"A rush of blood to the head!" Rutford liked to hold forth, and he had been told that he was a capital after-dinner speaker. He had just risen from an excellent dinner; he was not much alarmed; and his audience listened with flattering attention. Scaife was lifted into a chair; ice was applied to his head; his feet were thrust into a "tosh" filled with steaming water.

"Note the effect," said Rutford. Already a slight change might be perceived; the breathing became easier, the face less red. Rutford continued in his best manner: "Mark the _vis medicatrix naturae_. Nature, a.s.sisted by hot water, gently accomplishes her task. Very simple, and not one of you had the wit to think of a remedy close at hand, and so easy to administer. The breathing is becoming normal. In a few minutes I predict that we shall have the satisfaction of seeing the poor dear fellow open his eyes, and he will tell us that he is but little the worse. Yes, yes, a rush of blood to the head producing cerebral disturbance."

He smiled blandly, receiving the homage of the Fifth.

"And now, Lovell, what do you know about this? Did this fit take place here?"

"In my room, sir."

"In your room--eh? What was Scaife, a Lower Boy, doing in your room?"

"Lawrence gave him his 'fez' to-day, sir."

Lawrence nodded.

"Ah! And Scaife was excited, perhaps unduly excited--eh?"

The Fifth joined in a chorus of, "Yes, sir--Oh, yes, sir--awfully excited, sir--never saw a boy so excited, sir."

"That will do. Now, Lovell, go on!"

"We had some siphons in our room, sir." A stroke of genius this--for the siphons were still on the table and the syrups, and the _debris_ of cakes and meringues. Rutford would be sure to examine the scene of the catastrophe; and the whisky bottle was carefully hidden. "We were having a spread, sir, and we asked Scaife to join us. His play to-day made him one of us."

The other boys gazed admiringly at Lovell. What a cool, knowing hand!

"Yes, yes, I see nothing objectionable about that."

"Well, sir--we were rather noisy----"

"Go on."

"To speak the exact truth, sir, I fear we were _very_ noisy; and Trieve, it seems, heard us. Instead of sending for me, sir, he sent Verney for Scaife----"

"Ah!"

Lovell's hesitation at this point was really worthy of Coquelin _cadet_.

"Of course you know, sir, that Scaife's getting his 'fez' releases him from house-f.a.gging. We thought Trieve had forgotten that, sir; and that it would be rather fun--I'm not excusing myself, sir--we thought it would be a harmless joke if we persuaded Scaife not to go."

"Um!"

"We were very foolish, sir. And then Trieve sent another message saying that Scaife was to go to his room at once to be--whopped."

"To be whopped. Um! Rather drastic that, very drastic under the circ.u.mstances."

"So we thought, sir; and I went to represent the facts to Trieve----"

"Well?"

"I'm not much of a peacemaker, I fear, sir. Trieve refused to listen to me. He insisted upon whopping Scaife for what he called disobedience and impudence. Upon my honour, sir, I tried, we all tried, to persuade Scaife to take his whopping quietly, but he seemed to go quite mad. He has a violent temper, sir----"

"Yes, yes."

"A very violent temper. He--he----"

"Frothed at the mouth," put in a bystander. "I particularly noticed that."

"Really, really----"

"Yes," said Lovell, nodding his head reflectively. "He frothed at the mouth, and then----"

"Grew quite black in the face," interpolated a third boy, who was determined that Lovell should not carry off all the honours.

"I should say--purple," amended Lovell. "And then he gave----"

"A beastly gurgle----"

"A sort of snort, and fell flat on his face. I'm not sure that he didn't strike the edge of the table as he fell."

"He did," said one of the boys. "I saw that."

At this moment Scaife moved in his chair, drawing all eyes to his face.

John, peering from behind the circle of big boys, could see the first signs of returning consciousness, a flicker of the eyelids, a convulsive tremor of the limbs. Rutford bent down.

"Well, my dear Scaife, how are you? We've been a little anxious, all of us, but, I ventured to predict, without cause. Tell us, my poor boy, how do you feel?"

Scaife opened his eyes. Then he groaned dismally. Rutford was standing to the right of the chair and foot-bath. The Fifth were facing Scaife.

He met their anxious, admonishing glances, unable to interpret them.

Lovell senior repeated the house-master's question--

"How are you, old chap?"

But, in his anxiety to convey a warning, he came too near, obscuring Rutford's ma.s.sive figure. Scaife groaned again, putting his hand to his head.

"How am I?" he repeated thickly. "Why, why, I'm jolly well screwed, Lovell; that's how I am! Jolly well screwed--hay? Ugh! how screwed I am.

Ugh!"

The groans fell on a terrifying silence. Rutford glanced keenly from face to face. Then he said slowly--

"The wretched boy is--_drunk_!"

At the sound of his house-master's voice, Scaife relapsed into an insensibility which no one at the moment cared to p.r.o.nounce counterfeit or genuine. Rutford glared at Lovell.

"Who was in your room, Lovell?"

Without waiting for Lovell to answer, the other boys, each in turn, said, "I, sir," or "Me, sir." John came last.