This was getting monotonous. Corder returned to his study to think it out a little more. His fag, Cash, was there looking for a paper. "Hullo, youngster! that you? We didn't get beaten after all, to-day, I suppose you heard." Cash's reply was laconic, to say the least of it. He turned round and put out his tongue. "None of your cheek, I say," said Corder, "or I'll--" "How _dare_ you speak to me!" said the junior; "you're a cad--I'm not going to fag for a cad." And he vanished. Corder went to bed that night sorely perplexed. And his perplexity was not relieved when he rose next morning and found a paper on his table with the following genial notice:-- "Any boy in Forder's found speaking to Corder the sneak will be cut by the house. By Order." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE SHOP OPENS. Robert--no one knew his surname--was a regular institution at Fellsgarth. Pluralist and jack-of-all-trades as he was, he seemed unable to make much of a hand at anything he took up. He was School porter, owner of the School shop, keeper of the club properties, and occasional School policeman; and he discharged none of his functions well. The masters did not regard him with much confidence, the boys, for the most part, did not care for him, the other men about the place disliked him. And yet, as part and parcel of Fellsgarth, every one put up with him. As has already been hinted, his management of the School shop had been a conspicuous failure--both for himself and the young innocents who squandered their substance on his tarts. He complained that he could make no profit; and as his method for recouping himself was to supply the worst possible article at the highest possible price, his young customers neglected him and aggravated his loss. It was rumoured that another more questionable method of replenishing his exchequer was by laying odds on the School games, which (as in the case of the second Rendlesham match) did not always turn out in the way he expected. This, however, was only rumour, and was not to be reckoned among Bob's known transgressions, which were general stupidity, surliness, unsteadiness, and an inveterate distaste for veracity. Such being his reputation, it astonished no one on the Monday following the events recorded in the last chapter to see the shutters of the shop at the Watch-tower Gate up, and a rudely scrawled announcement, "This shop is closed." But what did cause astonishment was a subsequent announcement inscribed in print letters:-- "This establishment will reopen on Wednesday under entirely new management. Superior grub at greatly reduced prices. No more shoe- leather or flat swipes! Best tarts 1 penny each; ditto ginger-beer 1½ pence a bottle. Fresh fruit and pastry daily. Rally round the old shop! "By Order."