bed, passed a sponge over his face as a concession to the decencies, and looked round for something to cover his night-shirt, which, however suitable for dormitory use, was, he felt instinctively, scarcely the garment to wear in public.     

       Fate seemed to fight for him. On one of the pegs in the wall hung a mackintosh, a large, blessed mackintosh. He was inside it in a moment.     

       Four minutes later he rushed into his place in chapel.     

       The short service gave him some time for recovering himself. He left the building feeling a new man. His costume, though quaint, would not call for comment. Chapel at St Austin's was never a full-dress ceremony. Mackintoshes covering night-shirts were the rule rather than the exception.     

       But between his costume and that of the rest there was this subtle distinction. They wore their own mackintoshes. He wore somebody else's.     

       The bulk of the School had split up into sections, each section making for its own House, and Merevale's was already in sight, when Harrison felt himself grasped from behind. He turned, to see Graham.     

       'Might I ask,' enquired Tony with great politeness, 'who said you might wear my mackintosh?'     

       Harrison gasped.     

       'I suppose you didn't know it was mine?'     

       'No, no, rather not. I didn't know.'     

       'And if you had known it was mine, you wouldn't have taken it, I suppose?'     

       'Oh no, of course not,' said Harrison. Graham seemed to be taking an unexpectedly sensible view of the situation.     

       'Well,' said Tony, 'now that you know that it is mine, suppose you give it up.'     

       'Give it up!'     

       'Yes; buck up. It looks like rain, and I mustn't catch cold.'     

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