It happened one Wednesday half, towards the end of term. Lindon was the instrument of Fate. John was fagging that day and had been told to lay tea at four in Lindon's study. He had always been allowed great liberty by his fagmaster and he took his own time to perform his duties. John did not worry, therefore, when four o'clock struck as he finished a game in the fives' courts. He leisurely walked across to the bathroom, stripped and sat on the side of the bath, whistling while the water ran in. As he waited for the bath to fill, Marsh appeared through the steam. "London's been calling like blazes for you. He said he told you to lay tea at four." "Let him call," said John, turning on the cold tap and hiding himself in steam. "You'd better hurry up, Scissors--he's quite scrubby." John merely yelled as he plunged his leg into the hot water. He had just nicely soaped himself from head to foot, and was working up a white lather on his head, when he heard his name called, and looking up saw London. "I asked you for tea at four," he said. John's face was covered with white soap, but he smiled sweetly. "I know, I'm coming when I've finished here." "Indeed!--get out!" "I say, Lindon, do be reasonable!" "I have been--too much so. Are you going to get out?" "No!" answered John, sullenly, rubbing his head. "Very well!" A moment later the door slammed. John lay back in the bath. He had won. The warm water made him feel very comfortable. He wondered if Lindon felt sick. While he was contemplating, Lindon reappeared. He had a switch in his hand. The business took on a serious aspect. "Are you coming out?" he asked severely. John pouted. "No!" he said obstinately. Lindon immediately pulled out the plug and turned on the cold water tap. John sat still, getting colder every second. Soon he was shivering. At last he had to stand up, and the moment he did so, Lindon's switch whistled through the air and left a red weal across John's thigh. Involuntarily he yelled, then blazing with shame and anger, he picked up the wet sponge and flung it full in Lindon's face. The squelch ruined the prefect's neat collar and tie, but Lindon only looked cooler, which frightened John. The next moment he was lifted bodily out of the bath, and before he recovered from his amazement at Lindon's strength, he was pinned head downwards over the drying rack and being thrashed like a puppy. He screamed at the top of his voice, not in pain but in anger. When he was released, he saw three boys waiting in the doorway with towels. They had seen all, and overcome with wounded vanity and misery, John fell in a heap on the floor and cried. He lay there, moaning, and Lindon as he watched him, relented. "Scissors," he said kindly, bending down.