"Now don't be an ass, Bicky," said Stanley, who deemed that a Court of Inquiry over which he presided was much too weighty an affair to be approached with levity; "it's no joking matter. The kid's in a beastly mess, and, when he owns up, we must try to get him off as lightly as possible. I think perhaps we've let this youth and his chum, the Gray Doe, get too cheeky, and to that extent we're to blame.... Now, Ray, answer me some questions. Did you get a thousand lines from our revered housemaster, Carpet--Mr. Fillet?" "Yes." "When did you complete them?" "Yesterday afternoon." "In short, on the afternoon immediately preceding the tragedy which took place in the microscopic hours of this morning?" "Yes, I s'pose so." "That's a remarkable coincidence, isn't it?" "I'm bothered if I see why." "My dear child, you really mustn't be 'bothered' in here. It's gross disrespect to my brother-prefects--my colleagues. Besides, you knew perfectly well that in the stilly night a malicious attempt was made upon--not upon the life--but upon the cane of Mr. Fillet, which is, after all, the life and soul of the little man." There was laughter in court, in which his worship joined. "O law!" ejaculated I, as things began to fall into shape. "Really, child, such expressions as 'O law!' are out of order, especially when they're only so much bluff.... I must now approach a subject which may have sordid recollections for you, but in the interest of the law I am bound to allude to it. Were you whacked--ahem!--chastised a few days ago by the aforesaid Mr. Fillet?" "Yes." "When did the old gaffer--when did Mr. Fillet whack you?" "Yes, tell the gentleman that," put in Kepple-Goddard, a prefect who felt that he was not playing a sufficiently imposing part and wished to have his voice heard. "A week ago last Monday," I answered. "Where did he whack you?" pursued Stanley. "On the recognised spot." "Now, don't be cheeky. In what place did he whack you?" "Why, in his class-room, of course," I retorted. "Where do you think he'd do it? In the High Street?" As I said this I was seized with a nervous fit of giggling. "Look here, sonny," said Kepple-Goddard, rapping on the table, "you're going the right way towards getting a prefects' whacking for contempt of court." Stanley raised his hand for silence. "Why did he whack you?" "Because he couldn't get my sum right." Here Banana-Skin, a large and overbearing prefect, so called because of his yellowish complexion, burst in with the skill of a prosecuting counsel: "Oh, then, are we to understand that you were whacked unjustly and had reason for vindictiveness?" "Go easy, Banana-Skin," protested Stanley. "Don't bully the kid." "But," I said, beginning to feel that horrid array of tears mobilising again, "that was some time before he gave me the lines--" "Don't beat about the bush," interrupted Banana-Skin. "Did you feel that you hated him?"