The only thing visible in Percy's room for several minutes was dust--out of which proceeded yells, and howls, and recriminations which would have done credit to Pandemonium. As the cloud rolled by, the Classics might be seen in a firm phalanx, with their man in the middle, backing on to the door. Signs of carnage lay all around. Lickford was struggling, head downward, in the wash-stand. Cash was leaning up in a corner, with his hand modestly placed over his nose. Ramshaw and Cottle were engaged in deadly strife on the floor, each under the fond delusion that the other was a Classic; while the twin brothers, armed with the better pair of boxing-gloves, were having a friendly spar in the middle. It was a victory all along the line for the invaders, and when, a moment afterwards, they stampeded in a body, and marched with shouts of victory down the passage, carrying the late prisoner among them, there was no mistake about the ignominious defeat of the besieged garrison. That evening Fisher major received a polite note from his colleague, the secretary. "Dear Fisher,--It is only right to tell you, that we have discovered that five of our fellows were prevented from voting at Elections by boys of your side, apparently acting under orders from their seniors. We don't profess to know who were at the bottom of it, but it is a fact that the election for treasurer would have gone differently but for this very shady trick. Clapperton and most of us are not disposed to claim a new election, now everything is settled, and you have already got in most of the subscriptions. But it makes us think that even the virtuous Classics at Fellsgarth are not absolutely perfect even yet--which is a pity. "Yours truly,-- "R. Dangle." This pleasant letter, Fisher major, raging, carried to the captain. Yorke pulled a long face when he read it. "There's no truth in it, surely?" said he. "I can't answer for any foolery the juniors have been up to; but apart from that, it's a sheer lie, and the fellows deserve to be kicked." "Much better offer them a new election," said the captain. "What! They'll get their man in." "My dear fellow, suppose they do. You'll still belong to Fellsgarth. They mustn't have a chance of saying they don't get fair play." "Well, perhaps you're right. I don't care twopence about the treasurership, but I wouldn't like to be beaten by Brinkman." "I hope you won't be, old man," said the captain. Next morning, when fellows got up, they found the following notice on the boards: "Elections. "A protest having been handed in against the recent election for treasurer, notice is given that a fresh election will be held for this office on Friday next at 3. "C.Y., Captain." CHAPTER EIGHT. ONE TOO MANY.