be his friend."

A derisive groan rose from the crowd.

"You can't prove it!" retorted Fletcher, turning first white and then
red.

"I can prove it up to the hilt. You had the confounded cheek to borrow
from me the very book of songs you used when you wrote the parody, and
you were fool enough to leave the rough copy in it when you brought it
back. It's there now, in your writing. Shall I send for it? it's on my
study table at this moment."

The culprit muttered something about it's being "only a joke," but his
reply was lost amid a storm of hoots and hisses.

"Sneak!" cried one voice; "Turn him out!" yelled another; while the
object of this outburst of animosity, recovering himself sufficiently to
glance round with a contemptuous sneer on his face, fell back, and
endeavoured to hide his confusion by entering into conversation with
Gull and Thurston.

Fletcher had come a nasty cropper, and reaped what, sooner or later, is
the inevitable reward of double-dealing.

Once more the sympathy of the meeting was enlisted on the side of
Allingford and the prefects, and the crowd dispersed, resolved to
discover, if possible, who had made the attack on Browse, and determined
that such acts of disorder were not to be tolerated in the future.

"Hullo, old chap!" said Thurston, entering his friend's study a few
moments later; "you made rather a mess of that speech of yours.
I'm inclined to think you've damaged your reputation."

"I don't care," returned the other; "we're both leaving at the end of
this term. As for Allingford, just let him look out: it'll be my turn
to move next, and there's plenty of time to finish the game between
now and Christmas."

It was a bright, crisp afternoon. Almost everybody hurried away to
change for football.

"Where's Diggy?" asked Jack Vance, as he and Mugford strolled out to the
junior playing field."

"Oh, he said he wasn't coming; he's stewing away at that stupid cipher.
He can't find any word except 'the;' he'll never be able to read the
thing."

It being a half-holiday, the games lasted a little longer than usual.
At length, however, the signal was given to "cease fire," and a general
cry of "Hold the ball!" put an end to the several contests.

The crowd of players were tramping across the paved playground, and
surging through the archway into the quadrangle, when Jack Vance and
Mugford were suddenly confronted by Diggory. He held some scraps of
paper in his hand, and app