a catch in the slips. Fenn, onthe other hand, took no notice of his fellow-Kayite, but walked oninto the shop and began to inspect the tins of biscuits which werestacked on the floor by the counter.
Chapter 19 The Guile Of Wren
Wren did not quite know what to make of this. Why had not Fenn said aword to him? There were one or two prefects in the school whom hemight have met even at such close quarters and yet have cherished ahope that they had not seen him. Once he had run right into Drew, ofthe School House, and escaped unrecognised. But with Fenn it wasdifferent. Compared to Fenn, lynxes were astigmatic. He must havespotted him.
　　There was a vein of philosophy in Wren's composition. He felt that hemight just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. In other words,having been caught down town without leave, he might as well staythere and enjoy himself a little while longer before going back to beexecuted. So he strolled off down the High Street, bought a few thingsat a stationer's, and wound up with an excellent tea at theconfectioner's by the post-office.
　　It was as he was going to this meal that Kennedy caught sight of him.
　　Kennedy had come down town to visit the local photographer, to whom hehad entrusted a fortnight before the pleasant task of taking hisphotograph. As he had heard nothing from him since, he was now comingto investigate. He entered the High Street as Wren was turning intothe confectioner's, saw him, and made a note of it for futurereference.
　　When Wren returned to the house just before lock-up, he sought counselof Walton.
　　"I say," he said, as he handed over the honey he had saved so neatlyfrom destruction, "what would you do? Just as I was coming out of theshop, I barged into Fenn. He must have twigged me.""Didn't he say anything?""Not a word. I couldn't make it out, because he must have seen me. Weweren't a yard away from one another.""It's dark in the shop," suggested Walton.
　　"Not at the door; which is where we met."Before Walton could find anything to say in reply to this, theirconversation was interrupted by Spencer.
　　"Kennedy wants you, Wren," said Spencer. "You'd better buck up; he'sin an awful wax."Next to Walton, the vindictive Spencer objected most to Wren, and hedid not attempt to conceal the pleasure he felt in being the bearer ofthis ominous summons.
　　The group broke up. Wren went disconsolately upstairs to Kennedy'sstudy; Walton smacked Spencer's head--more as a matter of form thanbecause he had done anything special to annoy him--and retired to thesenior dayroom; while Spencer, muttering darkly to himself, avoided asecond smack and took cover in the junior room, where he consoledhimself by toasting a piece of india-rubber in the gas till it madethe atmosphere painful to breathe in, and recalling with pleasure thecondition Walton's face had been in for the day or two following hisencounter with Kennedy in the dormitory.
　　Kennedy was working when Wren knocked at his door.
　　He had not much time to spare on a bounds-breaking fag; and his mannerwas curt.
　　"I saw you going into Rose's, in the High Street, this afternoon,Wren," he said, looking up from his Greek prose. "I didn't give youleave. Come up here after prayers tonight. Shut the door."Wren went down to consult Walton again. His attitude with regard to alicking from the head of the house was much like that of the otherfags. Custom had, to a certain extent, inured him to these painfulinterviews, but still, if it was possible, he preferred to keep out ofthem. Under Fenn's rule he had often found a tolerably thin excuseserve his need. Fenn had so many other things to do that he was notunwilling to forego an occasional licking, if the excuse was goodenough. And he never took the trouble to find out whether theingenious stories Wren was wont to serve up to him were true or not.
　　Kennedy, Wren reflected uncomfortably, had given signs that thiseasy-going method would not do for him. Still, it might be possible tohunt up some story that would meet the case. Walton had a gift in thatdirection.
　　"He says I'm to go to his study after prayers," reported Wren. "Can'tyou think of any excuse that would do?""Can't understand Fenn running you in," said Walton. "I thought henever spoke to Kennedy."Wren explained.
　　"It wasn't Fenn who ran me in. Kennedy was down town, too, and twiggedme going into Rose's. I went there and had tea after I got your thingsat the grocer's.""Oh, he spotted you himself, did he?" said Walton. "And he doesn'tknow Fenn saw you?""I don't think so.""Then I've got a ripping idea. When he has you up tonight, swear thatyou got leave from Fenn to go down town.""But he'll ask him.""The odds are that he won't. He and Fenn had a row at the beginning ofterm, and never speak to one another if they can help it. It's ten toone that he will prefer taking your yarn to going and asking Fenn ifit's true or not. Then he's bound to let you off."Wren admitted that the scheme was sound.
　　At the conclusion of prayers, therefore, he went up again to Kennedy'sstudy, with a more hopeful air than he had worn on his previous visit.
　　"Come in," said Kennedy, reaching for the swagger-stick which he wasaccustomed to use at these ceremonies.
　　"Please, Kennedy," said Wren, glibly. "I did get leave to go down townthis afternoon.""What!"Wren repeated the assertion.
　　"Who gave you leave?""Fenn."The thing did not seem to be working properly. When he said the word"Fenn", Wren expected to see Kennedy retire baffled, conscious thatthere was nothing more to be said or done. Instead of this, the remarkappeared to infuriate him.
　　"It's just like your beastly cheek," he said, glaring at thered-headed delinquent, "to ask Fenn for leave instead of me. You knowperfectly well that only the head of the house can give leave to godown town. I don't know how often you and the rest of the juniordayroom have played this game, but it's going to stop now. You'dbetter remember another time when you want to go to Rose's that I'vegot to be consulted first."With which he proceeded to ensure to the best of his ability that thememory of Master Wren should not again prove treacherous in thisrespect.
　　"How did it work?" asked Walton, when Wren returned.
　　"It didn't," said Wren, briefly.
　　Walton expressed an opinion that Kennedy was a cad; which, howeversound in itself, did little to improve the condition of Wren.
　　Having disposed of Wren, Kennedy sat down seriously to consider thisnew development of a difficult situation. Hitherto he had imaginedFenn to be merely a sort of passive resister who confined himself tothe Achilles-in-his-tent business, and was only a nuisance because herefused to back him up. To find him actually aiding and abetting thehouse in its opposition to its head was something of a shock. And yet,if he had given Wren leave to go down town, he had probably done thesame kind office by others. It irritated Kennedy more than the mostovert act of enmity would have done. It was not good form. It washitting below the belt. There was, of course, the chance that Wren'sstory had not been true. But he did not build much on that. He did notyet know his Wren well, and believed that such an audacious lie wouldbe beyond the daring of a fag. But it would be worth while to makeinquiries. He went down the passage to Fenn's study. Fenn, however,had gone to bed, so he resolved to approach him on the subject nextday. There was no hurry.
