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16 that fewer breaches of regulations—for which they were responsible—were discovered at headquarters, owing to the diligence of this small body, they became more tolerant.

After a time, however, one section of the community waxed less enthusiastic. This was especially so when dormitory No. 4 attempted a midnight raid upon the occupants of No. 2, over which ruled Hamilton, a friend of Faversham. After stealing noiselessly to the attack, and bursting upon the unsuspecting victims, they were greeted from above by a substantial shower of boots, which had been balanced between the top and the lintel of the door. These, after greeting them, fell upon a mattress arranged beneath for their reception, so that as little noise should be made as possible. At the same time out of the darkness came the galling fire of two football-pumps filled with water, which were carefully aimed so as to empty their contents outside in the passage. When thereupon the invaders sounded a retreat, and found that their own beds had in the meantime been "ragged," they were unanimous in classifying it as the handiwork of Faversham's Scouts. Thenceforth scouting became a work of danger as well as of honor. Once or twice a scout returned in doleful condition, having been ducked in cold water and tossed in a blanket by persons unknown. But this is no wise damped the ardor either of the few limited members of the corps or of the many candidates for admission to its ranks. The danger added a yet greater spice of romance to an already romantic calling, In fact, many reputable authorities were heard to declare that they would rather be a scout than in the Eleven itself.

One afternoon Favcrsham sent for the subaltern of his corps.

"Fawcett, you will remember my entertainment in the dormitory next Saturday night?" he remarked.

Fawcett nodded familiarly.

"It's to he a large affair," continued his chief, somewhat pompously. "Hamilton and Atherlye are giving comic recitations in costume, and I am staging that dialogue Bellingham has written."

"And the grub is to be tremendous, I hear?" interposed his lieutenant.

"Yes, the refreshments will be plentiful," continued the future host, complacently. "But there is a matter on which I want your advice. Nicols was on duty last night and reports to me that Tupper and his crew are up to mischief."

Fawcett nodded again and sat down.

"I have been expecting it for a long time." said Favcrsham. "All those beasts in No. 4 are awfully jealous of the Scouts. Now, on Saturday they want to disgrace the corps by either raiding us in force, or else by getting the whole show held up by the authorities.”

"You may put your buttons on it," characteristically assented the second in command. "Shall we balk them by altering the date?" asked Faversham.

Fawcett produced a note-book with an official air.

"No, Saturday would be the best date for it," he observed. "Dunbrough is going into town that night, and Schofield is dining with Mrs. and Miss Pussy, so that disposes of both the masters. As for old Pussy himself," he continued, referring to the Rev. A. F. Purcell, "it is his turn to preach on Sunday, so he will be safe in his study writing his sermon." "Which of our men are on duty that night?"

"Nicols and Allen, but we can have all the force of sentry go if you like," Fawcett answered.

"No, that won't do," returned Faversham quickly. "I can only have the usual number. The rest I am training to put the stage away and make things ship-shape at a moment's notice. Each one is to have his own special part to do, like firemen working a fire-engine. When the alarm comes I can't have all my men dashing about aimlessly like young buffaloes. You must give us at least four minutes' warning, Fawcett."

"Very good," he answered. "I'll be on duty myself."

"By the way," remarked his superior, motioning to a small fair boy who was standing behind his chair, "this is my cousin Clifford. I daresay you know him. However, I have long promised him our next vacancy, and also to take him on if we ever want any extra help. Take him round with you and try him, Fawcett, next Saturday night. He may be of some use, for he hits well and uses all his weight."

Fawcett inspected the recruit critically.

"Very good. Be ready next Saturday night," he said, turning to Clifford, "and in the meantime,” he continued meaningly, "keep your tongue quiet.”

Scarcely had the dormitory bell rung "lights out" the following Saturday night, when Clifford, lying partially dressed under the clothes, felt someone steal up to his bed out of the darkness. It was Fawcett.

"Are you ready?" he whispered. "No, put on your coat and black socks, if you please. I want to have you as dark as possible," he explained, as Clifford crept noiselessly out of bed.

In a couple of minutes they were creeping out of the quiet small dormitory in which Clifford slept into the passage beyond.

The secrecy, the darkness, and the whole mystery of the thing exhilarated Clifford like a stimulant.

The passage was cold and dimly lighted.

Softly in his stockinged feet he followed the noiseless footsteps of his companion along the stairs and corridors.

At the other end of the long lighted passages they perceived a tall figure walking away from them.

Fawcett held Clifford back. "A sixth-form chap on patrol duty," he whispered; "it doesn't matter, but it's no use him seeing us."

"Won't he interrupt the feed?" questioned Clifford.

His companion shook his head. "He won't mind. Most likely going himself. Come on," he added, and flitted down some back starisstairs [sic].

They came at length to the beginning of a corridor in utter darkness. "Tupper’s crew live up there," Fawcett whispered again, and