“You see, there’s nothing like fair play, Manton,” said Bags. “I take it that you agree. And, as you’ve had an uninterrupted innings with the Head, and have run up a good score against us, I’m sure it is only proper that we should have our turn. Now, you were not wise in refusing to tell us what you had said to the Head; but the time for that is past now, and even if you wanted to, I don’t suppose we should listen to you. It was foolish of you, because you make us guess what it was, and naturally we guess that you made up a lot of lies, since we think that is the sort of thing you would do. So when you leave us now, which will be very soon, we shall make up some rippers about you and Crossley—really awful things, you know. I began making some up when Brother Blaize was addressing you. They are beauties.” Gregson took up the tale with a wink at David in the eye away from Manton. “And yet I don’t know that we need bother to make things up, Brother Crabtree,” he said. “It’s easier to say just a few of the things that really happened. We will tell the Head the sort of thing that goes on in Manton’s study when he thinks all the house are at preparation.” Now Manton, for all his feebleness and ineffectiveness as a prefect, was as blameless as the Ethiopian. “But I don’t know what you mean,” he said. Gregson gave a little laugh which he transformed into a cough. “Oh really?” he said. “But the Head will soon know what we mean. David—I mean Brother Blaize knows.” David had caught the wink correctly. He put on a scornful face. “Oh, _that_!” he said. “Yes, disgusting. You should be more careful about shutting your door, Manton. I and Gregson were walking about the house in slippers, following the example of the sixth form.” “But I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Manton. “Right oh. We won’t talk about it any more—to you.” It was in vain that Manton assured himself that, as was perfectly true, his conscience was as clear as noon-day, for this wicked and subtly-acted fraud on the part of those fifth-form devils made him uncomfortable in spite of himself. And though he had not told the Head anything false about this beastly Court of Appeal, he certainly had not put their side of the case before him with the directness that it now appeared they were going to do on their own behalf. He had not, for instance, said that the Court of Appeal propped up, endorsed, supported the authority of himself and Crossley far more than they overrode it, though it was perfectly true (as he had told the Head) that they arrogated the supreme authority to themselves. Nor had it occurred to him to tell the Head that he and Crossley were quite incompetent to maintain discipline, that they got ragged to the point of having soap put in their kettles, that they toured the house in slippers. Truly the supplement to his tale was likely to be as voluminous as the tale itself. Then David rose.