"Go back. What is your name?" "Jones, sir." "Whose house are you in?" "Mr Sharpe's." "Do not let me find you out of bounds again, Jones." And he fixed me with his eye as if to impress me with the fact that he would certainly know me again. "But, sir, Redwood--" "Did you hear me, sir?" I capitulated, cowed and indignant. I was beginning to understand what the fellows said about Mr Jarman. "It's all rot," said the Philosophers, when I confided my grievance to them; "it's not out of bounds before 6:30--and if it was, it's no business of his. It's the house master's business, or the house captain's. If you get lagged by them, all right; but _he's_ got no right to lag fellows, the cad." In my present humour I was far from disputing the appellation. CHAPTER ELEVEN. CHEAP ADVERTISING EXTRAORDINARY. I spent a bad quarter of an hour that evening before bed-time in inditing a letter of "explanation" to Crofter. I had come to the conclusion this would be easier and safer than a personal interview, and that the sooner it was done the better. How to do it was another problem. To write a letter in the raggery was out of the question. I tried it, but failed miserably. For either my paper was twitched away from under my pen, or some one looked over my shoulder and pretended to read expressions of endearment which were not there, or some one got under the table and heaved it about tempestuously to the detriment of my handwriting, or some one drew skeleton figures of spider-legged bipeds on the margin of the paper. Worse still, it was evident every word I wrote would be common property, which I did not desire. I had therefore to abandon the attempt till later on; when, finding myself in Pridgin's study, I ventured to inquire if I might write there. Pridgin was good enough to express admiration of my cheek, but said if I spread one newspaper over his carpet and another over his table-cloth to catch the blots, and didn't ask him how to spell any word of less than four letters, or borrow a stamp, I might. All which I faithfully undertook to do, and sat down to my delicate task. It took me a long time, considering the result, and I was by no means satisfied with the performance when it was done. "Dear Crofter," I wrote; but that seemed too familiar, whereas "Dear Sir" from one schoolfellow to another was too formal. So I attempted my explanation in the "oblique oration":-- "Jones iv. is sorry he accidentally told Crofter he was a beast yesterday. He did not know it was him when he saw him, or he would not have told him what Tempest said about him, which was quite unintentional. He also must explain that what he said about his being expelled was in consequence of a dog's death, about which there was a misunderstanding. He hopes Crofter will not tell him he told him, as he would be very angry with him."