"Ware cats!" was the cry, in the midst of which the luckless Fisher minor, finding a return to his old place effectually barred, and wearying of the ceremony of running a gauntlet of all the legs along the table before it was half over, made a hasty selection of what seemed to him the mildest pair within reach, and clutching at them convulsively, hung on for dear life. The owner of the limbs in question was Ranger, a prefect of his house and more or less of a grandee at Fellsgarth. As he was unaware of the cause of the excitement around him, this sudden assault from below took him aback, and he started up from his chair in something as near a panic as a Fellsgarth prefect could be capable of. Naturally his parasite followed him. To Ranger's credit, he took in the situation rapidly, and did not abuse his opportunities. "What's this?" he demanded, lifting up Fisher minor, with his hair all on end and the pocket-comb still in his hand, by the coat-collar. "Who does this belong to?" No one in particular owned the object in question. "What are you?" asked the prefect. "I'm Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow." "So I should suppose. Afraid of the draughts, I suppose." "It was Wally and his brother put me there. I didn't mean--" "Oh--Wally, was it? Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn't leave your property about like this. It's against rules. Here, hook on, and don't go chucking it about any more." "All serene," said the twin. "Come along, kid. Done with my comb? You look ever so much better form now; doesn't he, you chaps? How came you to lose your way downstairs?" Fisher minor owned himself utterly unable to account for the misadventure, and discreetly remained silent until the signal was given to return thanks and separate every boy to his own house. As he was wandering across the court, very dismal and apprehensive of what more was in store for him, a lean youth with a pale face and very showily attired accosted him. "Hullo, kid, are you a new chap?" "Yes," replied Fisher minor, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. "What side are you on?" Fisher stared interrogatively. "Well, then, are you Modern or Classic?" "I don't know, really," said Fisher minor, wishing he knew which he ought to proclaim himself. Then making a bold venture, he said, "I believe Modern." "Good job for you," said the youth; "saves me the trouble of kicking you. Can you lend me a bob? I'll give it you back to-morrow as soon as I've unpacked." It did strike Fisher minor as queer that any one should pack shillings up in a trunk, but he was too pleased to oblige this important and fashionable-looking personage to raise any question. "Yes. Can you give me change out of a half-crown? Or you can pay me the lot back to-morrow, I shan't be wanting it till then," said he. "All serene, kid; I'm glad you are our side. I shall be able to give you a leg-up with the fellows. Whose house are you in?" "Wakefield's, the same as my brother."