oots; then you're to be executed; then you're to be burnt alive;
then you're to write out fifty Greek verbs; then you're-- Hallo, who's
there? Come in! what do you want?"

This abrupt curtailment of the prisoner's doom was occasioned by a
modest tap at the door; probably some belated witness come to add his
evidence to the rest, "Come in, can't you?" repeated Percy.

Whereupon the door opened with a swing, and in rushed Wally, D'Arcy,
Ashby, and three or four other Classic fags. How they had got wind of
the capture of their man it would be hard to say; but now they had come
to fetch him.

The only thing visible in Percy's room for several minutes was dust--out
of which proceeded yells, and howls, and recriminations which would have
done credit to Pandemonium. As the cloud rolled by, the Classics might
be seen in a firm phalanx, with their man in the middle, backing on to
the door. Signs of carnage lay all around. Lickford was struggling,
head downward, in the wash-stand. Cash was leaning up in a corner, with
his hand modestly placed over his nose. Ramshaw and Cottle were engaged
in deadly strife on the floor, each under the fond delusion that the
other was a Classic; while the twin brothers, armed with the better pair
of boxing-gloves, were having a friendly spar in the middle.

It was a victory all along the line for the invaders, and when, a moment
afterwards, they stampeded in a body, and marched with shouts of victory
down the passage, carrying the late prisoner among them, there was no
mistake about the ignominious defeat of the besieged garrison.

That evening Fisher major received a polite note from his colleague, the
secretary.

"Dear Fisher,--It is only right to tell you, that we have discovered
that five of our fellows were prevented from voting at Elections by boys
of your side, apparently acting under orders from their seniors. We
don't profess to know who were at the bottom of it, but it is a fact
that the election for treasurer would have gone differently but for this
very shady trick. Clapperton and most of us are not disposed to claim a
new election, now everything is settled, and you have already got in
most of the subscriptions. But it makes us think that even the virtuous
Classics at Fellsgarth are not absolutely perfect even yet--which is a
pity.

"Yours truly,--

"R. Dangle."

This pleasant letter, Fisher major, raging, carried to the captain.

Yorke pulled a long face when he