When George set himself again to work, it was with nerves unstrung and unutterable forebodings, yet still unconquered.
"At any rate," said he to himself, with a sigh, "there can't be anything worse than that--unless, indeed, he invites a friend like himself to practise duets with him!" Happily this climax was not reached, and for one evening the worst of George Reader's persecutions had been suffered--but not the last.
By the time the last wail of the ophicleide had wriggled away into silence it was getting late, and the college was meditating retirement to rest.

This operation was not got through, as may be imagined, without a good deal of clamour and a good deal of scuffling on the staircase, and a good deal of dialogue outside the window; but in due time silence reigned, and George congratulated himself that he had a quiet time at last before him.
Unlucky boast! Not an hour had passed, the lights in the windows round the courtyard had vanished, the distant shouts had ceased, and the footsteps on the pavement without had died away, when George was startled by a sound that seemed like the boring of a hole under his fireplace.

The noise grew, and other similar noises rose in different parts.

What was it?
Surely the gay students of Saint George's were not about to effect an amateur burglary on the friendless owner of the "Mouse-trap ?" Nearer and nearer came the sounds, and George's heart beat loud.

He closed his book and pushed his chair back from the table, ready to defend himself, on an emergency, to the bitter end.