“Rather, sir,” said David. “I should think we did. Wish you could have heard one of the trials, with us three on the bench, and Manton as defendant, and some junior as plaintiff. You see, sir, Manton and Crossley consented to it all; that’s another point in our favour, isn’t it! Gregson planned all the ritual, because his pater’s a real judge in Appeal Courts, and we call each other ‘My learned brother Crabtree’ or ‘Blaize,’ for of course there are no nicknames or Christian names in Court. It’s all quite serious; there’s no rag about it. We were thinking of appointing a permanent counsel to plead for plaintiffs——” Adams laughed. “David, you don’t suppose that the Court of Appeal is going to be allowed to remain in existence?” he asked. “That’s as you wish, sir,” he said. “But——” “Well?” asked Adams. “Nothing sir. I was only thinking that there’ll be rather rows again.” “I hope not,” said Adams. “That’s exactly what you and fellows like you have got to prevent.” “But how can we if you’re going to stop it?” asked David. “In hundreds of ways: by backing the prefects up without over-riding them. You’re sensible enough to know that.” David considered this. “Is the Head sick about it, sir?” he asked. “He’s never sick about anything till he’s in full possession of the facts. He was prepared to be uncommonly sick, when he had only heard the other side. In fact, he said something about giving you another lesson with regard to obeying authorities. But after what you’ve told me I don’t think you need be alarmed.” “Oh, I’m not,” said David. “Of course he’ll see there’s another side to it, same as you’ve done. Something had to happen when we got Manton and Crossley instead of Frank and Cruikshank.” At this moment a small and completely soaked boy burst into the room, not seeing Adams, who was sitting behind the door, but only David. “Letter for you, Blaize,” he said. “Oh, and I want to appeal. Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you.” “You do now, Jevons,” said Adams. “So go on, tell Blaize what the appeal’s about.” “Well, sir, somebody put my sponge on the top of Manton’s door, made a booby-trap, and because it’s my sponge he says I’m responsible unless I find out who put it there.” Adams nodded to David. “Go on, learned brother Blaize,” he said. “Notice in writing, Jev,” he said. He had seen the handwriting of his letter, and tore it open. “Oh, I say, how ripping!” he said. “Frank’s mother’s ill, and is ordered out of England for Christmas—at least, it’s beastly that she’s ill—but Frank wants to know if he can stay with us for a week. I say, Jev, you’re awfully wet, aren’t you? I mean, you couldn’t get much wetter, so I wonder if you’d take a tellywag just down to the office.” “Rather. And I’ll put my appeal in your study, shall I!” “Yes.” “Right. I’ll be back in a second if you’ll have your tellywag ready.” “Is the telegram to Frank saying he can come?” asked Adams. “Yes, sir.”