"And they won't write for a ransom?"
"No—you've been having a nightmare, boy. Overeating, and reading novels! Come, get back to bed at once."
Hardly knowing whether he was standing on his head or his heels, Redisham was conducted back to his dormitory, where he undressed and got into bed. There, for the first time, it began to dawn upon him that he had been the victim of a practical joke. Hot waves of anger swept over him at the recollection. He had made a complete fool of himself.
"Dash it all," he muttered savagely, "what an ass I was! Ten to one it was those confounded Crees—got me outside the gym, carted me about, and took me into the boot-room. Well, this beats the band!"
He nearly choked with fury at the thought of his ignominious treatment.
"Wonder how they knew?" he went on. "Must have heard Daw—or perhaps it wasn't Daw at all! I see it all now! Thought at the time Daw was speaking rather strangely.... Jove!" he muttered, as another aspect of the case struck him, "some beggars must know ... about Daw and me! Symonds and Faraday and, and—oh, what a night!"
He pulled the sheets over his head with a groan, and tried to sleep.
As for Jack, he was in immense feather over the business. Not only had they satisfied themselves that Redisham knew nothing about the missing Star, but the four pals had also had the time of their lives. Those of the Crees who had had a hand in the tormenting of Redisham were all agreed that the jape was the boldest on record, and the tale, as passed on in an elaborated form, brought a chain of chuckles from everybody in Salmon's. And even at that Redisham was lucky; they knew nothing of his discovery by Mr. Glenister. All things considered, it was wiser to keep silence.
"I say, Jack," said Fane the next afternoon, "do you see by the paper that Harry Nelson is coming down to Windsor?"
"Nelson, the light-weight champion?"