"Harpour," said Walter, very sternly, "I saw you throw a snowball. Aren't you ashamed of yourself that you, a fellow at the head of the eleven, should set such a bad example? Don't suppose that your size or position shall get you off. Come before the monitors directly after breakfast." "Hanged if I do," answered Harpour, with a sulky laugh. "Well, I daresay you _will_ be hanged in the long-run," was the contemptuous reply; "but come, or else take the consequences." "Tracy," said Henderson, "I saw you throw a snowball which knocked off Power's hat. It was a hard one too. You come before the monitors with Harpour." "I shall be quaite delaighted," drawled out Tracy. "Glad to hear it; I hope you'll be quaite equally delaighted when you leave us." The mimicry was so perfect that all the boys broke into a roar of laughter, which was all the louder because Tracy immediately began to chafe and "smoke." "And, Jones," said Power, as the laugh against Tracy subsided, "I think I saw _you_ throw a snowball and hit Smythe. I strongly suspect, too, that you were the fellow who hit Brown yesterday. I think every one will know, Jones, why you chose Smythe and Brown to pelt, instead of any other monitors. You too come to the sixth-form room after breakfast." "I didn't throw one," said Jones. "You astounding liar," said Henderson, "I saw you with my own eyes." "Oh, ay; of course you'll say so to spite me." "_Spite_ you," said Henderson scornfully; "my dear fellow, you don't enter into my thoughts at all. But mark you, Master Jones, I know moreover that you've been the chief getter-up of this precious demonstration. You told the fellows that you'd lead them. I'm not sure that you didn't quote to them the lines-- "`Press where ye see my _white plume_ shine amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of--Jones.'" Another peal of laughter followed this allusion to Jones's well-known nickname of White-feather, a nickname earned by many acts of conspicuous cowardice. "Hush, Flip," whispered Power, "we mustn't make this quite a joke. Jones," he continued aloud, "do you deny throwing a snowball just now at Smythe?" "I didn't throw one," said Jones, turning pale as he heard the hiss, and the murmur of "White-feather again," which followed his denial. "Why, what a pitiful, wretched, sneaking coward you are," burst out Franklin; "I heard you egging on these fellows to pelt the monitors-- they wouldn't have done it but for you and Harpour--and I saw you hit Smythe just now. You took care to pelt no one else, and now you deny it before all of us who saw you. Upon my word, Jones, I feel inclined to kick you, and I will too." "Stop, Franklin," said Walter, laying his hands on his shoulder, "leave him to us now. Do you still deny throwing, Jones?" "Well, it was only just a little piece of snow," said Jones, showing in his blotched face every other contemptible passion fused into the one feeling of abject fear.