"Well—er—let me see," said Rudd: "it is er—gross impertinence. Come and see me after breakfast to-morrow."
The poet sat down, and his friends showered condolences on him; Bray recommenced his wanderings.
That night in second hall Rudd called a prefects' meeting to discuss the affair. He pointed out that it was gross insolence to a prefect, and that a prefects' beating was the recognised punishment for such an offence. Gordon protested vehemently.
"But, damn it all, Rudd, if you are such a weak-kneed ass as to be ragged by a fool like Stockbrew, you jolly well oughtn't to be head of the House. And, by the way, we haven't heard this masterpiece of satire read out yet."
"I don't think there's any need," said Rudd.
"Well, I think there is," said Gordon. "I am not going to see a kid beaten for an unknown piece of cheek. Read the thing out!"
With many blushes Rudd read it out.
"Ah, jolly suitable, too," said Foster. "What you want is a nurse. Good lord, man, can't you look after yourself in hall. Jolly ignominious, isn't it, having to call up a lot of prefects to back you up? Fine example to the rest of the House, isn't it?"
"Well," stammered Rudd, "I don't pretend to be a strong prefect."
"You certainly aren't," said Foster.