CHAPTER XVII.
DIGGORY READS THE CIPHER.
The gymnasium was filled with a dense crowd of boys; "Rats," Maxton, and some other members of the Lower Fourth were fighting for seats on the parallel bars, and throughout tho whole assembly there was a subdued murmur of interest and expectation.

The last gathering of the kind had been a court-martial held some two years previously on a boy suspected of stealing.

Old stagers, in a patronizing manner, related what had happened to their younger comrades, adding, "What, weren't you here _then ?_ Well, you are a kid!" and forgetting to mention that at the time they themselves were wearing knickerbockers, and doing simple arithmetic in the lowest form.
At one end of the room was a big chest containing dumb-bells and single-sticks, and Allingford, mounting on the top of this as the last stragglers from the dining-hall joined the assembly, called for silence.
There was no attempt at eloquence or self-assertion in Allingford's remarks; brief they were almost to bluntness, but well suited to the audience to whom they were addressed.

It was the old, well-tried captain of Ronleigh who spoke, and the boys of Ronleigh who listened, and the manner in which the words were given and received might have reminded one of a speech of Sir Colin Campbell's in the Indian Mutiny, and the answer of the Highlanders he addressed:-- "Ninety-third, you are my own lads; I rely on you to do yourselves and me credit." "Ay, ay, Sir Colin; ye ken us, and we ken you." "I think you all know," began the captain, "the reason of this meeting being called together.

Last night Browse was set on in this room--in the dark, mind you--knocked down, and drenched with cold water.
Some fellows may think it a good joke.