　　He went to his dormitory, feeling very bitter towards Fenn, andrehearsing home truths with which to confound him on the morrow.
Chapter 20 Jimmy The Peacemaker
    In these hustling times it is not always easy to get ten minutes'
　　conversation with an acquaintance in private. There was drill in thedinner hour next day for the corps, to which Kennedy had to godirectly after lunch. It did not end till afternoon school began. Whenafternoon school was over, he had to turn out and practise scrummagingwith the first fifteen, in view of an important school match which wascoming off on the following Saturday. Kennedy had not yet received hiscap, but he was playing regularly for the first fifteen, and wasgenerally looked upon as a certainty for one of the last places in theteam. Fenn, being a three-quarter, had not to participate in thispractice. While the forwards were scrummaging on the second fifteenground, the outsides ran and passed on the first fifteen ground overat the other end of the field. Fenn's training for the day finishedearlier than Kennedy's, the captain of the Eckleton fifteen, who ledthe scrum, not being satisfied with the way in which the forwardswheeled. He kept them for a quarter of an hour after the outsides haddone their day's work, and when Kennedy got back to the house and wentto Fenn's study, the latter was not there. He had evidently changedand gone out again, for his football clothes were lying in a heap in acorner of the room. Going back to his own study, he met Spencer.
　　"Have you seen Fenn?" he asked.
　　"No," said the fag. "He hasn't come in.""He's come in all right, but he's gone out again. Go and ask Taylor ifhe knows where he is."Taylor was Fenn's fag.
　　Spencer went to the junior dayroom, and returned with the informationthat Taylor did not know.
　　"Oh, all right, then--it doesn't matter," said Kennedy, and went intohis study to change.
　　He had completed this operation, and was thinking of putting hiskettle on for tea, when there was a knock at the door.
　　It was Baker, Jimmy Silver's fag.
　　"Oh, Kennedy," he said, "Silver says, if you aren't doing anythingspecial, will you go over to his study to tea?""Why, is there anything on?"It struck him as curious that Jimmy should take the trouble to sendhis fag over to Kay's with a formal invitation. As a rule the head ofBlackburn's kept open house. His friends were given to understand thatthey could drop in whenever they liked. Kennedy looked in for teathree times a week on an average.
　　"I don't think so," said Baker.
　　"Who else is going to be there?"Jimmy Silver sometimes took it into his head to entertain weird beingsfrom other houses whose brothers or cousins he had met in theholidays. On such occasions he liked to have some trusty friend by himto help the conversation along. It struck Kennedy that this might beone of those occasions. If so, he would send back a polite but firmrefusal of the invitation. Last time he had gone to help Jimmyentertain a guest of this kind, conversation had come to a deadstandstill a quarter of an hour after his arrival, the guest refusingto do anything except eat prodigiously, and reply "Yes" or "No", asthe question might demand, when spoken to. Also he had declined tostir from his seat till a quarter to seven. Kennedy was not going tobe let in for another orgy of that nature if he knew it.
　　"Who's with Silver?" he asked.
　　"Only Fenn," said Baker.
　　Kennedy pondered for a moment.
　　"All right," he said, at last, "tell him I'll be round in a fewminutes."He sat thinking the thing over after Baker had gone back toBlackburn's with the message. He saw Silver's game, of course. Jimmyhad made no secret for some time of his disgust at the coolnessbetween Kennedy and Fenn. Not knowing all the circumstances, heconsidered it absolute folly. If only he could get the two togetherover a quiet pot of tea, he imagined that it would not be a difficulttask to act effectively as a peacemaker.
　　Kennedy was sorry for Jimmy. He appreciated his feelings in thematter. He would not have liked it himself if his two best friends hadbeen at daggers drawn. Still, he could not bring himself to treat Fennas if nothing had happened, simply to oblige Silver. There had been atime when he might have done it, but now that Fenn had started adeliberate campaign against him by giving Wren--and probably, thoughtKennedy, half the other fags in the house--leave down town when heought to have sent them on to him, things had gone too far. However,he could do no harm by going over to Jimmy's to tea, even if Fenn wasthere. He had not looked to interview Fenn before an audience, but ifthat audience consisted only of Jimmy, it would not matter so much.
　　His advent surprised Fenn. The astute James, fancying that if hementioned that he was expecting Kennedy to tea, Fenn would make a boltfor it, had said nothing about it.
　　When Kennedy arrived there was one of those awkward pauses which areso difficult to fill up in a satisfactory manner.
　　"Now you're up, Fenn," said Jimmy, as the latter rose, evidently withthe intention of leaving the study, "you might as well reach down thattoasting-fork and make some toast.""I'm afraid I must be off now, Jimmy," said Fenn.
　　"No you aren't," said Silver. "You bustle about and make yourselfuseful, and don't talk rot. You'll find your cup on that shelf overthere, Kennedy. It'll want a wipe round. Better use the table-cloth."There was silence in the study until tea was ready. Then Jimmy Silverspoke.
　　"Long time since we three had tea together," he said, addressing theremark to the teapot.
　　"Kennedy's a busy man," said Fenn, suavely. "He's got a house to lookafter.""And I'm going to look after it," said Kennedy, "as you'll find."Jimmy Silver put in a plaintive protest.
　　"I wish you two men wouldn't talk shop," he said. "It's bad enoughhaving Kay's next door to one, without your dragging it into theconversation. How were the forwards this evening, Kennedy?""Not bad," said Kennedy, shortly.
　　"I wonder if we shall lick Tuppenham on Saturday?""I don't know," said Kennedy; and there was silence again.
　　"Look here, Jimmy," said Kennedy, after a long pause, during which thehead of Blackburn's tried to fill up the blank in the conversation bytoasting a piece of bread in a way which was intended to suggest thatif he were not so busy, the talk would be unchecked and animated,"it's no good. We must have it out some time, so it may as well behere as anywhere else. I've been looking for Fenn all day.""Sorry to give you all that trouble," said Fenn, with a sneer. "Gotsomething important to say?""Yes.""Go ahead, then."Jimmy Silver stood between them with the toasting-fork in his hand, asif he meant to plunge it into the one who first showed symptoms offlying at the other's throat. He was unhappy. His peace-makingtea-party was not proving a success.
