nd his manner frigid.

"Oh, here you are, old chap; I'm peckish. Did you hear about the match,
we--"

"Shut up," said Wilson; "you're a cad. I don't want to talk to you."

Corder put down his knife and fork, and looked up in amazement. This
from Wilson! He knew Clapperton was sore about it, but Wilson--

He went on eating while thinking it out, and Wilson ate too in silence,
and then rose to go.

"Are you not going to prepare to-night?"

"Yes, in Dangle's room."

And Corder was left alone.

This was too bad of Wilson--to-night of all nights. He would go and
look up Selby. Selby, he knew, would be interested in the day's news,
for had they not practised drop-kicks together for an hour a day all
this term?

Selby was in, but not at all glad to see him.

"Are you busy, old man?" asked Corder.

"I don't want you here," said Selby.

"Why, what's the row?"

"Row? You're a sneak, that's the row. Cut!"

Surely Selby must be out of sorts to talk like that. Corder stood in
the door for a moment, on the off-chance that his friend might be
joking. But no; Selby turned his back and began to read a book.

This was getting monotonous. Corder returned to his study to think it
out a little more. His fag, Cash, was there looking for a paper.

"Hullo, youngster! that you? We didn't get beaten after all, to-day, I
suppose you heard."

Cash's reply was laconic, to say the least of it. He turned round and
put out his tongue.

"None of your cheek, I say," said Corder, "or I'll--"

"How _dare_ you speak to me!" said the junior; "you're a cad--I'm not
going to fag for a cad."

And he vanished.

Corder went to bed that night sorely perplexed. And his perplexity was
not relieved when he rose next morning and found a paper on his table
with the following genial notice:--

"Any boy in Forder's found speaking to Corder the sneak will be cut by
the house. By Order."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE SHOP OPENS.

Robert--no one knew his surname--was a regular institution at
Fellsgarth. Pluralist and jack-of-all-trades as he was, he seemed
unable to make much of a hand at anything he took up. He was School
porter, owner of the School shop, keeper of the club properties, and
occasional School policeman; and he discharged none of his functions
well. The masters did not regard him with much confidence, the boys,
for the most part, did not care for him, the other men about the place
disliked him. And yet, as