noon, chewing the insult. At close of play he sought Burgess.
Burgess, besides being captain of the eleven was also head of the school. He was the man who arranged prefects' meetings. And only a prefects' meeting, thought Firby-Smith, could adequately avenge his lacerated dignity.
"I want to speak to you, Burgess," he said.
"What's up?" said Burgess.
"You know young Jackson in our house."
"What about him?"
"He's been frightfully insolent."
"Cheeked you?" said Burgess, a man of simple speech.
"I want you to call a prefects' meeting, and lick him."
Burgess looked incredulous.
"Rather a large order, a prefects' meeting," he said. "It has to be a pretty serious sort of thing for that."
"Frightful cheek to a school prefect is a serious thing," said Firby-Smith, with the air of one uttering an epigram.
"Well, I suppose— What did he say to you?"
Firby-Smith related the painful details.
Burgess started to laugh, but turned the laugh into a cough.
"Yes," he said meditatively. "Rather thick. Still, I mean— A prefects' meeting. Rather like crushing a thingummy with a what-d'you-call-it. Besides, he's a decent kid."
"He's frightfully conceited."
"Oh, well— Well, anyhow, look here, I'll think it over, and let you know to-morrow. It's not the sort of thing to rush through without thinking about it."
And the matter was left temporarily at that.
