The tea which (with the Head’s compliments) Mrs. Lowe provided after chapel was an apotheosis of tea. The Head’s dinner was going on simultaneously, and the most delicious remainders were brought in from it for the boys, ending with an ice pudding that at its entrance was practically untouched, though soon there was nothing left to touch. It had really been worth while to voyage at such peril over unknown seas and lands, if this was to be the eventful haven, and when, at the end, Ferrers proposed the health of Iconium, his toast was drunk with acclamation. Thereafter was a little quiet ragging, but David had not joined in this, for when he was seized by somebody he had said in plethoric tones, “For God’s sake, don’t bend me, or I shall be sick,” and for fear of that untoward result he had been left alone. Bags also was not disposed to active exercise, and David had taken the opportunity to be agreeable, according to his resolution in chapel. “I say, I hope I didn’t hurt you, Bags,” he said. “You see I had to kick you just once to make it all square. Is it _pax_?” Bags looked sideways at David, with his shallow, goat-like eyes before he answered. “Oh, rather,” he said. “It wasn’t anything. You hardly touched me.” This was surprising, for David had the distinct impression in his toe and instep that this particular kick had been a juicy one. “Right oh, then,” he said. “I say, there’s one piece of cake left. Shall we halve it?” “Couldn’t,” said Bags, getting up. Though he could not be bent, David thought that a cautious attack might defeat the one piece of cake, and strategically accomplished this. But it was funny that Bags should not have tried, too, and for a moment he had suspicions. “It is _pax_, then?” he asked. “Oh, rather,” said Bags. “And your lip’s all right, isn’t it, Blazes? Quite clean, I mean. I think the Head only gassed about that on the spur of the moment. Will you swear I washed it, if necessary?” “Oh, yes,” said David. “Gosh, I’m full. And I’m going to preach in dormitory, night-shirt and trousers for a stole. I can remember lots of the sermon.” “Oh, may I come?” asked Bags. “Right, but don’t be sarcastic and spoil the show. It’ll be in my cubicle.” “Rather not,” said Bags, moving away. “May I be Goggles or Carrots?” “Sorry; Stone and Ferrers have bagged them. But you might blow the organ, and let it go out with a squeak, same as it did this evening.” “Oh, thanks; that’ll be ripping,” said Bags, beginning to practise squeaking in a realistic and organ-like manner. * * * * *