　　"I wanted to ask you," said Kennedy, quietly, "what you meant bygiving the fags leave down town when you knew that they ought to cometo me?"The gentle and intelligent reader will remember (though that miserableworm, the vapid and irreflective reader, will have forgotten) that atthe beginning of the term the fags of Kay's had endeavoured to showtheir approval of Fenn and their disapproval of Kennedy by applying tothe former for leave when they wished to go to the town; and that Fennhad received them in the most ungrateful manner with blows instead ofexeats. Strong in this recollection, he was not disturbed by Kennedy'squestion. Indeed, it gave him a comfortable feeling of rectitude.
　　There is nothing more pleasant than to be accused to your face ofsomething which you can deny on the spot with an easy conscience. Itis like getting a very loose ball at cricket. Fenn felt almostfriendly towards Kennedy.
　　"I meant nothing," he replied, "for the simple reason that I didn't doit.""I caught Wren down town yesterday, and he said you had given himleave.""Then he lied, and I hope you licked him.""There you are, you see," broke in Jimmy Silver triumphantly, "it'sall a misunderstanding. You two have got no right to be cutting oneanother. Why on earth can't you stop all this rot, and behave likedecent members of society again?""As a matter of fact," said Fenn, "they did try it on earlier in theterm. I wasted a lot of valuable time pointing out to them with aswagger-stick--that I was the wrong person to come to. I'm sorry youshould have thought I could play it as low down as that."Kennedy hesitated. It is not very pleasant to have to climb down afterstarting a conversation in a stormy and wrathful vein. But it had tobe done.
　　"I'm sorry, Fenn," he said; "I was an idiot."Jimmy Silver cut in again.
　　"You were," he said, with enthusiasm. "You both were. I used to thinkFenn was a bigger idiot than you, but now I'm inclined to call it adead heat. What's the good of going on trying to see which of you canmake the bigger fool of himself? You've both lowered all previousrecords.""I suppose we have," said Fenn. "At least, I have.""No, I have," said Kennedy.
　　"You both have," said Jimmy Silver. "Another cup of tea, anybody? Saywhen."Fenn and Kennedy walked back to Kay's together, and tea-d together inFenn's study on the following afternoon, to the amazement--and evenscandal--of Master Spencer, who discovered them at it. Spencer likedexcitement; and with the two leaders of the house at logger-heads,things could never be really dull. If, as appearances seemed tosuggest, they had agreed to settle their differences, life wouldbecome monotonous again--possibly even unpleasant.
　　This thought flashed through Spencer's brain (as he called it) when heopened Fenn's door and found him helping Kennedy to tea.
　　"Oh, the headmaster wants to see you, please, Fenn," said Spencer,recovering from his amazement, "and told me to give you this.""This" was a prefect's cap. Fenn recognised it without difficulty. Itwas the cap he had left in the sitting-room of the house in the HighStreet.
Chapter 21 In Which An Episode Is Closed
    "Thanks," said Fenn.
　　He stood twirling the cap round in his hand as Spencer closed thedoor. Then he threw it on to the table. He did not feel particularlydisturbed at the thought of the interview that was to come. He hadbeen expecting the cap to turn up, like the corpse of Eugene Aram'svictim, at some inconvenient moment. It was a pity that it had comejust as things looked as if they might be made more or less tolerablein Kay's. He had been looking forward with a grim pleasure to thesensation that would be caused in the house when it became known thathe and Kennedy had formed a combine for its moral and physicalbenefit. But that was all over. He would be sacked, beyond a doubt. Inthe history of Eckleton, as far as he knew it, there had never been acase of a fellow breaking out at night and not being expelled when hewas caught. It was one of the cardinal sins in the school code. Therehad been the case of Peter Brown, which his brother had mentioned inhis letter. And in his own time he had seen three men vanish fromEckleton for the same offence. He did not flatter himself that hisrecord at the school was so good as to make it likely that theauthorities would stretch a point in his favour.
　　"So long, Kennedy," he said. "You'll be here when I get back, Isuppose?""What does he want you for, do you think?" asked Kennedy, stretchinghimself, with a yawn. It never struck him that Fenn could be in anyserious trouble. Fenn was a prefect; and when the headmaster sent fora prefect, it was generally to tell him that he had got a splitinfinitive in his English Essay that week.
　　"Glad I'm not you," he added, as a gust of wind rattled the sash, andthe rain dashed against the pane. "Beastly evening to have to go out.""It isn't the rain I mind," said Fenn; "it's what's going to happenwhen I get indoors again," and refused to explain further. There wouldbe plenty of time to tell Kennedy the whole story when he returned. Itwas better not to keep the headmaster waiting.
　　The first thing he noticed on reaching the School House was thestrange demeanour of the butler. Whenever Fenn had had occasion tocall on the headmaster hitherto, Watson had admitted him with the airof a high priest leading a devotee to a shrine of which he was thesole managing director. This evening he seemed restless, excited.
　　"Good evening, Mr Fenn," he said. "This way, sir."Those were his actual words. Fenn had not known for certain until nowthat he _could_ talk. On previous occasions their conversationshad been limited to an "Is the headmaster in?" from Fenn, and astately inclination of the head from Watson. The man was getting apositive babbler.
　　With an eager, springy step, distantly reminiscent of a shopwalkerheading a procession of customers, with a touch of the style of thewinner in a walking-race to Brighton, the once slow-moving butler ledthe way to the headmaster's study.
　　For the first time since he started out, Fenn was conscious of atremor. There is something about a closed door, behind which somebodyis waiting to receive one, which appeals to the imagination,especially if the ensuing meeting is likely to be an unpleasant one.
　　"Ah, Fenn," said the headmaster. "Come in."Fenn wondered. It was not in this tone of voice that the Head was wontto begin a conversation which was going to prove painful.
　　"You've got your cap, Fenn? I gave it to a small boy in your house totake to you.""Yes, sir."He had given up all hope of understanding the Head's line of action.
　　Unless he was playing a deep game, and intended to flash out suddenlywith a keen question which it would be impossible to parry, thereseemed nothing to account for the strange absence of anything unusualin his manner. He referred to the cap as if he had borrowed it fromFenn, and had returned it by bearer, hoping that its loss had notinconvenienced him at all.
