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“Bah. American trash.” The doctor was a staunch Briton, conservative in his views both on politics and on food. “Why can’t you boys eat good English food? I must tell the headmaster of this. I haven’t time to look after the school if all the boys are going to poison themselves. You lie still and try to go to sleep, and you’ll be right enough in no time.”

But Dunstable did not go to sleep. He stayed awake to interview Linton, who came to pay him a visit.

“Well,” said Linton, looking down at the sufferer with an expression that was a delicate blend of pity and contempt, “you’ve made a nice sort of ass of yourself, haven’t you! I don’t know if it’s any consolation to you, but Merrett’s just as bad as you are. And I hear the others are, too. So now you see what comes of going to Ring’s instead of Cook’s.”

“And now,” said Dunstable, “if you’ve quite finished, you can listen to me for a bit….”

“So now you know,” he concluded.

Linton’s face beamed with astonishment and admiration.

“Well, I’m hanged,” he said. “You’re a marvel. But how did you know it wouldn’t poison you?”

“I relied on you. You said it wasn’t poison when I asked you in the lab. My faith in you is touching.”

“But why did you take any yourself?”

“Sort of idea of diverting suspicion. But the thing isn’t finished yet. Listen.”

Linton left the dormitory five minutes later with a look of a young disciple engaged on some holy mission.

PART 3

“You think the food is unwholesome, then?” said the headmaster after dinner that night.

“Unwholesome!” said the school doctor. “It must be deadly. It must be positively lethal. Here we have six ordinary, strong, healthy boys struck down at one fell swoop as if there were a pestilence raging. Why—-“

“One moment,” said the headmaster. “Come in.”

A small figure appeared in the doorway.

“Please, sir,” said the figure in the strained voice of one speaking a “piece” which he has committed to memory. “Mr. Seymour says please would you mind letting the doctor come to his house at once because Linton is ill.”

“What!” exclaimed the doctor. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Please, sir, I believe it’s buckwheat cakes.”

“What! And here’s another of them!”

A second small figure had appeared in the doorway.

“Sir, please, sir,” said the newcomer, “Mr. Bradfield says may the doctor—-“

“And what boy is it this time?”

“Please, sir, it’s Brown. He went to Ring’s Stores—-“

The headmaster rose.

“Perhaps you had better go at once, Oakes,” he said. “This is becoming serious. That place is a positive menace to the community. I shall put it out of bounds tomorrow morning.”

And when Dunstable and Linton, pale but cheerful, made their way–slowly, as befitted convalescents–to Cook’s two days afterwards, they had to sit on the counter. All the other seats were occupied.