Mr. Chowdler gave a somewhat different version of the encounter, in which the honours were made to rest with himself rather than with his chief. But even he could not conceal the fact that he had received a diplomatic rebuff. He relieved his feelings by calling together his house Prefects and giving them one of his straight manly talks. “Things,” he said, “are shaky--you would probably call them ‘dicky’; but I shall call them shaky--and with anxious times ahead of us next Term, we can’t afford to be playing ducks and drakes with our best traditions; and, what with weakness at the top and giddy heads at the bottom, that’s just what some folks are beginning to do. You know what I am referring to--that ridiculous scene last night. I know what you think about it. You and I understand each other, and we know where the blame lies. We needn’t dot the i’s, but there are certain houses, not a hundred miles from here, which would be better for a taste of our friend Archie’s strong arm.” Here “our friend Archie,” who was head of the eleven, fidgeted uncomfortably. “Now, I want you to remember,” continued Mr. Chowdler impressively, “that your influence ought not to end with the house. I want you to talk sense to giddy heads and to strengthen feeble knees. I want you to set your candles on a hill where the whole school can see them. I want you, when everybody else is failing, to be the pillars and the props of our grand old Lanchester tradition.” The Prefects in Mr. Chowdler’s house were genuinely afraid of Mr. Chowdler, though they had long learnt how to manage him. They now looked portentously solemn, confessed that they _had_ heard rumours of the impending “rag” beforehand, but had not taken them seriously, and admitted that Mr. Cox’s house was not as good as it had once been. But they were much too tactful and considerate to let out that, as holders of the cricket trophy, they had themselves headed the procession in a body. The upshot of it all was that people were just a little anxious as to what might happen at the school concert on the last night of Term. Even Dr. Gussy confessed privately that he would be glad when the concert was over. For a great many Old Chilternians were expected for the occasion, and, when Old Boys get together and become excited, they are sometimes--not rowdy, of course, but, perhaps, a little boisterous; and then the school catches the excitement and loses its sense of proportion. Still, the boys at Chiltern were all gentlemen; and, if you treat gentlemen _as_ gentlemen, they may be trusted to behave as gentlemen. Everybody at Chiltern believed that, except, perhaps, Mr. Bent, who was a cynic and believed nothing, and Mr. Grady, the science master, whose face always had a hunted expression and who sometimes came out of school with mice in his pockets and his hair full of flour.