couldn't possibly be expected to
know to whom that foot belonged, he relented, and entered as
enthusiastically as any one into the business. Indeed, if all the
rebels had been like Stephen, the fags at Saint Dominic's would be on
strike to this day. He contemplated martyrdom with the utmost
equanimity, and the Inquisition itself never saw a more determined
victim.

The morning after the famous "cricket feast" gave him his first
opportunity of sacrificing himself for the good of his country. Loman
met him in the passage after first-class.

"Why didn't you turn up and get my breakfast, you idle young vagabond?"
inquired the Sixth Form boy, half good-humouredly, and little guessing
what was in the wind. "I'm not idle," said Stephen.

"Then what do you mean by not doing your work?"

"It's not my work."

Loman opened his eyes in amazement, and stared at this bold young hero
as if he had dropped from the clouds. "What!" he cried; "what do you
say?"

"It's not my work," repeated Stephen, blushing, but very determined.

"Look here, young fellow," said Loman, when he was sure that he had
really heard correctly, "don't you play any of your little games with
me, or you'll be sorry for it."

Stephen said nothing, and waited with a tremor for what was to follow.

Loman was hardly a bully naturally. It was always easier for him to be
civil than to be angry, especially with small boys, but this cool
defiance on the part of his fag was too much for any one's civility, and
Loman began to be angry.

"What do you mean by it?" he said, catching the boy by the arm.

Stephen wrenched away his arm and stood dogged and silent.

Nothing could have irritated Loman more. To be defied and resisted by a
youngster like this was an experience quite new to him.

"Just come to my room," said he, gripping his fag angrily by the
shoulder. "We'll see who's master of us two!"

Stephen was forced to submit, and allowed himself to be dragged to the
study.

"Now!" said Loman shutting the door.

"Now!" said Stephen, as boldly as he could, and wondering what on earth
was to become of him.

"Are you going to do what you're told, or not?" demanded Loman.

"Not what _you_ tell me," replied Stephen, promptly, but not exactly
cheerfully.

"Oh!" said Loman, his face becoming crimson, "you're quite sure?"

"Yes," said Stephen.

"Then take that!" said Loman.

It was a sharp box on the ears, suddenly administered. Stephen recoiled