nd, gripping her riding-switch.
Kiddie became the only object in the room. The smile and the switch
fascinated him. They were symbolic, they were abominable. At this
same Kiddie he had often gazed in rapturous worship, wondering whether
Leopard was the more blessed for knowing her or she for knowing him.
God, how he loathed her now.

At last Leopard arrived. The clouds had not lifted. He had just
overheard Moore remarking to a friend that, as a three-quarter, Raikes
was worth a dozen of Spots.

"Oh, you," he said quietly. "Just go to the prefects' common-room."

Martin turned and went out. His fate was settled. He felt, as he
walked down the long passage listening to the tread of Leopard behind
him, as though all his internal organs were falling into his feet.

When they reached the common-room Leopard turned up the light and
locked the door. Then he took a cane from a cupboard in the corner and
made Martin bend over with his head under the table. Leopard had
suffered during the evening, for the almost certain loss of a rugger
cap on which he had counted was a terrible blow to his pride and his
ambitions. He was angry, desperately angry, and his only desire was to
express his anger in action. The fact that he was fond of Martin only
added piquancy to the situation. The maximum punishment that a house
prefect could inflict was eight strokes. He did not stop short of his
maximum.

After the first three strokes Martin felt as though nothing could
prevent him crying out: then a blessed numbness seemed to come over him
and he remained silent and motionless. Afterwards he had to climb on
to the table and put out the light. Then he went upstairs to his
cubicle: he was not in the mood for poetry. On such occasions rumour
has swift wings, and when he reached the dormitory the news had
magically been spread abroad.

Voices cried: "How many?"

"Eight."

"Did it hurt?"

"No, not much." He lied, for he had learned the tradition.

There were murmurs of: "Bad luck," "Old Spots is the limit," "Just
because he got the chuck for not tackling."

And then Neave remarked in the midst of a silence: "If we get nailed
funking a collar we get swiped. But if Spots gets nailed, then he
swipes someone else. That's justice."

The expressions of genuine sympathy were very comforting to Martin.
Though now the numbness was wearing off and the reality of his pain
came home to him, he was happier than he had been for