"This," said Psmith, leaning against the mantelpiece, "is exciting, but
it can't go on. We have got for our sins to be in this place for a whole
term, and if we are going to do the Hunted Fawn business all the time,
life in the true sense of the word will become an impossibility. My
nerves are so delicately attuned that the strain would simply reduce
them to hash. We are not prepared to carry on a long campaign--the thing
must be settled at once."

"Shall we go down to the senior day room, and have it out?" said Mike.

"No, we will play the fixture on our own ground. I think we may take it
as tolerably certain that Comrade Spiller and his hired ruffians will
try to corner us in the dormitory tonight. Well, of course, we could
fake up some sort of barricade for the door, but then we should have all
the trouble over again tomorrow and the day after that. Personally I
don't propose to be chivied about indefinitely like this, so I propose
that we let them come into the dormitory, and see what happens. Is this
meeting with me?"

"I think that's sound," said Mike. "We needn't drag Jellicoe into it."

"As a matter of fact--if you don't mind ..." began that man of peace.

"Quite right," said Psmith; "this is not Comrade Jellicoe's scene at
all; he has got to spend the term in the senior day room, whereas we
have our little wooden _châlet_ to retire to in times of stress. Comrade
Jellicoe must stand out of the game altogether. We shall be glad of his
moral support, but otherwise, _ne pas_. And now, as there won't be
anything doing till bedtime, I think I'll collar this table and write
home and tell my people that all is well with their Rupert."