　　"I daresay," continued the Head, "that you are wondering how it cameinto my possession. You missed it, of course?""Very much, sir," said Fenn, with perfect truth.
　　"It has just been brought to my house, together with a great manyother things, more valuable, perhaps,"--here he smiled ahead-magisterial smile--"by a policeman from Eckleton."Fenn was still unequal to the intellectual pressure of theconversation. He could understand, in a vague way, that for someunexplained reason things were going well for him, but beyond that hismind was in a whirl.
　　"You will remember the unfortunate burglary of Mr Kay's house andmine. Your cap was returned with the rest of the stolen property.""Just so," thought Fenn. "The rest of the stolen property? Exactly.
　　_Go_ on. Don't mind me. I shall begin to understand soon, Isuppose."He condensed these thoughts into the verbal reply, "Yes, sir.""I sent for you to identify your own property. I see there is a silvercup belonging to you. Perhaps there are also other articles. Go andsee. You will find them on that table. They are in a hopeless state ofconfusion, having been conveyed here in a sack. Fortunately, nothingis broken."He was thinking of certain valuables belonging to himself which hadbeen abstracted from his drawing-room on the occasion of the burglar'svisit to the School House.
　　Fenn crossed the room, and began to inspect the table indicated. On itwas as mixed a collection of valuable and useless articles as onecould wish to see. He saw his cup at once, and attached himself to it.
　　But of all the other exhibits in this private collection, he couldrecognise nothing else as his property.
　　"There is nothing of mine here except the cup, sir," he said.
　　"Ah. Then that is all, I think. You are going back to Mr Kay's. Thenplease send Kennedy to me. Good night, Fenn.""Good night, sir."Even now Fenn could not understand it. The more he thought it over,the more his brain reeled. He could grasp the fact that his cap andhis cup were safe again, and that there was evidently going to be nosacking for the moment. But how it had all happened, and how thepolice had got hold of his cap, and why they had returned it with theloot gathered in by the burglar who had visited Kay's and the SchoolHouse, were problems which, he had to confess, were beyond him.
　　He walked to Kay's through the rain with the cup under his mackintosh,and freely admitted to himself that there were things in heaven andearth--and particularly earth--which no fellow could understand.
　　"I don't know," he said, when Kennedy pressed for an explanation ofthe reappearance of the cup. "It's no good asking me. I'm going now toborrow the matron's smelling-salts: I feel faint. After that I shallwrap a wet towel round my head, and begin to think it out. Meanwhile,you're to go over to the Head. He's had enough of me, and he wants tohave a look at you.""Me?" said Kennedy. "Why?""Now, is it any good asking _me?_?" said Fenn. "If you can findout what it's all about, I'll thank you if you'll come and tell me."Ten minutes later Kennedy returned. He carried a watch and chain.
　　"I couldn't think what had happened to my watch," he said. "I missedit on the day after that burglary here, but I never thought ofthinking it had been collared by a professional. I thought I must havelost it somewhere.""Well, have you grasped what's been happening?""I've grasped my ticker, which is good enough for me. Half a second.
　　The old man wants to see the rest of the prefects. He's going to workthrough the house in batches, instead of man by man. I'll just go roundthe studies and rout them out, and then I'll come back and explain. It'sperfectly simple.""Glad you think so," said Fenn.
　　Kennedy went and returned.
　　"Now," he said, subsiding into a deck-chair, "what is it you don'tunderstand?""I don't understand anything. Begin at the beginning.""I got the yarn from the butler--what's his name?""Those who know him well enough to venture to give him a name--I'venever dared to myself--call him Watson," said Fenn.
　　"I got the yarn from Watson. He was as excited as anything about it. Inever saw him like that before.""I noticed something queer about him.""He's awfully bucked, and is doing the Ancient Mariner business allover the place. Wants to tell the story to everyone he sees.""Well, suppose you follow his example. I want to hear about it.""Well, it seems that the police have been watching a house at thecorner of the High Street for some time--what's up?""Nothing. Go on.""But you said, 'By Jove!'""Well, why shouldn't I say 'By Jove'? When you are telling sensationalyarns, it's my duty to say something of the sort. Buck along.""It's a house not far from the Town Hall, at the corner of PegwellStreet--you've probably been there scores of times.""Once or twice, perhaps," said Fenn. "Well?""About a month ago two suspicious-looking bounders went to live there.
　　Watson says their faces were enough to hang them. Anyhow, they musthave been pretty bad, for they made even the Eckleton police, who arepretty average-sized rotters, suspicious, and they kept an eye onthem. Well, after a bit there began to be a regular epidemic ofburglary round about here. Watson says half the houses round werebroken into. The police thought it was getting a bit too thick, butthey didn't like to raid the house without some jolly good evidencethat these two men were the burglars, so they lay low and waited tillthey should give them a decent excuse for jumping on them. They hadhad a detective chap down from London, by the way, to see if hecouldn't do something about the burglaries, and he kept his eye onthem, too.""They had quite a gallery. Didn't they notice any of the eyes?""No. Then after a bit one of them nipped off to London with a big bag.
　　The detective chap was after him like a shot. He followed him from thestation, saw him get into a cab, got into another himself, and stuckto him hard. The front cab stopped at about a dozen pawnbrokers'
　　shops. The detective Johnny took the names and addresses, and hung onto the burglar man all day, and finally saw him return to the station,where he caught a train back to Eckleton. Directly he had seen himoff, the detective got into a cab, called on the dozen pawnbrokers,showed his card, with 'Scotland Yard' on it, I suppose, and asked tosee what the other chap had pawned. He identified every single thingas something that had been collared from one of the houses roundEckleton way. So he came back here, told the police, and they raidedthe house, and there they found stacks of loot of all descriptions.""Including my cap," said Fenn, thoughtfully. "I see now.""Rummy the man thinking it worth his while to take an old cap," saidKennedy.
　　"Very," said Fenn. "But it's been a rum business all along."
