about
to be hurled into an excessively dirty pond will clutch at a stout
policeman. The prisoner did.

Constable Butt represented his one link with dry land. As he came
within reach he attached himself to his tunic with the vigour and
concentration of a limpet.

At the same moment the executioners gave their man the final heave.
The policeman realised his peril too late. A medley of noises made the
peaceful night hideous. A howl from the townee, a yell from the
policeman, a cheer from the launching party, a frightened squawk from
some birds in a neighbouring tree, and a splash compared with which
the first had been as nothing, and all was over.

The dark waters were lashed into a maelstrom; and then two streaming
figures squelched up the further bank.

[Illustration: THE DARK WATERS WERE LASHED INTO A MAELSTROM]

The school stood in silent consternation. It was no occasion for light
apologies.

"Do you know," said Wyatt, as he watched the Law shaking the water
from itself on the other side of the pond, "I'm not half sure that we
hadn't better be moving!"

CHAPTER IX

BEFORE THE STORM

Your real, devastating row has many points of resemblance with a
prairie fire. A man on a prairie lights his pipe, and throws away the
match. The flame catches a bunch of dry grass, and, before any one can
realise what is happening, sheets of fire are racing over the country;
and the interested neighbours are following their example. (I have
already compared a row with a thunderstorm; but both comparisons may
stand. In dealing with so vast a matter as a row there must be no
stint.)

The tomato which hit Wyatt in the face was the thrown-away match. But
for the unerring aim of the town marksman great events would never
have happened. A tomato is a trivial thing (though it is possible that
the man whom it hits may not think so), but in the present case, it
was the direct cause of epoch-making trouble.

The tomato hit Wyatt. Wyatt, with others, went to look for the
thrower. The remnants of the thrower's friends were placed in the
pond, and "with them," as they say in the courts of law, Police
Constable Alfred Butt.

Following the chain of events, we find Mr. Butt, having prudently
changed his clothes, calling upon the headmaster.

The headmaster was grave and sympathetic; Mr. Butt fierce and
revengeful.

The imagination of the force is proverbial. Nurtured on motor-cars and
fed with stop-watches, it has become worl