"I'll go and fetch the beggar at once."

Grim darted out of the room, tore along the street, and was hammering at
Cherry's door within the minute.

"Fruity, hurry up, they're all waiting."

"I'm not well, Grim."

"What?"

"I'm not well--I'm in bed."

"You miserable beast!" shouted Grim. "I'll massacre you. You'll make us
the laughing stock of the whole school. Get up, man, Be a man."

"I'm ill," moaned Cherry from within.

"You miserable beast! You'll be dead to-morrow." He shook the door
violently, but Cherry was not quite the utter fool Grim took him for, for
he had locked the door. Grim stood outside on the corridor for some
seconds, petrified with rage and disgust, and then flew like a madman back
to the concert-room. He cannoned up against some one leisurely strolling
up to the dressing-room, and was darting on again _sans_ apology. A
hand gently closed upon his collar and pulled him back.

"Hallo, young shaver! Little boys used to apologize when they--Why,
it's Grim! What in the name----"