Tester looked round carefully, and then began anxiously: "Look here, you men; swear you won't tell a soul if we tell you something." The oath was taken. "Well, it's us!" There was a hush. "Good Gawd!" said Hunter. Silence ensued; but curiosity soon overcame surprise. "What did you say, by the by?" asked Gordon. Tester repeated as far as he could remember the exact words. "Yes, you know; it was a bit hot, wasn't it? I expect you opened the blighter's eyes a bit. He wasn't used to that sort of literature." In spite of themselves Tester and Bradford laughed. They had been vaguely aware of a tired-looking figure in a Sam Browne as they left the canteen. He had looked "some ass." But Gordon soon became serious again. "What are you men going to do? Of course you won't own up." "We can't very well. I am in the Sixth and Bradford's had one row this term, and of course, I was the criminal. I am supposed to be a responsible personage." "Of course, owning up's out of the question." "But do you think anything will happen?" Bradford was a little frightened. "I mean will there be a sort of general inspection?" "You bet there won't. When a master begs men to own up, it means that he's up the spout. It's much more fun catching a fellow red-handed. And, after all, you two are the last people anyone would think of." "Of course, it's all right," said Lovelace; "there's only one thing to do. You talk of nothing else but this rotten affair; talk about it in the Toe, in the changing-room, in form, in chapel, if you like. Ask people you meet if they've owned up. Treat the whole thing as a glorious rag." "Yes," shouted Gordon, "let's go down to Rudd and tell him if he doesn't own up we'll give him hell." And in truth the next half-hour was for Rudd very hell of very hell. His existence just now was not very pleasant. If he had been good at footer all his domestic failings would have been forgiven him. But he was not; he loathed the game, though at times he would have given anything to be of some use. Strangely enough, at Oxford he found people respected his brains, and no one hated him because he could not drop goals from the twenty-five. Life is full of compensations. Lovelace and Tester were both supreme actors. That night in the dormitory they were full of the subject. After lights out, they kept the whole place in a roar of laughter. Bradford joined in a bit, but he was still nervous; visions rose up before him of an officer passing down the ranks, suddenly seizing him, and saying: "This is the man." It was hardly a ravishing thought; but it was useless to go back on a lie. Tester realised this. As Ferguson came through he called out: "I say, Ferguson, you know you'd better go up to the Chief and tell him you did it." Ferguson was, like the Boy Scout, always prepared.