Then half a dozen of the Second Fifteen, who should have been washing, strolled in to condole with 'Pater' Winton, whose misfortune and its consequences were common talk. No one was more sincere than the long, red-headed, knotty-knuckled 'Paddy' Vernon, but, being a careless animal, he joggled Winton's desk. 'Curse you for a silly ass!' said Winton. 'Don't do that.' No one is expected to be polite while under punishment, so Vernon, sinking his sub-prefectship, replied peacefully enough: 'Well, don't be wrathy, Pater.' 'I'm not,' said Winton. 'Get out! This ain't your House form-room.' ''Form-room don't belong to you. Why don't you go to your own study?' Vernon replied. 'Because Mullins is there waitin' for the victim,' said Stalky delicately, and they all laughed. 'You ought to have shaken that mouse out of your trouser-leg, Pater. That's the way _I_ did in my youth. Pater's revertin' to his second childhood. Never mind, Pater, we all respect you and your future caree-ah.' Winton, still writhing, growled. Vernon leaning on the desk somehow shook it again. Then he laughed. 'What are you grinning at?' Winton asked. 'I was only thinkin' of _you_ being sent up to take a lickin' from Pot. I swear I don't think it's fair. You've never shirked a game in your life, and you're as good as in the First Fifteen already. Your Cap ought to have been delivered last week, oughtn't it?' It was law in the school that no man could by any means enjoy the privileges and immunities of the First Fifteen till the black velvet cap with the gold tassel, made by dilatory Exeter outfitters, had been actually set on his head. Ages ago, a large-built and unruly Second Fifteen had attempted to change this law, but the prefects of that age were still larger, and the lively experiment had never been repeated. 'Will you,' said Winton very slowly, 'kindly mind your own damned business, you cursed, clumsy, fat-headed fool?' The form-room was as silent as the empty field in the darkness outside. Vernon shifted his feet uneasily. 'Well, _I_ shouldn't like to take a lickin' from Pot,' he said. 'Wouldn't you?' Winton asked, as he paged the sheets of lines with hands that shook. 'No, I shouldn't,' said Vernon, his freckles growing more distinct on the bridge of his white nose.