"Take the blazer back where you found it, and tell Tempest if he leaves his things in the gymnasium he must fetch them at proper hours. This is the third time I have had to speak to you, Jones iv. You must attend an extra drill to-morrow, and learn fifty lines by heart. This constant irregularity must be stopped." So saying, he took his companion's arm and strolled off. I returned dismally into the dark gymnasium and flung the blazer on to the nearest seat; and then hurried back to report the result of my mission to Tempest. As I guessed, our poor guy downstairs was likely to be nowhere in the explosion which this last insult called forth. With clenched teeth Tempest sprang from his seat and snatched his cap. "It's awfully dark," said I; "if you're going, you'd better take some matches." "Fetch me some," said he, with a harsh, dry voice. I fled off, and returned with a box of fusees, which the Philosophers had laid in for the approaching celebration of Guy Fawkes' Day. Tempest snatched them from my hand and strode off. I wished he had let me go with him. I heard his footsteps swing heavily across the quadrangle, as if challenging the notice of the enemy. Whether the enemy heard or answered the challenge I could not say. The steps died away into silence, and I listened in vain for further sign. Presently I returned to the faggery, where the Philosophers were just preparing to obey the summons to bed. Hurriedly I recited the event of the evening, and for once was honoured with their rapt and excited attention. "My eye, what a shame we can't go out and see the fun!" cried Langrish. "I hope he makes jelly of him," said Trimble. "I'm jolly glad I'm his fag." This brought on a crisis I had rather feared. "You're not," said I. "Pridgin has swopped me for you." "What!" screamed Trimble, taking a running kick at my shins. "I didn't do it. Shut up. Trim! that's my leg you're kicking. It was Pridgin. Go and kick him," said I. But Trim was in no mood to listen to reason. "I always said you were a sneak," snarled he; "now I know it. Come and kick the beast, you fellows. It's all a low dodge. Kick him, I say." The company showed every disposition to respond to the appeal. "Look here," said I, "it's not my fault--but if you kick me, I'll tell him about your precious guy, and you can look after him yourself; I shan't. There!" This rather fetched them. As custodian of that illicit effigy I had my uses, and they hardly cared to dispense with me. So Trimble was ordered not to make an ass of himself, and the discussion went back to Tempest and his blazer. "I tell you what," said Warminster. "I vote we hang about a bit and cheer him when he comes in. There's no one to lag us for not going to bed, and we may as well stay and back him up."