by a man who stood five-feet-one in his boots, and was devoid of any
sort of merit whatever.

It seemed to him that it would help him to sleep peacefully that night
if he worked off a little of his just indignation upon somebody. There
was a noise going on in the fags' room. There always was at Kay's. It
was not a particularly noisy noise--considering; but it had better be
stopped. Badly as Kay had treated him, he remembered that he was head
of the house, and as such it behoved him to keep order in the house.

He went downstairs, and, on arriving on the scene of action, found
that the fags were engaged upon spirited festivities, partly in honour
of the near approach of the summer holidays, partly because--miracles
barred--the house was going on the morrow to lift the cricket-cup.
There were a good many books flying about, and not a few slippers.
There was a confused mass rolling in combat on the floor, and the
table was occupied by a scarlet-faced individual, who passed the time
by kicking violently at certain hands, which were endeavouring to drag
him from his post, and shrieking frenzied abuse at the owners of the
said hands. It was an animated scene, and to a deaf man might have
been most enjoyable.

Fenn's appearance was the signal for a temporary suspension of
hostilities.

"What the dickens is all this row about?" he inquired.

No one seemed ready at the moment with a concise explanation. There
was an awkward silence. One or two of the weaker spirits even went so
far as to sit down and begin to read. All would have been well but for