The whole period of Preparation passed in suspense.  And, when the bell had gone, Penny and I found our way to one of the Bramhall class-rooms, where I sat upon the hot-water pipes (the wisdom of which proceeding I have since doubted).  After about five minutes there rushed in a bad little boy who, having more relish in the thought of his message than breath to deliver it, puffed out:  “Oh, there you are.  I’ve searched for you everywhere.”  Then he paused, recovered his breath, and actually pointed a finger at us, saying: 

“Ee, bless me, my men, Salome wants you in Radley’s room.”

Penny took the small boy’s head and banged it three times on a desk.

In Radley’s familiar room we found Salome, who no sooner saw me than he cried: 

“Ee, bless me, my man.  Will you take—­your hand—­out of your pocket?”

This was such a surprise that I blushed and—­oh, accursed nervousness!—­began to giggle.  My terror at giggling in the Presence was so real that I compressed my lips to secure control.  But control was as impossible as concealment.  Salome came very close, pointed at my mouth, and said: 

“I think you’re giggling.  Take off that ridiculous expression, my man.  I’m going—­to smack—­your face.”

Sobered in a moment, I composed my features for the punishment and received it, stinging and burning, on my reddened cheek.

Salome again pointed at me.

“You’re a sportsman, sir, a sportsman, and I like you,” an affection which I at once reciprocated.

“Ee, bless me, my man,” he pursued.  “What’s your horrible name?”

“Ray, sir.”

“Well, Ray, I’m going to cane you hard”—­(rather crudely expressed, I thought)—­“because your offence is serious, bless me, my man”—­(an unreasonable request at this stage).

He took out his cane and turned first to Pennybet.

“I find, Mr. Pennybet, that, when you were breaking bounds, you should have been with your company—­your company, sir—­at shooting practice.  It’s desertion, sir—­and punishable by death.  But I shan’t shoot you.  You’re not worth it—­not worth it.  I shan’t even cane you, sir.  You’re too old—­too old.”

Penny looked at him, as much as to say he thought his point of view was very sensible.

“But ee, bless me, my man, take off that complacent expression, or I feel I may certainly smack your face.”

Poor Penny, for once in a way, was rather at a loss, which was all Salome desired, so he turned to me.

“Ray—­I think that was your detestable name—­I shall now cane you.  Get over, my man—­get over.”

When the ceremony was completed, Salome talked to us so nicely, although periodically asking us to bless him, that I told myself I would never break bounds again; thereby making one of those good resolutions which pave, we are told, another Beaten Track.