CHAPTER TWELVE.
A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS.
"Where are you going ?" demanded the faggery next afternoon, as I tried to desert them after afternoon chapel.

"To take up your lines to England ?" I should have preferred that they had not asked me the question, but having asked it I felt bound to answer.
"No; I'm going to tea at a fellow's." "Who?
The washerwoman's ?" "No; to Redwood's." I tried to pronounce the name with the unconcern of a man who is in daily communion with heroes, but I fear I betrayed my emotion.

At least, their laughter made me think so.
I was instantly greeted with all sorts of mock salutations and obeisances, and, whether I liked it or not, rushed off to the faggery to be tidied up.

It was in vain I struggled, and explained that Redwood was waiting for me.

They would not be put off.
"You must wash your face for the credit of the Ph.C.C," said Langrish.
"And put on a clean shirt for the credit of your wash--" Here by a frantic effort I broke loose and made off, followed by the pack in full cry, with shouts of-- "Stop thief!" "Welsher ?" "Clear the course!" "Hurry up for tea there!" and other exclamations of a similar nature.
It was not certainly a very dignified way of accepting a friend's invitation; still, it would have been worse had I remained in their clutches.
As it was, I only just made the schoolhouse door before Warminster and Coxhead were up to me, and presented myself to my host painfully out of breath and red in the face.
"Been having a trot over ?" said he, with a nod.
"Yes, a little," I gasped.
"I'm ready; come along." My heart sunk within me, as, on reaching the door, I saw my five comrades, all apparently by accident, hovering round to see me go out.
They did their best, and very successfully too, to stare me out of countenance, and encourage my blushes by allusions to "Sarah" and my tin sleeve-links, and the smudges on my face, and by cries of "shrimps" and "muffins," and other awkward allusions.
Redwood, as became the cock of the school, affected not to hear their ribald remarks, though he must have caught a word or two, and inquired,-- "Been playing football since you came ?" "No, not yet," said I, painfully aware that Trimble and Langrish were walking behind us critically; "that is, yes, a little." I was glad when we reached the big gates, and were able to shake off the enemy, who continued audible comments till I was out of earshot, and finally went off on some new quest.
At Number 3, Bridge Street, I found myself, much to my discomfort, quite a hero.