"Use the old bean, son. Cas has split his finger, Elk's suspended—"
"Great jumpin' Jehoshaphat! Why, then, you—you—"
"Correct," said Laurie. "I'll have to catch to-morrow, and—and at the present moment, Ned, I'm scared to death!"
That had been a day of events, and it was not yet over. Attic Society was giving its usual end-of-the-term blow-out that evening, and both Ned and Laurie were invited. The affair began at eight, and at half-past seven they were in No. 16 putting the finishing touches to their toilets. Although it was a stag-party it called for best clothes and polished shoes and carefully brushed hair, and Laurie was trying hard to subdue a rebellious lock on the crown of his head when there came a knock on the door. Both boys shouted "Come in!" simultaneously. Then the door was opened, revealing Mr. Cornish, the hall master, and a stranger. The boys grabbed for their coats, Laurie dropping a military brush to the floor with a disconcerting noise. Mr. Cor-