Chapter 22 Kay's Changes Its Name
   For the remaining weeks of the winter term, things went as smoothly inKay's as Kay would let them. That restless gentleman still continuedto burst in on Kennedy from time to time with some sensational storyof how he had found a fag doing what he ought not to have done. Butthere was a world of difference between the effect these visits hadnow and that which they had had when Kennedy had stood alone in thehouse, his hand against all men. Now that he could work off theeffects of such encounters by going straight to Fenn's study andpicking the house-master to pieces, the latter's peculiar methodsceased to be irritating, and became funny. Mr Kay was always ferretingout the weirdest misdoings on the part of the members of his house,and rushing to Kennedy's study to tell him about them at full length,like a rather indignant dog bringing a rat he has hunted down into adrawing-room, to display it to the company. On one occasion, when Fennand Jimmy Silver were in Kennedy's study, Mr Kay dashed in to complainbitterly that he had discovered that the junior dayroom kept mice intheir lockers. Apparently this fact seemed to him enough to cause anepidemic of typhoid fever in the place, and he hauled Kennedy over thecoals, in a speech that lasted five minutes, for not having detectedthis plague-spot in the house.
　　"So that's the celebrity at home, is it?" said Jimmy Silver, when hehad gone. "I now begin to understand more or less why this house wantsa new Head every two terms. Is he often taken like that?""He's never anything else," said Kennedy. "Fenn keeps a list of thethings he rags me about, and we have an even shilling on, each week,that he will beat the record of the previous week. At first I used toget the shilling if he lowered the record; but after a bit it struckus that it wasn't fair, so now we take it on alternate weeks. This ismy week, by the way. I think I can trouble you for that bob, Fenn?""I wish I could make it more," said Fenn, handing over the shilling.
　　"What sort of things does he rag you about generally?" inquiredSilver.
　　Fenn produced a slip of paper.
　　"Here are a few," he said, "for this month. He came in on the 10thbecause he found two kids fighting. Kennedy was down town when ithappened, but that made no difference. Then he caught the seniordayroom making a row of some sort. He said it was perfectly deafening;but we couldn't hear it in our studies. I believe he goes round thehouse, listening at keyholes. That was on the 16th. On the 22nd hefound a chap in Kennedy's dormitory wandering about the house at onein the morning. He seemed to think that Kennedy ought to have sat upall night on the chance of somebody cutting out of the dormitory. Atany rate, he ragged him. I won the weekly shilling on that; anddeserved it, too."Fenn had to go over to the gymnasium shortly after this. Jimmy Silverstayed on, talking to Kennedy.
　　"And bar Kay," said Jimmy, "how do you find the house doing? Anybetter?""Better! It's getting a sort of model establishment. I believe, if wekeep pegging away at them, we may win some sort of a cup sooner orlater.""Well, Kay's very nearly won the cricket cup last year. You ought toget it next season, now that you and Fenn are both in the team.""Oh, I don't know. It'll be a fluke if we do. Still, we're hoping. Itisn't every house that's got a county man in it. But we're breakingout in another place. Don't let it get about, for goodness' sake, butwe're going for the sports' cup.""Hope you'll get it. Blackburn's won't have a chance, anyhow, and Ishould like to see somebody get it away from the School House. They'vehad it much too long. They're beginning to look on it as their right.
　　But who are your men?""Well, Fenn ought to be a cert for the hundred and the quarter, tostart with.""But the School House must get the long run, and the mile, and thehalf, too, probably.""Yes. We haven't anyone to beat Milligan, certainly. But there are thesecond and third places. Don't forget those. That's where we're goingto have a look in. There's all sorts of unsuspected talent in Kay's.
　　To look at Peel, for instance, you wouldn't think he could do thehundred in eleven, would you? Well, he can, only he's been too slackto go in for the race at the sports, because it meant training. I hadhim up here and reasoned with him, and he's promised to do his best.
　　Eleven is good enough for second place in the hundred, don't youthink? There are lots of others in the house who can do quite decentlyon the track, if they try. I've been making strict inquiries. Kay'sare hot stuff, Jimmy. Heap big medicine. That's what they are.""You're a wonderful man, Kennedy," said Jimmy Silver. And he meant it.
　　Kennedy's uphill fight at Kay's had appealed to him strongly. Hehimself had never known what it meant to have to manage a hostilehouse. He had stepped into his predecessor's shoes at Blackburn's muchas the heir to a throne becomes king. Nobody had thought of disputinghis right to the place. He was next man in; so, directly the departureof the previous head of Blackburn's left a vacancy, he stepped intoit, and the machinery of the house had gone on as smoothly as if therehad been no change at all. But Kennedy had gone in against a slack andantagonistic house, with weak prefects to help him, and a fussyhouse-master; and he had fought them all for a term, and looked likewinning. Jimmy admired his friend with a fervour which nothing onearth would have tempted him to reveal. Like most people with a senseof humour, he had a fear of appearing ridiculous, and he hid his realfeelings as completely as he was able.
　　"How is the footer getting on?" inquired Jimmy, remembering thedifficulties Kennedy had encountered earlier in the term in connectionwith his house team.
　　"It's better," said Kennedy. "Keener, at any rate. We shall do ourbest in the house-matches. But we aren't a good team.""Any more trouble about your being captain instead of Fenn?""No. We both sign the lists now. Fenn didn't want to, but I thought itwould be a good idea, so we tried it. It seems to have worked allright""Of course, your getting your first has probably made a difference.""A bit, perhaps.""Well, I hope you won't get the footer cup, because I want it forBlackburn's. Or the cricket cup. I want that, too. But you can havethe sports' cup with my blessing.""Thanks," said Kennedy. "It's very generous of you.""Don't mention it," said Jimmy.
　　From which conversation it will be seen that Kay's was graduallypulling itself together. It had been asleep for years. It was nowwaking up.
　　When the winter term ended, there were distinct symptoms of anoutbreak of public spirit in the house.
　　The Easter term opened auspiciously in one way. Neither Walton norPerry returned. The former had been snapped up in the middle of theholidays--to his enormous disgust--by a bank, which wanted hisservices so much that it was prepared to pay him 40 pounds a year simplyto enter the addresses of its outgoing letters in a book, and post themwhen he had completed this ceremony. After a spell of this he mighthope to be transferred to another sphere of bank life and thought, andat the end of his first year he might even hope for a rise in hissalary of ten pounds, if his conduct was good, and he had not beenlate on more than twenty mornings in the year. I am aware that in aproperly-regulated story of school-life Walton would have gone to theEckleton races, returned in a state of speechless intoxication, andbeen summarily expelled; but facts are facts, and must not be tamperedwith. The ingenious but not industrious Perry had been superannuated.
