“Yes, I got the note,” he said.
“Then why didn’t you come? Mitchell was asking where you were.”
“It’s so beastly risky.”
“Risky! Rot.”
“We should get sacked if we were caught.”
“Well, don’t get caught, then.”
Sheen registered an internal vow that he would not.
“He wanted us to go again on Monday. Will you come?”
“I—don’t think I will, Stanning,” said Sheen. “It isn’t worth it.”
“You mean you funk it. That’s what’s the matter with you.”
“Yes, I do,” admitted Sheen.
As a rule—in stories—the person who owns that he is afraid gets unlimited applause and adulation, and feels a glow of conscious merit. But with Sheen it was otherwise. The admission made him, if possible, more uncomfortable than he had been before.
“Mitchell will be sick,” said Stanning.
Sheen said nothing.
Stanning changed the subject.
“Well, at any rate,” he said, “give us some tea. You seem to have been victualling for a siege.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Sheen, turning a deeper shade of red and experiencing a redoubled attack of the warm shooting, “but the fact is, I’m waiting for Drummond.”
Stanning got up, and expressed his candid opinion of Drummond in a few words.
He said more. He described Sheen, too, in unflattering terms.
“Look here,” he said, “you may think it jolly fine to drop me just because you’ve got to know Drummond a bit, but you’ll be sick enough that you’ve done it before you’ve finished.”
“It isn’t that—” began Sheen.
“I don’t care what it is. You slink about trying to avoid me all day, and you won’t do a thing I ask you to do.”
“But you see—”
“Oh, shut up,” said Stanning.
III
Sheen Receives Visitors and Advice
While Sheen had been interviewing Stanning, in study twelve, farther down the passage, Linton and his friend Dunstable, who was in Day’s house, were discussing ways and means. Like Stanning, Dunstable had demanded tea, and had been informed that there was none for him.
“Well, you are a bright specimen, aren’t you?” said Dunstable, seating himself on the table which should have been groaning under the weight of cake and biscuits. “I should like to know where you expect to go to. You lure me in here, and then have the cheek to tell me you haven’t got anything to eat. What have you done with it all?”
“There was half a cake—”
“Bring it on.”
“Young Menzies bagged it after the match yesterday. His brother came down with the Oxford A team, and he had to give him tea in his study. Then there were some biscuits—”
“What’s the matter with biscuits? They’re all right. Bring them on. Biscuits forward. Show biscuits.”
“Menzies took them as well.”
Dunstable eyed him sorrowfully.
“You always were a bit of a maniac,” he said, “but I never thought you were quite such a complete gibberer as to let Menzies get away with all your grub. Well, the only thing to do is to touch him for tea. He owes us one. Come on.”
They proceeded down the passage and stopped at the door of study three.
“Hullo!” said Menzies, as they entered.
“We’ve come to tea,” said Dunstable. “Cut the satisfying sandwich. Let’s see a little more of that hissing urn of yours, Menzies. Bustle about, and be the dashing host.”
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I can’t help your troubles,” said Dunstable.
“I’ve not got anything. I was thinking of coming to you, Linton.”
“Where’s that cake?”
“Finished. My brother simply walked into it.”
“Greed,” said Dunstable unkindly, “seems to be the besetting sin of the Menzies’. Well, what are you going to do about it? I don’t wish to threaten, but I’m a demon when I’m roused. Being done out of my tea is sure to rouse me. And owing to unfortunate accident of being stonily broken, I can’t go to the shop. You’re responsible for the slump in provisions, Menzies, and you must see us through this. What are you going to do about it?”
“Do either of you chaps know Sheen at all?”
“I don’t,” said Linton. “Not to speak to.”
“You can’t expect us to know all your shady friends,” said Dunstable. “Why?”
“He’s got a tea on this evening. If you knew him well enough, you might borrow something from him. I met Herbert in the dinner-hour carrying in all sorts of things to his study. Still, if you don’t know him—”
“Don’t let a trifle of that sort stand in the way,” said Dunstable. “Which is his study?”
“Come on, Linton,” said Dunstable. “Be a man, and lead the way. Go in as if he’d invited us. Ten to one he’ll think he did, if you don’t spoil the thing by laughing.”
“What, invite ourselves to tea?” asked Linton, beginning to grasp the idea.
“That’s it. Sheen’s the sort of ass who won’t do a thing. Anyhow, its worth trying. Smith in our house got a tea out of him that way last term. Coming, Menzies?”
“Not much. I hope he kicks you out.”
“Come on, then, Linton. If Menzies cares to chuck away a square meal, let him.”
Thus, no sooner had the door of Sheen’s study closed upon Stanning than it was opened again to admit Linton and Dunstable.
“Well,” said Linton, affably, “here we are.”
“Hope we’re not late,” said Dunstable. “You said somewhere about five. It’s just struck. Shall we start?”
He stooped, and took the kettle from the stove.
“Don’t you bother,” he said to
