at the wrong end of
the programme--the programme which had already been printed in such hot
haste? It was too late to tell Grim, who would have instantly summoned all
the strength of Biffen's to scrag him. The wretched Cherry shuddered at
his awful plight.

Nothing could he do or dare he do. In desperation he determined to fall
ill on the concert night. B.A.M. Cherry hadn't the heroic soul, and when
Grim asked him cheerfully how the epilogue was going on, he said
"spiffing," in the tone of a martyr at the stake.

On the Monday Grim scuttled about all day--now on the stage, listening to
Thurston going over his songs with Brown, now getting entries for his
boxing competition, now encouraging Sharpe, who was in the throes of
composition, and now criticizing the Dervishes with much force. Acton put
in an appearance in the concert-room, and gave Brown the accompaniment to
"Jim;" and, after hearing him play it through, went and read his novel the
rest of his spare time.

At 7.30 the juniors of St. Amory's began to stroll in, Biffen's lot
collaring the front seats as per custom. The programmes were distributed
to each one as he came in, and created no end of sensation, and W.E. Grim
was allowed to have come out very strong in the programme line. St.
Amory's fags did not spot anything wrong about item one, but the older
fellows chuckled a little and said "the manager was a funny ass." This
opinion was instantly conveyed to Grim by one of his cronies, and made
that young gentleman think himself no end of a sly dog.

Punctually to the minute Grim rang his bell, and, darting into the
dressing-room, said, "Now, Cherry, come along with your epilogue, They're
all waiting. Where is that ass?"

"Cherry has not turned up yet, Grim."

"What?" he said in horror.

"Not turned up yet!"

"I'll go and fetch the beggar at once."

Grim darted out of the room, tore along the street, and was hammering at
Cherry's door within the minute.

"Fruity, hurry up, they're all waiting."

"I'm not well, Grim."

"What?"

"I'm not well--I'm in bed."

"You miserable beast!" shouted Grim. "I'll massacre you. You'll make us
the laughing stock of the whole school. Get up, man, Be a man."

"I'm ill," moaned Cherry from within.

"You miserable beast! You'll be dead to-morrow." He shook the door
violently, but Cherry was not quite the utter fool Grim took him for, for
he had locked the door. Grim stood outside on the corridor for some
seconds