Now and again words spoken in a hollow tone drifted through the night and reached Terence in snatches. Occasionally he answered, but it was evident that one of those moods was upon Rouse in which he loved to maintain a rambling monologue, content to speak his changing thoughts or to register opinions as they came to him without requiring any answer at all. Most of the boys had travelled by train, but many had returned as they had come, by trap or bicycle; some were walking, however, and it was for this latter reason that Rouse and Terence had elected to walk too. “We shall lose half the fun,” Rouse had affirmed, “if we do this thing in too great comfort. Let’s have the satisfaction of knowing that, as some of the kids have had to walk, we’ve walked too. It’s only sporting.” He was talking again now. Terence pricked his ears politely. “It is not,” he was saying, “until you have wheeled one of these infernal machines for about twelve miles without getting a ride even down a bit of a hill that you properly understand why they are called push-bikes.” Terence turned to look at him. Rouse was plodding a little in rear. It was pouring with rain and his overcoat was soaked and shining; rain was even dripping from his very ears. Yet the night was cheerfully illumined by his smile. Terence, who had a handbag in one hand and the other in his pocket, nodded ahead. “We’re nearly there. You see those lights? That’s Harley!” He stepped out with new hope. One might have imagined that he had no care in all the world. Rouse’s response came in a sober monotone: “You are quite right. That one red light, shining all alone, is the end of the Headmaster’s cigar, I think. He will be waiting up for us with a tray of cold supper. May heaven reward his kindly nature.” They walked on for another mile in contemplative silence. For a time Terence took a turn at wheeling the bicycle. At last the cottage from which they had borrowed it was reached, and it was gratefully returned with the price of a new back tyre. Twenty minutes later they finally came to Harley’s gates. In the distance they could just distinguish a group of youngsters who had been walking ahead of them making their way stealthily across to Mainwright’s house. They turned, and behind them they could hear the steady tread of another couple who had been plodding along behind change suddenly to a cautious softness. Rouse looked round him quizzically. At last he returned his gaze to Terence. “Nick,” said he, “it would be well to rise on the toes.” Next moment he was leading the way with a mysterious and ghostly tread along the gravel path towards Morley’s. “It is the last lap,” said he. “I wonder if we are going to secure a cigar or nuts.” Terence made no immediate reply. He was looking watchfully towards the Headmaster’s room. But the blinds were drawn and only a dim light could be seen within.