　　For three years he had been in the Lower Fourth. Probably the masterof that form went to the Head, and said that his constitution wouldnot stand another year of him, and that either he or Perry must go. SoPerry had departed. Like a poor play, he had "failed to attract," andwas withdrawn. There was also another departure of an even moremomentous nature.
　　Mr Kay had left Eckleton.
　　Kennedy was no longer head of Kay's. He was now head of Dencroft's.
　　Mr Dencroft was one of the most popular masters in the school. He wasa keen athlete and a tactful master. Fenn and Kennedy knew him well,through having played at the nets and in scratch games with him. Theyboth liked him. If Kennedy had had to select a house-master, he wouldhave chosen Mr Blackburn first. But Mr Dencroft would have been easilysecond.
　　Fenn learned the facts from the matron, and detailed them to Kennedy.
　　"Kay got the offer of a headmastership at a small school in the north,and jumped at it. I pity the fellows there. They are going to have alively time.""I'm jolly glad Dencroft has got the house," said Kennedy. "We mighthave had some awful rotter put in. Dencroft will help us buck up thehouse games."The new house-master sent for Kennedy on the first evening of term. Hewished to find out how the Head of the house and the ex-Head stoodwith regard to one another. He knew the circumstances, andcomprehended vaguely that there had been trouble.
　　"I hope we shall have a good term," he said.
　　"I hope so, sir," said Kennedy.
　　"You--er--you think the house is keener, Kennedy, than when you firstcame in?""Yes, sir. They are getting quite keen now. We might win the sports.""I hope we shall. I wish we could win the football cup, too, but I amafraid Mr Blackburn's are very heavy metal.""It's hardly likely we shall have very much chance with them; but wemight get into the final!""It would be an excellent thing for the house if we could. I hope Fennis helping you get the team into shape?" he added.
　　"Oh, yes, sir," said Kennedy. "We share the captaincy. We both signthe lists.""A very good idea," said Mr Dencroft, relieved. "Good night, Kennedy.""Good night, sir," said Kennedy.
Chapter 23 The House-Matches
    The chances of Kay's in the inter-house Football Competition were notthought very much of by their rivals. Of late years each of the otherhouses had prayed to draw Kay's for the first round, it being acertainty that this would mean that they got at least into the secondround, and so a step nearer the cup. Nobody, however weak compared toBlackburn's, which was at the moment the crack football house, everdoubted the result of a match with Kay's. It was looked on as a sortof gentle trial trip.
　　But the efforts of the two captains during the last weeks of thewinter term had put a different complexion on matters. Football is notlike cricket. It is a game at which anybody of average size and acertain amount of pluck can make himself at least moderatelyproficient. Kennedy, after consultations with Fenn, had picked outwhat he considered the best fifteen, and the two set themselves toknock it into shape. In weight there was not much to grumble at. Therewere several heavy men in the scrum. If only these could be brought touse their weight to the last ounce when shoving, all would be well asfar as the forwards were concerned. The outsides were not sosatisfactory. With the exception, of course, of Fenn, they lackedspeed. They were well-meaning, but they could not run any faster byvirtue of that. Kay's would have to trust to its scrum to pull itthrough. Peel, the sprinter whom Kennedy had discovered in his searchfor athletes, had to be put in the pack on account of his weight,which deprived the three-quarter line of what would have been a goodman in that position. It was a drawback, too, that Fenn was accustomedto play on the wing. To be of real service, a wing three-quarter mustbe fed by his centres, and, unfortunately, there was no centre inKay's--or Dencroft's, as it should now be called--who was capable ofmaking openings enough to give Fenn a chance. So he had to play in thecentre, where he did not know the game so well.
　　Kennedy realised at an early date that the one chance of the house wasto get together before the house-matches and play as a coherent team,not as a collection of units. Combination will often make up for lackof speed in a three-quarter line. So twice a week Dencroft's turnedout against scratch teams of varying strength.
　　It delighted Kennedy to watch their improvement. The first side theyplayed ran through them to the tune of three goals and four tries to atry, and it took all the efforts of the Head of the house to keep aspirit of pessimism from spreading in the ranks. Another frost of thissort, and the sprouting keenness of the house would be nipped in thebud. He conducted himself with much tact. Another captain might havemade the fatal error of trying to stir his team up with pungent abuse.
　　He realised what a mistake this would be. It did not need a great dealof discouragement to send the house back to its old slack ways.
　　Another such defeat, following immediately in the footsteps of thefirst, and they would begin to ask themselves what was the good ofmortifying the flesh simply to get a licking from a scratch team bytwenty-four points. Kay's, they would feel, always had got beaten, andthey always would, to the end of time. A house that has once gotthoroughly slack does not change its views of life in a moment.
　　Kennedy acted craftily.
　　"You played jolly well," he told his despondent team, as they troopedoff the field. "We haven't got together yet, that's all. And it was ahot side we were playing today. They would have licked Blackburn's."A good deal more in the same strain gave the house team thecomfortable feeling that they had done uncommonly well to get beatenby only twenty-four points. Kennedy fostered the delusion, and in themeantime arranged with Mr Dencroft to collect fifteen innocents andlead them forth to be slaughtered by the house on the followingFriday. Mr Dencroft entered into the thing with a relish. When heshowed Kennedy the list of his team on the Friday morning, thatdiplomatist chuckled. He foresaw a good time in the near future. "Youmust play up like the dickens," he told the house during thedinner-hour. "Dencroft is bringing a hot lot this afternoon. But Ithink we shall lick them."They did. When the whistle blew for No-side, the house had justfinished scoring its fourteenth try. Six goals and eight tries to nilwas the exact total. Dencroft's returned to headquarters, askingitself in a dazed way if these things could be. They saw that cup ontheir mantelpiece already. Keenness redoubled. Football became thefashion in Dencroft's. The play of the team improved weekly. And itsspirit improved too. The next scratch team they played beat them by agoal and a try to a goal. Dencroft's was not depressed. It put theresult down to a fluke. Then they beat another side by a try tonothing; and by that time they had got going as an organised team, andtheir heart was in the thing.
　　They had improved out of all knowledge when the house-matches began.
　　Blair's was the lucky house that drew against them in the first round.
