Mr. Chilford was accustomed to cavalier treatment from boys, but Pip's bland rudeness was rather more than even he was prepared to stand. For a moment there was dead silence in the dormitory, broken only by spasmodic quakings from one or two beds. Then, just as Mr. Chilford braced himself for a thorough scarifying of Pip,--a congenial task which would probably have occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else and so tided over a disaster,--there came from the far end of the dormitory a loud, resonant, and alcoholic chuckle, and out of the gloomy recesses of Linklater's cubicle there arose once more the refrain of that very song which had brought Mr. Chilford flying from his study. Pip ground his teeth. But he broke in quickly,-- "Would you mind telling me if I do a straight-arm balance right, sir?" (Mr. Chilford had been something of a gymnast in his youth, and many a hard-pressed sinner had escaped punishment at the eleventh hour by asking his advice on the subject.) "My left arm seems to go wrong somehow. Do you think--" But Mr. Chilford had heard the noise. "There--I knew it, I knew it!" he cried. "It _is_ in this dormitory. Who is it, Wilmot? I insist upon you giving me his name." "I expect it's Linklater, sir," said Pip, after consideration. The dormitory shivered. Surely Pip was not going to throw up the sponge now! "He often sings in his sleep, sir," he added. The dormitory breathed again, and Mr. Chilford, completely baffled by Pip's heroic coolness, paused irresolutely. Meanwhile, in the murky recesses of Linklater's abiding-place, the two sturdy Fifth-Form boys did not cease to sit precariously but resolutely on Linklater's head. "Where I go wrong, sir," continued Pip, following up his advantage, "is here." He poised himself on the bar and began to sink his head slowly down, while his rigid body and legs, hinged on his elbows, swung slowly up. "My left arm begins to go as soon as the weight--" Mr. Chilford began to take an interest, in spite of himself. But then--ten thousand horrors!--there was a sound as of heavy bodies in conflict, and Linklater's raucous voice was once more uplifted-- "What? Here, is he? Just the man I want to see! Lead me to him, lead me to him, I tell you! Lead--" "Should I have my thumbs round the bar, sir, or alongside my fingers?" gasped Pip, upside down and desperate. But it was too late. Mr. Chilford, roused at last, turned on his heel and rushed up the dormitory in the direction of Linklater's cubicle. He had only taken a few steps when his course was arrested by the sound of a crash and a dull thud behind him. He whirled round again to see what had happened. Pip was no longer balanced on the bar, but lay on the floor beneath, a motionless heap of arms and legs and striped pyjamas. Providence had stepped in at the eleventh hour, and the unjust had been saved, not for the first time, at the expense of the just. * * * * *