“As a matter of fact, he’s heard something, and he says, though he’s sorry, he’s got to lick Corkey.” Fowle smacked his beastly mouth as if he’d got pine-apple drops in it. “What’s Corkey done?” I said. “It’s about Milly Dunston. Young Corkey talks jolly big with her, and doesn’t even speak civil of his friends. By quite an accident I was passing through the shrubbery from Browne’s house to the chapel yesterday, and I went by the summer-house, which is out of bounds, and couldn’t help overhearing Milly and Corkey minimus, who were there. And Corkey distinctly said that Bray was as fiery as his hair, and that he had no more control of himself than a burning mountain; and Milly laughed.” “And you sneaked off and told Bray?” “As his chum I had to.” “Ah, then I shall tell Corkey what you heard, being his chum.” “I shouldn’t,” said Fowle. “It’s only making mischief. Besides, Bray won’t take an apology now. He says he’s stood all that flesh and blood can stand. Those were his very words. In fact, I’m looking for Corkey minimus at this moment to tell him that Bray wants him up in the ‘gym.’” “To lick him?” Fowle smacked his lips again. “He’s brought it on himself.” “Well,” I said, “I’ll give the message. You can go back and tell Bray you’ve told me.” “I’d rather have done it myself,” said Fowle, regretfully, as though he was being robbed of tuck. “Well, you won’t,” I answered him, being pretty sick with the worm of a chap by that time. “You go back and say that Corkey will turn up in ten minutes.” Then he cleared out reluctantly, leaving this tremendous responsibility entirely on my hands. II I went off there and then for Corkey. It’s a bit of a jar for a chap to get a message like that unexpectedly, and I didn’t know what advice to give. Corkey major was no good. If I’d told him he would have blinked through his goggles and have said some bosh--very likely in Latin. And Corkey minor, being thousands of miles away, it looked blue, because you can’t ask anybody but a chap’s own brothers to take up a matter like this. I couldn’t lick Bray myself, or I would have. The next minute I met Corkey himself, and, from an awful rum look about him, I thought for a moment he’d had the licking already. But he hadn’t, and before I could speak he said: “McInnes, I’ve got to fight Bray.” “My dear chap, you couldn’t,” I began.