　　"Good business," said the men of Blair. "Wonder who we'll play in thesecond round."They left the field marvelling. For some unaccountable reason,Dencroft's had flatly refused to act in the good old way as a doormatfor their opponents. Instead, they had played with a dash andknowledge of the game which for the first quarter of an hour quiteunnerved Blair's. In that quarter of an hour they scored three times,and finished the game with two goals and three tries to their name.
　　The School looked on it as a huge joke. "Heard the latest?" friendswould say on meeting one another the day after the game. "Kay's--Imean Dencroft's--have won a match. They simply sat on Blair's. Firsttime they've ever won a house-match, I should think. Blair's areawfully sick. We shall have to be looking out."Whereat the friend would grin broadly. The idea of Dencroft's making agame of it with his house tickled him.
　　When Dencroft's took fifteen points off Mulholland's, the joke beganto lose its humour.
　　"Why, they must be some good," said the public, startled at thenovelty of the idea. "If they win another match, they'll be in thefinal!"Kay's in the final! Cricket? Oh, yes, they had got into the final atcricket, of course. But that wasn't the house. It was Fenn. Footer wasdifferent. One man couldn't do everything there. The only possibleexplanation was that they had improved to an enormous extent.
　　Then people began to remember that they had played in scratch gamesagainst the house. There seemed to be a tremendous number of fellowswho had done this. At one time or another, it seemed, half the Schoolhad opposed Dencroft's in the ranks of a scratch side. It began todawn on Eckleton that in an unostentatious way Dencroft's had beenputting in about seven times as much practice as any other threehouses rolled together. No wonder they combined so well.
　　When the School House, with three first fifteen men in its team, fellbefore them, the reputation of Dencroft's was established. It hadreached the final, and only Blackburn's stood now between it and thecup.
　　All this while Blackburn's had been doing what was expected of them bybeating each of their opponents with great ease. There was nothingsensational about this as there was in the case of Dencroft's. Thelatter were, therefore, favourites when the two teams lined up againstone another in the final. The School felt that a house that had hadsuch a meteoric flight as Dencroft's must--by all that wasdramatic--carry the thing through to its obvious conclusion, and pulloff the final.
　　But Fenn and Kennedy were not so hopeful. A certain amount of science,a great deal of keenness, and excellent condition, had carried themthrough the other rounds in rare style, but, though they wouldprobably give a good account of themselves, nobody who considered thetwo teams impartially could help seeing that Dencroft's was a weakerside than Blackburn's. Nothing but great good luck could bring themout victorious today.
　　And so it proved. Dencroft's played up for all they were worth fromthe kick-off to the final solo on the whistle, but they wereover-matched. Blackburn's scrum was too heavy for them, with its threefirst fifteen men and two seconds. Dencroft's pack were shoved off theball time after time, and it was only keen tackling that kept thescore down. By half-time Blackburn's were a couple of tries ahead.
　　Fenn scored soon after the interval with a great run from his owntwenty-five, and for a quarter of an hour it looked as if it might beanybody's game. Kennedy converted the try, so that Blackburn's onlyled by a single point. A fluky kick or a mistake on the part of aBlackburnite outside might give Dencroft's the cup.
　　But the Blackburn outsides did not make mistakes. They played astrong, sure game, and the forwards fed them well. Ten minutes beforeNo-side, Jimmy Silver ran in, increasing the lead to six points. Andthough Dencroft's never went to pieces, and continued to show fight tothe very end, Blackburn's were not to be denied, and Challis scored afinal try in the corner. Blackburn's won the cup by the comfortable,but not excessive, margin of a goal and three tries to a goal.
　　Dencroft's had lost the cup; but they had lost it well. Their credithad increased in spite of the defeat.
　　"I thought we shouldn't be able to manage Blackburn's," said Kennedy,"What we must do now is win that sports' cup."
Chapter 24 The Sports
    There were certain houses at Eckleton which had, as it were,specialised in certain competitions. Thus, Gay's, who never by anychance survived the first two rounds of the cricket and footballhousers, invariably won the shooting shield. All the other houses senttheir brace of men to the range to see what they could do, but everyyear it was the same. A pair of weedy obscurities from Gay's wouldtake the shield by a comfortable margin. In the same way Mulholland'shad only won the cricket cup once since they had become a house, butthey had carried off the swimming cup three years in succession, andsix years in all out of the last eight. The sports had always beenlooked on as the perquisite of the School House; and this year, withMilligan to win the long distances, and Maybury the high jump and theweight, there did not seem much doubt at their success. These twoalone would pile up fifteen points. Three points were given for a win,two for second place, and one for third. It was this that encouragedKennedy in the hope that Dencroft's might have a chance. Nobody in thehouse could beat Milligan or Maybury, but the School House second andthird strings were not so invincible. If Dencroft's, by means ofsecond and third places in the long races and the other events whichwere certainties for their opponents, could hold the School House,Fenn's sprinting might just give them the cup. In the meantime theytrained hard, but in an unobtrusive fashion which aroused no fear inSchool House circles.
　　The sports were fixed for the last Saturday of term, but not all theraces were run on that day. The half-mile came off on the previousThursday, and the long steeplechase on the Monday after.
　　The School House won the half-mile, as they were expected to do.
　　Milligan led from the start, increased his lead at the end of thefirst lap, doubled it half-way through the second, and finally, with adazzling sprint in the last seventy yards, lowered the Eckleton recordby a second and three-fifths, and gave his house three points.
　　Kennedy, who stuck gamely to his man for half the first lap, wasbeaten on the tape by Crake, of Mulholland's. When sports' day came,therefore, the score was School House three points, Mulholland's two,Dencroft's one. The success of Mulholland's in the half was to theadvantage of Dencroft's. Mulholland's was not likely to score manymore points, and a place to them meant one or two points less to theSchool House.
　　The sports opened all in favour of Dencroft's, but those who knew drewno great consolation from this. School sports always begin with thesprints, and these were Dencroft's certainties. Fenn won the hundredyards as easily as Milligan had won the half. Peel was second, and aBeddell's man got third place. So that Dencroft's had now six pointsto their rival's three. Ten minutes later they had increased theirlead by winning the first two places at throwing the cricket ball,Fenn's throw beating Kennedy's by ten yards, and Kennedy's being a fewfeet in front of Jimmy Silver's, which, by gaining third place,represented the only point Blackburn's managed to amass during theafternoon.
