"Please, sir," said Phillips, with difficult calm, "I'd like to ask you something." The master stopped and, prepared for any eventuality, said: "Well, Phillips, nothing serious, I hope?" "Please, sir, I'm afraid it is," said Phillips, all in a breath. "I've just eaten a necktie, sir." "A what?" "A necktie, sir, and I want to know if you think I'm in any danger, sir." The Roman stood stock-still for a long moment, with dropped jaw; then, recovering himself, he said: "A necktie, Phillips?" "Yes, sir." "A whole necktie?" "Yes, sir." "Well, Phillips, if you can eat a necktie I guess you can digest it!" * * * * * The next morning, when Ironsides Smith unsuspectingly strolled out into the campus, no soul did him honour, not a glance turned as he turned, not a first form youngster, primed with curiosity and admiration, came rushing to his side. Instead, a knot of boys at the far end of the esplanade were clustered in excited contemplation about Goat Phillips, the boy who had heroically eaten a necktie rather than suffer a dare. Then Ironsides understood--he was the hero of yesterday. A new celebrity had risen for the delectation of the fickle populace. The King was dead--long live the King! He went to the classroom disillusionised and sat through the hour stolidly tasting the bitterness of Napoleonic isolation. So this was the favour of crowds. In a night to be dethroned and forgotten! As he descended Memorial steps, Goat Phillips passed, radiant, saluted by capricornian acclamations. Smith regarded him darkly. "As though any one couldn't eat a necktie," he said in righteous disgust. Unacclaimed he went through the crowd toward the Upper--he who had risked life and limb to amuse them for a week! From a tower window in the Upper the Triumphant Egghead, lolling on the cushioned window-seat, called down lazily: "Oh, you--Ironsides!" That was the answer. Let popularity run after a dozen unworthy lights. Other boys would come who would eat neckties, no one ever would go the way he had gone. He had nothing to do with transitory emotions. He must be superior to the voice of the hour. He, Ironsides, belonged to history. That, nothing could take from him! [Illustration: chapter title decoration--THE PROTEST AGAINST SINKERS] THE PROTEST AGAINST SINKERS The feeling of revolt sprang up at chapel during the head master's weekly talk. Ordinarily the school awaited these moments with expectation, received them with tolerance and drew from them all the humour that could be extracted.