It was no use objecting—still less resisting. So Heathcote bore it like a man, and occupied his leisure moments during the ceremony in chalking up a long score against his friend the junior.
“Now, make my bed,” said the executioner when the transaction was complete.
The boy obeyed in silence—wonderfully warm despite the lightness of his attire. His comfort would have been complete had that junior only been there to help him. The Fifth-form boy insisted on the bed being made from the very beginning—including the turning of the mattress and the shaking of each several sheet and blanket—so that the process was a lengthy one, and, but for the occasional consolations of the slipper, might have become chilly also.
“Now, clear out,” said the owner of the apartment.
“Where am I to go?” asked Heathcote, beginning to feel rather forlorn.
“Out of here!” repeated the senior.
“I don’t—”
The senior took up the slipper again.
“Please may I take my clothes?” said Heathcote.
“Are you going or not?”