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‘Now you tell Babcock tertius that he’s got you a licking from me, and see you jolly well pay it back to him. And when you’re prefect of games don’t you let any one shirk his footer without a written excuse. Where d’you play in your game?’

‘Forward, sir.’

‘You can do better than that. I’ve seen you run like a young buck-rabbit. Ask Dickson from me to try you as three-quarter next game, will you? Cut along.’

Jevons left, warm for the first time that day, enormously set up in his own esteem, and very hot against the deceitful Babcock.

Mullins turned to Winton. ‘Your name’s on the list, Pater.’ Winton nodded.

‘I know it. The Head landed me with an impot for that mouse-business at mechanical drawing. No excuse.’

‘He meant it then?’ Mullins jerked his head delicately towards the ground-ash on the table. ‘I heard something about it.’

Winton nodded. ‘A rotten thing to do,’ he said. ‘Can’t think what I was doing ever to do it. It counts against a fellow so; and there’s some more too–‘

‘All right, Pater. Just stand clear of our photo-bracket, will you?’

The little formality over, there was a pause. Winton swung round, yawned in Pot’s astonished face and staggered towards the window-seat.

‘What’s the matter with you, Dick? Ill?’

‘No. Perfectly all right, thanks. Only–only a little sleepy.’ Winton stretched himself out, and then and there fell deeply and placidly asleep.

‘It isn’t a faint,’ said the experienced Mullins, ‘or his pulse wouldn’t act. ‘Tisn’t a fit or he’d snort and twitch. It can’t be sunstroke, this term, and he hasn’t been over-training for anything.’ He opened Winton’s collar, packed a cushion under his head, threw a rug over him and sat down to listen to the regular breathing. Before long Stalky arrived, on pretence of borrowing a book. He looked at the window-seat.

”Noticed anything wrong with Winton lately?’ said Mullins.

”Notice anything wrong with my beak?’ Stalky replied. ‘Pater went Berserk after call-over, and fell on a lot of us for jesting with him about his impot. You ought to see Malpass’s eye.’

‘You mean that Pater fought?’ said Mullins.

‘Like a devil. Then he nearly went to sleep in our study just now. I expect he’ll be all right when he wakes up. Rummy business! Conscientious old bargee. You ought to have heard his apologies.’

‘But Pater can’t fight one little bit,’ Mullins repeated.

”Twasn’t fighting. He just tried to murder every one.’ Stalky described the affair, and when he left Mullins went off to take counsel with the Head, who, out of a cloud of blue smoke, told him that all would yet be well.

‘Winton,’ said he, ‘is a little stiff in his moral joints. He’ll get over that. If he asks you whether to-day’s doings will count against him in his–‘

‘But you know it’s important to him, sir. His people aren’t–very well off,’ said Mullins.

‘That’s why I’m taking all this trouble. You must reassure him, Pot. I have overcrowded him with new experiences. Oh, by the way, has his Cap come?’

‘It came at dinner, sir.’ Mullins laughed.

Sure enough, when he waked at tea-time, Winton proposed to take Mullins all through every one of his day’s lapses from grace, and ‘Do you think it will count against me?’ said he.

‘Don’t you fuss so much about yourself and your silly career,’ said Mullins. ‘You’re all right. And oh–here’s your First Cap at last. Shove it up on the bracket and come on to tea.’

They met King on their way, stepping statelily and rubbing his hands. ‘I have applied,’ said he, ‘for the services of an additional sub-prefect in Carton’s unlamented absence. Your name, Winton, seems to have found favour with the powers that be, and–and all things considered–I am disposed to give my support to the nomination. You are therefore a quasi-lictor.’

‘Then it didn’t count against me,’ Winton gasped as soon as they were out of hearing.

A Captain of Games can jest with a sub-prefect publicly.