　　It now began to dawn upon the School House that their supremacy wasseriously threatened. Dencroft's, by its success in the footballcompetition, had to a great extent lived down the reputation the househad acquired when it had been Kay's, but even now the notion of itswinning a cup seemed somehow vaguely improper. But the fact had to befaced that it now led by eleven points to the School House's three.
　　"It's all right," said the School House, "our spot events haven't comeoff yet. Dencroft's can't get much more now."And, to prove that they were right, the gap between the two scoresbegan gradually to be filled up. Dencroft's struggled hard, but theSchool House total crept up and up. Maybury brought it to six bywinning the high jump. This was only what had been expected of him.
　　The discomforting part of the business was that the other two placeswere filled by Morrell, of Mulholland's, and Smith, of Daly's. Andwhen, immediately afterwards, Maybury won the weight, with anotherSchool House man second, leaving Dencroft's with third place only,things began to look black for the latter. They were now only onepoint ahead, and there was the mile to come: and Milligan could giveany Dencroftian a hundred yards at that distance.
　　But to balance the mile there was the quarter, and in the mile Kennedycontrived to beat Crake by much the same number of feet as Crake hadbeaten him by in the half. The scores of the two houses were nowlevel, and a goodly number of the School House certainties were past.
　　Dencroft's forged ahead again by virtue of the quarter-mile. Fenn wonit; Peel was second; and a dark horse from Denny's got in third. Withthe greater part of the sports over, and a lead of five points totheir name, Dencroft's could feel more comfortable. The hurdle-racewas productive of some discomfort. Fenn should have won it, as beingblessed with twice the pace of any of his opponents. But Maybury, thejumper, made up for lack of pace by the scientific way in which hetook his hurdles, and won off him by a couple of feet. Smith,Dencroft's second string, finished third, thus leaving the totalsunaltered by the race.
　　By this time the public had become alive to the fact that Dencroft'swere making a great fight for the cup. They had noticed thatDencroft's colours always seemed to be coming in near the head of theprocession, but the School House had made the cup so much their own,that it took some time for the school to realise that anotherhouse--especially the late Kay's--was running them hard for firstplace. Then, just before the hurdle-race, fellows with "correct cards"hastily totted up the points each house had won up-to-date. To thegeneral amazement it was found that, while the School House hadfourteen, Dencroft's had reached nineteen, and, barring the long runto be decided on the Monday, there was nothing now that the SchoolHouse must win without dispute.
　　A house that will persist in winning a cup year after year has to payfor it when challenged by a rival. Dencroft's instantly became warmfavourites. Whenever Dencroft's brown and gold appeared at thescratch, the school shouted for it wildly till the event was over. Bythe end of the day the totals were more nearly even, but Dencroft'swere still ahead. They had lost on the long jump, but notunexpectedly. The totals at the finish were, School Housetwenty-three, Dencroft's twenty-five. Everything now depended on thelong run.
　　"We might do it," said Kennedy to Fenn, as they changed. "Milligan's acert for three points, of course, but if we can only get two we winthe cup.""There's one thing about the long run," said Fenn; "you never quiteknow what's going to happen. Milligan might break down over one of thehedges or the brook. There's no telling."Kennedy felt that such a remote possibility was something of a brokenreed to lean on. He had no expectation of beating the School Houselong distance runner, but he hoped for second place; and second placewould mean the cup, for there was nobody to beat either himself orCrake.
　　The distance of the long run was as nearly as possible five miles. Thecourse was across country to the village of Ledby in a sort ofsemicircle of three and a half miles, and then back to the schoolgates by road. Every Eckletonian who ran at all knew the route byheart. It was the recognised training run if you wanted to trainparticularly hard. If you did not, you took a shorter spin. At themilestone nearest the school--it was about half a mile from thegates--a good number of fellows used to wait to see the first of therunners and pace their men home. But, as a rule, there were few reallyhot finishes in the long run. The man who got to Ledby first generallykept the advantage, and came in a long way ahead of the field.
　　On this occasion the close fight Kennedy and Crake had had in the mileand the half, added to the fact that Kennedy had only to get secondplace to give Dencroft's the cup, lent a greater interest to the racethan usual. The crowd at the milestone was double the size of the onein the previous year, when Milligan had won for the first time. Andwhen, amidst howls of delight from the School House, the same runnerran past the stone with his long, effortless stride, before any of theothers were in sight, the crowd settled down breathlessly to watch forthe second man.
　　Then a yell, to which the other had been nothing, burst from theSchool House as a white figure turned the corner. It was Crake.
　　Waddling rather than running, and breathing in gasps; but still Crake.
　　He toiled past the crowd at the milestone.
　　"By Jove, he looks bad," said someone.
　　And, indeed, he looked very bad. But he was ahead of Kennedy. That wasthe great thing.
　　He had passed the stone by thirty yards, when the cheering broke outagain. Kennedy this time, in great straits, but in better shape thanCrake. Dencroft's in a body trotted along at the side of the road,shouting as they went. Crake, hearing the shouts, looked round, almostfell, and then pulled himself together and staggered on again. Therewere only a hundred yards to go now, and the school gates were insight at the end of a long lane of spectators. They looked to Kennedylike two thick, black hedges. He could not sprint, though a hundredvoices were shouting to him to do so. It was as much as he could do tokeep moving. Only his will enabled him to run now. He meant to get tothe gates, if he had to crawl.
　　The hundred yards dwindled to fifty, and he had diminished Crake'slead by a third. Twenty yards from the gates, and he was onlyhalf-a-dozen yards behind.
　　Crake looked round again, and this time did what he had nearly donebefore. His legs gave way; he rolled over; and there he remained, withthe School House watching him in silent dismay, while Kennedy went onand pitched in a heap on the other side of the gates.
　　* * * * *"Feeling bad?" said Jimmy Silver, looking in that evening to makeinquiries.
　　"I'm feeling good," said Kennedy.
　　"That the cup?" asked Jimmy.
　　Kennedy took the huge cup from the table.
　　"That's it. Milligan has just brought it round. Well, they can't saythey haven't had their fair share of it. Look here. School House.
　　School House. School House. School House. Daly's. School House.
　　Denny's. School House. School House. _Ad infinitum_."They regarded the trophy in silence.
　　"First pot the house has won," said Kennedy at length. "The veryfirst.""It won't be the last," returned Jimmy Silver, with decision.
The End