Babcock yelled loudly as he had many times before. The face of Jevons, aged eleven, a new boy that dark wet term, low in the House, low in the Lower School, and lowest of all in his home-sick little mind turned white at the horror of the sight. They could hear his working lips part stickily as Babcock wailed his way out of hearing. 'Hullo, Jevons! What brings you here?' said Mullins. 'Pl-ease, sir, I went for a walk with Babcock tertius.' 'Did you? Then I bet you went to the tuck-shop--and you paid, didn't you?' A nod. Jevons was too terrified to speak. 'Of course, and I bet Babcock told you that old Pot 'ud let you off because it was the first time.' Another nod with a ghost of a smile in it. 'All right.' Mullins picked Jevons up before he could guess what was coming, laid him on the table with one hand, with the other gave him three emphatic spanks, then held him high in air. 'Now you tell Babcock tertius that he's got you a licking from me, and see you jolly well pay it back to him. And when you're prefect of games don't you let any one shirk his footer without a written excuse. Where d'you play in your game?' 'Forward, sir.' 'You can do better than that. I've seen you run like a young buck-rabbit. Ask Dickson from me to try you as three-quarter next game, will you? Cut along.' Jevons left, warm for the first time that day, enormously set up in his own esteem, and very hot against the deceitful Babcock. Mullins turned to Winton. 'Your name's on the list, Pater.' Winton nodded. 'I know it. The Head landed me with an impot for that mouse-business at mechanical drawing. No excuse.' 'He meant it then?' Mullins jerked his head delicately towards the ground-ash on the table. 'I heard something about it.' Winton nodded. 'A rotten thing to do,' he said. 'Can't think what I was doing ever to do it. It counts against a fellow so; and there's some more too--' 'All right, Pater. Just stand clear of our photo-bracket, will you?' The little formality over, there was a pause. Winton swung round, yawned in Pot's astonished face and staggered towards the window-seat. 'What's the matter with you, Dick? Ill?' 'No. Perfectly all right, thanks. Only--only a little sleepy.' Winton stretched himself out, and then and there fell deeply and placidly asleep. 'It isn't a faint,' said the experienced Mullins, 'or his pulse wouldn't act. 'Tisn't a fit or he'd snort and twitch. It can't be sunstroke, this term, and he hasn't been over-training for anything.' He opened Winton's collar, packed a cushion under his head, threw a rug over him and sat down to listen to the regular breathing. Before long Stalky arrived, on pretence of borrowing a book. He looked at the window-seat. ''Noticed anything wrong with Winton lately?' said Mullins. ''Notice anything wrong with my beak?' Stalky replied. 'Pater went Berserk after call-over, and fell on a lot of us for jesting with him about his impot. You ought to see Malpass's eye.'