It was Rosher's idea. The chamber in question was called "Long" from the fact that it contained sixteen beds, eight on a side, all of which were occupied by members of the Upper Fourth. Skeat, the Sixth Form boy in charge, was ill, and had gone to the infirmary; and in the absence of the proverbial cat, the mice determined to get in as much play as possible, only stopping short at performances which might attract the attention of the master on duty.
It was one Tuesday night. Garston and Teal had had a quarter mile walking race up and down the centre aisle, which had ended, to the great delight of the spectators, in Garston nearly tearing his nightshirt off his back by catching it on a broken bedstead, while the other competitor had kicked his toe against an iron dumb-bell, and finished the race by dancing a one-legged hornpipe in the middle of the course, while his opponent won "hands down."
"I say," remarked Rosher, "why shouldn't we have proper sports, with a proper list of events and prizes?"
"Who'll give the prizes?" asked Teal.
"Oh, anybody! Look here. I vote we have sports to-morrow night before old Skeat comes back. Hands up, those who are agreeable! To the contrary!—none. Very well, it's carried!"
"But how about prizes?" persisted Teal, who was of rather a mercenary disposition.
"There needn't be any proper prizes," answered Rosher; "we can give the winners anything."
"Give 'em lines," suggested Garston.
"No; shut up, Garston. Everybody must give something. I'll offer a brass match-box, shaped like a pig."
"No, you won't," interrupted Teal. "It's mine; you borrowed it a week ago, and never gave it me back."