The Cock-House at Fellsgarth | Page 4

contrived to substitute a blue
necktie for a red, and button his jacket during the feat. But when he
looked back, the owner of the red tie was still in his place. After
considerable wagging of his head, he was forced to admit that he was
seated between two different persons.
"Why, he can't help that," said the gentleman addressed as Wally.
Fisher minor laughed feebly, and really wished his brother would pay a
little more attention 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