On the Monday Grim scuttled about all day--now on the stage, listening to Thurston going over his songs with Brown, now getting entries for his boxing competition, now encouraging Sharpe, who was in the throes of composition, and now criticizing the Dervishes with much force. Acton put in an appearance in the concert-room, and gave Brown the accompaniment to "Jim;" and, after hearing him play it through, went and read his novel the rest of his spare time. At 7.30 the juniors of St. Amory's began to stroll in, Biffen's lot collaring the front seats as per custom. The programmes were distributed to each one as he came in, and created no end of sensation, and W.E. Grim was allowed to have come out very strong in the programme line. St. Amory's fags did not spot anything wrong about item one, but the older fellows chuckled a little and said "the manager was a funny ass." This opinion was instantly conveyed to Grim by one of his cronies, and made that young gentleman think himself no end of a sly dog. Punctually to the minute Grim rang his bell, and, darting into the dressing-room, said, "Now, Cherry, come along with your epilogue, They're all waiting. Where is that ass?" "Cherry has not turned up yet, Grim." "What?" he said in horror. "Not turned up yet!" "I'll go and fetch the beggar at once." Grim darted out of the room, tore along the street, and was hammering at Cherry's door within the minute. "Fruity, hurry up, they're all waiting." "I'm not well, Grim." "What?" "I'm not well--I'm in bed." "You miserable beast!" shouted Grim. "I'll massacre you. You'll make us the laughing stock of the whole school. Get up, man, Be a man." "I'm ill," moaned Cherry from within. "You miserable beast! You'll be dead to-morrow." He shook the door violently, but Cherry was not quite the utter fool Grim took him for, for he had locked the door. Grim stood outside on the corridor for some seconds, petrified with rage and disgust, and then flew like a madman back to the concert-room. He cannoned up against some one leisurely strolling up to the dressing-room, and was darting on again _sans_ apology. A hand gently closed upon his collar and pulled him back. "Hallo, young shaver! Little boys used to apologize when they--Why, it's Grim! What in the name----" Grim, almost blubbing with anger and shame, poured out his tale, and Acton listened with an amused smile. "Sheer funk, Grim. Well, go on, and tell 'em their Cherry has rotted, but that I'll come and tell 'em a little tale instead." Grim would have embraced Acton if he'd been a little taller, but he gurgled, "Acton, you _are_ a brick," and darted on to the stage. He was received with deafening cheers, and shrieks of "No waits!" "Manager!" "Don't hurry, Grim!" "We'll send out for supper!" "We want Cherry!" "Go off," etc. When Grim could get a word in he panted, "Gentlemen, I am sorry to say B.A.M. Cherry is indisposed and cannot favour you with the epilogue."