the procession; and secondly, that as the head boys in a form are usually those nearest the front, and conversely, the lowest are usually nearest to the door, the smallest boys would probably be the first to come out. For all of which reasons he decided to make his swoop at once, and if possible abscond with his booty before the main body arrived on the scene.

The event justified his shrewdness. The moment the door opened, two small Moderns scampered out clean into the arms of the expectant kidnapper, who before they had time so much as to inquire who he was or what he wanted, had a grip on the coat-collar of each, and was racing them as hard as their short legs could carry them across the grass.

“Let go, you cad!” squeaked one, presently. “What we you doing!”

“It’s only fun,” said Ashby, encouragingly; “come along.”

The other prisoner was more practical. He tried to bite his captor’s hand, and when he failed in that, he tried to kick. But though he succeeded better in this, the pace was kept up and the grip on his collar, if anything, tightened. Whereupon he attempted to sit down. But that, though it retarded the progress, was still insufficient to arrest it. The pace dropped to a quick walk, and in due time, greatly to Ashby’s relief, the portal of Wakefield’s was reached.

Here, of course, all was safe. If any of the few boys hanging about had been inclined to concern themselves in the affair, the colour of the ribbon on the victims’ hats was quite sufficient reason for allowing the law to take its course; and Ashby, who began to grow very tired of his burden (which insisted on sitting down on either side all the way upstairs), arrived at length at Messrs D’Arcy and Wally’s door without challenge.

He had no need to knock, or say “Balbus,” as the room was empty. The other canvassers had evidently not yet returned.

With a sigh of relief he deposited his loads on the carpet and locked the door.

“Let us go, you cad!” yelled the prisoners. “What do you want bringing us here into this place for?”

“Fun,” said Ashby. “You’ll know presently.”

“If you don’t let us out, we’ll yell till a master comes.”

“Will you?—we’re used to yelling here. Yell away; it’ll do you good.”

To the credit of the two “voters” they did their best, and made such a hideous uproar that Ashby began to grow uneasy, and was immensely relieved when presently he heard outside a sound as of coals being carelessly carried up the staircase. Some one was evidently coming up with a good load.

Ashby was prudent enough not to open the door till an irregular double kick and a breathless cry of “Balbus, look sharp,” apprised him that another of the electioneering agents had returned. He then cautiously opened the door, and in tumbled D’Arcy, gasping, yet triumphant, under the weight of three fractious youngsters.

“Bully for us,” said he, surveying the harvest. “Five for our side. Jolly well done of you, kid—you’re a stunner. Two of mine are new kids—they came easy enough; but the other’s a regular badger.”

The badger in question seemed determined to maintain his reputation, for he flew upon his captor, calling upon his fellow-prisoners to do the same. All but the new boys obeyed, and the two “canvassers” were very hard put to it for a while, and might have fared yet worse, had not D’Arcy astutely hung out a flag of truce. “Look here,” said he; “I never knew such idiots as you Modern kids are. Here I’ve done my best to be friends and invited you to a spread in my room; and now you won’t even let me go to the cupboard and get out the black currant jam and cake.”

“You’re telling crams; that’s not why you brought us here. You’re a howling—”

“Yes, really,” said D’Arcy, in quite a friendly tone, “Cry pax for one minute, and if I don’t hand out the things you may go; honour bright. I’ve a good mind to kick you out without giving you anything.”

The caged animals sullenly fell back and eyed the cupboard which D’Arcy leisurely opened. A row of half a dozen pots on a top shelf, a segment of a plum-cake, and something that looked very like honey in the comb, met their greedy eyes.

“There you are,” said D’Arcy. “What did I tell you! They belong to Wally; he’ll be here directly. You’ll be all right—all except you,” said he, singling out his principal assailant. “You don’t know how to behave, like these other kids. I shall advise Wally not to waste any of his stuff on you.”

“I didn’t know it was a feast,” said the youth, much softened. “I thought you were only humbugging; really I did.”

“I’ve a good mind to do what you think. You’d better mind your eye, I can tell you—I wish Wally would come. There’s five o’clock striking—I’ll go and look for him. Ashby, you see if he’s in the library; you kids, stay here, and lock the door, and don’t let anybody in but Wally. Do you hear? If you do, you’ll get it pretty hot for being out of your house. And look here, if Wally doesn’t come by half-past, you can help yourselves.”

“Thanks awfully,” said the party.

“Mind! honour bright you don’t touch a thing till the clock strikes the half. When you’ve done, stay here till one of us comes to fetch you, and we’ll see you safe out. Don’t go without, as our chaps are awfully down on Moderns this term, and you’ll get flayed alive. If they’ve seen you come in, they’ll try to get at you, be sure; so lock yourselves in, whatever you do, and don’t make the room in too great a mess. Come along, Ashby; let’s look for Wally.”

“Cut hard,” said he, as soon as they stood outside, and had heard the lock within duly turned. “We’ve only just time to get over; that’s five votes lost to their side! Real good business! I wonder where the other new kid is? He was bound to make a mess of it. That’s why I sent him to the gymnasium; it’s closed to-day.”

“Hooray for the Cock-House!” shouted Ashby, as, side by side with his now admiring patron, he entered the School Hall, where the ceremony of club elections was just beginning.

At the door they encountered Wheatfield.

“Such games!” whispered D’Arcy, clapping him joyously on the back. “We’ve got five Modern kids boxed up in our room, waiting for the clock to strike the half-hour before they have a tuck in at our empty jam-pots.”

“Ha, ha!” said Wheatfield; “splendid joke!” and vanished.

D’Arcy’s countenance suddenly turned pale as he gripped his companion by the arm.

“What’s the matter?” inquired Ashby, alarmed for his friend’s health. “What’s up?”

“It’s all up! We’re regularly done. My, that is a go!”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Why, you blockhead, didn’t you see that was the wrong Wheatfield—not Wally, but the Modern one! And now he’s gone to let those chaps out, and we’re clean done for!”

“Whew! what is to be done?” groaned Ashby, almost as pale as his friend.