The Cock-House at Fellsgarth | Page 4

to the "form."
"Of course," said Wally, talking across to his twin brother, "fellows can't tell what asses they look until they're told. Don't you remember the chap last term who always wore his trousers turned up, till the prefects made him turn them down or go on the Modern side."
"Catch us taking any of your cast-off louts on our side," retorted the other brother, who evidently belonged to the slighted side; "yes-- shocking bad form it was--and when he turned them down at last, they found seventy-four nibs, fifty matches, and nobody knows how many candle-ends."
All this time Fisher minor, with panic at his heart, was furiously trying to turn down his trouser-ends with his feet. What a lucky escape for him to get this warning in time! During the walk round the grounds he had turned his ends up, and had quite forgotten to put them down again when he came in. Now, no coaxing would get them down without manual assistance. He sat clawing with one foot after another, lacerating his shins and his garments in vain. At length in despair he dropped his fork again, and under cover of this diversion attempted to stoop and adjust the intractable folds.
In his flurry he naturally forgot the fork; so that when, after a minute and a half, he emerged without it into the upper world, his two companions were not a little perplexed.
"What have you been up to down there? Do you generally eat your grub under the table?" asked Wally. "All I can say is, it's the best place for him if he wears his hair like that," said the other in tones of alarm. "Young kid, I never noticed that before! Whatever induces you to part it on the right? Did you ever hear of a Fellsgarth fellow-- Oh, I say, what a wigging you'll get! Look at me and Wally and Yorke and all of 'em. Whew! it makes one ill to see it! Just look round for yourself."
As more than half of those present appeared to have no parting at all, and most of the rest parted on the left, Fisher minor realised with horror that he had been guilty of a terrible solecism.
The alarm depicted in the faces of both the twins was proof enough that the matter was a critical one. It was no time for shuffling. He had had enough of that over his trouser-ends. He must throw himself on the mercy of his critics.
"I quite forgot--of course," said he hurriedly; "I--I--"
"Look here," said Wally, hurriedly shoving a pocket-comb into his hands; "you'd better go downstairs again and change it sharp, or you'll be spotted. Cut along."
So Fisher minor began with shame to look once more for his fork, and in doing so crawled well under the table, and sitting down proceeded nervously and painfully to open up a parting on the left side of his head. It was an arduous task, and not made easier by the unjustifiable conduct of the twins, who having got their man safe under hatches began to kick out in an unceremonious fashion and basely betray his retreat to their friends and neighbours.
"Pass him on!"
"Hack it through!"
"Ware cats!" was the cry, in the midst of which the luckless Fisher minor, finding a return to his old place effectually barred, and wearying of the ceremony of running a gauntlet of all the legs along the table before it was half over, made a hasty selection of what seemed to him the mildest pair within reach, and clutching at them convulsively, hung on for dear life.
The owner of the limbs in question was Ranger, a prefect of his house and more or less of a grandee at Fellsgarth. As he was unaware of the cause of the excitement around him, this sudden assault from below took him aback, and he started up from his chair in something as near a panic as a Fellsgarth prefect could be capable of. Naturally his parasite followed him.
To Ranger's credit, he took in the situation rapidly, and did not abuse his opportunities.
"What's this?" he demanded, lifting up Fisher minor, with his hair all on end and the pocket-comb still in his hand, by the coat-collar. "Who does this belong to?"
No one in particular owned the object in question.
"What are you?" asked the prefect.
"I'm Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow."
"So I should suppose. Afraid of the draughts, I suppose."
"It was Wally and his brother put me there. I didn't mean--"
"Oh--Wally, was it? Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn't leave your property about like this. It's against rules. Here, hook on, and don't go chucking it about any more."
"All serene," said the twin. "Come along, kid. Done with my comb? You look ever so much better form now; doesn't he, you chaps? How