"Yes, sir?" said a voice "off."

"Are you making that whining noise?"

"Whining noise, sir? No, sir, I'm not making a whining noise."

"What _sort_ of noise, sir?" inquired Mike, as many Wrykynians had asked
before him. It was a question invented by Wrykyn for use in just such a
case as this.

"I do not propose," said Mr. Downing acidly, "to imitate the noise; you
can all hear it perfectly plainly. It is a curious whining noise."

"They are mowing the cricket field, sir," said the invisible Wilson.
"Perhaps that's it."

"It may be one of the desks squeaking, sir," put in Stone. "They do
sometimes."

"Or somebody's shoes, sir," added Robinson.

"Silence! Wilson?"

"Yes, sir?" bellowed the unseen one.

"Don't shout at me from the corridor like that. Come in."

"Yes, sir!"

As he spoke the muffled whining changed suddenly to a series of tenor
shrieks, and the India-rubber form of Sammy bounded into the room like
an excited kangaroo.

Willing hands had by this time deflected the clockwork rat from the wall
to which it had been steering, and pointed it up the alleyway between
the two rows of desks. Mr. Downing, rising from his place, was just in
time to see Sammy with a last leap spring on his prey and begin
worrying it.

Chaos reigned.

"A rat!" shouted Robinson.

The twenty-three members of the Brigade who were not earnest instantly
dealt with the situation, each in the manner that seemed proper to him.
Some leaped onto forms, others flung books, all shouted. It was a
stirring, bustling scene.

Sammy had by this time disposed of the clockwork rat, and was now
standing, like Marius, among the ruins barking triumphantly.

The banging on Mr. Downing's desk resembled thunder. It rose above all
the other noises till in time they gave up the competition and
died away.

Mr. Downing shot out orders, threats, and penalties with the rapidity of
a Bren gun.

"Stone, sit down! Donovan, if you do not sit down you will be severely
punished. Henderson, one hundred lines for gross disorder! Windham, the
same! Go to your seat, Vincent. What are you doing, Broughton-Knight? I
will not have this disgraceful noise and disorder! The meeting is at an
end; go quietly from the room, all of you. Jackson and Wilson, remain.
_Quietly_, I said, Durand! Don't shuffle your feet in that
abominable way."

Crash!

"Wolferstan, I distinctly saw you upset that blackboard with a movement
of your hand--one hundred lines. Go qui